r-. q" ^y ? \* * * o , % ' l*° *\ £ ^ '^ v* • V -^ ^ ^ STANDAKD EDUCATIONAL PUBLICATIONS OF "WIXjSOIN", HIITEILB &c CO. HARVEY'S ELEMENTARY GRAMMAR. i6mo., i6o pp. " Prof. Ha«-vey has certainly supplied, in his Elementary Grammar, what has so long been needed — the true shorter course." — J. Heston, Beverly, Ohio. HARVEY'S ENGLISH GRAMMAR, i 2 mo., 264 pp. A brief, clear, and concise, bu; thorough treatment of the subject. " The favor with which Harvey' s English Grammar has been received, is unparalleled In the history of text-books." — Hon. Z. F. Smith, State Supt., Ay. WHITE'S COMMON SCHOOL REGISTER, 1 WHITE'S TEACHER'S CLASS RECORD, WHITE'S GRADED SCHOOL REGISTER, I WHITE'S PUPIL'S DAILY RECORD. White's Registers and Records are made of first-class paper, and substantially bound. They are so ruled as to make it easy to follow the lines in marking, and thus the danger of making mistakes is lessened. The plan of marking is simple and practicable, ami consumes the least possible time. EVANS'S PLANE AND SOLID GEOMETRY; DE WOLF'S INSTRUCTIVE SPELLER; McGUEFEY'S NEW ECLECTIC SPEAKER; McGUEFEY'S NEW JUVENILE SPEAKER; McGUEFEY'S NEW HIGH SCHOOL READER; KIDD'S ELOCUTION AND VOCAL CULTURE; HEMANS' YOUNG LADIES' READER; LEIGH'S PHONETIC PRIMER ; LEIGH'S PHONETIC PRIMARY READER. OBJECT LESSONS. By Lilienthall and Allyn. i6mo., 96 pp. A systematic course of instruction in Composition and Object Lessons. SMART'S MANUAL OF FREE GYMNASTICS and Dumb-bell Exercises, ionic, 64 pp., illustrated. THE EXAMINES, OR TEACHER'S AID. Designed to assist candidates for Teachers' certificates in preparing for examination; for the use of pupils in reviewing their studies ; teachers in examining their classes ; and for Normal Schools and Teachers' Institutes. No teacher should be without it. IsTIEW books. ECLECTIC COPY-BOOKS and EXERCISE BOOK; HAND-BOOK OF ECLECTIC PENMANSHIP, presenting the principles upon which this system is based. THOMPSON roblems are sufficiently numerous, varied, and progressive to afford the requisite drill and jiractice. 5. The omission of useless and obsolete subjects affords room for a full pres- entation of all important top>ics. 6. The Series is adapted to the present condition of education, science, and business. The plan of the Series permits the presentation of the whole subject of Arithmetic in much less space than is employed in other series. The use of White's dradect Scliool Arithmetics will result in a mastery of this branch in fully one-third less time than is noio devoted to it. StECOIMEIBATIOJfS. From CJco. II. Ilowison, A. M., Princ. Hiffh School, Boston.— " White's Arithme- tics are so rational in method, so well arranged, and so faithfully executed, that T recognize in them at once a very superior adaptation to their purpose, and unmistakahli evidences of the same skill Avhich made the author so successful a teacher of the subject.' From Jolira S. Ilavtf, Pres. Neiv Jersey State Normal School.— "Mr. White has th* t rue theory of what a school arithmetic should he, and he has carried out his theory into practical shapes and results, with a clearness, thoroughness, and conscientious fidelity, that leave nothing to he desired, and that on almost every page have challenged my respect and admiration." From J. C. r speaker to bring out the sense and sentiment of dis- course in a pleasing and impressive manner, are: — First, A clear, full, resonant voice. Second, A perfectly distinct, and correct articulation. Third, Such a control of the voice, as to be able to vary its modulations at pleasure. Ignorance of the right way of using the lungs and the larynx, in speaking, reading, and singing, has caused more eases of bronchitis and pulmonary consumption among students, vocalists, clergymen and other public speakers, than all other causes combined. The right use of the breathing apparatus, in connection with the exercise of the voice, ought, therefore, to be the first subject to which the attention of the student of Elo- cution is called. Before the pupil is permitted to read a sentence, he must be taught, not by precept, but by exam- ple, how to manage the breath while exercising the voice. The child thus trained will speak, read or sing, in a clear, full, natural tone, and will grow up, in a great meas- ure, free from the worst faults and defects in Elocution. 11 12 ELOCUTION BREATHING. Stand or sit erect; keep the head up and the chest ex- panded; throw the shoulders well back; place the hands upon the hips, witlf the fingers pressing upon the abdomen, and the thumbs extending backward; inhale the breath slowly, until the lungs are fully inflated, retaining the breath for a few moments, then breathing it out as slowly as it was taken in. Let the chest rise and fall freely at every inspiration, and take care not to make the slightest aspirate sound, in taking in or giving out the breath. Continue to take in and throw out the breath with in- creasing rapidity, until you can instantly inflate, and, as suddenly, empty the lungs. Repeat this exercise several times a day, a'nd continue it as long as it is unattended with dizziness or other unpleasant feelings. ELEMENTARY SOUNDS. The Elementary Sounds of the English Language are classified under three great divisions: First, the Vocals; Second, the Subvocals; Third, the Aspirates. VOCALS. Vocals consist of pure tone, and are subdivided into monothongs, which have the same sound from the com- mencement to the close; into the dipthongs, which begin with one sound and end with another; and into the short vocals, which differ from the monothongs only in the man ner in which they are uttered. SUBVOCALS. The subvocals possess vocality, but in an inferior degree and, in all of them, the vocalized breath is more or less obstructed. VOCAL CULTURE. 13 The subvoeals are divided into the correlatives, each of which terminates in an aspirate sound ; into the nasals, in which the vocalized breath is passed through the nasal pas- sage; into the liquids, so called from their special depend- ence upon the tongue; and into the coalescents, from their readily uniting with the vocal sounds. ASPIRATES. The aspirate sounds -have no vocal tone, and, conse- quently, differ most from the vocals. They arc divided into the explodents and the continuants. CHART OF THE ELEMENTARY SOUNDS. SINGLE OPEN VOWEL SOUNDS OR MONOTHONG& 1. e, as heard in me, eve, thee, free, &c. 2. a, " ale, may, they, pay. 3. a, as heard before r, in care, there, air, pear, in arm, bar, hard, ma. law, awe, jaw, saw. no, woe, own, home, ooze, fool, moon, room. SHORT VOCALS. it, will, live, give, pit. let, debt, end, deck, pet. err, verse, serve, sir, fir. add, mat, slab, past, bad. on, rob, log, dog, cot. up, cut, sun, but, sup. foot, soot, book, root. 4. a, a 5. aw, a 6. o, a 7. 00, a 8. i, as in 9. e, u 10. e, a 11. a, it 12. o, u 13. u, a 14. oo, a 14 ELOCUTION. DIPHTHONGS, OR DOUBLE VOWELS 15. i, as in die, sky, try, fie, lie. 16. oi, 17. ow, " 18. u, coil, joy, boy, oil. now, vow, owl, proud, few, new, due, view. ELEMENTS OF WHICH THE DIPHTHONGAL SOUNDS ARE MADE UP. I is composed of the eleventh and first sounds; Oi, of the twelfth and first; Ow, of the twelfth and seventh; and U, of the eighth and seventh sounds. SUBVOCALS. CORRELATIVES. 19. b, as in b abe, web ; b stops with the light sound of p. dead, had, bed; " gag, dog, wag ; « wedge, badge, judge ; valve, wave, live; thee, thou, breathe; zeal, ooze, size; pleasure, azure, measure; NASALS. nun, one, on, moon, maim, home, me, come, bring, thing, singing, sting. LIQUIDS. hill, shall, well, all. 31. r, (the hard or trill sound) as in rise, drum, roar. 32. r (the soft sound) at the end of the word, as in roar, fear. 20. d, < 21. & ' 22. j> ' 23. v, ' 24. th, < 25. z, ' 26. zh, < 27. 11 as in 28. m, " 29. n g> a a t. a k. a ch. a f. a th. <' s. « sh. 30. 1, as m VOCAL CULTURE. lb COALESCENTS. 33. vv. as in we, way, was, wit. 34. J< u ye, you, yet, yes. ASPIRATES. EXPLODENTS. 35. P> as in pipe, cap, rope, step, pop. 36. t, a it, met, spot, that, rot. 37. k, u back, thick, kick, deck, neck. CONTINUANTS. 38. ch, as in church, which, wretch. 39. f, " life, stiff, laugh, fife. 40. til, " think, three, breath, thing. 41. S, " see, pass, hiss, this. 42. sh, " shame, wish, crash, dash. 43. h, " horse, home, he, hence. 44. vvh, " whence, where, what, which. As the words Pitch, Force, Stress, Quantity, Quality, Movement, and other terms will frequently occur in the exercises upon the elementary sounds, it is proper at this point to define them. Pitch signifies the place in the musical scale on which the element, syllabic, or word is sounded; or it may refer to the pervading pitch of the voice in reading or speaking. The following distinctions may be made in pitch: very low, low, middle, or conversational, high, and very high. Force relates to the loudness of the sound, the degrees of which may be described as suppressed, subdued, mod- erate, energetic, and vehement. Stress relates to the different modes of applying force. Monotonf'. When the pitch of the voice continues tht« 16 ELOCUTION. same, and when the same degree of force is kept up from the commencement to the close of the sound, it is called the monotone. Swell. When the force. is gradually increased so as to swell out the sound as it advances toward the middle, and then ■ as gradually vanishes into silence, it is called the swell, or medium stress. Expulsive Radical Stress. In this the force is ap- plied so as to swell out the first part of the syllable or sound, and gradually diminish on the vanishing part of the sound. Explosive Radical Stress occurs when the first part of a syllable is given with great abruptness and percussive force. The short vocals when uttered in this way furnish examples of it. Vanishing Stress occurs when the sound gradually ex- pands as it swells onward, then suddenly terminates with a vocal explosion, similar to that heard in the explosive radical stress. Quantity relates to the length of time the voice dwells upon a syllable or word. The following passage, if prop- erly expressed, will furnish an example of long quantity: "Woe unto thee, Chorazin ! Woe unto thee. Eethsaida!" — and the following, of short quantity, if uttered in a tone of excitement and defiance: "Fret, till your proud heart breaks !" Quality relates to the land of voice. The words com- monly used to describe it aie, clear, husky, harsh, mellow, rough, smooth, deep, thin, heavy, light, boyish, girlish. Movement relates to the degree of rapidity with which die voice moves in the utterance of sounds, syllables, and words. The degrees of rapidity arc, very slow, slow, mod- erate, lively, rapid, and very rapid. The rules and exercises in Elocution may be classified under the two princiDal heads of VOCAL CULTURE. 17 ARTICULATION AND EXPRESSION: Articulation includes the rules and exercises upon the elementary sounds in syllabication, in analysis, in accent, md in pronunciation. Expression includes the rules and exercises which relate to the management of the voice, the look, gesture, and action, in the expression of thought, sentiment, and passion. The exercises in articulation are those to which the at- tention of the pupil should be almost exclusively given, until a good control of the voice has been obtained. A good articulation consists in giving to each element, in a syllable its due proportion of sound and correct ex- pression, so that the ear can readily distinguish every word, and every syllabic that is uttered. A full, pure tone of voice, and a good articulation, con- stitute the basis of every other excellence in reading and oratory. PURE TONE. Pure Tone is expressed with less expenditure of breatn than any other quality of voice; it is smooth, resonant, and agreeable, and entirely free from any aspirated, gut- tural, or other impure quality of vocal sound. The most severe and sustained exercise of the voice in pure tone, if the voice be pitched aright, is not only un- attended with any bad effect upon the lungs and throat, but, on the contrary, tends to strengthen and invigorate, them, and fortifies the whole system against the invasion, of disease. To command a full, resonant, and pure tone of voice, these conditions are indispensable: — First, a full and copious breathing, as described in ex- ercises 1 and 2. Second, a free and natural action of the abdominal muscles, in the inhalation and expulsion of the breath. 18 ELOCUTION. Third, the muscles which regulate the action of the jaw must be relaxed. Fourth, the throat and the mouth must be kept well open, so as to give free course to the sound. Any one who expects to derive practical benefit from the following rules and exercises, must study them carefully and practice them regularly, systematically, and energet ically. Begin with the first rule, and master it so thor oughly that you can readily give a correct exemplification of it; then take up the next rule and its accompanying exercises, and so proceed to the last example in the book. POSITIONS OF THE TEETH AND LIPS IN THE UTTERANCE OP THE DIFFERENT OPEN VOWEL SOUNDS, In sounding element No. 1, the teeth must be separated about half an inch, and the corners of the mouth drawn well backward. In No. 2 the teeth must be separated, at least three- quarters of an inch, and the corners of the mouth drawn farther back than in No. 1. In No. 3 the teeth must be separated a little farther still, and the opening of the mouth must be more enlarged than in No. 2. In No. 4 the mouth must be thrown wide open, and the corners drawn still farther back than in No. 3. In No. 5 the teeth must be separated about the same distance as in No. 4, the lips pressed forward and the aperture of the mouth diminished. In No. 6 the teeth must be brought nearer together, the lips pressed farther out, and the aperture of the mouth made much smaller than in No. 5. In No. 7 the lips must be pressed farther outward, and more tightly together than in No. 6. To find the Exact Sound of any Element. — Stand or sit perfectly at ease, drop the jaw, so as to keep the throat and mouth open, then take in a full breath, draw the VOCAL CULTURE. 19 muscles of the abdomen as far back as possible, retain the breath for a few moments, then express in a full, affirmative tone, any word of one syllable that terminates with the sound in question. Continue to dwell upon the last sound in the syllable as long as possible, without changing its character or varying the position of the organs of speech, in the slightest degree. When you can thus express all the sounds with tolerable accuracy, next reverse the position of the sounds, in the syllable or word, and practice upon them in that connection. Continue this exercise, at least once a day, until "Hhe ear becomes so accustomed to the true sound of each of the elements, as to be able instantly to detect it, no matter by what letter or letters the sound may be represented in the syllable or word. Do not exert yourself at first, to express the sounds in a very loud and forcible manner. Take it easily and go slowly at the beginning, and you will soon be able to vo- calize with great force, in a full and pure tone of voice. EXERCISES IN ARTICULATION. EXERCISE I. Give each of the open vowel sounds in connection- with the subvocals, as arranged in the accompanying table, in a full, pure, resonant, affirmative tone. 1 2 3 4 5 G 7 15 10 17 18 e, a, a, a, aw, 0; 00, i, 01, ow. u. Be, ba, ba, ba, baw, bo, boo, bi. boi, bow, bu. De, da, da, da. daw. do, doo, di, doi, dow, du. Ge, g a > g*> g a , gaw, go, goo, gi, goi, gow, gu- Je, ja, j a > J a > jaw, j°> joo> ft joi> j°u, ju- Ve, va, va, va, vaw, vo, voo. vi, voi, vow, vu. The, tha, tha, tha, thaw, tho, thoo, thi, thoi, thou, thu. Ze, za, za, za, zaw, zo, zoo, zi, zoi, zou, zu. Zhe, zha, zha, zha, zhaw, zho, zhoo, zhi, zhoi, zhou, zhu, Ne, na, na, na, naw, no, noo, ni, noi, now, nu. 20 ELOCUTION. Me, ma, ma, ma, maw, mo, moo, mi- 5 moi, mow, mu. (The element ng never begins a syllable.) Le, la, la, la, law, lo, loo, li, loi, low, lu. Re, ra, ra, ra, raw, ro, roo, ri, roi, row, ru. 'The soft sound of r never begins a syllable.) We, wa, wa, wa, waw, wo, woo, wi, woi, wow, wu. ^ r c ya, ya, ya, yaw, yo, yoo, yi, yoi, yow, yu. EXERCISE II. Reverse the position of the elements in the syllables, giving the vowel sound first. In this exercise dwell as long as possible upon the sub- vocals. 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 b, d, g, j, v, th, z, zh, n, m, ng, 1, r, r, w, y. Eb, ed, eg, ej, ev, eth, ez, ezh, en, em, eng, el, er, — ew, ey. Ab, ad, ag, aj, av, ath, az, azh, an, am, ang, al, ar, — aw, ay. Ab, ad, ag, aj, av, ath, az, azh, an, am, ang, al, ar, — aw, ay. Ab, ad, ag, aj, av, ath, az, azh, an, am, ang, al, ar, — aw, ay. Awb, awd, awg, awj, awv, awth, awz, awzh, awn, awm, awng, awl, awr, — aw, awy. Ob, od, og, oj, ov, oth, oz, ozh, on, om, ong, ol, or,— ow,-oy. Gob, ood, oog, ooj, oov, ooth, ooz, oozh, oon, oom, oong, ool, oor, — oow, ooy. lb, id, ig, ij, iv, ith, iz, izh, in, im, ing, il, ir, — iw, iy. Oib, oid, oig, oij, oiv, oith, oiz, oizh, oin, oim, oing, oil, oir,— oiw, oiy. Owb, owd, owg, owj, owv, owth, owz, owzh, own, owm owng, owl, owr, — ow, owy. L T b, ud, ug, uj, uv, uth, uz, uzh, un, urn, ung, ul, ur. EXERCISE III. Give each of the short vocals, in connection with the accompanying subvocals, as in Exercises I. and II. Prae- VOCAL CULTURE. *J1 tice upon the syllables until the vocal element can ^e uttered with a sharp, ringing sound, like the explosion <>f a percussion cap. EXERCISE IV Give each of the aspirates in connection with the accom- [anying open vowel sounds: thus. 1 2 3 4 5 G 7 15 16 17 IS e. a, a. a. aw, o, oo, i, oi, ow, u. Pe, pa, pa, pa, paw, po, poo, pi, poi, pow, pu. Te, ta, ta, ta. taw, to, too, ti, toi, tow. tu. Ke, ka, ka, ka, kaw, ko, koo, ki. koi, kow, ku. Che, cha, cha, cha. chaw, cho, choo, chi, choi, chow, chu. Fe, fa, fa, fa. faw, fo, foo, fi, foi. fow, fu. The, tha, tha, tha, thaw, tho, thoo, thi, thoi, thow, tlm. Se, sa. sa. sa, saw, so, soo, si, soi, sow, su. She. sha, sha. sha, shaw, sho, shoo, shi. shoi, show, shu. He, ha, ha, ha, haw, ho, hoo. hi. hoi, how. hu. Whe, wha, wha, wha, whaw, who, whoo, whi, whoi, whow, whu. EXERCISE V Reverse the po-ition of the elements in the syllable, first giving the open vowel sound, then the aspirate sound: thus, 3 5 36 37 33 39 40 4I 42 4 3 44 :■• t. k. eh, £ th. -. sh. h, wh. E P , etj ek, cch. ef, eth, cs. esh, ek, ewh. Ap, at, ak. ach, af. ath, as, ash, ah. awh. Ap, at, ak, ach. af! ath, as. ash. ah, awh. Ap, at. ak, ach. af. ath, as, ash. ah. awh. Awp, awt, awk, awch, a-wf, awth, aws, awsh. awh, awwh. Op, ot, ok, och, of, oth, os, osh, oh, owh. Oop, oot, ook. ooch, oof, ooth, eos, oosh, ooh, oowh. Ip, it. ik. ich, if. ith, is, ish, ih, iwh. Oip, oit. oik, oicli, oif. oith, ois, oish, oih, oi 22 ELOCUTION. Qwp, owt, owk, owch, owf, owth, ows, owsh, owh, owwh, Up, ut, uk, uch, uf, uth, us, ush, ah, uwh. EXERCISE VI. Give each of the aspirate sounds, in connection with each f the short voeals, with explosive force: thus, 8 9 10 n 12 13 14 h e, e 7 a, 0, u, 00. Pi, pe, pe, pa, po, pu, poo. Ti, te, te, ta, to, tu, too Ki, ke, ke, ka, ko, ku, koo. Chi, che, che, cha, cho, chu, choo. Fi, fe, fe, fa, fo, fo, foo. Thi, the, the, tha, tho, thu, thoo. Si, se, se, sa, so, su, soo. Shi, she, she, sha, sho, shu, shoo. Hi, he, he, ha, ho, hu, hoo. Whi, whe, whe, wha, who, whu, whoo EXERCISE VII. Reverse the position of the sounds in the syllables, giv- ing the short vocal first, and the aspirates last: thus, 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 4a 43 44 P> t, k, ch ? f, th, s> sh, h, wIk Ip, it, ik, ich, if, ith, is, ish, ih, iwh. Ep, et, ek, ech, ef, eth, es, esh, eh, ewh. Ep, et, ek, ech, ef, eth, es, esh, eh, ewh. Ap, at, ak, ach, af, ath, as, ash, ah, awh. Op, ot, ok, och, of, oth, OS, osh, oh, owh. Up, ut, uk, uch, uf, uth, us, ush, uh, uwh. Oop, oot, ook, ooch, oof, ooth,- oos, oosh, ooh, oowh. In the preceding exercises each sound must be expressed separately, with great force and precision, before the syl- VOCAL CULTURE. Zo lable is given. On giving the element by itself, the student should name over, at least three words in which it occurs: thus, E, as in me, eve, and sea; M, as in more, come, and roam; Sh, as in shame, hush, and crash. In giving the syllables, take great pains to bring out all the sounds in a distinct and proper manner. EXERCISE VIII. EXERCISE UPON "WORDS CONTAINING DIFFICULT COMBINA- TIONS OF THE SUBVOCAL AND ASPIRATE SOUNDS. First, give each sound by itself; then, connect the first element with the second ; next, give the first, second, and third, separately; then, in combination, at a single utter- ance. Proceed thus to the end of the word. EXAMPLES. bd : Orb'd, prob'dj rob'd, rub'd, sob'd. bdst : Prob'dst, fib'dst, dub'dst, bob'dst, sob'dst. blst : TumbPdst, fabl'dst, stablest, disabl'dst. bis: Stabl's, fabl's, nibbl's, gabbl's, babbFs. bv '. Brave, brown, break, breath, bride. dlst: Add'lst, padd'lst, sadd'lst, pedd'lst, fidd'lst. fldst: Baffl'dst, raffl'dst, shufiTdst, rauffl'dst. gdst : Beg'dst, haggl'dst, bag'dst, flog'dst. kldst : Tackl'dst, buckl'dst, truckl'dst, twinkl'dst. ldst: Hold'st, mold'st, bolcVst, gild'st. mdst : Tam'dst, trira'dst, seem'dst, dream'dst. ndlst: Hand'lst, kind'lst, fond'lst, trifi'dst. llgd: Rang'd, hing'd, hang'd, ring'd. rjd : Merg'dj charg'd, enlarg'd, forg'd. rldst : Furl'dst, sriarl'dst, whiri'dst, hurl'dst. 24 ELOCUTION. rmdst : Arm'dst, charm'dst, form'dst, storm'dst. rndst: Turn'dst, lurn'dst, scorn'dst, spurn'dst. rchd '. Arch'd. march'd, search' d, parch'd. ngst : Hang'st, wrong'st, bring'st, wing'st. figth : Length, strength, ngs : Songs, wrongs. bdst '. Barb'dst, prob'dst. rid I Urg'd, scourg'd. I'kdst : Work'dst, thank'dst. plst : Bipp'lst, tipp'Ist. rild : Burn'cl, turn'd, spurn' d, warn'd. rvd *. Curv'd, swerv'd, serv'd, starv'd. rtst : Hurt'st, part'st, smart'st, report' st. skst : Bask'st, mask'st, frisk'st, kick'st. sld: Nestl'd, bristl'd, wrestl'd, jostl'd. thd : Breath'd, wreath'd, sheath'd, bequeath'd. tllS : Breath's, wreath's, sheath's, bequeath's. tlist I Wreath'dst, breath'dst, sheath' dst, bequeathes t. tld : Nettl'd, settl'd, battl'd, bottl'cl. tldst Nettl'dst, settl'dst, throtl'dst, bottl'dst. . vdst; Liv'dst, deceiv'dst, grovldst, believ'dst. vldst *. Drivel'dst, grovel'dst, shovel'dst. zld I Dazz'ld, muzz'ld, puzz'ld. zldst : Dazzl'dst, muzzl'dst, puzzl'dst. Z1T1 : Chasm, spasm. Z1HS I Chasms, spasms. nz : Pris'n, ris'n. znd : Impris'nd, reas'nd. ZOZ *. Seas'ns, pris'ns. znst '. Impris'nst. EXERCISE IX. IN ANALYSIS. Express witb great distinctness and precision, the sounds jrhich compose each letter of the alphabet, giving ilit VOCAL GULTURE. 25 name of each sound, and the class to which it belongs: thus, B, the first sound of the letter B, is the subvocal B; the second sound of b, is the open vowel sound of E. C, the first sound of C is the aspirate S; the second sound is the open vowel sound of E. Do not go through this, or any other of the exercises, in a careless, languid manner; but w T ith as much earnestness as if something of great importance depended upon your doing it correctly. EXERCISE X. IN ANALYSIS, SYLLABICATION, ACCENT, AND PRONUNCIATION. Analyze the following words as in Exercise IX; then express each element singly, and with great precision ; next, designate the accented syllable, then pronounce the words with varying degrees of force, but always with a sufficient degree to mark the accent well, and to bring out clearly and distinctly every syllable and every sound. EXAMPLES. Personification, Perpendicularity, Intercommunication. Recapitulation, Irresistibility, Incontrovertibly, Etymologically, Horizontally, Generalissimo, Valetudinarian, Interrogatively, Metaphorically, Allegorically, Discrimination, Emphatically, Congratulation, Nonconformity, Incomprehensibility. The foregoing exercises, if faithfully practiced, according to instructions, two or three times a day, will, in a few weeks, break up the worst faults in articulation, and in- crease the compass, power, and flexibility of the voice, to an extent truly astonishing. MODULATION. EXERCISE I. IN THE MONOTONE MOVEMENT UPON THE OPEN VOWEL SOUNDS. Express each of the monothong vowel sounds, thus: take a full breath and utter each of the sounds in succession, in Kim>.-3 2ti ELOCUTION. as pure, subdued, aud yet distinct a tone as possible; con- tinue to prolong the sound as directed, until the lungs are nearly emptied, then let it gradually die away into silence. In your first efforts in this movement, give the sounds in your natural key, or pitch of voice, when you can give them correctly on that key; then practice upon them, sometimes in a higher, and sometimes in a lower pitch, increasing the force or loudness as much as you please, so that the tone of the voice is kept clear and resonant. Whenever, on changing the pitch or increasing the force, the voice runs into a thin, aspirated, guttural, or disagree- able tone of any kind, stop at once, and rest until you feel perfectly at ease. Then carefully begin again in your conversational pitch and tone of voice. Above every thing else be sure you keep the- tone pure and resonant. The chief difficulty the student will experience in this and some other of the vocal exercises, is that of keeping the throat and mouth wide enough open. Unless the pupil is very mindful of the conditions to be observed, he will gradually close the mouth, until the teeth are brought close together, before the sound is finished, the inevitable consequence of which is a smothered, imperfect, and lifeless utterance of the syllable or word. A liberal opening of the mouth is a condition absolutely indispensable in giving the voice the full effect of round, smooth, and agreeable tone. This common and very bad habit of reading, speaking, and singing with the throat and mouth almost closed, may be entirely broken up by vocalizing, for a short time every day, with a gag in the mouth, according to the following directions: • Cut a piece of hard wood, the thickness of a pipe stem;' and about an inch in length ; place this perpendicularly' between the teeth, and proceed to vocalize, in any pitch within the compass of your voice, and with as much force as you can command. Let the gag remain in its place until the jaw aches considerably, before you remove it. VOCAL CULTURE. 27 Practice with a gag about an inch long, two or three limes a clay, for several minutes at a time, until you can keep the mouth thus far open without any difficulty. After- ward cut another about an inch and a half in length, and practice with it between the teeth, until you can vocalize with it in the mouth for three minutes at a time, without experiencing any very disagreeable feeling. Then cut another, still longer, and practice with that in the same manner. EXERCISE II. THE SWELL OR MEDIUM STRESS. Place the breathing apparatus in a proper condition, and utter each of the open vowel sounds, thus: Commence the sound in a very subdued tone, which gradually increase or swell out, until the sound is full and deep; then let it as gradually diminish in force, until it vanishes with a sound so light and delicate that the ear can scarcely distinguish its close. The words marked in capitals, in the accompanying ex- amples, must be given with the prolonged swell. The pupil must exercise his own judgment as to the de- gree of force to be employed : his aim ought to be to bring out the sense and sentiment of the whole passage, in an appropriate and effective manner. EXAMPLES. 1. But see liim on the edge of life, With cares and sorrows worn, Then age and want, On! ill-matched pairl Show man was made to mourn. % i. Woe unto thee, Chorazin! Woe unto thee, Bethsaidal for if th* mighty things which were done in you, had been done in Tyre and Kidon, they would have repented long ago, in sackcloth and in ashes 3. An! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress. And cheeks all pale, which, but an hour ago, Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness. 28 ELOCUTION. 4. Oil ! sacred Truth, thy triumphs ceased awhile, And Hope, thy sister, ceased with thee to smile. 5. Anl why will Kings forget that they are men, And men that they are brethren! fi. On! that I had the wings of a dove, that I might fly uwaj ami be at rest ! 7. On for a tongue to curse the slave, Whose treason, like a poison blight, Comes o'er the counsels of the brave, And blasts them in their hour of might! THE WAVE. In the wave, which is a form of the swell, the voice rises and then falls, or falls and then rises, while the force is increasing or diminishing. The modifications of the swell and the wave are innumerable. EXERCISE III. IN THE EXPULSIVE RADICAL STRESS. Express in a clear, full, affirmative tone, in the order in vhich they are arranged upon the chart, the words con- taining examples of the open vowel sounds, as follows : First, pronounce each word as if in answer to a question addressed to you by a person but a short distance from you, using the words I said, in connection with the word. I said me. Between the words said and me, take a short breath, and draw the abdominal muscles well back, that you may be enabled to bring out the word me with proper force and quantity. Continue in this manner to utter the words with in- creasing force and earnestness ; but be careful to keep the roioe down, and avoid every thing like a tone of excitement. Exemplify the Expirfsive Radical Stress, on the words marked in the following examples^ 1. Rise! fathers, Rise! — 'tis Rome demands your help. 2. Hold ! hold for your lives ! - 8. Forward, the Light Brigade ! VOCAL CULTURE. 20 4. Who dares to fly from yonder sword — lie cries, Who dares to tremble, by this weapon, DIES. 5. To .arsis! to arms! to abms ! they cry. 6. Awake! arise! or be forever fallen. 7. Roll on ! thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll. Most- of the preceding examples require the intensht Conn of the Expulsive Radical Stress, to give thern wilL proper effect. EXERCISE IV. EXrLOSIVE RADICAL STRESS. Inflate the lungs, and, as at were, bar up the breath in the throat, keep the abdominal muscles drawn back tight, then by the sudden, vigorous action of every part, cause the sound to burst forth with the utmost abruptness and with the highest degree of energy. First, give each of the vowel sounds in this manner, then select a number of words, such as slave, yvretcii, coward, as in the passage, "Thou slave, thou wretch, thou COWAKD!" and prac- tice upon these words and sounds, with varying degrees of force, but always with a well marked radical stress. Give the following examples with proper spirit. Let the emphatic words be brought out with great abruptness and intense force. Take care to keep the voice within its range; if you let it spring into a very high pitch, you will be unable to control it. EXAMPLES. 1. Thy threats, thy mercies I deft! And give thee, in thy teeth, the lie! 2. I loathe 3'ou with my bosom; I scorn 3 t ou with mine eye; I'll taunt you with my latest breath, And fight you till I die! 3. Dowx soothless insulter! 30 ELOCUTION. 4. And if thou sayst I am not peer To any lord in Scotland here, Highland or Lowland, far or near, Lord Angus, thou hast lied! 5. Go from my sight! I iiate and I despise thee! G. Rouse, ye Romans! Rouse, ye slaves! 7 lie dares not touch a hair of Cataline. 8. Strike! till the last arm'd foe expires, Strike! for your altars and your fires, Strike! for the green graves of your sires, God — and your native land. EXERCISE V. EXPLOSIVE SnORT VOCALS. The mode of expressing these sounds is the same as in hhe Explosive Radical Stress, with this slight difference: in the explosive short vocals the sound continues but an in- stant, while in the Explosive Radical Stress the vanishing sound is always heard, and sometimes greatly prolonged. Pronounce the words marked in the following p-assages with the utmost explosive force, and in a tone of passionate excitement. Practice, in this form of stress, upon the short vocals, singly, in syllables, and upon words until you can utter any of them in the middle, low, or high pitch of the voice, with that percussive force, that may be compared to the crack of a rifle. EXAMPLES. 1. "Whence and what art thou ? Execrable shape ! 2. Back to thy punishment, false fugitive ! 3. Fret, till your proud heart breaks! 4. Hence ! home ! ye idle creatures ! get you home. 6. You blocks — you stones — you worse than senseless things. 6. Ur comrades, ur! — in Rokeby's halls, Ne'er be it said our courage fulls. 7. If it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge ! VOCAL CJLTUKE. 31 VANISHING STRESS. The vanishing stress begins with a light and gentle sound, which gradually increases in volume, and suddenly termi- nates with a heavy and violent sound. This form of stress but seldom occurs in speech. This is one of the best exercises for strengthening the voice, but the student must have forcible examples of it from the living teacher, before he can understand it suf- ficiently well to practice upon it with any decided advan- tage. The pupil should practice regularly and frequently, upon the elementary sounds, on words, and on short passages in every form of stress, and in the lowest pitch of voice in which he can command a clear, full tone. EXERCISE VI. LAUGHING EXERCISE ON THE VOWEL SOUNDS. Put on a mirthful look, draw back the corners of the mouth, as in laughter, and laugh out successively each of the short vocal sounds. Let the tone of voice be subdued, and the movement slow, at first, but rapidly increase, then diminish the degree of force and rapidity with which the sounds arc uttered. Occasionally intersperse the exercises with one of the open vowel sounds, expressed with long quantity. In this manner you will relieve yourself, and be enabled to utter the sounds more like those which are heard on the spon- taneous breaking forth of real laughter. This is one of the most valuable of the vocal exercises, whether considered with reference to the deepening and mellowing of the voice, which results from it, or from tho strengthening and invigorating effect it has upon the throat and lungs. It is highly promotive alike of health of body and cheerfulness of mind. It should, however, be conducted with great moderation at first. As soon as the pupil begins to feci somewhat exhausted by his efforts, he should rest awhile. 32 ELOCUTION EXERCISE VII. IN THE INTERROGATIVE AND AFFIRMATIVE TONES. Take the vocal sounds in the order in which they ocem upon the chart, beginning with E, and ask the question Did you say Ef in your natural tone, and manner of ask- ing a question; then answer the question affirmatively, thus: Ves, I said E. In the question let the voice glide into a higher pitch on the element, or syllable which is the subject of experi- ment. In the affirmation let the voice fall into a lower pitch, and take a deeper, fuller tone. Use the words, Did you say? and Yes, I said; in con- nection with the element, syllable, or word, until you no longer need them to enable you to distinguish the true sound of the interrogative or the affirmative tones. "When you can readily do this, then illustrate both *ones on the same word, thus : Question. Cincinnati? Ans. Cincinnati. " Gen. Washington ? " Gen. Washington. " Constantinople? " Constantinople., " A? .'■''" A. &c. Continue to increase the force and earnestness, in exem- plifying these tones, until you have a perfect control of them . EXERCISE VIII. IN THE TONE OF SURPRISE. Commence as if about to ask a question, but let the voice run up rapidly, on the principal syllable, or word, iuto a very high key, and terminate with great abruptness. Putting on the look and appearance, which are charac fc-ristic of the emotion, will greatly aid you in bringing out the true sound. EXERCISE IX. Express the following examples slowly, at first, and gradually increase the rate of utterance. Pronounce everj VOCAL CULTURE. 33 wcrd and syllable, clearly, distinctly, and with the utmost rapidity. Whenever you discover that there is the least indistinct- ness, or that the words or syllables run into each other, stop and commence again, more slowly and carefully. Give the examples in every pitch, within the compass of your voice, and with varying degrees of force, from the Fuppresscd whisper, up to the loudest tone you can com- mand. EXAMPLES. 1. The steadfast stranger through the forest strayed. 2. Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostrils wide. 3. Round the rude ring the ragged rascals ran. 4. The wild beasts struggled through the thickest shade. 5. The swinging swain swiftly swept the swinging sweep. 6. Execrable Xantippe exhibited extraordinary and excessive irritability. 7. Six brave maids sat on six broad beds, and braided broad braids. 8. The stripling stranger strayed through the struggling stream 9. The rough and rugged rocks rear their hoary heads high on the heath. 10. Peter Prickle Prangle picked three pecks of prickly pears, from three prickly, prangly pear trees. 11. Up the high hill he heaves a huge round stone. 12. Amidst the mists and coldest frosts, With barest wrists and stoutest boasts, He thrusts his fists against the posts, And still insists he sees the ghosts. 13. THE CATARACT OP LODORE. How does the water Come down at Lodore? From its sources which well In the tarn on the fell; From its fountains In the mountains, Its rills and its gills; &4 ELOCUTION. Through moss and through brake It runs and it creeps, For a while, till it sleeps In its own little lake. And thence at departing, Awakening and starting, It runs through the reeds, And away it proceeds, Through meadow and glade, In sun and in shade, And through the wood-shelter, Among crags in its flurry, Helter-skelter, Hurry-skurry. Here it comes sparkling, And there it lies darkling; Now smoking and frothing Its tumult and wrath in, Till, in this rapid race, On which it is bent, It reaches the place Of its steep descent. The cataract strong Then plunges along, Striking and raging, As if a war waging Its caverns and rocks among : Spouting and frisking, Turning and twisting, Around and around With endless rebound: Smiting and fighting, A sight to delight in, Confounding, astounding, Dizzying and deafening the ear with its sound : Retreating and beating and meeting and sheeting, Delaying and straying and playing and spraying, Advancing and prancing and glancing and dancing, And gleaming and streaming and steaming and beaming, And dashing and flashing and splashing and clashing, And so never ending, but always descending, Sounds and motions forever and ever are blending, All at once and all o'er, with a mighty uproar: And this way, the water comes down at Lodore. VOCAL CULTURE. 35 The pupil should carefully practice the various exercises upon the elementary sounds, and in articulation, until he can utter every sound, syllable, word, or combination of elements, with perfect distinctness and accuracy, and in a clear, full tone of voice. Much advantage may be obtained from practicing in com- pany with some one, who is competent to detect your faults of utterance and delivery, and is willing to point them out. The monotone, swell, and all the different forms of stress, should be practiced in every pitch of voice, and in every degree of force. To obtain a full, deep, clear, rich tone, the student must resort to every conceivable expedient for modifying the voice. Whenever he utters a sound that is very pleasing to the car, or that impresses his mind as being very strik- ing or significant, he should repeat it, until he can com- mand it without difficulty at pleasure. The most significant, impressive, and pleasing tones of the voice can not be taught, or even described; the pupil, if he ever learns them, must find them out for himself, by careful, persevering self practice. In short, he must try every plan, and resort to every appliance that he can com- mand, in his endeavors to perfect himself in the art of reading and speaking with ease, elegance, and impressive effect. EXPRESSION. Expression comprehends the practical application of all the rules and principles of Elocution. EMPHASIS. Emphasis relates to the mode of giving expression; properly and fully defined it includes whatever modulation of the voice or expedient the speaker may use, to render what he says significant or expressive of the meaning he desires to convey. 36 ELOCUTION. No certain rules can be given to guide the student in the employment of emphasis. If his voice be full, clear, flexible, and under the control of the will, he will be able to express what he fully understands and strongly feels, in an effective manner, without the aid of rules. The best advice that can be given to the student upon this point, is to study his subject until he thoroughly understands it, and then practice upon it until he can express it tO his own satisfaction. A careful observance of the following simple directions, will soon enable the student to read in a pleasing and im- pressive manner. First: — Pause long enough to take a short breath, just before giving an emphatic word. Second: — Pause for a moment immediately after giving an emphatic word, letting the voice fall in pitch, and take a more subdued tone on the words immediately following. Third : — When emphasis is given by simply increasing the loudness, or duration of the accented syllable, let the voice out freely, and do not check the sound before it is fully developed. Fourth : — After expressing a word or syllable with great force, as in the intensive forms of the Expulsive or Explo- sive Radical Stress, do not keep- the muscles of the neck, throat, and chest in the same rigid condition they are in at the moment of giving the emphatic word; but, instantly, let them relax, and fall into a natural and easy position. Let me here advise the student who intends to pursue this subject, not to pass lightly over the first exercises be- cause they are simple and unattractive. Success in giving the most difficult passages, will chiefly depend upon a prac- tical knowledge of the principles involved in the correct enunciation of short and simple sentences. As in Articu- lation and Modulation, the student should begin with the first example under the first rule, and thoroughly master that, before he takes up the next. VOCAL CULTURE. 37 CADENCE. Cadence signifies that easy, natural dropping of the voice at the end of a sentence or passage, which denotes com- pleteness of sense, or that the speaker has finished what he had to say upon that point. No specific rules can be given by which to regulate the tone and movemeut of the voice in making the cadence; the pupil must rely, mainly, upon his own taste and dis- crimination. After a few days' careful practice of the fol- lowing exercises, his ear will detect the slightest variation from the true sound of the cadence. EXERCISE I. The simplest form of the cadence can be best illustrated by the enumeration of a series of particulars. By counting one, two, three, four, five, in a deliberate manner, and paying particular attention to the tone of the voice on four and Jive, it will be discovered that on Jive, the voice falls a little, takes a fuller tone, and has that pecu- liar intonation which denotes that the enumeration is complete. EXAMINES. 1 1,2,3^ 1,2,3,4^ I,2,3,4,5,6 N 1,2,3,4,5,6,7^ 4. 5. 7. 8. Gire the open vowel sounds in a clear, full tone, in the same manner as in the first example, thus: 2. E, A, Aw 0, E, I, Oi I, Oi, E, A, Aw v 0. Ow. U. Give a number of names in succession as in calling the oil, thus: 3. Smith, Chambers, Buttcrfield, Edmunds, Morgan, "Wilson, rage. Jones, £ ' % Connect the Inst two names or particulars by the con- junction and, letting the voice rise a little on the last par 38 ELOCUTION. ticular but one, and fall, us in the previous examples, on the last one, thus: ^o-. J? 4. Cincinnati, St. Louis, Boston, Louisville, Philadelphia, v anfl *e* . .Let the cadence in the following passages be formed in the same manner as in example 4. 5. lie sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, 1 2 3 "Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffiri d, and unknown. 6. "Whatever obscurities may involve religious tenets, the essence 1 2 3 of true piety consists in humility, love, and devotion. i . a 7. Be armed with courage against thyself, against thy passions, 3 and against flatterers. 1 2 3 4 5 8. In the least insect there are muscles, nerves, joints, veins, arteries, 6 and blood. When the concluding series consists of more than three members or particulars, the preceding members or partic- ulars should receive the modulation which taste and the general sense of the passage suggest. EXERCISE II. THE COMMENCING SERIES. In the commencing series the last particular or member, should take the rising modulation, and the las* but one, a slight falling modulation. EXAMPLES. 12 3 4 S 1. The knowledge, power, wisdom, holiness, and goodness of the Deity re all unbounded. 2. Gold, silver, copper, iron, and lead are abundant in various parts of the "Western Continent. 3. Proofs of the immortality of the soul, may justly be drawn from the nature of the Supreme Being, -whose justice, wisdom, and veracity, are all concerned in this great point. Immediately after expressing the last particular, pause VOCAL CULTURE. 39 for a moment and let the voice drop into its ordinary pitch and tone, upon the words that follow. EXERCISE III. The student should practice upon each of the following xamples until he can exemplify the rule involved, and bring out the sense in the fullest, most pleasing, and most impressive manner. EXAMPLES. 1. Diligence, industry, and proper improvement of their time, are material duties of the young. 2. lie is generous, just, charitable, and humane. 3. In meat and drink observe the rules of Christian temperance and sobriety. 4. If you would be revenged on your enemies, let your life be blameless. 5. Ingratitude is a crime so shameful, that the man was never yet found who would acknowledge himself guilty of it. 6. As you value the approbation of heaven or the esteem of the world, cultivate the love of virtue. 7. The earth is adorned with a beautiful variety of mountains, hills, valleys, plains, seas, lakes, rivers, trees, flowers, plants, and animals. 8. Luxury, vanity, and pride, have much influence in corrupting the opinions of the multitude. 9. Make a proper use of your time, for the loss of it can never be retrieved. 10. Envy not the appearance of happiness in any man; for you know not his secret griefs. 11. The shadow of knowledge passeth over the mind of man as a dream; he seeth as in the dark; he reasoneth and is deceived. 12. Do not insult a poor man; his misery entitles him to pity. 13. A tear is sometimes the indication of a noble mibd: Jesus wept. 14. Everything grows old; everything passes away; >rrery thing disappears. 15. A talkative man is a nuisance to society; the et. is sick of liis babbling. 40 ELOCUTION. 16. Fear God: He is thy Creator and thy Preserver. 17. When the battle was ended, the stranger disappeared, and nc person knew whence he had come, or whither he had gone. 18. It is not the use of the innocent amusements of life which is dangerous, but the abuse of them; it is not when they are occa- sionally, but when they are constantly pursued, that they become an evil. 19. Some men are intent upon gathering riches; others endeavor to acquire reputation and honor; a third sort are devoted to theii pleasures; while but few are engaged in the nobler pursuits of learn- ing and wisdom. 20. Truth is the basis of every virtue; it is the voice of reason; let -its precepts be religiously obeyed; never transgress its limits. Every deviation from truth is criminal. Abhor a falsehood. Let your words be ingenuous. 21. Sincerity possesses the most powerful charm. It acquires the veneration of mankind; its path is security and peace. EXERCISE IV. PARENTHESIS. In the following examples, read the first part of eacn sentence in a manner suited to the nature of the subject, and make a short pause just before the parenthesis, which read more rapidly, and in a more subdued tone. When the parenthesis is concluded, resume your former pitch and tone of voice. EXAMPLES. 1. Know then this truth, (enough for man to know,) Virtue alone is happiness below. 2. I have seen charity (if charity it may be called) insult with an air of pity. 3. 1 am happy, said he (expressing himself with the warmes: emotion), infinitely happy, in seeing you return. 4. Surely in this age of invention, something may be struck out to obviate the necessity (if such necessity exist) of so tasking the human intellect. 5. Know ye not, brethren (for I speak to them that know the law), that the law hath dominion over a man as long as he liveth? VOCAL CULTURE. 4) 6. It is this sense which furnishes the imagination with idea?; bo that by the pleasures of the imagination or fancy (terms which I shall use promiscuously), I here mean such as arise from visible objects. EXERCISE V. THE RHETORICAL PAUSE. The Rhetorical Pause consists in suspending the voice either directly before or after the utterance of an important thought. The pause before the principal word awakens curiosity and excites expectation ; after, it carries the mind back to what has already been said. Pauses occur as often where points are not found as where they are. Sense and sentiment are the best guides in the use of the pause. The student must remember that every important modulation, in order to preserve its due force and distinctness, requires to be followed by a consid- erable pause. A pause of greater or less duration is always required wherever an interruption occurs in the progress of thought, or the uniform construction of the sentence, as in the case of the dash, the exclamation, the parenthesis, &c. In these instances the mind is supposed to be arrested by the sudden change of sentiment or passion. EXAMPLES. 1. But this very day, An honest man, my neighbor — there he stands — Was struck — struck like a dog — by one who wore The badge of Ursini. 2 Here will I hold. If there's a power above us, (And that there is, all nature cries aloud Through all her works,) he must delight in virtue: And that which he delights in must be happy. But when? or where? — This world was made for Caesar I'm weary of conjectures — this must end them. 3. Slaves to a horde Of petty tyrants, feudal despots! lords, Rich in some dozen paltry villages — Kinn - I 42 ELOCUTION. Strong in some hundred spearmen — only great In that strange spell — a name. 4. They fought like brave men — 'long and well; They piled the ground with Moslem slain; They conquered — but Bozzaris fell, Bleeding at every vein. 5. thou Eternal One! whose presence bright All space doth occupy, all motion guide, Unchanged through time's all-devastating flight; Thou only God! There is no God beside! Being above all beings! Mighty one! Whom none can comprehend, and none explore: Who fill'st existence with thyself alone; Embracing all — supporting — ruling o'er — Being whom we call God! — and know no more. 6. Some — place the bliss in action, some — in ease; Those call it pleasure, and — contentment, these. 7. Stand up — erect! Thou hast the form And likeness of thy God ! — Who more ? A soul as dauntless 'mid the storm Of daily life, a heart as warm And pure as breast e'er wore. 8. Hush! — Hark! — a deep sound strikes like a rising knell. 9. We are some of us very fond of knowledge, and apt to valiu ourselves upon any proficiency in the sciences. One science there is, worth more than all the rest, and that is — the science of living well 10. Heaven and earth will witness, If — Rome must fall — that Ave are innocent. 11. He woke — to die mid flame and smoke, And shout, and groan, and sabre stroke. 12. Thou art thyself thine enemy : The great! — what better they than thou? As theirs is not thy will as free? Has God with equal favors thee Neglected to endow? True, wealth thou hast not — 'tis but dust: Nor place — uncertain as the wind; VOCAL CULTURE. 43 But that thou hast, which with thy crust And water may despise the lust Of both — a noble mind. EXERCISE VI. ON SHORT QUESTIONS. Express the following examples with the same earnest- ness of tone, and directness of manner, which you would use if the questions were your own, and you felt deeply interested in the answer you might receive. Is Joh^ at home ? Are you still living with your father? Do you think he is honest? Are the people willing? Whither arc you going? How many books have 3-011 bought? Why did you not go .0 Boston? When shall I see you again? Who told you that I was sick? Whose clog is that? What excuse have you for coming so late this morning? Did he say that he would do it? How many bushels have you? Who can view such misery without pity? Have you seen Joseph yet? EXERCISE VII. ON VARIOUS FORMS OF INTERROGATION AND AFFIRMATION Was his progress quick or slow? It was slow, very slow. Did he pitch his voice high or low? He pitched it high, never higher. Do you read Greek or Latin ? I have long read Latin, never Greek. Did they confess or deu} r ? They confessed and were merely rebuked. How does your friend look? well or ill? Well; he never looked better. How did he move? gracefully? Gracefully! Yes — as he always does. 44 ELOCUTION. Was tlie prize merited or not? It was — at least all thought so. Who delivered the message? he or his brother? He; his brother is from home. Is the stream wide or narrow? Very narrow — especially near its source. Straight or circuitous? Partly straight and partly circuitous. And its banks — rugged? Yes; but quite accessible, and highly picturesque. Mis speech was not read — it was delivered? It was well delivered. And well received? With enthusiasm — if the applause it obtained is the teH The subject Avas interesting? Yes, and is rather popular at present. Did he speak long? An hour perhaps? Longer — two hours — three hours. And was well received, you say? Enthusiastically — applauded throughout. He made an impression then? I should think so — at least upon some. Then he is likely to succeed? Succeed! Yes — if he chooses to exert himself. The Past — where is it? It has fled. The Future? It may never come. Our friends departed? With the dead. Ourselves? Fast hastening to the tomb. . What are earth's joys? The dews of morn. Its honors? Ocean's wreathing foam. Where's peace? In trials meekly borne. And joy? In Heaven — the Christian's home. EXERCISE •yill. H CHANGING THE SENSE BY VARYING THE MODULATION AND BY CHANGING THE SEAT OF EMPHASIS. He attended Divine service regularly. Read the above passage so as to place the emphasis first exclusively upon regularly ; then upon Divine service; then upon attended; and last upon He. The 'words immediately preceding or following the emphatic word, must be given VOCAL CULTUKE. 45 in the usual conversational pitch and tone. Make a marked pause directly after uttering the word which receives Uie emphasis. (jive the tone of the direct question upon the last word of the same passage, so that it will convey the same mean- ing that would be conveyed if the question were asked thus: Did you say that lie attended divine service regularly? Then change the scat of emphasis as in the preceding exercise. Next express it in a tone of surprise. Give the same sentence as a question in a whispered tone; then express it as if in answer to the question, in the sa^ae tone: thus, He attended Divine service regularly ? Ans. He attended Divine service regularly. Next, express it both interrogatively and affirmatively, in the tone of unimpassioned conversation ; then as if carrying on a conversation with a person on the opposite side of the street; then as if conversing with a person still farther away from you; and so on, to the utmost extent of your vocal capability. Express it also both interrogatively and affirmatively in a very pleasant tone and manner; in a sullen, surly man- ner; in a careless, indifferent, sleepy tone and manner; in a very irritable or excited tone and manner; in a scornful or ironical tone; in a respectful, deferential tone; in a very serious tone, and in a merry, laughing tone. Such exercises, carefully practiced, will, more than any other, facilitate the progress of the student, in obtaining a command of the tones, looks, and action by which the various emotions and passffins of the soul are expressed. EXERCISE IX. ANTITHESIS. Antithesis is founded upon contrast, expressed or iii- plicd. It occurs in a sentence in which two or more words arc opposed to each other in meaning. Words, that 46 ELOCUTION. express opposite ideas, must be marked by different modu- lations, and expressed with greater emphasis, than the words that immediately precede, or those which follow them. In nearly all cases there should be a marked pause directly after the antithetic words, and on the remaining words in the passage the voice should take its ordinary, unimpassioned tone. EXAMPLES. 1. I come to bury — Cassar, not to praise him. 2. The evil that men do, lives after them; The good — is oft interred with their bones. 3. It is sown in weakness; it is raised in power. It is sown a natural body; it is raised a spiritual body. 4. If ye are beasts, then stand here like fat oxen, waiting for the butchers knife I If ye are men, — follow me! 5. Comrades ! Warriors ! Thracians ! — if we must fight, let us fight for ourselves 1 If we must slaughter, let us slaughter our oppressors i 6. Had you rather Caesar were living, and die all slaves, than that Caesar were dead, and live all freemen ? 7. A friend can not be known in prosperity; an enemy can no! be hidden in adversity. 8. Speak gently; it is better far To rule by love, than fear : Speak gently, let no harsh words mar The good we might do here. 9. Contrasted faults through all his manners reign: Though poor, luxurious ; though submissive, vain ; Though grave, yet trifling; zealous, yet untrue; And e'en in pena^e, planning sins anew. 10. Pride still is aiming at the blest abodes, Men would be angels, angels would be gods; Aspiring to be gods, if angels fell, Aspiring to be angels, men 'rebel. EXERCISE X. CLIMAX. A climax is a series of particulars, members, or senten- ces, in which each successive particular, member, or sentence rises in force and importance to the last. VOCAL CULTURE. 47 The pervading pitch, the kind of stress, the rate of utter- ance, and the peculiar modulations of the voice, appropriate to the correct delivery of any example of climax, the student must find out for himself. The best rule that can be given is to study the passage carefully until he has a correct appreciation of it, then to practice upon it until he can bring out his own conception of its meaning and char acter, in a manner satisfactory to himself. As a general rule, the voice should fall so as to make a partial cadence at the close of the first member of the climax, and each successive member ought to be given with increasing force and earnestness to the last. EXAMPLES. 1 a 1. I tell you, though you, though the whole world, though an angel from heaven, were to declare the truth of it, I would not believe it. 2. But every where, spread all over in characters oi living light, blazing on all its ample folds, as they float over the sea and over the hind, and in every wind under the whole heaven, that other sen- timent, dear to every American heart — Liberty and Union, now and forever, one and inseparable. 3. And Douglas, more, I tell thee here — Hei-e — in thy pitch of pride — Here — in thy hold, thy vassals near, I tell thee, thourt defied. 4. I will not, must not, dare not, grant your wish. 5. I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes, strong prov- ocations, bitter, burning wrongs, I have within my heart's hot cells shut up, to leave you in your lazy dignities. 6. Add to your faith, virtue, and to virtue, knowledge, and to knowledge, temperance, and to temperance, patience, aud to patience godliness, and to godliness, brotherly kindness, and to brother! j kindness, charity. 7. Clarence has come! false! fleeting! perjured Clarence' 8. Days, months, years, and ages shall circle away, And still the vast waters above thee shall roll; Earth loses thy pattern, forever and aye; 0, sailor boy ! sailor boy ! peace to thy soul. 48 ELOCUTION. 9. The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous places, The solemn temples, the great glob n >^lf, Yea, all that it inherit, shall dissolve, And, like the baseless fabric of a vision, Leave not a wreck behind. 10. Can you raise the dead? Pursue nnd overtake the wings of time? And bring about again the hours, the days, The years that made me happy? EXERCISE XI. AMPLIFICATION AND ENUMERATION. Amplification signifies a diffusive description or discus- sion, containing such an enumeration of particulars as will present the subject in the strongest light. It admits of various modes of delivery, according to the nature of the subject and other circumstances. Generally, amplification and climax require nearly the same style of delivery. Let the pupil study the following examples carefully, and use his own discretion as to the style and manner of giving them. 1. To wake the soul by tender strokes of art; To raise the genius, and to mend the heart; To make mankind in conscious virtue bold, Live o'er the scene, and be what they behold ;- For this the tragic muse first trod the stage: Commanding tears to stream through every age. 2. Such has been the case with Mr. Roscoe. Born in a place apparently ungenial to the growth of literary talent; in the very market-place of trade; without fortune, family connections, or patron- age; self-prompted, self-sustained, and almost self-taught; he has conquered every obstacle, achieved his way to eminence, and, having become one of the ornaments of the nation, has turned the whole force of his talents and influence to advance and embellish his native town. t 3. Let not tne passions blight the intellect in the spring of its advancement, nor indolence nor vice canker the promise of the heart in blossom. Then shall the summer of life be adorned with moral beauty, the autumn yioid a harvest of wisdom and virtue, and the VOCAL CULTURE. 49 winter of age be cheered with pleasing reflection? Dn the past, and bright cows of the future. 4. We do not pray to instruct or advise God; not to tell him news, or inform him of out- wants; nor do we pray by dint of argu- ment to persuade God and bring him to our bent; nor that, by fair speech, we may cajole him, or move his affections toward us by pa- th ;1ical orations; not for any such purpose are we obliged to pray; b\ t because it becometh and behooveth us so to do; because it is a proper instrument of bettering, ennobling, and perfecting our souls; because it breedeth most holy affections, and pure satisfactions, and worthy resolutions: because it fitteth us for the enjoyment of hap- piness, ard'leadeth us thither: for such ends devotion is prescribed. 5. We have been discoursing of infancy, childhood, boyhood, and youth; o*" pleasures lying upon the unfolding intellect plenteously as morning dew-drops of knowledge, inhaled insensibly like fragrance; of dispc aliens stealing into the spirit like music from unknown quarter?; of images uncalled for, and rising up like exhalations; of hopes plucked, like beautiful wildnowers from the ruined tombs that border the highways of antiquity, to make a garland for a living forehead: in a word, we have been treating of nature as a teacher of truth through joy and through gladness, and as a creatress of the faculties by a process of smoothness and delight We have made no mention of fear, shame, sorrow, nor of ungovernable and vexing thoughts; because, although these have been, and have done mighty service, they are overlooked in that stage of life, when youth is pass- ing into manhood : overlooked, or forgotten. 6. There various news I heard of love and strife; Of peace and war. health, sickness, death, and life; Of loss and gain; of famine and of store; Of storms at sea, and travels on the shore; Of prodigies and portents in the air; Of tires and plagues, and stars with blazing hair; Of turns of fortune, changes iu the state, The fall of favorites, projects of the great; Of old mismanagements, taxations new: All neither wholly false, nor wholly true. 7. In all the modern languages she wa3 Exceedingly well versed, and had devoted To their attainment, far more time than has, By the best teachers, lately been allotted; For she had taken lessons twice a week, For a full month in each; and she could speak Kmr,— R 50 ELOCUTION. French and Italian, equally as well As Chinese, Portuguese, or German; and What is still more surprising, she could spell Most of our longest English words, off-hand: Was quite familiar in low Dutch and Spanish, And thought of studying modern Greek and Danish. EXERCISE XII. TRANSITION. Transition, in Elocution, signifies a sudden change in the pitch, force, quality, quantity, or movement of the voice; as from a nigh, to a low pitch, from a subdued, to a very loud tone, from a very slow, to a very rapid rate of utterance, and the reverse of these. It refers, also, to the changes in style, as from the persuasive to the declamatory; also, to the expression of passion or emotion, as from grief to joy, fear to courage, hope to despair, &c. No rules can be laid down in relation to the management of the voice in transition, which will be intelligible without the living teacher to exemplify them. The following exercises, if persevered in for a short time, will enable the pupil to make some of the most important vocal transitions, with skill and ease. First, — Repeat 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, progressively increasing the force and elevating the pitch of the voice, as in the climax, up to the last number, which pronounce with great force, then pause for a moment, and pronounce 6, 7, 8, 9, very slowly, in the lowest and deepest tone you can command. Increase the number of particulars gradually, as you find you are acquiring the power to sustain the voice, in great force, upon a higher pitch. Second, — Repeat the open vowels in the same way, then ;he short vowels, then the short and open vowels irregularly interspersed, letting the last in a series be an open vowel. Third, — Give a number of words or names, with increas- ing force and rapidity, to the last one; then pause and let the voice fall as before instructed, and give other names or VOCAL CULTURE. 51 words very slowly, with long quantity, and in the lowest pitch of the voice that you can reach. Fourth, — Select for yourself a few suitable short passages, and exercise upon them in the same way as upon tho vcral sounds. EXAMPLES. 1. Were I an American, as I am an Englishman, while a sir.gle foreign troop remained in my country, I would never lay dovm my arms, Never 1 Never! Never! 2. An hour passed on, the Turk awoke; Thai bright dream was his last: He woke to hear his sentry shriek, "To arms! they come! the Greek! the Greek!" 3. Charge! Chester, Charge! Ox, Stanley! on! Were the last words of Marmion. 4. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself arc much condemned to have an itching palm, to sell and mart your offices for gold to ande- servers. I an itching palm ? — You know that you are Brutus that speak this, or by the gods this speech were else your last. 5. If influenced by local pride, or gangrened by state jealousy, I get up here to abate a tithe of a hair from his just character and just fame — may my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth. 6. God of the Mariner! protect Her inmates as she moves along, Through perils which ere now had wrecked — But that tiiine arm is strong. Hal she has struck — she grounds — she stands, Still as if held by giant hands. Quick, man the boat! — away they sprang, The stranger ship to aid; And loud their hailing voices rang, And rapid speed they made: But all in silence, deep, unbroke, The vessel stood — none answering spoke. 'Twas fearful — not a sound arose — No moving thing was there, To interrupt the dread repose Which fill'd each heart with fear. 52 ELOCUTION. 7, Huoh! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell I Did ye not hear it? — No: 'twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street: On with the dance I Let joy be unconfined ; No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing hours with flying feet: — But hark ! that heavy sound breaks in once more, As if the clouds its echo would repeat; And nearer, clearer, deadlier, than before ! Arm! arm! it is! — it is! — the cannon's opening roar 1 8. Her giant form O'er wrathful surge, through blackening storm, Majestically calm, would go, ^ 'Mid the deep darkness, white as snow! But gently now the small waves glide, Like playful lambs o'er a mountain's side. So stately her bearing, so proud her array, The main she will traverse forever and aye. Many ports will exult at the gleam of her mast! — Hush! hush! thou vain dreamer! this hour is her last Five hundred souls, in one instant of dread, Are hurried o'er the deck ; And fast the miserable ship Becomes a lifeless wreck. 9. And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder, peal on peal, afar, And near, the beat of the alarming drum, Roused up the soldier, ere the morning star; While thronged the citizens, with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips, "The foe! They come! they come'' EXERCISE XIII. EMPIIATIC REPETITION. In emphatic repetition, the repeated word or words should be given with increased force and earnestness the second time uttered, and so on, increasing the intensity of expres- sion with each repetition. VOCAL CULTURE. 53 EXAMINES. 1. But -whatever may be our fate, be a-surcd, be assured that this declaration will stand. 2. Rise, fathers! rise! 'tis Rome demands your help. 3. Up I comrades, up! — in Rokeby's halls, Ne'er be it said our courage falls. 4. Woe! Woe! Woe, unto the inhabitants of the earth! 5. Arm! Arm! it is! — it is! — the cannon's opening roar! 0. The temples of the god's, the gods themselves, will justify tha cry, and swell the general sound, Revenge! Revenge! Revenge! 7. Peace! Peace! — To other than to me, Thy words are evil augury. 8. Hold, hold! for your lives! 9. Hold, hold! the general speaks to you. 10. Stretch to the race! — Away! — Away I 11. To ar/.is! to arms! to arms! they cry. 12. "On! On!' 1 — was still his stern exclaim, : ' Confront the battery's jaws of flame! 13. r,o! anointed by Heaven with the vials of wrath, Behold where he flies on his desolate path! Now in darkness and billows he sweeps from my sight: Rise! rase! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight! 14. "Revenge! — Revenge!'' — the Saxons cried. 15. To arms! — To arms!" — a thousand voices cried. 1G. "Who dares to fly from yonder swords," — he cries. "Who dares to tremble, by this weapon dies. 17. Stand — Bayard! — Stand! — the steed obey'd, 18. War! War! — aloud with general voice they cry. Repetition, when properly expressed, gives great beauty and imprcssiveness to the passage in which it occurs. EXERCISE XIV. INTERROGATION. When men arc moved by passion, or are intensely in earnest in argumentation, they naturally express what they 54 ELOCUTION. would affirm or deny by vehement interrogation, thus ex- hibiting the strongest confidence in the truth of their statements. Most of our finest examples of senatorial and argumen- tative eloquence abound with the interrogation. The pupil should carefully study the following examples, until he clearly understands them; then, as far as possible, he should bring himself under the influence of the proper spirit, and give the passage, in an appropriate tone and manner, with directness, force, and earnestness. Pause at the end of every question, as if you waited an answer; this will render your tone and manner much more direct, natural, and effective. Keep the voice full and clear, and in a pitch in which you cla readily control its modulations. EXAMPLES. 1 . But wherefore thou alone ? wherefore with thee came not all hell, broke loose? 2. Who is here so base that would be a bondman? If any, speak! for him have I offended. Who is here so rude that would not, be a Roman? If any, speak! for him have I offended. Who is here so vile that will not love his country? If any, speak! for him have I offended. 3. Tried and convicted traitor! Who says this? Who'll prove it at his peril on my head? 4. Our brethren are already in the field. Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? 6. Are not you, sir, who sit in that chair — is not he — our venerable colleague near you, are not you both already the proscribed and predestined objects of punishment and of vengeance? Cut off from all hope of royal clemency, what are you, what can you be, while the power of England remains, but outlaws? G. They tell us, sir, that we are weak — unable to cope with so formidable an adversary; but when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when wc are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every VOCAL CULTURE. 55 house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely upon our backs and hugging the delusive phantom of hope until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot? Sir, we are not weak, if we make a proper use of the means which the God of nature hath placed in our power. 7. He that planted the ear, shall he not hear? he that formed the eye, shall he not see? he that chastiseth the heathen, shall he not correct? he that teacheth man knowledge, shall he not know? Thou therefore that teachest another, teachest thou not thyself? thou that preachest, a man shall not steal, dost thou steal? thou that sayest a man shall not commit adultery, dost thou commit adultery? thou that abhorrest idols, dost thou commit sacrilege? thou that makest thy boast of the law, through breaking the law, dis- honorest thou God? 8. Whence is man; Why formed at all; and wherefore as he is; Where must he find his maker: with what rites Adore him? Will he hear, accept and bless; Or does he sit regardless of his works? lias man within him an immortal seed; Or does the tomb take all? If he survive His ashes, where? and in what weal or wo? 9. 'Tis strange the miser should his cares employ, To gain those riches he can ne"er enjoy; Is it less strange the prodigal should waste His wealth to purchase what he ne'er can taste? 10. Is it the cold and languid speaker, whose words fall in such sluggish and drowsy motion from his lips, that they can promote nothing but the slumbers of his auditory, and minister opiates to the bo ly, rather than stimulants to the mind; is it the unlettered fanatic without method, without reason, with incoherent raving, and vocife- rous ignorance, calculated to fit his hearers not for the kingdom of heaven, but for a hospital of lunatics; is it even the learned, inge- nious and pious minister of Christ, who, by neglect or contempt oi die oratorical art, has contracted a whining, monotonous sing-son •; deliveiy to exercise the patience of his Hock, at the expense oi ether Christian graces? or is it the genuine orator of heaven, witJ. a heart sincere, upright, and fervent: a mind stored with that uni- versal knowledge, required as the foundation of the art: with a genius for the invention, a skill for the disposition, and a voice for the elocution of every argumeut to convince and every sentiment tc persuade ? 56 ELOCUTION. EXERCISE XV. PITCH. No definite rules can be given for the regulation of the pitch of the voice. The nature of the sentiment and dis- criminating taste must determine the appropriate key-note iP delivery. HIGH riTCII. To obtain good control of the voice in a high pitch, practice upon such examples as the following with great force, in the highest key in which you can manage the voice. Remember to drop the jaw, so as to keep the mouth and throat well open, and whenever the voice breaks into a fa) sette, or impure tone of any kind, stop immediately, and rest for a few moments, then begin again. EXAMPLES. 1. Boat aliuy I Boat ahoy ! 2. Charcoal! Charcoal! Charcoal! 3. Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! 4. Up drawbridge, grooms! — what, warder, ho! Let the portcullis fall. 5. Follow your spirits, and upon this charge, Cry, God for Harry 1 England ! and St. George t 6. The combat deepens: On, ye brave! Who rush to glory or the grwe. 7. Bursts the storm on Phocis T walls ! Rise I — or Greece forever falls. 8 Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains, Rise! Fellow-men! — our country yet remains. 9. ^uick! man the boat! 10. "Jump far out. boy, into the wave! Jump, or 1 fire I" he said : "This chance alone your life can save, Jump ! Jump /" the boy obeyed. 11. To arm*! To arms! — a thousand vcices cried, VOCAL CULTURE. 57 Most of the examples in Repetition are appropriate ex- amples for practice in high pitch and sustained force. The foregoing exercise*- is one of the very best for in- creasing the compass and flexibility of the voice; but the student, to profit by it, must practice frequently, and witu 11 the force he can command. EXERCISE XYI. LOW riTCH. The best way to obtain a good control of the voice in a low pitch, is to practice such exercises as those given under repetition and HIGH titcii, until you are somewhat fa- tigued with your exertions, then, after resting the lungs and vocal organs, for two or three hours, practice in the lowest and deepest tone you can command, upon passages which require the deepest, lowest, and most prolonged tones of the voice. If found very laborious and difficult to sustain a full, dear, and resonant tone in a low key, rest a few moments occasionally, and then, "try again." EXAMPLES. 1. How hollow groans the earth beneath my tread; Is there an echo here? methinks it sounds As though some heavy footstep followed me: I will advance no farther. 2. My soul was hushed within me, and a dread Of what I knew not, charmed mine awe-struck thought The bi-eeze that rustled in my hair, seemed fraught With murmurings, as if the ocean dead Were moaning in their sleep; the billows brought Strange voices to mine ears, as if they sough*. Communion; and the white moon, overhead, Seem'd whispering to my soul in every ray she shed. 8. Come to the bridal chamber, Death ! Come to the mother, when she feels, For the first time, her first-born's breath;— 58 ELOCUTION. Come, when the blessed seals That close the pestilence are broke, And crowded cities wail its stroke; — Come in consumption's ghastly form — The earthquake shock — the ocean storm — Come, when the heart beats high and warm, With banquet-song, and dance, and wine— And thou art terrible; — the tear, The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, And all we know, or dream, or fear Of agony, are thine. 4. Plow reverend is the face of this tall pile, Whose ancient pillars rear their marble heads, To bear aloft its arched and ponderous roof, By its own weight made steadfast and immovable, Looking tranquillity! It strikes an awe And terror on my aching sight: the tombs And monumental caves of death look cold, And shoot a dullness to my trembling heart. 6. At dead of night, In sullen silence stalks forth Pestilence: Contagion, close behind, taints all her steps With poisonous dew: no smiting hand is spen; No sound is heard; but soon her secret path Is marked with desolation: heaps on heaps Promiscuous drop. No friend, no refuge, near: All, all is false and treacherous around, All that they touch, or taste, or breathe, is Death! C. Thou breathest ; — and the obedient storm is still , Thou speakest ; — silent, the submissive wave : Man's shattered ship the rushing waters fill; And the hushed billows roll across his grave. Sourceless and endless Cod! compared with Thee, Life is a shadowy, momentary dream ; And time, when viewed through Thy eternity, Less than the mote of morning's golden beam. 7 Why shrinks the soul Back on herself, and startles at destruction? 'Tis the Divinity that stirs within us; 'Tis Heaven itself that points out an hereafter. And intimates eternity to man. VOCAL CULTUKE. 59 Eternity ! — thou pleasing, dreadful thought ! Through what variety of untried being, Through what new scenes and changes must we passl The wide, th' unbounded prospect lies before me; But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it. 8 Night, sable goddess, from her ebon throne, In ray less majesty, now stretches forth Her leaden scepter o'er a slumbering world. Silence, how dead! and darkness, how profound! Nor eye, nor listening ear, an object finds; Creation sleeps. Tis as the general pulse Of life stood still, and Nature made a pause, An awful pause, prophetic of her end. 9. Now o'er the one half world Nature seems dead; and wicked dreams abuse The curtained sleep; now witchraft celebrates Pale Hecate's offerings; and withered murder, Alarumed by hii sentinel, the wolf, Whose howl's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace, Toward his design Moves like a ghost. — Thou sure and firm-set earth! Hear not my steps, which way they walk; for fear The very stones prate of my whereabout, And take the present horror from the time, "Which now suits with it. EXERCISE XVII. SUSTAINED FORCE. The tones of the voice can be rapidly deepened, strength- ened, and improved in quality, by practicing upon syllables, words, and short passages, in the most intensive and sus- tained forms of the Expulsive, and the Explosive Radical Stress. To give the accompanying examples with proper effect, the student must exert every energy of body and mind. By pursuing this course, he will soon increase the power and flexibility of his voice to a surprising extent, and, also, acquire a directness of tone and earnestness of manner, which will be invaluable to him as a public speaker 60 ELOCUTION. EXAMPLES. 1. I scorn your proffer' tJ treaty: the pale-face I defy, Revenge is stamped upon my spear, and bloody my bai tie-cry 2. Our brethren are already in the field, 1 Vjiy stand ice here idle? 3. Tried and convicted traitor! Wno says this? "Who'll prove it, at Ids peril, on my head? 4. lie dares not touch a hair cf Catiline! 5. Rouse, ye Romans I Rouse, ye slaves I 6. I laid me flat along, and cried in thralldom to the furious "winds, "Blow on! this is the land of liberty!" 7. Thou dost belte him, Percy! thou dost belie him! He nevei Aid encounter with Glendower. 8. Unmanner'd dog ! stand thou, when I command! Advance thy halberd higher than my breast, Or, by Saint Paul! I'll strike thee to the earth, And spurn upon thee, beggar, for thy boldness. 9. A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse! 10. "What in the "world he is, That names me traitor, villian-like he lies: Call by thy trumpet: he that dares approach, On him, on you — WHO NOT? — I will maintain My truth and honor firmly. 11. Strike! — till the last armed foe expires; Strike! — for your altars and your fires; Strike! — for the green graves of your sires — God, and your native land! 12. Back to thy punishment, False fugitive! and to thy speed add wings; Lest with a whip of scorpions I pursue Thy lingering, or, with one stroke of this dart, Strange horror seize thee, and pangs unfelt before! 13. Wiience and what art thou, execrable shape! That dar'st, though grim and terrible, advance Thy miscreated front athwart my way To yonder gates? Through them 1 mean to pass — That be assured — without leave asked of thee: Retire! or taste thy folly; and learn by proof, Hell-born! not to contend with spirits of heaven. VOCAL CULTURE. 01 EXERCISE XVIII. SUBDUED FORCE. 1. Ah! life is a journey of wearisome hours, That the rose of enjoyment but seldom adorns; And the heart that is soonest alive to the flowers, Is always the first to be touched by the thorns. *? Thou unrelenting Past! Strong are the barriers round thy dark domain; And fetters, sure aud fast, Hold all that enter thy unbreathing reign. 3. Ye've gathered to your place of prayer, With slow and measured tread; Your ranks are full, your mates all there, But the soul of one hath fled. Tread lightly, comrades, ye have laid His dark locks on his brow, Like life, save deeper light and shade, "We'll not disturb them now. 4. Slowly and sadly we laid him clown, From the field of his fame, fresh and gory, "We carved not a line, we raised not a stone. But left him — alone in his glory. 6. Ah ! few shall part, where many meet, The snow shall be their winding sheet, And every turf beneath their feet, Shall be a soldier's sepulcher. 6. Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath, And stars to set; — but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, Death! We know when moons shall wane, When summer birds from far shall cross the sea, When autumn's hue shall tinge the golden grain But who shall teach us when to look for thee? 7. Yet half I hear the parting spirit sigh, "It is a dread and awful thing to die!" — Mysterious worlds untraveled by the sun, — Where Time's far-wandering tide has never run, — From your unfathomed shades, and viewless spheres, A warning comes, unheard by other ears. 62 ELOCUTION. EXERCISE XIX. LONG QUANTITY. Quantity relates to the duration, or length of time taken up in the utterance of a syllable or word. The word roar is an example of long quantity ; the word pit of short quantity. Let the following words be pronounced in the swell, in the expulsive radical stress, and in the explosive radical stress, with varying degrees of force, but always prolonging them to the utmost extent possible without changing their character, or giving them in a manner the least akin to a drawl. By pronouncing the words as if you were speaking to some one fifty or a hundred yards away, you will soon form the habit of bringing out the vocals and sub-vocals in a clear, strong, and prolonged tone. EXAMPLES. Star, pale, law, bold, scorn, you, arm, down, shame, slave, all, lo, rave, time, hail, roar, praise, own, where, moon, plume, law, wail calm, who, why, shore, roll, ale, wall, hold, me, knell, lie, home, blow, rise, noon, cold, etc. One of the greatest beauties of delivery consists in a full, clear, prolonged utterance of the open vowel sounds ; all of which are eminently susceptible of long quantity, as arc many of the sub-vocals when properly expressed. Words that end with these sounds generally ought to terminate with a prolonged and well-defined delicate vanish. MOVEMENT. Words are uttered slowly or rapidly, according to tha predominating feeling. In anger or excitement of any kind, we cut them short, and hurry over them rapidly. In grief, solemnity, adoration, and all the deeper emotions of the soul, we dwell upon the words, and utter them very slowly. VOCAL CULTURE. S3 EXERCISE XX. IN SLOW MOVEMENT AND LONG QUANTITY. EXAMPLES. 1. And I beheld when he had opened the sixth seal, and lo! there wa» e great earthquake. And the sun became black as sackcloth of hail, and the moon became as blood ; and the stars of heaven fell unto the earth, even as a fig-tree casteth her untimely figs, when she is shaken of a mighty wind. And the heaven departed as a scroll when it is rolled together; and every mountain and island were nroved out of their places. And the kings of the earth, and the great men, and the rich men, and the chief captains, and the mighty men, and every bond- man, and every free-man, hid themselves in the dens and in the rocks of the mountains; and said to the mountains and rocks, Fall on us, and hide us from the face of Him that sitteth on the throne, and from the wrath of the Lamb: for the great day of his wrath is come; apd who shall be able to stand? 2. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a moldering heap, — Each in his narrow cell forever laid, — The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; No children run to lisp their sire's return. Or climb his knees, the envied kiss to share. 3. Thou from primeval nothingness didst call First chaos, then existence: — I^ord ! on thee Eternity had its foundation ; — all Sprung forth from Thee, — of light, joy, harmony, Sole origin : — all life, all beauty thine. Thy word created all, and doth create; Thy splendor fills all space with rays divine. Thou art and wert and shalt be ! Glorious ! great ! Light-giving, life-sustaining Fotentate! 4. Lord! have mercy upon us, miserable offenders! Spare Ihoh those, God ! who confess their faults according to thy promises, declared unto mankind in Christ Jesus our Lord, and grant, oh! most merciful Father, for his sake, that we may hereafter live a godly righteous, and sober life, to tho glory of thy Holy Name. 64 ELOCUTION. EXERCISE XXI. IN SHORT QUANTITY AND QUICK MOVEMENT, EXAMPLES. 1. Quick! man the life boat I see yon bark, That drives before the blast: There's a rock ahead, the fog is dark, And the storm comes thick and fast; Can human power, in such an hour, Avert the doom that's o'er her? Her mainmast is gone, But site still drives on, To the fatal reef before her: — The life boat! man the life boat! 2, Where's Harry Blount? Eitz Eustice, where? Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare? Redeem my pennon — charge again, Cry — Marmion to the rescue ! — Vain, To Dacre bear my signet ring: Tell him his squadrons up to bring. Let Stanly chai-ge, -with spur of fire, With Chester charge and Lancashire, Full upon Scotland's central host, Or Victory and England's lost! Must I bid twice? hence, varlets, fly! (slowly) Leave Marmion here alone — to die! 3 Talk not to me Of odds or match! — When Comyn died, Three daggers clashed within his side! Talk not to me of sheltering hall ! — The Church of God saw Comyn fall! On God's own altar streamed his blood ; While o'er my prostrate kinsmen stood The ruthless murderer, e'en as now — With armed hand and scornful brow — Up! all who love me! — blow on blow! And lay the outlawed felons low! VOCAL CULTURE. 65 EXERCISE XXII. EXCLAMATION. Exclamation shows that the mind is laboring with some strong emotion. It should be expressed in that tone and manner which are appropriate to the passage. Let the pupil exerciso his own taste and judgment as to the man- ner of giving the following EXAMPLES. 1. Ye, who have hearts of pity I ye, who have experienced the an- guish of dissolving friendship! who have wept, and still weep over the moldering ruins of departed kindred ! — ye can enter into the reflection. 2. Jerusalem! Jerusalem 1 thou that killest the prophets and stouest them that are sent unto thee, how often would I have gathered thy children together, even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, and ye would not. 3. Who would not exchange the misgivings and the gloom, that overhang this skeptical creed, for the inflexible faith, the ardent hope, the holy rejoicing of him who doubts not for a moment the future reign of universal peace? 4. Grave ! where is thy victory ? Death! where is thy sting? 5. What sweetness, what purity, in his manners ! what an affect- ing gracefulness in his instructions! what sublimity in his maxims! what profound wisdom in his discourses ! what presence of mind, what sagacity and propriety in his answers! how great the command over his passions ! G. How hard it is to convince Christians of these things ! how hard to bring them to act on the broad, simple, uncompromising precepts of the gospel ! how next to impossible does it seem for them to regu- late their thoughts, words, and deeds, and all the influences they are perpetually exerting over others, by the purifying and self-sacrificing humility of the gospel! 7. Did you, sir, throw up a black crow? — Not I! — Bless me! how people propagate a lie! 8. How ghastly the visage of death doth appear; How frightful the thought of the shroud and the bier ; And the blood-crested worm — how vile ! Kir. tv— f> 66 ELOCUTION 9. How friendly the hand that faith is now lending-. How benignant her look o'er the pillow while bending. How sweet, how assuring, her smile! 10. Great Heaven! how frail thy creature man is made: How by himself insensibly betrayed ! 11. Not one shall survive to be enslaved; for ere the tri-colored flag shall wave over our prostrate republic, the bones of four millions of Americans shall whiten the shores of their country ! PERSONATION. Personation is the representation by a single reader or speaker, of the words, manners, and actions of one or several persons. The student should practice frequently and carefully upon such pieces as require personation in connection with narration and description. Such exercises are peculiarly fitted to break up monotonous and unimpressive habits of delivery. STYLE. One of the most important matters to be considered before engaging in a reading or declamatory exercise, is the style or manner, in which the piece should be given. In argument, the style must be characterized by direct- ness and earnestness. In description, the speaker must proceed in precisely the same manner that he would if he were actually describ- ing the thing spoken of. In narration, he must proceed as if narrating some part of his own experience. In persuasion, he must use those tones, looks, and ges- tures only, which he knows are appropriate to persuasion. In exhortation, he must appeal, beseech, and implore, as the case may require. VOCAL CULTURE. 67 In pieces of a mixed character, he must vary the style to suit the sentiment and character of the passage. When the pupil understands the principles and rules which have been discussed, sufficiently well to be able to give a correct, practical exemplification of each of them, he ought to select passages for himself, suitable as exercises in cadence, pause, parenthesis, antithesis, climax, amplifica- tion, repetition, and transition; also in pitch, force, stress, movement, quantity, in personation, in style, and in every rule in modulation and expression. He must especially practice in every kind of stress, and with every degree of force, from the most subdued whisper to the shout of enthusiastic exultation. GESTURE. Gesture, to be appropriate and impressive, must be natu- ral. When gesture has its origin in the mere caprice of the speaker, it will appear artificial and out of place. The speaker who is unable to manage his voice, is never easy and graceful in his gestures. If the voice is exercised on too high a key, or in a harsh, aspirated, guttural, or impure tone of any kind, the attitude will be stiff and awkward, and the gestures broken, irre- gular, and difficult. But the speaker who has a good com- mand of his voice, if he understands his subject, and is self-possessed, will speak with ease ; and his gesticulation, if not always graceful, will be appropriate and expressive. Before the pupil can be easy and natural in his action and gesticulation, he must have perfect control of his voice. Any attempt, therefore, which he may give to th 2 cultivation of gesture and action, before he has obtained a good control of his voice, w T ill be labor spent in vain. ATTITUDE AND GESTURE IN READING. Stand or sit erect, in an easy and graceful position, and hold the book in the left hand on a level with the face. Look from your book to the audience, as often and as long 68 ELOCUTION. at a time as you can, without missing the place. Make but few gestures, and then only when you are looking at your audience. To gesticulate while your eye is resting upon the book, is not only inappropriate, but ridiculous. ACTION IN UNIMPASSIONED DISCOURSE. In didactic or unim passioned discourse, gesticulation is not necessary, farther than occasionally to slightly change the position and movement of the hands, or to move the head and body sufficiently to look at your audience from right to left. In discourse of this character the gestures and movements should be executed slowly, and as gracefully as possible. In stating unimportant particulars, or speaking about matters which require a quiet, narrative style, the right arm and hand should be chiefly used. There are three positions in which the hand and arm may rest, and, by slowly changing from one to the other of these positions, stiffness and rigidity in the gestures of the arm will be avoided. First : Let the arm hang naturally by the side. Second : Let the hand rest upon the hip, the elbow thrown well backward. Third : Let it rest between the buttons of your vest, on your bosom. In all these positions the muscles of the arm and hand must be relaxed, so that the attitude may be, at once, easy and natural. DESCRIPTIVE GESTURES. Descriptive gestures are those used in pointing out or describing objects. The pupil will soon acquire skill in the use of these, by practicing in accordance with the following instructions : EXERCISE XXIII. Pronounce the names of a number of objects near you, and, as you mention the name of each, extend the arm and point the forefinger or the open hand, in the direction of VOCAL CULTURE. 69 the object, completing the gesture the moment you utter the accented syllable of the name or word : thus, 1. The gentleman on my right, the lady on my left, the vacant chair before me, the books, maps, and pictures all around me. 2. High, Low, Left, Right : on pronouncing the word high, raise the hand gracefully above the head; on low, let it fall slowly and gracefully; left, let the arm and hand be extended to the left ; on the word right, to the right. 3. Before commencing the gesture always let the eye glance in the direction of the object, concerning which you are about to speak. 4. Do not move the arm and hand to the intended posi- tion by the shortest course, but describe a waving line, and let the motion be rather slow, until the position is almost reached, then let the hand move quickly to its place, in com- pleting the gesture. When the student has obtained a tolerable command over his arms, hands, and lower limbs, let him select for himself short passages suitable as exercises in descriptive gesturo und action. EXAMPLES. 1. Their swords flashed in front, While their plumes waved behind. I. His throne is on the mountain top, His fields the boundless air, And hoary hills, that proudly prop The skies, his dwelling are. 3. Mountains above, Earth's, Ocean's plain below. 4. Death in the front, destruction in the rear. 5. See through this air, this ocean, and this earth, All matter quick, and bursting into birth. SIGNIFICANT GESTURES. The Head and Face. The hanging down of the head denotes shame, or grief The holding of it up, pride or courage. To nod forward implies assent. 70 ELOCUTION. To toss the head back, dissent. The inclination of the head implies diffidy this time the widow and her daughters were much alarmed by this violent attack, and ran almost frantic through diffcrei?G parts of the house, exclaiming, "Murder! murder!" The son, having joined the soldier, with a ease of loaded pistols, and the latter, screwing on his bayonet, and fresh priming his piece, which was charged with slugs, requested the women to keep them- selves in a back room out of the way of danger. 4. Soon after the door was burst in, two ruffians entered, and w r ere instantly shot by the son. Two other associates of the dead men immediately returned the fire, but without effect; when the veteran stranger, taking immediate advan- tage of the discharge of their arms, rushed on them like a lion, ran one through the body with his bayonet, and while the other was running away, lodged the contents of his piece between his shoulders, and he dropped dead on the spot. The son and the stranger then closed the door as well as they could, re-loaded their arms, made a good fire, and watched till daylight. 5. When the weavers and spinners of the manufactory came to resume their employment, they were struck with horror and surprise, at seeing four men dead near the house, where the soldier had dragged them, before he closed the door leading to the street. The burgomaster attended, and took the depositions of the family relative to the affair. The bodies of the ruffians were buried in a cross road, and a stone erected over the grave, with a suitable inscription. The widow presented the soldier, who was seventy years old, with one hundred guilders, and the city settled a handsome pension on him for the rest of his life. II.— THE HEART'S CHARITY. 1. A rich man walked abroad one day, And a poor man walked the self-same way, When a pale and starving face came by, With a pallid lip and a hopeless eye ; And that starving face presumed to stand And ask for bread from the rich man's hand NARRATIVE. 9&. But the rich man sullenly looked askance, With a gathering frown and a doubtful glance: "I have nothing," said he, "to give to you, Nor any such rogue of a canting crew;" And he fastened his pocket, and on he went, With his soul untouched and his conscience content 2. Now this great owner of golden store Had built a church not long before; As noble a fane as man could raise, And the world had given him thanks and praise , And all who beheld it lavished fame On his Christian gift and godly name. 3. The poor man passed, and the white lips dart*. To ask of him if a mite could be spared; lie stood for a moment, but D^t to pause On the truth of the tale, or the parish laws ; lie was seeking to give — though it was but small. FcT" a penny, a single penny was all, _*at he gave it with a kindly word, While the warmest pulse in his heart was stirred. 'Twas a tiny seed his charity shed, But the white lips got a taste of bread, And the beggar's blessing hallowed the crust That came like a spring in the desert dust. 4. The rich man and the poor man died, As all of us must ; and they both were tried At the sacred judgment-seat above, For their thoughts of evil and deeds of love. The balance of justice ilierc was true, And fairly bestowed what fairly was due; And the two fresh comers at heaven's gate Stood waiting to learn their eternal fate. 5. The recording angel told of things That fitted them both with kindred wings ; But as they stood in the crystal light, The plumes of the rich man grew less bright. The angels knew by that shadowy sign That the poor man's work had been most diving And they brought the unerring scales to sec Where the rich man's falling off could be. 96 ELOCUTION. G. Full many deeds did the angels weigh, But the balance kept an oven sway. And at last the church endowment laid With its thousands promised and thousands paid, With the thanks of prelates by its side, In the stately words of pious pride ; And it weighed so much that the angels stood To see how the poor man could balance such good. 7. A cherub came and took his place By the empty scale, with a radiant grace, And he dropped the penny that had fed White starving lips with a crust of bread ; The church endowment went up with the beam, And the whisper of the great Supreme, As he beckoned the poor man to his throne, Was heard in this immortal tone: "Blessed are they who from great gain Give thousands with a reasoning brain, But holier still shall be his part Who gives one coin with a pitying heart I" III— LOSS OF THE CENTRAL AMERICA. 1. Behold the great ship, of whose stanchness there was not a c'oubt in full five hundred bosoms, that beat joy- ousiy, with a common but precious throb of expectancy, soon to be clasped to kindred bosoms at home. Behold that ship, overtaken by the swift speed of the tempest, and after three days of grand resistance to its wild scourgings, succumbing suddenly to its overmastering power. When the infuriated floods put out the great fires that glowed within her heart, and stopped the mighty pulsations of her machinery, hope of her rescue from destruction died within their souls. A night and a day they were relent- lessly tossed on the maddened waves, by the unabated fury of the storm. Many had with them great treasures from the mines — earned, at the cost of exile from the loved ones, to whom they were bearing back the coveted gold, which was to transmute poverty into luxury and pain into delight. NARRATIVE. 97 2. Behold those delvers in the mines — making them- selves ready for the inevitable hand-to-hand battle -with the billows ! How few think of their treasures ! The gold gleams vainly on their sight. Its precious accretions through months of toil are forgotten, or despised in the paralysi? of hope, or in the transport of terror. The frail floor that q'dvers between living men and the hungry jaws of death, is sown deep with golden grains, that in another hour than this of shipwreck would have seemed, to now lusterless eyes, to infold vast harvests of happiness. 3. The awful horror of the closing act of this tragedy is mitigated by the blessed deliverance of all the women and children, and some of the brave men upon the doomed ship. When night descended upon the sea. and vailed the great death-scene with her black shroud, the helpless ship sud- denly hid her desolation from mortal eyes, beneath the wild waves; but among the four hundred victims whom she de- spairingly surrendered to the arms of her conqueror, there was not one woman — not one child. The shriek of agony that broke from the lips of the sinking multitude had no piercing treble note in its sepulchral diapason. It was the deep death-cry of men, of brave-hearted men alone. 4. But I forbear. The sorrow of that scene is too awful for words. When the agony ceased upon the sea it was only to break forth afresh upon the land. Who shall measure it? Who shall trace its tear-stained path over this continent? Who shall count the broken hearts and ruined hopes of this dread ravage? None but God. None but He who let the tempest loose that made the ship its prey; none but He who alone can bind up the bleeding hearts, and inspire with brighter hopes those whose hopes on earth this woe lias blighted; none but He of whom not one of us all dares to ask the question, — 'What doest Thou?' none but He to whom every stricken victim of the calamity we deplore may say with reverent lips — 'Even so, Father, for thus it seemeth good in Thy sight.' richards. Kipd — 9 98 ELOCUTION. IV.— THE PASS OP DEATH. 1. It was a narrow pass, Watered with human tears, For Death had kept the outer gate Almost six thousand years ; And the ceaseless tread of a world's feet Was ever in my ears — Thronging, jostling, hurrying by, As if they were only born to die. 2. A stately king drew near, This narrow pass to tread, Around him hung a gorgeous robe, And a crown was on his head ; But Death, with a look of withering scorn, Arrested him and said : " In humbler dress must the king draw near, For the crown and the purple are useless here.** 3. Next came a man of wealth, And his eye was proud and bold, And he bore in his hand a lengthy scroll, Telling of sums untold; But Death, who careth not for rank, Careth as little for gold : " Here that scroll I can not allow, For the gold of the richest is powerless now." 4. Another followed fast, And a book was in his hand, Filled with the flashes of burning thought That are known in many a land ; But the child of genius quailed to hear Death's pitiless demand : " Here that book can not enter with thee, For the bright flash of genius is nothing to me " 5. Next came a maiden fair, With that eye so deeply bright, That stirs within you strange sweet care, Should you meet on a summer night; But death, ere the gentle maid passed through, Snatched away its light : " Beauty is power in the world/' he saith, "But what can it do in the Pass of Death?" NARRATIVE. 99 6. A youth of sickly mien Followed in thoughtful mood, Whose heart was filled with love to God And the early brotherhood; Death felt he could not quench the heart That lived for others' good : "I own," cried he, "the power of love, I must let it pass to the realms above I" V.— THE BLACKSMITH OF RAGENBACH. 1. In the principality of Hohenlohe, now a part of tLe sixty years or more Since the happy hour when I began To heap up the glittering store ; And wellJiave I sped with my anxious toil, As my crowded chest will show ; I've more than would ransom a kingdom's spoil, Or an emperor could bestow." 7. He turned to an old worm-eaten chest, And cautiously raised the lid, And then it shone like the clouds of the west, With the sun in their splendor hid; And gem after gem, in precious store, Are raised with exulting smile ; And he counted and counted them o'er and o'er. In many a glittering pile. i04 ELOCUTION. 8. Why comes the flush to his pallid brow, While his eyes like his diamonds shine? Why writhes he thus in such torture now? What was there in the wine? He strove his lonely seat to gain ; To crawl to his nest he tried ; But finding his efforts were all in vain, He clasped his gold, and — died. CUTTER. VIII. -AN INCIDENT OF OCEAN LIFE. 1. Our noble ship lay at anchor in the Bay of Tangier, a fortified town in the extreme northwest of Africa. The day had been extremely mild, with a gentle breeze sweep- ing to the northward and westward; but toward the close of the afternoon the sea-breeze died away, and one of those sultry, oven-like atmospheric breathings came from the great sun-burnt Sahara. Half an hour before sundown the captain gave the cheering order for the boatswain to call the hands to go in swimming, and in less than five minutes the forms of our tars were seen leaping from the arms of the lower yards. 2. One of the studding sails had been lowered into the water, with its corners suspended from the mam yard-arm and the swinging boom, and into this most of the swimmers made their way. Among those who seemed to be enjoying the sport most heartily, were two of the boys, Tim. Wallace and Fred. Fairbanks, the latter of whom was the son of our old gunner, and in a laughing mood they started out from the studding sail on a race. There was a loud ringing shout of joy on their lips as they put off, and they darted through the water like fishes. The surface of the sea vas smooth as glass, though its bosom rose in long heavy swells that set in from the Atlantic. 3. The vessel was moored with a long sweep from both cables, and the buoy of the starboard anchor was far away on the starboard quarter, where it rose and fell with the lazy^ swells, like a drunken man. Toward this buoy the twoJJ lads made their way, Fred. Fairbanks taking the lead; but NARRATIVE. 105 when they were within about twenty or thirty fathoms of the buoy, Tim shot ahead and promised to win the race. The old gunner watched the progress of his little son with a great degree of pride, and when he saw him drop behind, he leaped upon the quarter-deck, and was just upon the point of urging him on by a shout, when a cry reached his ear that made him start as if he had been struck with a cannon-ball. 4. "A shark! a shark!" came forth from the captain of the forecastle, and at the sound of these terrible words the men who were in the water leaped and plunged toward the ship. Right abeam, at the distance of three or four cable lengths, a sharp wake was seen in the water, where the back of the monster was visible. His course was for the boys. For a moment, the gunner stood like one bereft of sense, but on the next, he shouted at the top of his voice, for the boys to turn; but the little fellows heard him not — stoutly the two swimmers strove for the goal, all uncon- scious of the bloody death-spirit that hovered so near them. Their merry laugh still rang over the waters, and at length they both touched the buoy together. IX. — AN INCIDENT OF OCEAN LIFE.— Concluded. 1. 0, what drops of agony started from the brow of the gunner! A boat had put off, but Fairbanks knew that it could not reach the boys in season, and every moment he expected to see the monster sink from sight — then he knew that all hope w r ould be gone. At this moment a cry reached the ship, that went through every heart like a stream of fire — the boys had discovered their enemy ! 2. The cry started old Fairbanks to bis senses, and quicker than thought he sprang from the quarter-deck. The guns were all loaded and shotted, fore and aft, and none knew their temper better than he. "With steady hand, made strong by sudden hope, the old gunner seized a priming- ,wire and picked the cartridge of one of the quarter guns; 'then he took from his pocket a percussion wafer and set it in its place, and set baok the hammer of the patent look 106 ELOCUTION. With a giant strength the old man swayed the breech of the heavy gun to its bearing, and then seizing the string of the lock, he stood back and watched for the next swell that would bring the shark in range. He had aimed the piece some distance ahead of his mark, but yet a little moment would settle his hopes and fears. 3. Every breath was bushed, and every heart in that old ship beat painfully. The boat was yet some distance from the boys, while the horrid sea-monster was fearfully near. Suddenly the air was awoke by the roar of the heavy gun, and as the old man knew his shot was gone, he sank back upon the combing of the hatch and covered his face with his hands, as if afraid to see the result of his own efforts; for if he had failed, he knew that his boy was lost. For a moment after the report of the gun had died away upon the air, there was a dead silence, but as the dense smoke arose from the surface of the water, there was at first a low murmur breaking from the lips of the men — that murmur grew louder and stronger, till it swelled to a joyous, deafening shout. 4. The old gunner sprang to his feet and gazed off on the water, and the first thing that met his view was the huge carcass of the shark, floating with his white belly up — a mangled, lifeless mass. In a few moments the boat reached the daring swimmers, and, half dead with fright, they were brought on board. The old man clasped his boy in his arms, and then, overcome by the powerful excitement, he leaned upon a gun for support. I have seen men in all the phases of excitement and suspense, but never have I seen three human beings more overcome by thrilling emotions, than on that startling moment when they first knew the effect of our gunner's shot. X. -HASSAN, OR THE CAMEL-DRIVER. 1. In silent horror o'er the boundless waste The driver Hassan with his camels past : One cruise of water on his back he bore, And his light scrip contained a scanty store : NARRATIVE. 107 A fan of painted feathers in his hand, To guard his shaded face from scorching sand. The sultry sun had gained the middle sky, And not a tree and not an herb was nigh: The beasts, with pain, their dusty way pursue, Shrill roared the winds, and dreary was the view ! With desperate sorrow wild, th' affrighted man Thrice sighed, thrice struck his breast, and thus began: " Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day, When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way ! 2. "Ah! little thought I of the blasting wind, The thirst, or pinching hunger, that I find! Bethink thee, Hassan, where shall thirst assuage. When fails this cruse, his unrelenting rage ? Soon shall this scrip its precious load resign ; Then what but tears and hunger shall be thine? 3. " Ye mute companions of my toil, that bear In all my griefs a more than equal share ! Here, where no springs in murmurs break away, Or moss-crowned fountains mitigate the day, In vain ye hope the green delights to know, Which plains more blest, or verdant vales bestow: Here rocks alone, and ceaseless sands are found, And faint and sickly winds forever howl around. Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day, When first from Sehiraz' walls I bent my way ! 4. " Cursed be the gold and silver which persuade Weak men to follow far fatiguing trade! The lily peace outshines the silver store, And life is dearer than the golden ore : Yet money tempts us o'er the desert brown, To every distant mart and wealthy town. Why heed we not, while, mad, we haste along, The gentle voice of peace, or pleasure's song? Or wherefore think the flowery mountain's side, The fountain's murmur, and the valley's pride, — Why think we these less pleasing to behold Than dreary deserts, if they lead to gold ? Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day, When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way ! 108 ELOCUTION. 5. " cease, my fears ! — all frantic ns I go, When thought creates unnumbered scenes cf wo. What if the lion in his rage I meet ! Oft in the dust I vieAv his printed feet: And, fearful ! oft, when day's declining light Yields her pale empire to the mourner night, By hanger roused, he scours the groaning plain, Gaunt wolves and sullen tigers in his train: Before them, death with shrieks directs their way, Fills the wild yell, and leads them to their prey. Sad was the hour and luckless was the day, When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way ! C. "At that dread hour, the silent asp shall creep, If aught of rest I find, upon my sleep : Or some swoln serpent twist his scales around And wake to anguish with a burning wound. Thrice happy they, the wise contented poor, From lust of wealth, and dread of death secure ! They tempt no deserts, and no griefs they find: Peace rules the day, where reason rules the mind. Sad was the hour and luckless was the day, When first from Schiraz' walls I bent my way ! 7. "0, hapless youth, for she thy love hath won, The tender Zara will be most undone ! Big swelled my heart, and owned the powerful maid, "When fast she dropt her tears, as thus she said : — ' Farewell the youth whom sighs could not detain, Whom Zara's breaking heart implored in vain! Yet, as thou go'st, may every blast arise Weak and unfelt as these rejected sighs I Safe o'er the wild, no perils may'st thou see, No griefs endure, nor weep, false youth, like me.' ! let me safely to the fair return, Say with a kiss, she must not, shall not mourn ; ! let me teach my heart to lose its fears, Recalled by wisdom's voice, and Zara's tears." 8. He said, and called on Heaven to bless the day, When back to Schiraz' walls he bent his way. COLLINS NARRATIVE. 1UU XL- FORTY YEARS AGO. 1. I've wandered to the village, Turn, I've sat beneath the tree, Upon the school-house play-ground, That sheltered 3*0 u and me ; But none were left to greet me, Tom, And few were left to know, Who played with us upon the green, Just forty years ago. 2. The grass was just as green, Tom, Barefooted boys at play Were sporting, just as we did then, With spirits just as gay. But the master sleeps upon the hill, Which, coated o'er with snow, Afforded us a sliding-place, Some forty years agOc 5. The old school-house is altered some ; The benches are replaced By new ones, very like the same Our jack-knives had defaced. But the same old bricks are in the wall, And the bell swings to and fro, Its music 's just the same, dear Tom, 'Twas forty years ago. 4. The spring that bubbled 'neath the hill, Close by the spreading beech, Is very low ; 'twas once so high That we could scarcely reach ; And kneeling down to take a drink. Dear Tom, I started so, To think how very much I've changed Since forty years ago. 5. Near by that spring, upon an elm, You know I cut your name, Your sweetheart's just beneath it, Tom, And you did mine the same. Some heartless wretch has peeled the bark; 'Twas dying sure, but slow, Just as she died whose name you cut There forty years ■ _ 10 ELOCUTION. 6. My lids have long been dry, Tom, But tears came in my eyes ; I thought of her I loved so well. Those early broken ties. I visited the old church-yard, And took some flowers to strow Upon the graves of those we loved Just forty years ago. 7. Some are in the church-yard laid, Some sleep beneath the sea; But none are left of our old class, Excepting you and me. And when our time shall come, Tom, And we are called to go, I hope we'll meet with those we loved Some forty years ago. XII.— THE FATAL FALSEHOOD. 1. Mrs. Opie, in her "Illustrations of Lying," gives, as an instance of what she terms " the lie of benevolence," the melancholy tale of which the following is the conclusion. — Vernon is a clergyman in Westmoreland, whose youngest son, at a distance from home, had, in a moment of passion, committed murder. The youth had been condemned and ex- ecuted for his crime. But his brothers had kept the cause and form of his death concealed from then father, and had informed him that their brother had been taken suddenly ill, and died on his road homeward. The father hears the aw- ful truth, under the following circumstances, when on a journey. 2. The coach stopped at an inn outside the city of York ; and, as Vernon was not disposed to eat any dinner, he strolled along the road, till he came to a small church, pleasantly situ- ated, and entered the church-yard to read, as was his custom, the inscriptions on the tombstones. While thus engaged, he saw a man filling up a new-made grave, and entered into con- versation with him. He found it was the sexton himself; and he drew from him several anecdotes of the persons in- terred around them. NARRATIVE. Ill 3. During their conversation they had walked over the whole of the ground, when, just as they were going to leave the spot, the sexton stopped to pluck some weeds from a grave near the corner of it, and Vernon stopped also ; tak- ing hold, as he did so, of a small willow sapling, planted near the corner by itself. 4. As the man rose from his occupation, and saw where Vernon stood, he smiled significantly, and said, "I planted that willow ; and it is on a grave, thougl the grave is not marked out." " Indeed ! " " Yes ; it is the grave of a murderer." " Of a murderer! " — echoed Vernon, instinctively shud- dering, and moving away from it. 5. "Yes," resumed he, "of a murderer who was hanged at York. Poor lad! — it was very right that he should be hanged ; but he was not a hardened villain Land he died so penitent ! and as I knew him when he used to visit where I was groom, I could not help planting this tree for old ac- quaintance' sake." — Here he drew his hand across his eyes. 6. " Then he was not a low-born man ? " " Oh ! no ; his father was a clergyman, I think." "Indeed! poor man: was he living at the time?" said Vernon, deeply sighing. " Oh ! yes ; for his poor son did fret so, lest his father should ever knew what he had done : he said he was an angel upon earth; and he could not bear to think how he would grieve ; for, poor lad, he loved his father and his mother too, though he did so badly." 7. " Is his mother living? " " No ; if she had, he would have been alive ; but his rvilj courses broke her heart; and it was because the man hei killed reproached him for having murdered his mother, thafi he was provoked to murder him." "Poor, rash, mistaken youth! then he had provocation?" " Oh ! yes ; the greatest : but he was very sorry for what he had done ; and it would have done your heart good t* hear him talk of his p)or father." 112 ELOCUTION. 8. "I am glad I did not hear him," said Vernon hastily, and in a faltering voice, (for he thought of Edgar.) "And yet, sir, it would have done youriieart good, too." " Then he had virtuous feelings, and loved his father, amidst all his errors?" "Aye." " And I dare say his father loved him, in spite of his faults." "I dare say he did," replied the man ; "for one's children are our own flesh and blood, you know, sir, after all that is said and done; and may be this young fellow was spoiled in the bringing up." 9. " Perhaps so," said Vernon, sighing deeply. " However, this poor lad made a very good end." " I am glad of that 1 and he lies here," continued Vernon, gazing on the spot with deeper interest, and moving nearer to it as he spoke. " Peace be to his soul ! but was he not dissected?" " Yes ; but his brothers got leave to have the body after dissection. They came to me, and we buried it privately at night." 10. " His brothers came ! and who were his brothers ? " " Merchants, in London; and it was a sad cut on them; but they took care that their father should not know it." " No ! " cried Vernon, turning sick at heart. " Oh ! no; they wrote him word that his son was ill; then went to Westmoreland, and — " " Tell me," interrupted Vernon, gasping for breath, and laying his hand on his arm, "tell me the name of this poor youth ! " 11. "Why, he was tried under a false name, for the sake of his family; but his real name was Edgar Vernon." The agonized parent drew back, shuddered violently and repeatedly, casting up his eyes to heaven, at the same time, with a look of mingled appeal and resignation. He then rushed to the obscure spot which covered the bones of his son, threw himself upon it, and stretched his arms over it, as if embracing the unconscious deposit beneath, while his head rested on the grass, and he neither spoke nor moved. But he uttered one groan ; — then all was stillness ! NARKATIVE. 113 12. His terrified and astonished companion remained mo- tionless for a few moments, — then stooped to raise him ; but the fiat OF MERCY had gone forth, and the paternal heart, broken by the sudden shock, had suffered, and breathed its last. MRS. OPIE. XIII.— THE CYNIC. 1. The Cynic is one who never sees a good quality in a man, and never fails to see a bad one. He is the human owl, vigilant in darkness and blind to light, mousing for ver- min, and never seeing noble game. 2. The Cynic puts all human actions into only two classes — openly bad, and secretly bad. All virtue, and generosity, and disinterestedness, are merely the ctppcarance of good, but selfish at the bottom. He holds that no man does a good thing except for profit. The effect of his conversation upon your feelings is to chill and sear them; to send you away sour and morose. 3. His criticisms and innuendoes fall indiscriminately upon every lovely thing, like frost upon the flowers. If Mr. A is pronounced a religious man, he will reply: yes, on Sundays. Mr. B has just joined the church: certainly ; the elections are coming on. The minister of the gospel is called an example of diligence : it is his trade. Such a man is generous : of other mens money. This man is obliging : to lull suspicion and cheat yon. That man is upright : because he is green. 4. Thus his eye strains out every good quality, and takes in only the bad. To him religion is hypocrisy, honesty a preparation for fraud, virtue only a want of opportunity, and undeniable purity, asceticism. The livelong day he will coolly sit with sneering lip, transfixing every character that is presented. 5. It is impossible to indulge in such habitual severity of opinion upon our fellow-men, without injuring the tenderness and delicacy of our own feelings. A man will be what his most cherished feelings are. If he encourage a noble gene- rosity, every feeling will be enriched by it : if he nurse bit- ter and envenomed thoughts, his own spirit will absorb the Kmr>.— K» 114 ELOCUTION. poison, and lie will crawl among men as a burnished adder : whose life is mischief, and whose errand is death. 6. He who hunts for flowers, will find flowers; and he who loves weeds, may find weeds. Let it be remembered that nc man, who is not himself mortally diseased, will have a relish for disease in others. Keject then the morbid ambition of the Cynic, or cease to call yourself a man. H. W. BEECHER. XIV.— THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 1. Stop ! — for thy tread is on an empire's dust ! An earthquake's spoil is sepulchred below ! Is the spot marked with no colossal bust ? Nor column, trophied for triumphal show? None : but the moral's truth tells simpler so As the ground was before, thus let it be. — How that red rain hath made the harvest grow ! And is this all the world has gained by thee, Thou first and last of fields ! king-making victory ? 2. There was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium's capital had gathered then Her Beauty and her Chivalry : and bright The lamps shone o'er iklr women and brave men ; A thousand hearts beat happily ; and when Music arose, with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage bell ; — But hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell ! 3. Did ye not hear it? — No ; — 'twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street : On with the dance ! let joy be unconfined ; No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet To chase the glowing hours with flying feet — But hark ! — that heavy sound breaks in once more. As if the clouds its echo would repeat ; And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before ! Ann! arm ! it is! — it is! — the cannon's opening roar! 4. Within a windowed niche of that high hall Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain ; he did hear NARRATIVE. 115 That sound the first amidst the festival, And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear ; And when they smiled because he deemed it near, His heart more truly knew that peal too well Which stretched his father on a bloody bier, And roused the vengeance blood alone could quiell : He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell ! 5. Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness ; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs "Which ne'er might be repeated ; who could guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise? 6. And there was mounting in hot haste ; the steed, The mustering squadron, and the cluttering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed. And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder, peal on peal, afar ; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning star ; While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering with white lips, " The foe ! they come, they come !' 7. And wild and high the " Cameron's gathering" rose I The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills Have heard — and heard too have her Saxon foes : — How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, Savage and shrill ! But with the breath which fills Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers With the fierce native daring, which instills The stirring memory of a thousand years ; A.nd Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears* 8 A.nd Ardennes waves above them her green leaves. Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass, Grieving — if aught inanimate e'er grieves — Over the unretuming brave — alas ! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass, L16 ELOCUTION. Which now beneath them, but above shall grow In its next verdure ; when this fiery mass Of living valor, rolling on the foe, And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low 1 9. Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay ; The midnight brought the signal sound of strife ; The morn the marshaling in arms ; the day Battle's magnificently stern array ! The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which, when rent, The earth is eovered thick with other clay, Which her own clay shall cover — heaped and pent, Rider and horse — friend, foe — in one red burial blent ! BYRON. XV.— VARIETIES IN PROSE. 1. — A TRUE LADY. " I can not forbear pointing out to you, my dearest child," said Lord Collingwood to his daughter, "the great advan- tages that will result from a temperate conduct and sweet- ness of manner to all people on all occasions. Never forget that you are a gentlewoman, and that all your words and actions should prove you gentle. I never heard your mother — your clear, good mother — say a harsh or hasty thing to any person in my life. Endeavor to imitate her. I am quick and hasty in my temper, but, my darling, it is a misfortune which, not having been sufficiently restrained in my youth, has caused me inexpressible pain. It has given me more trouble to subdue this impetuosity than anything I ever undertook. 2. — THE ZENAIDA DOVE. 1. Mr. Audubon, in his valuable work on American Orni- thology, relates an anecdote illustrative of the deep impres- sions liable to be made on the mind from hearing the cooing of the Zenaida Dove, a pigeon which frequents the small islands in the Gulf of Florida. " The cooing of the Zenaida Dove," soys he, "is so peculiar, that one who hears it for the first time naturally stops to ask, 'What bird is that?' NARRATIVE. 117 2. "A man, who was once a pirate, assured me, that sev- eral times, while at certain wells, dug in the burning, shelly sands of a well-known island, the soft and melancholy cry of the doves awoke in his breast feelings which had long slumbered, melted his heart to repentance, and caused him to linger at the spot in a state of mind, which he only, who joinpares the wretchedness of guilt within him with the hap- piness of former innocence, can truly feel. 3. " He said he never left the place without increased fears of futurity, associated as he was, although I believe by force, with a band of the most desperate villains that ever annoyed the navigation of the Florida coast. So deeply moved was he by the notes of any bird, and especially those of a dove, the only soothing sounds he ever heard during his life of horrors, that, through those plaintive notes, and them alone, he was induced to escape from his vessel, abandon his turbulent companions, and return to a family deploring his absence. 4. "After paying a parting visit to those wells, and listen- ing once more to the cooings of the Zenaida Dove, he poured out his soul in supplications for mercy, and once more be- came what is said to be 'the noblest work of God,' an honest man. His escape was effected amidst difficulties and dangers ; but no danger seemed to him to be compared with the dan- ger of one living in the violation of human and divine laws; and now he lives in peace, in the midst of his friends." AUDUBON. 3. — WHAT HOPE DID. It stole on its pinions of snow to the bed of disease ; and the sufferer's frown became a smile, the emblem of peace and endurance. It went to the house of mourning— and from the lips of sorrow there came sweet and cheerful songs. It laid its head upon the arm of the poor man, which was stretched forth at the command of unholy impulses, and saved him from disgrace and ruin. It dwelt like a living thing in the bosom of the mother, whose son tarried long after the prom- ised time of his coming ; and saved her from desolation, and the "care that killeth." It hovered about the head of the 118 ELOCUTION. youth who had become the Ishmael of society ; and led him on to works which even his enemies praised. It snatched the maiden from the jaws of death, and went with an old man to Heaven. XVI.— POETICAL SELECTIONS. 1. THE LAST MINSTREL. 1. The way was long, the wind was cold, The minstrel was infirm and old ; His withered cheek, and tresses gray, Seemed to have known a better day : The harp, his sole remaining joy, Was carried by an orphan boy: The last of all the bards was he, Who sung of Border chivalry. For, well-a-day ! their date was fled, His tuneful brethren all were dead ; And he, neglected and oppressed, Wished to be with them, and at rest. 2. No more on prancing palfrey borne, He caroled, light as lark at morn : No longer courted and caressed, High placed in hall, a welcome guest, He poured to lord, and lady gay, The unpremeditated lay : Old times were changed, old manners "gone, A stranger filled the Stuarts' throne ; The bigots of the iron time, Had called his harmless art a crime. A wandering harper, scorned and poor, He begged his bread from door to door; And tuned to please a peasant's ear, The harp a king had loved to hear. soott 2. — THE LIGHT AT HOME. The Light at home! how bright it beams When evening shades around us fall ; And from the lattice far it gleams ; To love, and rest, and comfort nail NARRATIVE. 119 "When tired with the toils of day, The strife for glory, gold, or fame, How sweet to seek the quiet way, "Where loving lips will lisp our name, Around the Light at Home. 2 When through the dark and stormy night, The wayward wanderer homeward hies ; How cheering is that twinkling light, "Which through the forest gloom he spies ! It is the light at home, he feels That loving hearts will greet him there, And softly through his bosom steals, That joy and love which banish care, Around the Light at Home. 3. The Light at Home, whene'er at last, It greets the seaman through the storm. He feels no more the chilling blast That beats upon his manly form. Long years upon the sea have fled, Since Mary gave the parting kiss. But the sad tears which then she shed, Will now be paid with rapturous bliss, Around the Light at Home 4. The Light at Home! how still and sweet It peeps from yonder cottage door — The weary laborer to greet — When the rough toils of day are o'er. Sad is the soul that does not know The blessings that its beams impart, The cheerful hopes and joys that flow, And lighten up the heaviest heart, Around the Light at II01113. 3. — THE HAPPY WARRIOR. Who is the happy warrior? who is he, That every man in arms would wish to be? 'T is he who fixes good on good, and owes To virtue every triumph that he knows — Who, if he rise to station of command, Rises by open means, and there will stand On honorable terms, or else retire, And in himself possess his own desire — 120 ELOCUTION. Who therefore does not stoop or lie in wait For wealth, or honors, or for worldly state — Whom they must follow — on whose head must fall, Like showers of manna, if they come at all — Who, while the mortal mist is gathering, draws His breath in confidence of heaven's applause — This is the happy warrior — this is he, Whom every man in arms should wish to be. XVII.— DEATH OF MORRIS. 1. It was under the burning influence of revenge that the wife of Macgregor commanded that the hostage, exchanged for her husband's safety, should be brought into her presence. I believe her sons had kept this unfortunate wretch out of her sight, for fear of the consequences; but if it was so, their humane precaution only postponed his fate. They dragged forward, at her summons, a wretch, already half dead with terror, in whose agonized features, I recognized, to my hor- ror and astonishment, my old acquaintance Morris. 2. He fell prostrate before the female chief with an effort to clasp her knees, from which she drew back, as if his touch had been pollution, so that all he could do in token of the extremity of his humiliation, was to kiss the hem of her plaid. I never heard entreaties for life poured forth with such agony of spirit. The ecstasy of fear was such, that, instead of paralyzing his tongue, as on ordinary occasions, it even rendered him eloquent ; and, with checks as pale as ashes, hands compressed in agony, eyes that seemed to be taking their last look of all mortal objects, he protested, with the deepest oaths, his total ignorance of any design on the life of Hob Hoy, whom he swore he loved and honored as his own soul. In the inconsistency of his terror, he said, he was but the agent of others, and he muttered the name of Rash- leigh. — He prayed but for life — for life he would give all he had in the world; — it was but life he asked — life, if it were to be prolonged under tortures and privations; — he asked only breath, though it should be drawn in the damps of the lowest caverns of their hills. 3. It is impossible to describe the scorn, the loathing, and NAKKATIVE. 121 contempt, with which the wife of Macgregor regardi d this wretched petitioner for the poor boon of existence. "I could have bid you live," she said, "had life been to you the same weary and wasting burden that it is to me — that it is to every noble and generous mind. — But you — wretch! you could creep through the world unaffected by its various disgraces, its ineffable miseries, its constantly accumulating masses of crime and sorrow. — you could live and enjoy your- self, while the noble-minded are betrayed, — while nameless and birthless villains tread on the neck of the brave and long descended, — you could enjoy yourself, like a butcher's dog in the shambles, battening on garbage, while the slaughter of the brave went on around you! This enjoyment you shall not live to partake; you shall die, base dog, and that before yon cloud has passed over the sun." 4. She gave a brief command, in Gaelic, to her attendants, two of whom seized upon the prostrate suppliant, and hur- ried him to the brink of a cliff which overhung the flood. He set up the most piercing and dreadful cries that fear ever uttered — I may well term them dreadful ; for they haunted my sleep for years afterward. As the murderers, or executioners, call them as you will, dragged him along, he recognized me, even in that moment of honor, and ex- claimed, in the last articulate words I ever heard him utter, " 0, Mr. Osbaldistone, save me ! — save me ! " 5. I was so much moved by this horrid spectacle, that, although in momentary expectation of sharing his fate, I did attempt to speak in his behalf, but, as might have been ex- pected, my interference was sternly disregarded. The victim was held fast by some, while others, binding a large, heavy stone in a plaid, tied it round his neck, and others again eagerly stripped him of some part of his dress. Half naked, and thus manacled, they hurried him into the lake, there, about twelve feet deep, drowning his last death-shriek with j loud halloo of vindictive triumph, over which, however, the yell of mortal agony was distinctly heard. G. The heavy burden splashed in the dark-blue waters of the lake ; and the Highlanders, with their pole-axes and swords, watched an instant, to guard, lest, extricating him- Kidix — 11 122 ELOCUTION. Felf from the load to which he was attached, he might have struggled to regain the shore. But the knot had been se- curely bound ; the victim sunk without effort ; the waters, which his fall had disturbed, settled calmly over him ; and the unit of that life for which he had pleaded so strongly, was forever withdrawn from the sum of human existence. SCOTT. XVIII.— POOR LITTLE JIM. 1. The cottage was a thatched one, the outside old and mean, But all within that little cot was wondrous neat and clean ; The night was dark and stormy, the wind was howling wild, As a patient mother sat beside the death-bed of her child : A little worn-out creature, his once bright eyes grown dim : It was a collier's wife and child, they called him little Jim. 2. And oh ! to see the briny tears fast hurrying down her cheek, As she offered up the prayer, in thought, she was afraid to speak, Lest she might waken one she loved fir better than her life ; For she had all a mother's heart, had that poor collier's wife. With hands uplifted, see, she kneels beside the sufferer's bed, And prays that He would spare her boy, and take herself instead, 3. She gets her answer from the child: soft fall the words from him " Mother, the angels do so smile, and beckon little Jim, I have no pain, dear mother, now, but ! I am so dry, Just moisten poor Jim's lips again, and, mother, don't you cry." With gentle, trembling haste she held the liquid to his lip ; He smiled to thank her, as he took each little, tiny sip. 4. " Tell father, when he comes from work, I said good-night to him And, mother, now I'll go to sleep." Alas! poor little Jim ! She knew that he was dying ; that the child she loved so dear, Had uttered the last words she might ever hope to hear: The cottage door is opened, the collier's step is heard, The father and the mother meet, yet neither speak a word. 5. H< felt that all was over, he knew his child was dead, lis tcnk the candle in his hand and walked toward the bed; His quivering lips gave token of the grief he'd fain conceal, And see, his wife has joined him — the stricken couple kneel : With hearts bowed down by sadness, they humbly ask of Him, In heaven once more to meet again their own poor little Jim. NARRATIVE. 123 XIX.— THE SUNSET OF BATTLE. 1. The shadows of evening are thickening. Twilight closes, and the thin mists are rising in the valley. The last charging squadron yet thunders in the distance ; but it presses only on the foiled and scattered foe. For this Jay the fight is over! And those who rode foremost in its held at morning — where are they now? On the bank of yon little stream, there lies a knight, his life-blood is ebbing faster than its tide. His shield is rent, and his lance is bro- ken. Soldier, why faintest thou ? The blood that swells from that deep wound will answer. 2. It was this morning that the sun rose bright upon his hopes— it sets upon his grave. This day he led the foremost rank of spears, that in their long row leveled when they had crossed their foe's dark line — then death shouted in the on- set ! It was the last blow that reached him. He has con- quered, though he shall not triumph in the victory. His breastplate is dinted. His helmet has the traces of well- dealt blows. The scarf on his breast — she would shrink but to touch it now who placed it there. Soldier, what will thy mistress say? She will say that the knight died worthily. 3. Aye, rouse thee, for the fight yet charges in the dis- tance ! Thy friends are shouting — thy pennon floats on high. Look on yon crimsoned field that seems to mock the purple clouds above it ! prostrate they lie, drenched in their dark red pool ; thy friends and enemies ; the dead and dy- ing ! The veteran, with the stripling of a day. The name- less trooper, and the leader of a hundred hosts. Friend lies by friend. The steed with his rider. And foes, linked in their long embrace — their first and last — the gripe of death. Far o'er the field they lie, a gorgeous prey to ruin ! White plume and steel morion ; saber and yataghan ; crescent and cross ; rich vest and bright corslet ; we came to the fight, as we had come to a feasting ; glorious and glittering, even in death, each shining warrior lies! 4. His last glance still seeks that Christian banner! The cry that shall never be repeated, cheers on its last charge. Oh, but for strength to reach the field once more I to die in 124 ELOCUTlo^. tlic foe's front! Peace, dreamer.' Thou hast done well Thy place in the close rank is filled ; and yet another waits for his who holds it. 5. Knight, hast thou yet a thought? bend it on TIcaven ! The past is gone; the future lies before thee. Gaze on yon gorgeous sky; thy home should be beyond it! Life, honor, love — they pass to Him that gave them. Pride, that came on like ocean's billows — see round thee how it lies mute and passive. The wealthy here arc poor, The high-born have no precedence. The strong are powerless ; the mean, con- tent. The fair and lovely have no followers. Soldier! she who sped thee on thy course to-day, her blue eyes shall seek thee in the conquering ranks to-morrow; but it shall seek thee in vain ! "Well ! thus it is thou shouldst have died ! — worth all to live for. Wouldst thou be base to have thy death a blessing? Proud necks shall mourn for thee. Bright eyes shall weep for thee. They that live envy thee. Death ! glory takes out thy sting ! 6. Warrior ! aye, the stream of that rill flows cool ; but thy lip no more shall taste it. The moonlight that silvers its white foam, shall glitter on thy corslet, when thy eye is closed and dim. Lo ! now the night is coming. The mist is gathering on the hill. The fox steals forth to seek his quarry, and the gray owl sweeps whirling by, rejoicing in the stillness. Oh, soldier! how sweetly sounds thy lady's lute! how fragrant are the dew-sprinkled flowers that twine round the easement from which she leans ! that lute shall enchant thee, those flowers shall delight thee — no more ! 7. One other charge ! Soldier, it may not be. To thy saint and thy lady commend thee! Hark to the low trum- pet that sounds the recall ! Hark to its long note ; sweet is that sound in the ears of the spent and routed foe ! The victor hears it not. When the breath rose that blew that note, he lived; its peal has rung, and his spirit has departed. Heath! thou shouldst be the soldier's pillow! Moon, let thy cold light this night fall upon him! But, morning, thy soft dews shall tempt him not! the soldier must wake no more. He sleeps the sleep of honor. His cause was his country's freedom, and her faith. He is dead ! The cross of a Chris- NARRATIVE. 125 tian knight is on his breast; his lips are pressed to his lady's token. Soldier, farewell ! XX.— POETICAL SELECTIONS. 1. — ABSALOM BESS. 1. A benevolent man was Absalom Bess, — At each and every tale of distress lie blazed right up like a rocket; lie felt for all who 'neath poverty's smart Were doomed to bear life's roughest part, — lie felt for them in his inmost heart, But never felt in his pocket. 2. lie did n't know rightly what was meant By the Bible's promised four hundred per cent., For charity's donation; But he acted as if he thought railroad stocks. And bonds secure beneath earthly locks, "Were better, with pockets brim full of rocks, Than heavenly speculation. 3. Yet all said he was an excellent man ; For the poor he'd preach, for the poor he'd plan,— To better them he was willing; But the oldest one who had heard him pray, And preach for the poor in a pitiful way, Could n't remember, exactly, to say He had ever given a shilling. 4. 0, an excellent man was Absalom Bess, And the world threw up its hands fr» bless, "Whenever his name was mentioned ; But he died one day, he did, and ! He went right down to the shades below, Where all are bound, I ftfar, to go, Who are only good intentioned. SU I LIBBER 2. — FAMINE. 0, the long and dreary winter! 0, the cold and cruel winter! Ever thicker, thicker, thicker, Froze the ice on lake and river 12C ELOCUTION. Ever deeper, deeper, deeper, Fell the soft snow o'er the landscape, Fell the covering snow and drifted Through the forest, round the village. 2. Hardly from his buried wigwam Could the hunter force a passage ; With his mittens and his snow-shoes, Vainly walked he through the forest, Sought for beast or bird and found none, Saw no track of deer or rabbit, In the snow beheld no foot-prints, In the ghastly, gleaming forest Fell, and could not rise from weakness, Perished there from cold and hunger. 3 0, the famine and the fever ! 0, the wasting of the famine ! 0, the blasting of the fever ! 0, the wailing of the children ! 0, the anguish of the women ! All the earth was sick and famished, Hungry was the air around them. Hungry was the sky above them, And the hungry stars in heaven Like the eyes of wolves glared at them. LONGFELLOW. XXI.— ANECDOTES. 1. — VERY SUGGESTIVE. A clergyman, preaching a sermon on some particular pa- triarch, was extremely high in his panegyric, and spoke of him as far excelling every saint in the calendar. He took a view of the celestial hierarchy, but in vain; he could not assign to his saint a place worthy so many virtues as he pos- sessed ; every sentence ended thus: "Where, then, can we place this great patriarch?" One of the congregation, tired at last of the repetition, exclaimed, "As I am going away, you may put him in my pew." NARRATIVE. 127 2. — FIRST EXPERIENCE. 1. A VERY intelligent Irishman tells the following inci- dent of his experience in America: I came to this country several years ago, and, as soon as I arrived, hired out to a gentleman who farmed a few acres. He showed me over the premises, the stables, the cow, and where the corn, hay, oats, etc., were kept, and then sent me in to my supper. After supper, he said to me: "James, you may feed the cow, and give her corn in the ear." I went out and walked about, thinking, "what could he mean? Had I understood him?" I scratched my head, then resolved I would inquire again ; so I went into the library where my master was writing very busily, and he answered without looking up : "I thought 1 told you to give the cow some corn in the ear.'''' 2. I went out more puzzled than ever. What sort of an animal must this Yankee cow be? I examined her mouth and ears. The teeth were good, and the ears like those of kine in the old country. Dripping with sweat, I entered my master's presence once more. " Please, sir, you bid me give the cow some corn in the ear, but did n't you mean the mouth?" He looked at me a moment, and then burst into such a convulsion of laughter, that I made for the stable as fast as my feet could take me, thinking I was in the service of a crazy man. 3. EASY TO MAKE SERMONS. 1 . " It amazes me that ministers do n't write better sermons ; 1 am sick of the dull, prosy affairs," said a lady in the pres- ence of Dr. Nesbit. " But it is no easy matter, my good woman, to write good sermons," suggested the Doctor. "Yes." rejoined the lady, "but you are so long about it. I could write one in half the time if I only had the text." •'0, if a text is all you want," said Dr. Nesbit, "I will fur- nish that. Take this one from Solomon : 'It is better to dwell in a corner of a house top. than in a wide house, will a brawling woman.'" "Do you mean me, sir?" inquired the lady quickly. " 0, my good woman," was the response, "you will never make a sermonizer ; you are too quick in making your application." 128 ELOCUTION. 4. THE FORCE OF IMAGINATION. 1 Buckland, the distinguished geologist, one day, aftei dissecting a Mississippi alligator, asked a good many of the most distinguished of his class to dine with him. His guests congregated. The dinner-table looked splendid, with glass, china, and plate, and the meal commenced with excellent &oup. "How do you like the soup?" asked the doctor, after \ having finished his own plate, addressing a famous gour- mand of the day. "Very good, indeed," answered the other; " turtle, is it not — I only ask because I find no green fat?" The doctor shook his head. " I think it has something of a musky taste," said another, "not unpleasant, but peculiar." 2. "All alligators have," replied Buckland, "the cayman particularly so. The fellow whom I dissected this morning, and whom you have just been eating " There was a general rout of the whole guests. Every one turned pale. Half-a-dozen started up from the table. Two or three ran out of the room ; and only two, who had stout stomachs, re- mained till the close of an excellent entertainment. " See what imagination can do ! " said Buckland. " If I had told them it was turtle, or terrapin, or birds'-nest soup, they would have pronounced it excellent. Such is prejudice." " But was it really an alligator ? " asked a lady. " As good a calf's head as ever wore a coronet," answered Buckland. XXII.— POETICAL SELECTIONS. 1.— THE STREET WAS A RUIN. I. The street was a ruin, and night's horrid" glare Illumined with terror the face of despair, While houseless, bewailing, Mute pity assailing, A mother's wild shrieks pierced the merciless air Beside her stood Edward, imploring each wind To wake his loved sister, who lingered behind. Awake, my poor Mary ! Oh! fly to me, Mary! In the arms of your Edward a pillow vou'll find. NARRATIVE. 129 2. In vain he called, for now the volumed smoke, Crackling between the rafters, broke ; Through the rent seams the forked flames aspire, All, all is lost — the roofs on fire! the roof's on fire! A flash from the window brought Mary to view, She screamed as around her the flames fiercely blew, Where art thou, mother ! Oh ! fly to me, brother ! Ah ! save your poor Mary, who lives but for you ■ Leave not poor Mary ! Ah ! save your poor Mary ! 3. Her visioned form descrying, On wings of horror flying, The youth directs his frantic gaze, Then plunges in the maddening blaze! Aloft he dauntless soars, The flaming room explores; The roof in cinders crushes, Through tumbling walls he rushes! She's safe from fear's alarms: She faints in Edward's arms ! 0! nature, such thy triumphs are, Thy simplest child can bravely dare. R. TREAT PAINE. 2. — ENVY. Every thing contains within itself The seeds and sources of its own corruption ; The cankering rust corrodes the brightest steel : The moth frets out your garment, and the worm Eats its slow way into the solid oak : But envy, of all evil things the worst, The same to-day, to-morrow, and forever, Saps and consumes the heart in which it works. 3. — THE LIGHT-IIOTJSE. I. The scene was more beautiful far to my eye, Than if day in its pride had arrayed it: The land-breeze blew mild, and the azure-arched sky Looked pure as the spirit that made it: The murmur rose soft, as I silently gazed On the shadow)- waves' playful motion, From the dim distant hill, 'till the light-house fire blazed Like a star in the midst of the ocean. 30 ELOCUTION. 2. No longer the joy of the sailor-boy's breast Was heard in his wildly-breathed numbers ; The sea-bird had flown to her wave-girdled nest, The fisherman sunk to his slumbers : One moment I looked from the hill's gentle slope, All hushed was the billows' commotion, And o'er them the light-house looked lovely as hope, That star of life's tremulous ocean. 3. The time is long past, and the scene is afar, ^et, when my head rests on its pillow, Will memory sometimes rekindle the star That blazed on the breast of the billow : In life's closing hour, when the trembling soul flies, And death stills the heart's last emotion ; 0, then may the seraph of mercy arise, Like a star on eternity's ocean ! moore. XXIIL— FALSE WITNESS DETECTED. 1. "Do you entertain any ill-will toward the prisoner?'' asked Therese's counsel of the attendant. " None," said the witness. 4t Have you ever quarreled with her ? " "No." 2. "Do you truly believe that she deposited the jewel in her trunk? " I do not like to think ill of any one." "That is not an answer to my question : — do you believe that she put it there?" " How else could it have come there ?" "Answer me, Yes or No," said the advocate. "Do you believe that Therese secreted the jewel in her trunk? Yes or No?" " Yes ! " at last faltered out the attendant. 3. "Now,. my girl," continued the advocate, "pay heed to what you say ; remember you are upon your oath ! WL1 you swear that you did not put it there yourself?" There was a pause and a profound silence. After about a minute bad elapsed, "Well," said the advocate. Another pause; while, in an assembly where hundreds of human hearts NARRATIVE. 131 were throbbing, not an individual stirred, or even appeared to breathe, such was the pitch of intensity to which the sus- pense of the court was wound up. -i. "Well," said the advocate, a second time; will you answer me? "Will you swear, that you yourself did not put the jewel into Therese's trunk?" *'I will! " at last said the attendant, boldly. " You swear it? " "I do." •'And why did you not answer me at once?" II I do not like such questions to be put to me," replied the attendant. 5. For a moment the advocate was silent. A feeling of disappointment seemed to pervade the whole court; now and then a half-suppressed sigh was heard, and here and there a handkerchief was lifted to an eye, which was no sooner wiped than it was turned again upon Therese with an ex- pression of the most lively commiseration. The maid her- self was the only individual who appeared perfectly at her jase; even the baroness looked as if her firmness was on the x)int of giving way, as she drew closer to Therese, round whose waist she now had passed her arm. G ;i You have done with the witness ? " said the advocate for the prosecution. '•No," replied the other, and reflected for a moment or two longer. At length, "Have you any keys of your own?" said he. " I have ! " II I know you have," said the advocate. "Are they about you?" "Yes." " Is not one of them broken ? " After a pause, " Yes." 7. " Show them to me." The witness, after searching some time in her pocket, took the keys out and presented them. ;t Let the trunk be brought into the court, said the advc cate. 8. " Xow, my cirl," resumed the advocate, " attend to the 132 ELOCUTION. questions which I am going to put to you, and deliberate well before you reply ; because I have those to produce who will answer them truly, should 3-011 fail to do so. Were you ever in the service of a Monsieur St. Ange ? " " Yes," replied the attendant, evidently disconcerted. "Did you not open, in that gentleman's house, a trunk that was not your own?" "Yes," with increased confusion. " Did you not take from that trunk an article that was not your own? " "Yes ; but I put it back again." "I know you put it back again," said the advocate. "You see, my girl, I am acquainted with the whole affair; but, be- fore you put it back again, were you not aware that you were observed? " The witness was silent. 9. "Who observed you? Was it not your mistress? Did she not accuse you of intended theft? Were you not in- stantly discharged?" successively asked the advocate, with- out eliciting any reply. "Why do you not answer, girl?" peremptorily demanded he. "If you are determined to destroy my character," said the witness, bursting into tears, " I can not help it." "No," rejoined the advocate ; " I do not intend to destroy a character; I mean to save one, — one which, before you quit the court, I shall prove to be as free from soil as the snow of the arm which is leaning upon that bar !" continued the advocate, pointing towards Therese. 10. The trunk was here brought in. ' " You know that trunk?" "Yes. ' "Whose is it?" " It belongs to the prisoner." "And these are your keys?" "Yes." "Were these keys out of your possession the day 6cfore that trunk was searched, and the jewel found in it?" "No." " Nor the day before that ? " NARRATIVE. 133 "No." 11. Now mind what you are saying. You swear, that, for two days preceding the morning upon which that trunk was searched, those keys were nevsr once out of your own pos- session ?" "I do." " "Will not one of these keys open that trunk?" The witness was silent. "Never mind ! we shall try. As readily as if it had besn made for it!" resumed the advocate, applying the key and lifting the lid. 12. " There may be fifty keys in the court that would do the same thing," interposed the public prosecutor. " True," rejoined his brother ; " but this is not one of them," added he, holding up the other key, "for she tried this key first and broke, as you see, the ward in the at- tempt." " How will you prove that?" inquired the prosecutor. " By producing the separate part." "Where did you find it?" " In the lock ! " emphatically exclaimed the advocate. A groan was heard; the witness had fainted. She was in- stantly removed, and the innocence of Thercse was as clcai as the noonday ! knowles. XXIV.— POETICAL SELECTIONS. 1. — RAIN ON TIIE ROOF. 1. "WnEX the humid showers gather over all the starry spheres, And the melancholy darkness gently weeps in rainy tears, 'Tis a joy to press the pillow of a cottage chamber bed, And listen to the patter of the soft rain overhead. 2 Every tinkle on the shingles has an echo in the heart, And a thousand dreary fancies into busy being start; And a thousand recollections weave their bright hues into woof, As 1 listen to the patter of the soft rain on the roof. 3. There in fancy comes my mother, as she used to years agone, T«; survey the infant sleepers ere she left them till the dawn. 134 ELOCUTION. 1 can see her bending o'er me, as I listen to the strain Which is played upon the shingles by the patter of the rain. 4. Then my little seraph sister, with her wings and waving I Jr And her bright-eyed, cherub brother — a serene, angelic pair- - Glide around my wakeful pillow with their praise or mild reproof, As I listen to the murmur of the soft rain on the roof. 5. And another comes to thrill me with her eyes' delicious blue. I forget, as gazing on her, that her heart was all untrue ; I remember that I loved her as I ne'er may love again, And my heart's quick pulses vibrate to the patter of the rain. 6. There is naught in art's bravuras that can work with such a spell, In the spirit's pure, deep fountains, whence the holy passions swell, As that melody of nature — that subdued, subduing strain, Which is played upon the shingles by the patter of the rain ! COATES KINNEY. 2. — THE SHIPWRECK. 1. At half-past eight o'clock, booms, hen-coops, spars, And all things, for a chance, had been cast loose, That still- could keep afloat the struggling tars ; For yet they strove, although of no great use. There was no light in heaven but a few stars : The boats put off, o'ercrowded with their crews : She gave a heel, and then a lurch to port, And going down head-foremost — sunk, in short. 2. Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell ; Then shrieked the timid, and stood 3till the brave ; Then some leaped overboard, with dreadful yell, As eager to anticipate their grave ; And the sea yawned around her like a hell ; And down she sucked with her the whirling wave, Like one who grapples with his enemy, And strives to strangle him before he die. 3. And first a* universal shriek there rushed, Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash Of echoing thunder; and then all was hushed, Save the wild wind and the remorseless dash Of billows ; but at intervals there gushed, Accompanied with a convulsive splash, A solitary shriek: the bubbling cry Of some strong swimmer in his agony. byron. NARRATIVE. 135 XXV.— ANECDOTES. 1. — SIDNEY SMITH ON SWEARING. 1. Sidney Smith, when traveling in a stage-coach one day, long before railroads were dreamed of, was terribly an- noyed by a young man who had acquired the polite habit of swearing to such an extent, that he interlarded his discourse with it, as though it were a constituent part of the language. As there was a lady present, the matter was doubly annoy- ing. After enduring the young man's displays for some time, the " wag, wit, and wicar," as one of his cockney ad- mirers called him, asked permission to tell the company a little anecdote, and thus commenced : 2. " Once upon a time — boots, sugar-tongs and tinder- boxes — there was a king of — boots, sugar-tongs, and tinder- boxes — England who, at a great ball, — boots, sugar-tongs, and tinder-boxes — picked up the Duchess of — boots, sugar- tongs and tinder-boxes — Shrewsbury's garter — boots, sugar- tongs and tinder-boxes — and said, ' Iloni soit qui viol y — boots, sugar-tongs and tinder-boxes — pense,' which means in English, 'Evil to him who — boots, sugar-tongs and tinder- boxes — evil thinks.' This was the origin of — boots, sugar- tongs and tinder-boxes — the order of the garter." 3. When Sidney Smith had concluded, the young gentle- man said, "a very good story, sir; but what has boots, sugar-tongs, and tinder-boxes to do with it?" "I will tell you, my young friend," said Smith, " when you tell me what blasphemy has to do with your conversation. In the meantime allow me to say, that 's my style of swearing." 2. THE BARRISTER AND THE WITNESS. 1. TnERE is a point beyond which human forbearance can not go, and the most even of tempers will become roused at times. At an assizes held during the past year, both judge and counsel had a deal of trouble to make a timid witness speak sufficiently loud to be heard by the jury; and it is possible that the temper of the counsel may thereby have been turned from the even tenor of its way. After this gen- tleman had gone through the various stages of bar plead 136 ELOCUTION. ing, and had coaxed, threatened, and even bullied witnesses, there was called into the box a young ostler, who appeared to be simplicity personified. 2. "Now, sir," said the counsel, in a tone that would at any other time have been denounced as vulgarly loud, " I hope we shall have no difficulty in making you speak out." "I hope not, zur," was shouted, or rather bellowed out by the witness, in tones which almost shook the building, and would certainly have alarmed any timid or nervous lady. "How dare you speak in that way, sir?" said the counsel. 3. "Please, zur, I can't speak any louder," said the aston- ished witness, attempting to speak louder than before, evi- dently thinking the fault to be in his speaking too softly. "Pray, have you been drinking?" shouted the counsel, who had now thoroughly lost the last remnant of his temper. " Yes, zur," was the reply. "And what have you been drinking?" "Corfee, zur!" 4. "And what did you have in your coffee, sir?" shouted the exasperated counsel. l 'A sjmnc, zur!" innocently bawled the witness, in his highest key, amidst the roars of the whole court — except- ing only the now thoroughly wild counsel, who flung down his brief, and rushed out of court. 3. — POINTED REPROOF. 1. Some eighty years ago a very zealous professor of religion went to Dr. Gill, and told him she had something against him, and she considered it her duty to reprove him. 2. "Well, my good lady," said he, "what is the difficulty." " Why, sir, I think your bands are too long." "Ah! do you? I have never thought any thing about it; I will get a pair of scissors, and I will thank you to cut off as muoh as you think best." She replied, " I hope you will not be offended." "Not at ^11, not at all, madam," he replied. i. Without much ceremony she folded and cut off quite a large piece of the bands. "Are you now satisfied? look again and see; perhaps NARRATIVE. 137 you had better cut off a little more while you are about it, and be satisfied." "I do not know but I had ; I think they are still rather long;" and she cut off a second piece, saying, "there, I think, that will do." 4. "Well, my friend," said the Doctor, "I must now tell 7'ii I have something against you." k< Have you, sir," she exclaimed, "what is it?" "I think your tongue is rather too long, and you had bet ter let me cut a piece off." XXVI.— HATE OF THE BOWL. 1. Go feel what I have felt — Go bear what I have borne — Sink 'neath the blow a father dealt, And the cold world's proud scorn : Then suffer on from year to year — Thy sole relief the scorching tear. 2. Go kneel as I have knelt, Implore, beseech, and pray — Strive the besotted heart to melt, The downward course to stay — Be dashed with bitter curse aside, Your prayers burlesqued, your tears defied. 3. Go weep as I have wept O'er a loved father's fall — See every promised blessing swept — Youth's sweetness turned to gall — Life's fading flowers strewed all the way, That brought me up to woman's day. 4. Go see what I have seen — Behold the strong man bow, With gnashing teeth, lips bathed in bbod, And cold and livid brow — Go catch his withering glance, and see There mirrored, his soul's misery. 5. Go to thy mother's side, And her crushed bosom cheer — Kidd. — 12 138 ELOCUTION. Thine own deep anguish hide — Wipe from her cheek the bitter tear ; Mark her wan cheek and pallid brow — ■ The gray that streaks her dark hair now— Her failing frame and trembling limb ; And trace the ruin back to him Whose blighted faith, in early youth, Promised eternal love and truth, But who, forsworn, hath yielded up That promise to the cursed cup ; And led her down, through love and light, And all that made her prospects bright ; And chained her there, mid want and strife, That lowly thing, a drunkard's wife; And stamped on childhood's brow so mild, That withering blight, a drunkard's child ! 0. Go hear, and feel, and see, and know, All that my soul hath felt and known ; Then look upon the wine-cup's glow — See if its beauty can atone — Think if its flavor you will try ! When all proclaim 'tis drink and die ! 7 Tell me I hate the bowl— Hate is a feeble word : I loathe — abhor — my very soul With strong disgust is stirred— Whene'er I see, or hear, or tell, Of the dark beverage of hell. XXVIL— STEAM-ENGINE. 1. The following account of the parts of the steam-engine is intended, without entering into minute practical details, still fully to explain the principle or general nature of the machine It should serve to render very interesting to an attentive reader, a visit to any place where a steam-engine is in use ; and it should make evident the folly of many of the modern schemes for improving the engine. 2. The part which first claims attention, is the great barrel, constituting the center or main portion of the machine, in NARRATIVE. 139 which the piston is moved up and down by the action of steani entering, alternately above and below it, through the pipes. The barrel, or cylinder, is bored with extreme ac- curacy, and the piston is padded round its edge with hemp or other soft material, so as to be perfectly air or steam-tight. Lately, pistons have been made altogether of metal, and, in some cases, from working with less friction, these answei even better than others. 3. The next part to be mentioned is the boiler, which is made of suitable size and strength. The steam passes from the boiler along the pipe, and there, by any suitable cock or valves, worked by the engine itselfyis directed alternately to the upper and under part of the barrel; and while it is entering to press on one side of the piston, the waste steam is allowed to escape from the other side, cither to the at- mosphere, for high-pressure engines, or into the condenser, for those of low-pressure — the condenser being always kept at a low temperature by cold water running into it, and pumped out again by the piston. 4. The supply of steam from the boiler to the cylinder is regulated by a valve placed somewhere in the pipe, and made obedient to what is called the governor, which may, in truth, be described as a pair of tongs with heavy balls at the ends, to make their opening more energetic, and attached to some turning part of the machine. If the engine move with more than the assigned speed, the balls open or fly asunder beyond their middle station, and, by a simple contrivance, arc then made to act on a valve which contracts the steam- tube ; on the contrary, with too slow a motion, they collapse, and open the valve. The supply of water to the boiler is regulated by a float on the surface of the water in the boiler; which float, on descending to a certain point, by reason of the consumption of water, opens a valve to ad- mit more. There is a safety valve in the boiler, viz., a well fitted flap or stopper, held against an opening by a weight, but loaded so as to open before danger can arise from the overheating of the water. 5. The rapidity of the combustion, or force of the fire, is exactly regulated by the state of the boiler and the wants 140 ELOCUTION. of the machine, thus : there is a large open tube rising r "om near the bottom of the boiler, through its top, to a night of several feet; and when the water in the boiler is too hot, and the steam, therefore, too strong, part of the water is pressed up into this tube, and, by the agency of a float which rests on its surface, it shuts the chimney-valve, or damper; the draught is then diminished, and the fuei saved, until a brisker fire is again required. 6. The great beam, turning on an axis, transmits the force of the piston to the remote machinery. When the object is to raise water, the pump-rods are simply connected with the end of the beam; but when any rotary motion is wanted, the end is made to turn a crank by the rod; and uniformity of motion is obtained- by the influence of the great fly-wheel fixed to the axis of the crank. 7. The fertile genius of James Watt did not stop at the accomplishment of the important particulars described above; but throughout the whole detail of the component parts, and of the various applications of the engine, he contrived mi- racles of simplicity and usefulness. We should exceed the prescribed bounds of this article, by entering more minutely into the subject ; but we may remark, that, in the present perfect state of the engine, it appears a thing almost en- dowed with intelligence. 8. It regulates with perfect accuracy and uniformity the number of its strokes in a given time, counting or record- ing them moreover, to tell how much work it has done, as a clock records the beats of its pendulum ; it regulates the quantity of steam admitted to work ; the briskness of the (ire; the supply of water to the boiler; the supply of coals to the fire; it opens and shuts its valves with absolute pre- cision as to time and manner; it oils its joints; it takes out any air which may accidentally enter into parts which should be vacuous; and when any thing goes wrong which it can not of itself rectify, it warns its attendants by ring- ing a bell : yet, with all these talents and qualities* and even when exerting the force of hundreds of horses, it ia obedient to the hand of a child. 9. Its aliment is coal, wood, charcoal, or other combusti- NARRATIVE. 141 bles ; it consumes none while idle ; it never tires, and wants no sleep; it is not subject to malady when originally well made; and only refuses to work when worn out with age: it is equally active in all climates, and will do work of any kind; it is a water pumper, a miner, a sailor, a cotton- ppinner, a weaver, a blacksmith, a miller, etc.: and a small engine in the character of a steam-pony, may be seen dragging after it on a railroad a hundred tuns of merchan- dise, or a regiment of soldiers, with thrice the speed of our fleetest horse-coaches. It is the king of machines, and a permanent realization of the Genii of Eastern fable, sub- mitting supernatural powers to the command of man. AR^OTT. XX VIII.— NATURE'S GENTLEMAN. 1. "Whom do we dub as gentlemen? The knave, the fool, the brute — If they but own full tithe of gold and wear a courtly suit! The parchment scroll of titled line, the ribbon at the knee, Can still suffice to ratify and grant such high degree : But nature, with a matchless hand, sends forth her nobly born, And laughs the paltry attributes of wealth and rank to scorn ; She moulds with care a spirit rare, half human, half divine, And cries exulting, "Who can make a gentleman like mine?" 2. She may not spend her common skill about the outward part, But showers beauty, grace, and light, upon the mind and heart. She may not choose ancestral fame his pathway to illume — The sun that sheds the brightest day may rise from mist and gloom. Should fortune pour her welcome store, and useful gold abound, He shares it with a bounteous hand and scatters blessings round. The treasure sent is rightly spent, and serves the end designed, When held by nature's gentleman, the good, the just, the kind. 3. He turns not from the cheerless home, where sorrow's offspringi- dwell; He'll greet the peasant in his hut — the culprit in his cell ; He stays to hear the widow's plaint of deep and mourning love, lie seeks to aid her lot below, and prompt her faith above ; The orphan child, the friendless one, the luckless, or the poor, Will never meet his spurning frown, or leave his bolted door; His kindred circle 's all mankind, his ccuntry, all the globe — An honest name, his jeweled star, and truth, his ermine robe. 142 ELOCUTION. 4. He wisely yields his passions up to reason's firm control — His pleasures are of crimeless kind, and never taint the soul. He may' be thrown among the gay and reckless sons of life, But will not love the revel scene, nor heed the brawling strife. He wounds no breast with jeer or jest, yet bears no honeyed tongue! He's social with the gray-haired one and merry with the- young; He gravely shares the council speech or joins the rustic game, And shines as nature's gentleman, in every place the same. 5. No haughty gesture marks his gait, no pompous tone his word, No studied attitude is seen, no palling nonsense heard ; He'll suit his bearing to the hour — laugh, listen, learn, or teach, With joyous freedom in his mirth, and candor in his speech. He worships God with inward zeal, and serves him in each deed; lie would not blame another's faith nor have one martyr bleed; Justice and mercy form his code; he puts his trust in Heaven; His prayer is, "If the heart mean well, may all else be forgiven!'' 6. Though few of such may gem the earth, j^et such rare gems there are, Each shining in his hallowed sphere as virtue's polar star. Though human hearts too oft are found all gross, corrupt, and dark, Yet, jet some bosoms breathe and burn, lit by Promethean spark; There are some spirits nobly just, unwarped by pelf or pride, Great in the calm but greater still when dashed by adverse tide, — They hold the rank no king can give, no station can disgrace, Nature puts forth her gentlemen, and monarchs must give place. ELIZA COOK. XXIX.— THE BAROMETER. 1. The state of the atmosphere, as to weight, differs at different times in the same situation, so as to produce a change of about three inches in the hight of the mercurial barometer; that is to say, from twenty-eight to thirty-one inches. On the occasion of the great Lisbon earthquake, however, the mercury fell so far in the barometers, even in Britain, as to disappear from that portion at the top usually !eft uncovered for observation. 2. The uncovered part of a barometer is commonly five or six inches in length, with a divided scale attached to it, NARRATIVE. 143 on which the figures, 28, 29, etc., indicate the number of inches from the surface of the mercury, at the bottom, to the respective divisions : — on the lower part of the scale, the words wind and rain are generally written; meaning, that when the mercury sinks to them, wind and rain are to be expected ; and on the upper part dry and fine appear, for a corresponding reason : but we have to recollect, that it is not the absolute Light of the mercury which indicates the existing or coming weather, but the recent change in its bight — a falling barometer usually telling of wind and rain, a rising one, of serene and dry weather. 3. But we may remark here, that when water, which has been suspended in the atmosphere, and has formed a part of it, separates as rain, the weight and bulk of the mass are diminished : and a wind must occur, when a sudden condensation of aeriform matter, in any situation, disturbs the equilibrium of the air; for the air around will rush towards the situation of diminished pressure. 4. To the .husbandman the barometer is of considerable use, by aiding and correcting the prognostics of the weather, which he draws from local signs familiar tc him ; but its great use, as a weather-glass, seems to be to the mariner, who roams over the whole ocean, and is often under skies and climates altogether new to him. The watchful captain of the present day, trusting to this extraordinary monitor, is frequently enabled to take in sail and to make ready for the storm, where, in former times, the dreadful visitation would have fallen on him unprepared. 5. The marine barometer has not yet been in general us* for many years, and tbe author of this work was one of a numerous crew, who probably owed their preservation to its almost miraculous warning. It w r as in a southern lati- tude ; the sun had just set with placid appearance, closing a beautiful afternoon, and the usual mirth of the evening watch was proceeding, when the captain's order cam-3 to prepare, with all haste, for a storm. The barometer had begun to fall with appalling rapidity. G. A3 yet the oldest sailors had not perceived a threiten- ing in the sky, and were surprised at the extent and hurry 144 ELOCUTION. of the preparations ; but the required measures were not completed, when a more awful hurricane burst upon theui than the most experienced had ever braved. Nothing could withstand it; the sails, already furled, and closely bound to the yards, were riven away in tatters; even the yards and masts themselves were in great part disabled, and, at one time, the whole had nearly fallen by the board. Such, for a few hours, was the mingled roar of the hurricane among the rigging, of the waves around, and of the incessant peals of thunder, that no human voice could be heard ; and, amid the general consternation, even the trumpet sounded in vain. 7. In that awful night, but for the little tube of mercury which had given the warning, neither the strength of the noble ship, nor the skill and energies of the commander, could have availed any thing, and not a man would have escaped to tell the tale. On the following morning the wind was again at rest, but the ship lay upon the yet heaving waves, an unsightly wreck. ARNOTT. XXX.— LEAP FOR LIFE. 1. Old Ironsides at anchor lay In the harbor of Mahon ; A dead calm rested on the bay, And the winds to sleep had gone: When little Jack, the captain's son, With gallant hardihood, Climbed shroud and spar, and then upon The main truck rose and stood. 2. A shudder ran through every vein, All hands were turned on high ; There stood the boy with dizzy brain, Between the sea and sky. No hold had he above, below, Alone he stood in air: At that far height none dared to go ; No aid could reach him there. NARRATIVE. 145 We gazed, hut not a man could speak, With horror all aghast; In groups, with pallid brow and cheek, We watched the quivering mast The atmosphere grew thick and hot, And of a lurid hue, As riveted unto the spot Stood officers and crew. The father came on deck, — he gasped, "Oh God! thy will be done!" Then suddenly a rifle grasped, And aimed it at his son ; — "Jump! far out, boy, into the wave, Jump, or I fire!" he said; "This chance alone your life can save* Jump! jump!" The boy obeyed. He sunk, he rose, he lived, he moved, He for the ship struck out — On board we hailed the lad beloved, With many a manly shout ; His father drew, with silent joy, Those wet arms round his neck, And folded to his heart the boy, Then fainted on the deck. GEO. I*. MORRIS. 4 XXXI.— THE DEMAGOGUE. 1. Tiie (owest of politicians is that man who seeks to gratify an invariable selfishness by pretending to seek the public good. For a profitable popularity he accommodates himself to all opinions, to all dispositions, to every side, and to every prejudice. He is a mirror, with no face of its own, but a smooth surface from which, each man of ten thousand may see himself reflected. 2. He glides from man to man coinciding with their views, simulating their tastes, and pretending their feelings; with this one he loves a man ; with that one he hates the same man; he favors a law, and he dislikes it; he approves and opposes ; he is on both sides at once, and seemingly wishes KIDD.—13 146 ELOCUTION. that he con) { be on one side more. He attends meetings to suppress intemperance, — but at elections makes every grog- shop free to all drinkers. He can with equal relish plead most eloquently for temperance, or toss off a dozen glasses of whiskey in a dirty doggery. 3. He thinks that there is a time for every thing, and therefore at one time he jeers and leers, and swears with a carousing blackguard crew ; and at another time, professing to have been happily converted, he displays all the various features of devotion. Indeed, he is a capacious Christian — an epitome of faith. 4. He piously asks the class-leader of the welfare of his charge, for he was always a Methodist, and always will be, — until he meets a Presbyterian ; then he is a Presbyterian, Old School or New, as the case requires; however, as he is not a bigot, he can afford to be a Baptist in a good Baptist neigh- borhood, and with a wink he tells the pious elder that he never had one of his children baptized, not he! lie whis- pers to the Reformer that he abhors all creeds but Baptism and the Bible. After this, room will be found in his heart for the fugitive sects also, which come and go like clouds in a summer-sky. 5. Upon the stump his tact is no less rare. He roars and bawds with courageous plainness, on points about which all agree; but on subjects where men differ, his meaning is nicely balanced on a pivot that it may dip cither way. He depends for success chiefly upon humorous stories. A glowing pa- triot telling stories is a dangerous antagonist ; for it is hard to expose the fallacy of a hearty laugh, and men convulsed with merriment are slow to perceive in what way an argu- ment is a reply to a story : men who will admit that he has not a solitary moral virtue, will vote for him, and assist him Id obtaining the office to which he aspires. H. W. BEECH ER. NARRATIVE. 147 xxxn.— roET: : :ai 5ELECTiON& L — THE HYPOCRITE. 1. He was a man, Who stole the livery of the court of heaven, the devil in : in virtue red the widow's bouse, and orphan's bread ; In holy phrase, transacted villainies That conini-jn sinners durst not meddle with. 2. At sacred feast, he sal among the sa And with his guilty hands touched holiest things; And none of sin lamented more, or sighed Bl re deeply, or with graver countenau r.ger prayer, wept o'er the dying man, -e infant children, at the moment, he Planned how to rob. In senium style he bought, And sold, and lied ; and salutation made, In Scripture terms, lie prayed, by quantity. And with his repetitions, long and - All knees were we . 3. "With one hand he put; nny in the urn of poverty, And with the other took a shilling out On charitable lists, — th se truni] s, which told The public ear, who had, in secret, done The poor a benefit, and half the ;. They told of. took themselves to keep them sounding,— 3 iiame. more pleased to have it there, Thau in the book of life. 4. Seest th.u the man ! -pent with an angel's a grave. With flowers bestrewed! Few were deceived. His virtues, being over-done, his fa Too grave, his prayers too long, his chari Too pompously attended, and his speech. Larded too frequently, and out of time, "With serious phraseology, were rents, That in his garments opened, in spite of him, Thro' which, the well-ae. The rottenness of his heart. 1^8 ELOCUTION. 2. — THE MISER. 1. But there is one in folly farther gone, With eye awry, incurable, and wild, The laughing-stock of demons and of men, And by hitf guardian angel quite given up — The miser, who with dust inanimate Holds wedded intercourse. 2. Ill-guided wretch ! Thou mayst have seen him at the midnight hour — When good men sleep, and in light-winged dreams Send up their souls to God — in wasteful hall, With vigilance and fasting worn to skin And bone, and wrapped in most debasing rags — Thou mayst have seen him bending o'er his heaps, And holding strange communion with his gold; And as his thievish fancy seems to hear The night-man's foot approach, starting alarmed, And in his old, decrepit, withered hand, That palsy shakes, grasping the yellow earth To make it sure. 3. Of all God made upright, And in their nostrils breathed a living soul, M<>st fallen, most prone, most earthy, most debased ; Of all that sell Eternity for Time, None bargain on so easy terms Avith Death. Illustrious fool! nay, most inhuman wretch 1 He sits among his bags, and, with a look Which hell might be ashamed of, drives the poor Away unalmsed, and midst abundance dies, Sorest of evils ! dies of utter want. TOLLOK XXXIII.— THE WHALE-SHIP AND THE CANNIBALS. 1. A New England wliale-ship foundered in a gale, some years ago, in the Pacific Ocean. Her crew took to the boats- and, after toiling for several days and nights, two of tha boats came in sight of an island. One of them was run through the surf, and the crew jumped on shore, making signs to the natives, to express their destitute condition. But no pity dwelt in those savage breasts. Bushing upon NARRATIVE. 149 the exhausted seamen with their clubs, they instantly killed Ihcm, and made preparations to feast upon their bodies, for (hey were cannibals. 2. Seeing the fate of their companions, the other boat's crew pulled hastily away from that dreadful spot ; and, aftci almost incredible sufferings were picked up by a friendly vessel and saved. Some years passed, and another ship wa= wrecked in the same seas, and near the same island. Her commander had been second mate of the former ship, and was saved with the boat's crew which witnessed the destruc- tion of their ship-mates by the cannibals. Again he ap- proached the island, a wrecked mariner, and reduced by hunger and exhaustion to an emaciated state. He recog- nized the fatal shore, and told his companions of the cannibals who dwelt beyond it. But they were too weak to put out to sea again. To do so was to die. They could but die if thci landed ; and, perhaps, the savages might be merciful. 3. Perceiving none of the natives, they hauled their boat up on the beach, and sought the shelter of the adjoining woods, in the hope of finding fruits or berries for subsid- ence. But, once in the woods, their fears increased. They moved stealthily along, alarmed at the cracking of the dry bushes beneath their feet, and at the rustling of the leaves. 4. Death seemed to speak in every sound, and to leer upon them through every opening glade of the forest. Cold sweats gathered on their sunburnt brows; and more than once they halted, and consulted on the propriety of return ing to the boat; but as often they resolved to advance, es- pecially as they found themselves ascending a wooded hill, which they hoped might furnish them with a nook or jave in which to hide. Thus trembling they proceeded. 5. They approached the summit of the hill, which wa? bold and rocky. The foremost of the party ventured Pron the shelter of the trees to view the island. Cautiously he stole, step by step, to the mountain's brow, till his eye caught sight of the village below. Then he literally sprang into the air, clapped his hands and shouted, " Safe 1 Safe ! SAFE!" G. "What is the matter?" asked his companions, who 150 ELOCUTION. thought him crazy. "We arc safe, I tell yon, we are safe !" pointing to the village on the plain below. Looking down, the now joyful seamen beheld a church lifting its modest front above the huts of the natives. 7. Then they shared in the transports of their companion. They leaped, they wept, they embraced. They knew by the church that the missionary was there. They knew that where he lived and labored, cannibalism must be dead. They ac- cordingly descended to the plain, and found, instead of a cruel death, the utmost kindness, perfect security, and a generous hospitality. Had those wrecked mariners been skeptics or infidels, would they have needed any further proof of the humanizing and reuovating power of the Gos- r il, or of the utility of missions ? XXXIV.— AFTER A TEMPEST. L. TnE day had been a day of wind and storm; — The wind was laid, the storm was overpassed, And, stooping from the zenith, bright and warm. Shone the great sun on the wide earth at last I stood upon the upland slope and cast My eve upon a broad and beauteous scene, Where the vast plain lay girt by mountains vast, And hills o'er hills lifted their heads of green, With pleasant vales scooped out, and villages between. 2. The rain-drops glistened on the trees around, Whose shadows on the tall grass were not stirred, Save when a shower of diamonds, to the ground, Was shaken by the flight of startled bird; For birds were warbling round, and bees were heard About the flowers; the cheerful rivulet sung And gossiped, as he hastened ocean-ward ; To the gray oak, the squirrel, chiding; clung, And, chirping, from the ground the grasshopper upsprung 3. And from beneath the leaves, that kept them dry, Flew many a glittering insect here and there ; And darted up and down the butterfly, That seemed a living blossom of the air. The flocks came scattering from the thicket, where NARRATIVE. 15J The violent rain had pent them ; in the way Strolled groups of damsels, frolicsome and fair; The farmer swung the scythe or turned the hay, And 'twixt the heavy swaths his children were at play 4. It was a scene of peace — and, like a spell, Did that serene and golden sunlight fall Upon the motionless wood that clothed the cell, And precipice, upspringing like a wall, And glassy rivers, and white waterfall, And happy living things that trod the bright And beauteous scene; while, far beyond them all, On many a lovely valley, out of sight, Was poured from the blue heavens the same soft, gclden light 5. I looked, and thought the quiet of the scene An emblem of the peace that yet shall be, "When o'er earth's continents, and isles, between, The noise of war shall cease from sea to sea, And married nations dwell in harmony ; When millions, crouching in the dust to one, No more shall beg their lives on bended knee, Nor the black stake be dressed, nor in the sun The o'erlaborcd captive toil, and wish his life were done. 6. Too long a clash of arms amid her bowers, And pools of blood, the earth has stood aghast, The fair earth, that should only blush with flowers And ruddy fruits; but not for aye can last The storm; and sweet the sunshine when 'tis past: Lo, the clouds roll away — they break — they fly, And, like the glorious lights of summer, cast O'er the wide landscape from the embracing sky, On al. the peaceful world the smile of heaven shall 1 e. BRVANT XXXV.— ANECDOTES. 1 . — CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. 1. The eccne of the following anecdote is laid in a draw tn<-ro(im in Paris. One of the company was showing a gob! m'Mlal which had been awarded him, and which was worth Qve thousand francs. The medal passed from hand to hand aud when, half an hour afterward, the owner asked for it 152 ELOCUTION. again, it could not be found. Every nook and corner was searched, but in vain. 2. This sudden disappearance produced considerable agi- tation in the company, which was select but numerous, and finally some one proposed that every one should be searched, the men by the men and the women by the women. All the persons present eagerly signified their assent, with the exception of a single individual, who was presented that very night for the first time in the house. This man de^ clared very calmly, but very decidedly, that he could not consent to be searched. The effect these words produced may easily be imagined. It was no longer doubted that he was the robber, and the gentleman who introduced him was more dead than alive. 3. The master of the house was about turning the sup- posed thief into the street, and the owner of the medal was about entreating the company to forget the circumstance, when a lady having risen from her seat, lo ! the missing- medal suddenly fell out of one of the flounces of her dress, into which it had accidentally slipped and buried itself. The sensation produced by the sudden denouement was pro- digious. A cry of joyful surprise resounded throughout the room. The individual suspected of the theft was de- clared innocent. 4. Renouncing the stoical calmness, verging on indiffer- ence, which had hitherto characterized his demeanor, " This," said he, " gentlemen, is the explanation of my conduct, which doubtless seemed to you inexplicable. If I would not con- sent to be searched, it was because I was a stranger to every one present, with one exception, and because, by a strange coincidence — so strange that no one would have believed it possible — I had on my person a medal exactly similar to the one that was lost." 5. He then produced the medal, which, if it had been found on him, would have ruined him a quarter of an hour before, but which was now but an additional proof of his innocence. This incident is but another proof of the uncer- tainty of human judgment. NARRATIVE. 153 2. ALL GONE OUT. A gentleman having appointed to meet Lis friend on particular business, went to the house and knocked at the door, which was opened by a servant girl. lie informed her he wanted her master. "He is gone out, sir," said she. "Then your mistress will do," said the gentleman. "She is gone out, too," said the girl. " My business is of con- sequence," returned he: "is your master's son at home?" "No sir; he is gone out." " That's unlucky, indeed; but perhaps it may not be long before they return — I will step in and sit by your fire." "0, sir, the fire has gone out too !" said the girl. Upon which the gentleman bade her inform her master, that he did not expect to be received so coolly. 3. — EXPRESSIVE GESTURE. Empiiasts is known to be of great consequence to a public speaker. Gesture is sometimes equally impressive. An anecdote is related of a clergyman who was tormented with a termagant wife. In the course of time she paid " the debt of nature," and her husband personally officiated at her funeral. His speech was devoted in part to " the thousand ills that flesh is heir to," and was concluded by a Scripture quotation. Extending his right hand toward the grave, he said: — "There the wicked cease from troubling," and then placing the same hand on his heart, he added, " and the weary are at rest." XXXVL— MARCO EOZZARIS. IIo feli in an attack upon the Turkish camp at Laspi, the site of the ancient Platea, August 20, 1S23, and expired in the moment of victory His last words were — "To die for liberty is a pleasure, and not a pain.* 1. At midnight, in his guarded tent, The Turk was dreaming of the hour, When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent Should tremble at his power : In dreams, through camp and court, he bore The trophies of a conqueror ; 54 ELOCUTION. In dreams his sor.g of triumph heard : Then wore his monarch's signet ring: Then pressed that monarch's throne, a king; As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, As Eden's garden-bird. 2. At midnight, in the forest shades, Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band, True as the steel of their tried blades, Heroes in heart and hand. There, had the Persian's thousands stood, There had the glad earth drunk their blood, On old Platea's day ; And now there breathed that haunted air The sons of sires, who conquered there, With arms to strike, and souls to dare, As- quick, as far as they. 3. An hour passed on — the Turk awoke ; That bright dream was his last; He woke to hear his sentries shriek, "To arms! they come! the Greek! the Greek !-" lie woke — to die 'midst flame, and smoke, And shout, and groan, and saber stroke. And death-shots, falling thick and fast As lightnings from the mountain cloud; And heard, with voice, as trumpet loud, Bozzaris, cheer his band: "Strike! till the last armed foe expires: Strike! for your altars and your fires; Strike! for the green graves of your sires ; God, and your native land ! " 4. They fought, like brave men, long and well; They piled that ground with Moslem slain, They conquered — but Bozzaris fell, Bleeding at every vein. His few surviving comrades saw His smile, when rang the proud hurrah ! And the red field was won ; Then saw, in death, his eyelids close, Calmly, as to a night's repose, Like flowers at set of sun. NARRATIVE. 155 Come to the bridal chamber, Death ! Come to the mother, when she feels, For the first time, her first-born's breath ; Come when the blessed seals That close the pestilence, are broke, And crowded cities wail its stroke; Come in consumption's ghastly form, The earthquake's shock, the ocean storm ; Come when the heart beats high, and warm, "With banquet-song, and dance, and wine, And thou art terrible! the tear, The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier ; And all we know, or dream, or fear, Of agony, are thine. But, to the hero, when his sword Has won the battle for the free, Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word, And in its hollow tones are heard The thanks of millions yet to be. Bozzaris! with the storied brave, Greece nurtured, in her glory's time, Rest thee — there is no prouder grave, Even in her own proud clime. "We tell thy doom without a sigh ; For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's — One of the few, the immortal names, That were not born to die.' HALLECK. XXXV1L— ANECDOTES. 1. — BENEVOLENCE. 1. At a missionary meeting among the negroes in the "Wesl Indies, it is related, these three resolutions were adopted ■ (1.) We will all give something. (2.) We will all give according to our abilities. (3.) We will all give willingly. 2. At the close of the meeting, a leading negro took his scat at a table, with pen and ink, to put down what each came to contribute. Many advanced to the table, and handed in their contributions, some more and some less. 156 ELOCUTION. Among the contributors was an old negro, who was very rich, almost as rich as all the rest united. He threw down a small silver coin. " Take dat back again," said the chair- man of the meeting. "Dat may be 'cording to de fust resolution, but not 'cording to de second." 3. The rich old man accordingly took it up, and hobbled back to his seat much enraged. One after another came forward, and all giving more than himself, he was ashamed, and again threw a piece of money on the table, saying. "Dar, take dat !" It was a valuable piece of gold, but given so ill-temperedly, that the chairman answered, " No, sir, dat won't do! Dat may be 'cording to de fust and second reso- lutions, but not 'cording to de third." He was obliged to take it up again. Still angry with himself and all the rest, he sat a long time, until nearly all were gone, and- then advanced to the table, with a smile on his countenance, and laid a large sum of money on the table. "Dar, now, berry well," said the presiding negro; "dat will do; dat am 'cordino; to all de resolutions." 2. A CONSIDERATE DOCTOR. 1. A POOR girl, who had just recovered from a fit of sick- ness, gathered up her scanty earnings, and went to the doctor's office to settle her bill. Just at the door, the law- yer of the place passed into the office before her, on a similar errand. "Well, doctor," said he, " I believe I am indebted to you, and I should like to know how much." "Yes," said the doctor, "I attended upon you about a week, and what should you charge me for a week's ser- vice? or what do you realize, on an average, for a week's service ?" 2. "0," said the lawyer, "perhaps seventy-five dollars. 11 "Very well, then, as my time and profession are as valu- able as yours, your bill is seventy five dollars." The poor girl's heart sunk within her, for should her oill be any thing like that, how could she ever pay? The law- yer paid his bill and passed out, when the doctor turned to the young woman, and kindly inquired her errand. NARKATIVE. 157 3. "1 come," said she, "to know what I owe you, al- though I do not know that I can ever pay you." " I attended you about a week," said he. "Yes, sir!" " "What do you earn a week ?" "Seventy-five cents." "Is that all?" " Yes, sir." Then your bill is seventy-five cents." The poor girl paid him thankfully, and went back with a light heart. 3. — KILL OR CURE. A doctor was employed by a poor man to attend his wife, who was dangerously ill. The doctor gave a hint that he had fears of not being paid. "I have five pounds," said the man to the doctor, "and if you hill or cure, you shall have them." The woman died in the doctor's hands, and after a reasonable time he called for his five pounds. The man asked the doctor if he hilled his wife ? "No!" " Did you cure?" "No!" " Then," said the poor man, " you have no legal demand !" XX XVIII.— DAVIDS LAMENT OVER ABSALOM. 1. The king stood still Till the last echo died ; then, throwing off The sack-cloth from his brow, and laying back The pall from the still features of his child, He bowed his head upon him, and broke forth In the resistless eloquence of woe: 2. "Alas' my noble boy, that thou shouldst die! Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair! That death should settle in thy glorious eye, And leave his stillness in this clustering hairl How could he mark thee for the silent tomb, My proud boy, Absalom! L58 ELOCUTION d. Cold is thy brow, my son, and I am chill, As to my bosom I have tried to press thee. How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill, Like a rich harp-string,, yearning to caress thee, And hear thy sweet 'my father,' from these dumb. And cold lips, Absalom ! 4. The grave hath -won thee. I shall hear the gush Of music, and the voices of the young ; And life will pass me in the mantling blush, And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung; But thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shalt come To meet me, Absalom ! 5. But, oh! when I am stricken, and my heart, Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken, How will its love for thee, as I depart, Yearn for thine ear, to drink its last, deep token! It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom, To see thee, Absalom ! 6. And now farewell ! 'T is hard to give thee up, With death, so like a gentle slumber, on thee; And thy dark sin! oh! I could drink the cup, If, from this woe, its bitterness had won thee. May God have called thee, like a wanderer, home, My erring Absalom \" 7. He covered up his face, and bowed himself, A moment, on his child ; then, giving him A look of melting tenderness, he clasped His hands convulsively, as if in prayer; And, as a strength were given him of God, He rose up calmly, and composed the pall, Firmly and decently, and left him there, As if his rest had been a breathing sleep. XXXIX.— CHARACTER OF THE IRISH PEASANTRY. 1. The Irish people have been as little known to, as thc^ have been grossly defamed by the rest of Europe. The Irish peasantry, who necessarily compose the great body of the population, combine in their character manv of tho«<> sin- NARRATIVE. 139 gular and repugnant qualities which peculiarly designate the people of different nations; and this remarkable con- trariety of characteristic traits pervades almost the whole current of their natural dispositions. Laborious, domestic, accustomed to wants in the midst of plenty, they submit to hardships without repining, and bear the severest priva- tions with stoic fortitude. The sharpest wit, and the shrewdest subtilty, which abound in the character of the Irish peasant, generally lie concealed under the semblance of dullness, or the appearance of simplicity; and his lan- guage, replete with the keenest humor, possesses an idiom of equivocation, which never fails successfully to evade a direct answer to an unwelcome question. 2. Inquisitive, artful, and penetrating, the Irish peasant learns mankind without extensive intercourse, and has an instinctive knowledge of the world, without mingling in its societies; and never, in any other instance, did there e.xi^t a people who could display so much address and so much talent in the ordinary transactions of life as the Irish peasantry. 3. The Irish peasant has, at all periods, been peculiarly distinguished for unbounded but indiscriminate hospitality, which, though naturally devoted to the necessities of a friend, is never denied by him even to the distresses of an enemy. To be in want or misery, is the best recommenda- tion to his disinterested protection ; his food, his bed, his raiment are equally the stranger's and his own ; and the deeper the distress, the more welcome is the sufferer to the peasant's cottage. 4. His attachments to his kindred are of the strongest nature. The social duties are intimately blended with the natural disposition of an Irish peasant; though covered witL rags, oppressed with poverty, and perhaps with hunger, (he finest specimens of generosity and heroism arc to be found in his unequaled character. 5. An enthusiastic attachment to the place of their na- tivity is another striking trait of the Irish character, which neither time nor absence, prosperity nor adversity, can ob- literate or diminish. Wherever an Irish peasant was born, 160 ELOCUTION. there Lc wishes to die ; and. however successful in acquiring wealth or rank in distant places, he returns with fond affec- tion to renew his intercourse with the friends and compan- ions of his youth and his obscurity. 6. An innate spirit of insubordination to the laws has been strongly charged upon the Irish peasantry; but a people to whom the punishment of crimes appears rather as a sacrifice to revenge than a measure of prevention, can never have the same deference to the law, as those who are in- structed in the principles of justice, and taught to recognize its equality. It has, however, been uniformly admitted by every impartial writer on the affairs of Ireland, that a spirit of strict justice has ever characterized the Irish peasant. 7. Convince him, by plain and impartial reasoning, that he is wrong; and he withdraws from the judgment-seat, if not with cheerfulness, at least with submission : but, to make him respect the laws, he must be satisfied that they are im- partial; and, with that conviction on his mind, the Irish peasant is as perfectly tractable, as the native of any other country in the world. 8. An attachment to, and a respect for females is another characteristic of the Irish peasant. The wife partakes of all her husband's vicissitudes ; she shares his labor and his miseries, with constancy and with affection. At all the sports and meetings of the Irish peasantry, the women are always of the company : they have a great influence ; and, in his smoky cottage, the Irish peasant, surrounded by his family, seems to forget all his privations. The natural cheerfulness of his disposition banishes reflection ; and he experiences a simple happiness, which even the highest rauks of society might justly envy. SIR J. BARRINGTON. d i r> A C T I c . 1 ii J DIDACTIC. XL.— INDUSTRY AND ELOQUENCE. 1 In the ancient republics of Greece and Rome orator, 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 acci- dental fluency by occasional practice. 2. 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 pres- ence of teachers, who criticised, reproved, rebuked, excited emulation, and left nothing undone which art and persever- ance could accomplish. 3. 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 ob- stacles ; and, instead of growing up spontaneously to their unrivaled eminence, they forced themselves forward by the most discouraging, artificial' process. 4. Demosthenes combated an impediment in speech and an ungainlincss of gesture, which, at first, drove him from the forum in disgrace. Cicero failed, at first, through weak- ness 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 his absence, in various lands, passed not a day without a rhetorical exercise, seeking the Ktdd.— 14 162 ELOCUTION. masters who were most severe in criticism, as the surest means of leading him to the perfection at which he aimed. 5. 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. 6. The inference to be drawn from these observations, i»', 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 ourselves into creditable and accurate speakers. The inference should not be denied until proved false by experiment. 7. Let this art be made an object of attention ; let 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 con. nected discourse, so as to answer the ends of public speak- ing, 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 ac- quiesce in this indolent and timorous notion, which contra- dicts the whole testimony of antiquity and all the experience of the world. vwrt. XLL— AWAKE TO EFFORT. " The night comcih when no man can work.'" 1. Awake to effort while the day is shining, The time to labor will not always last, And no regret, repentance, nor repining, Can bring to us again the buried Past. The silent sands of life are falling fast; Time tells our busy pulses, one by one ; And shall our work, so needful and so vast, Be all completed, or but just begun, When twilight shadows vail life's dim departing sun ? 2. What duties have our idle hands neglected? What useful lesson have we learned and taught? What warmth, what radiance have our minds reflected 7 What rich and rare materials have we brought DIDACTIC. 1G3 For deep investigation, earnest thought? Concealed within the soul's un fathomed mine, IIow many a sparkling gem remains unwrought, That Industry might place on Learning's shrine, Or lavish on the world, to further God's design ! 3. The smallest bark on life's tumultuous ocean, Will leave a track behind forever more ; The lightest wave of influence, set in motion, Extends and widens to the eternal shore. We should be wary, then, who go before A myriad yet to be, and we should take Our bearing carefully, where breakers mar. And fearful tempests gather; one mistake May wreck unnumbered barks that follow in our wake. 4. To effort! ye whom God has nobly gifted With that prevailing power, undying song; For human good let every hand be lifted, For human good let every heart be strong. Is there no crying sin — no grievous wrung That ye may help to weaken or repress ? In wayside hut ami hovel — 'midst the throng, Down-trodden by privation and distress — Is there no stricken heart that ye can cheer and bless? 5. Sing idle lays to idle harps no longer: . Go peal an anthem at the gate of heaven — Exertion makes the fainting spirit stronger — Sing till the bonds of Ignorance are riven, Till dark Oppression from the earth is driven — - Sing, till from every land and every sea, One universal triumph-song is riven, To hail the long expected jubilee, When every bond is broke, and every vassal free. 6. And ye, whose birthright is the glorious dower Of Eloquence, to thrill the immortal soul! Use not unwisely the transcendent power To waken, guide, restrain, direct, control The heart's deep earnest feelings ; let the goal Of your ambition be, a name enshrined By love and gratitude upon the scroll, Where generations yet unborn shall find The deathless deeds of those who loved and blessed mankind Si US. SARAH T. BOLTON. 164 ELOCUTION. XLII.— CHEERFULNESS. 1. There is no one quality that so much attaches man to his fellow man as cheerfulness. Talents may excite more respect, and virtue more esteem ; but the respect is apt to be distant, and the esteem cold. It is far otherwise with cheerfulness. It endears a man to the heart, not the intellect or the imagination. There is a kind of reciprocal diffusiveness about this quality that recommends its posses- sor by the very effect it produces. There is a mellow radi- ance in the light it sheds on all social intercourse, which pervades the soul to a depth that the blaze of intellect can never reach. 2. The cheerful man is a double blessing — a blessing to himself and to tlnfworld around him. In his own character, his good nature is the clear, blue sky of his own heart, on which every star of talent shines out more clearly. To others he carries an atmosphere of joy, and hope, and en- couragement, wherever he moves. His own cheerfulness becomes infectious, and his associates lose their moroseness and their gloom in the amber-colored light of the benevo- lence he casts around him. # 3. It is true that cheerfulness is not always happiness. The face may glow in smiles while the heart "runs in cold- ness and darkness below," but cheerfulness is the best ex- ternal indication of happiness that we have, and it enjoys this advantage over almost every other good quality, that the counterfeit is as valuable to society as the reality. It answers as a medium of public circulation, fully as well as the true coin. -4. A man is worthy of all praise, whatever may be his private griefs, who does not intrude them on the happiness of his friends, but constantly contributes his quota of cheer- fulness to the general public enjoyment. " Every heart knows its own bitterness," but let the possessor of that heart take heed that he does not distill it into his neighbor's cup, and thus poison his felicity. 5. There is no sight more commendable and more agree- able than a man, whom we know fortune has dealt with badly, smothering his peculiar griefs in his own bosom. DIDACTIC. 165 and doing his duty in society with an unruffled brow and a cheerful mien. It is a duty which society has a right to demand— a portion of that great chain which binds human- ity together, the links of which every one should preserve bright and unsullied. G. It may be asked, what shall that man do whose bur- iens of grief are heavy, and made still heavier by the tears be has shed over them in private; shall he leave society? Certainly, until he has learned to bear his own burden. Shall he not seek the sympathy of his friends? He had better not; sympathy would only weaken the masculine strength of mind which enables us to endure. Besides, sympathy unsought for is much more readily given, and sinks deeper in its healing effects into the heart. No! no! cheerfulness is a duty which every man owes. Let him faithfully discharge the debt. XLIII.— VARIETIES. 1. BE COMPREHENSIVE. 1. Talk to the point, and stop when you reach it. The faculty which some possess of making one idea cover a quire of paper, is despicable. To fill a volume upon nothing, is a credit to nobody, though Chesterfield wrote a very clever poem upon Nothing. 2. There are men who get one idea into their heads, and but one, and they make the most of it. You can see it and almost feel it in their presence. On all occasions it is pro- duced till it is worn as thin as charity. They remind you of a twenty-four pounder discharging at a humming-bird. Y T ou hear a tremendous noise, see a volume of smoke, but you look in vain for the effects. The bird is scattered to atoms. 3. Just so with the idea. It is enveloped in a cloud, and lost amid the rumblings of words and flourishes. Short let- ters, sermons, speeches, and paragraphs, are favorites with us. Commend us to the young man who wrote to his father, "Lear sir, I am going to get married; " and also to the old gentleman, who replied, "Dear son, go ahead." Itit) ELOCUTION. 4. Such are the men for action. They do more than they gay. The half is not told in their cases. They are worth their weight in gold for every purpose of life, and are men every where prized. 2. — THE MENTAL FACULTIES. 1. The perceptive faculties are those hy which we he- come acquainted with the existence and qualities of the ex- ternal world. 2. Consciousness is the faculty by which we become cog- nizant of the operations of our own minds. 3. Original suggestion is the faculty which gives rise to original ideas, occasioned by the perceptive faculties or con- sciousness. 4. Abstraction is the faculty by which, from conceptions of individuals, we form conceptions of genera and species, or, in general, of classes. 5. Memory is the faculty by which we retain and recall our knowledge of the past. 6. Reason is that faculty by which, from the use of the knowledge obtained by the other faculties, we are enabled to proceed to other and original knowledge. 7. Imagination is that faculty by which, from materials already existing in the mind, we form complicated concep- tions or mental images, according to our own will. 8. Taste is that sensibility by which we recognize the beauties and deformities of nature or art, deriving pleasure from the one and suffering pain from the other. TUl. WAYLAND. 3. — HOW TO TROSPER IN BUSINESS. 1. In the first place make up your mind to accomplish whatever you undertake; decide upon some particular em- ployment, and persevere in it. All difficulties are overcome by diligence and assiduity. 2. Be not afraid to work with your own hands, and dili- gently, too. "A cat in gloves catches no mice." "ILvU •■sniains in the mill grinds, not he who goes and comes " DIDACTIC. 167 3. Attend to your business : never trust to another. " A pot that belongs to many, is ill-stirred and worse boiled." 4. Be frugal. " That which will not make a pot will make a pot lid." '-Save the pence, and the pounds will take care of themselves." 5. Be abstemious. ' c TVho dainties love shall beggar; prove." G. Rise early. --The sleeping fox catches no poultry." "Plow deep while sluggards sleep, and you will have corn to sell and keep." 7. Treat every one with respect and civility. ' : Every tiling is gained, and nothing lost by courtesy." Good man- ners insure success. 8. Never anticipate wealth from any other source than labor ; especially never place dependence upon becoming the possessor of an inheritance. 0. " He who waits for dead men's shoes, may have to go for a long time barefoot."' '-He who runs after a shadow has a wearisome race." 10. Above all things never despair. "God is where lie was." lie helps those who truly trust in Him. XLIV.— POETICAL SELECTIONS. 1. — ADVICE TO A YOUNG LAWYER. 1. "Whene'er you speak, remember every cause Stands not on eloquence, but stands on laws — Pregnant in matter, in expression brief. Lr-t every sentence stand with bold relief: On trifling points nor time nor talents waste, A fad offense to learning and to taste: Nor deal with pompous phrase, nor e'er suppose Poetic nights belong to reasoning prose. 2. Loose declamation may deceive the crowd, And seem more striking as it grows more loud ; But suber sense rejects it with disdain, As nought but empty noise, and weak as vain. 168 ELOCUTION. 3. The froth of words, the schoolboy's vain parade Of books and cases — ;ill his stock in trade — The pert conceits, the cunning tricks and play Of low attorneys, strung in long array, The unseemly jest, the petulant reply, That chatters on, and cares not how, or why, Strictly avoid — unworthy themes to scan, They sink the speaker and disgrace the man, Like the false lights, by flying shadows cast, Scarce seen when present and forgot when past. 4. Begin with dignity ; expound with grace Each ground of reasoning in its time and place ; Let order reign throughout — each topic touch, Nor urge its power too little, nor too much; Give each strong thought its most attractive view, In diction clear and yet severely true, And as the arguments in splendor grow, Let each reflect its light on all below ; When to the close arrived, make no delays By petty flourishes, or verbal plays, But sum the whole in one deep solemn strain, Like a strong current hastening to the main. JUDGE STORF. 2. — LET US TRY TO BE HAPPY. 1. Let us try to be happy ! We may, if we will, Find some pleasures in life to o'er balance the ill; There was never an evil, if well understood, But what, rightly managed, would turn to a good. If we were but as ready to look to the light As we are to sit moping because it is night, "We should own it a truth, both in word and in deed, That who tries to be happy is sure to succeed. 2. Let us try to be happy! Some shades of regret Are sure to hang round, which we can not forget ; There are times when the lightest of spirits must bow, And the sunniest face wear a cloud on its brow. We must never bid feelings, the purest and best, Lie blunted and cold in our bosom at rest; But the deeper our own griefs the greater our need To try to be happy, lest other hearts bleed. DIDACTIC. 169 3. 0, try to be happy ! It is not for Ion-; "We shall cheer on each other by counsel or song 1 If wo make the best use of our time that we may, There is much we can do to enliven the way: Let us only in earnestness each do our best, Before God and our conscience, and trust for the rest j Still taking this truth, both in word and in deed, That who tries to be happy is sure to succeed XLV.— VARIETIES. 1. — PHYSICAL EDUCATION. 1. That is, undoubtedly, the wisest and best regimen, which takes the infant from* the cradle, and conducts him along through childhood and youth up to high maturity, in such a manner as to give strength to his arm, swiftness to his feet, solidity and amplitude to his muscles, symmetry to his frame, and expansion to his vital energies. It is ob- vious that this branch of education comprehends not only food and clothing, but air, exercise, lodging, early rising, and whatever else is requisite to the full development of the physical constitution. The diet must be simple, the apparel must not be warm, nor the bed too soft. 2. Let parents beware of too much restriction in the management of their darling boy. If they would make him hardy, and rugged, and fearless, they must let him go abroad often in his early boyhood, and amuse himself by the hour together, in smoothing and twirling the hoary locks of winter. Instead of keeping him shut up all day with a stove, and graduating his sleeping-room by Fah- renheit, they must let him face the keen edge. of a north wind when the mercury is below zero ; and, instead of mind- ing a little shivering and complaining when he returns, cbier up his spirits and send him out again. In this way they will teach him that he was not born to live in the nursery, nor to brood over the fire; but to range abroad as free as the snow and the air, and to gain warmth from ex ercise. KlDD.— 15 170 ELOCUTION. 3. 1 love and admire the youth "who turns not back frora the howling wintry blast, nor withers under the blaze of surame'; who never magnifies " mole-hills into mountains," but whose daring eye, exulting, scales the eagle's airy crag, and who is ready to undertake any thing that is prudent and lawful within the range of possibility. Who would think of planting the mountain-oak in a green-house? or of rearing the cedar of Lebanon in a lady's flower-pot? Who does not know that in order to attain their mighty strength and majestic forms, they must freely enjoy the rain and the sunshine, and must feel the rocking of the tempest? 2. — VULGAR WORDS. 1. Tiiere is as much connection between the words and the thoughts, as there is between the thoughts and the words; the latter are not only the expression of the former, but they have power to relict upon the soul and leave the stain of corruption there. 2. A young man who allows himself to use profane and vulgar words, has not only shown that there is a foul spot on his mind, but by the utterance of that word he extends that spot and inflames it, till by indulgence it will soon pollute and ruin the whole soul. 3. Be careful of your words, as well as of your thoughts. If you can control the tongue, that no improper words be pronounced by it, you will soon be able to control the mind and save it from corruption. You extinguish the fire by smothering it, or prevent bad thoughts bursting out in lan- guage. Never utter a word, any where, which you would be ashamed to speak in the presence of the most religious man. Try this practice a little, and you will soon have command f yourself. 3. PROVERBS. Rash oaths, kept or broken, often produce guilt. Use the means and trust God for the blessing. Zealously strive to do good for the 3ake of good. Always tell the truth; you will find it easier than lying Virtuous actions, sooner or later, will find their reward. DIDACTIC. 171 Standing water is unwholesome — so, too, is a standing debt. Zeal without judgment is an evil, though it be zeal unto good. If* folly were a pain there would be groaning in every house. The choicest pleasures of life lie within the range of moderation. Tattlers and hypocrites are twins, and the offspring of the devil. Faith has a quiet breast. Speak not rather than speak ill. Qu.ck to forgive, and slow to anger. The sweetest pleasures are soon gone. (juilt is best discovered by its own fears. ratiencc is the key of content. XLVL— THE PERSONALITY AND USES OF A LAUGH. 1. I "WOULD be willing to choose my friend by the quality of his laugh, and abide the issue. A glad, gushing outflow — a clear, ringing, mellow note of the soul, as surely indi- cates a genial and genuine nature, as the rainbow in the dew-drop heralds the morning sun, or the frail flower in the wilderness betrays the zephyr-tossed seed of the parterre. 2. A laugh is one of God's truths. It tolerates no dis- guises. Falsehood may train its voice to flow in softest cadences — its lips to wreathe into smiles of surpassing sweet- ness — its face " to put on That look we trust in " but its laugh will betray the mockery. Who has not starteO and shuddered at the hollow "he-he-he!" of some velvet voiced Mephistopheles, whose sinuous fascinations, without this note of warning — this premonitory rattle — might have bound the soul with a strong spell ! 3. Leave nature alone. If she is noble, her broadest ex- pression will soon tone itself down to fine accordance with 172 ELOCUTION. life's earnestness; if she is base, no silken interwcavings car keep out of sight her ugly head of discord. If wo put a laugh into strait-jacket and leading-strings, it becomes an abortion; if we attempt to refine it, we destroy its pure, mel- lifluent ring ; if we suppress a laugh, it struggles and dies on the heart, and the place where it lies is apt ever after to be weak and vulnerable. No, laugh truly, as you would speak truly, and both the inner and the outer man will rejoice. A full, spontaneous outburst opens all the delicate valves of being, and glides, a subtle oil, through all its com- plicated mechanism. 4. Laugh heartily, if you would keep the dew of your youth. There is no need to lay our girlhood and boyhood so doggedly down upon the altar of sacrifice, as we toil up life's mountain. Dear, innocent children, lifting their dewy eyes and fair foreheads to the benedictions of angels — prat- tling and gamboling because it is a great joy to live, should flit like sunbeams among the stern-faced and stalwart. Young men and maidens should walk with strong, elastic tread and cheerful voices among the weak and uncertain. White hairs should be no more the insignia of age, but the crown of ripe and perennial youth. 5. Laugh for your beauty. The joyous carry a fountain of light in their eyes, and round into rosy dimples, where the echoes of gladness play at 5' hide and go seek." Your "lean and hungry Cassius " is never betrayed into a laugh, and his smile is more cadaverous than his despair. 6. Laugh, if you would live. He only exists, who drags his days after him like a massive chain, asking sympathy with uplifted eyebrows and weak utterance, as the beggar asks alms. Better die, for your own sake and the world's sake, than to pervert the uses, and graces, and dignities of hie. 7. Make your own sunshine and your own music — keep your heart open to the smile of the good Father, and brave ill things. "Care to our coffin adds a nail, no doubt; And every laugh so merry draws one out." DIDACTIC. 173 XLYTL— DON'T RUN IN DEBT. 1. Don't run in debt — never mind, never mind, If your clothes are all faded and torn; Fix 'em up, make them do, it is better by far, Than to have the heart weary and worn. Who'll love you the more fur the set of your hat, Or your ruff, or the tie of }*our shoe, The style of your vest, or your boots or cravat, If they know you're in debt for the new? 2. There's no comfort, I tell you, in walking the street In tine clothes, if you know you're in debt, And feel that perchance you some tradesman may meet "Who will sneer — "They're nut paid for yet." 3. Good friends, let me beg of you don't run in debt, If the chairs and the sofa are old; They will lit your backs better than any new set, I'nless they're paid for — with gold. If the h<»use is too small, draw the closer together, Keep it warm with a hearty good-will ; A big one unpaid lor. in all kinds of weather, Will send to your warm heart a chill. 4. lHm't run in debt — dear girls, take a hint, If the fashions have changed since last season, Old Nature is out in the very same tint, And old Nature we think has some reason. Lnt j ust say to your friend, that you can not afford To spend time to keep up with the fashion ; That your purse is too light, and your honor too bright To be tarnished with such silly passion. 5. Gents, don't run in debt — lot your friends, if they pan. Have fine houses, and feathers, and flowers, But, unless they are paid for, be more of a man, Than to envy their sunshiny hours. If you've money to spare, 1 have nothing to say — Spend your dollars and dimes as you please, But mind you, the man who his note lias to pay, Is the man who is never at ease. 6. Kind husbands, don't run in debt any more; "f will till your wife's cup of sorrow, To know that a neighbor may call at your door, With a bill you must settle to-morrow ; 174 ELOCUTION. ! take my advice — it is good ! it is true ! (But, lest you may some of you .doubt it,) I'll whisper a secret, now seeing 'tis you : I have tried it, and know all about it. 7. The chain of a debtor is heavy and cold, Its links, all corrosion and rust, Gild it o'er as you will, it is never of gold; Then spurn it aside with digust. ELIZA COOK. XLVin.— NO EXCELLENCE WITHOUT LABOR. 1. The education, moral and intellectual, of every indi- vidual, must be chiefly his own work, lvely upon it that the ancients were right — both in morals and intellect, w r e 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 can- didate. 2. You shall see, issuing from the walls of the same col- lege — 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 ni* 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 .a* country- Now, whose work is this? Manifestly their own They are the architects of their respective fortunes. 8. The best seminary of learning that can open its por- tals to you, can do no more than afford you the opportu- nity of instruction : but it must depend at last on your- selves, whether you will be instructed or not, or to what point you will push your instruction. And of this be as- DIDACTIC. 175 pured. 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. 4. Genius uncxerted is like the poor moth that flutters around a candle till it scorches itself to death. If genius be desirable at all, it is only of that great and magnanimous tind, which, like the condor of South America, pitches from tho 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. 5. [t is this capacity for high and long-continued exer- tion — this vigorous power of profound and searching inves- tigation — this careering and wide-sr reading comprehension of mind, and those long reaches of thought, that " — Pluck bright honor from the pale-faced moon, Or dive into the bottom of the deep, Where fathom line could never touch the ground. And drag up drown-ed honor by the locks — " this is the prowess, and these the hardy achievements which are to enroll your names among the great men of the earth "WIRT. X LI X.— AY II ERE THERE'S A WILL THERE'S A WAY. 1. We have faith in old proverbs full surely, For wisdom has traced what they tell, Ami truth may be drawn up as purely Fnr.n them, as it may from a "well." Let us question the thinkers and doers, And hear what they honestly say. And you'll find they believe, like bold-wooers, Iu " Where there's a will there's a way." 2. The hills have been high for man's mounting. The woods have been dense for his ax, The stars have been thick for his counting, The sands have been wide for his track*. The sea has been deep for his diving, The poles have been broad for his sway, But bravely he's proved by his striving, That " Where there's a will there's a way." 176 ELOCUTION. 3. Have ye vices that ask a destroyer, Or passions that need your control ? Let Reason become your employer, And your body be ruled by your soul. Fight on, though ye bleed at the trial, Resist with all strength that ye may, Ye may conquer Sin's host by denial, For " Where there's a will there's a way. 4. Have ye poverty's pinching to cope with ? Does suffering weigh down your might? Only call up a spirit to hope with, And dawn may come out of the night. Oh ! much may be done by defying The ghost of Despair and Dismay, And much may be gained by relying On "Where there's a will there's a way." 5. Should ye see afar off that worth winning, Set out on a journey with trust, And ne'er heed though your path at beginning Should be among brambles and dust. Though it is by footsteps ye do it, And hardships may hinder and stay. Keep a heart and be sure you go through it, For " Where there's a will there's a way." ELIZA COOK. L.— VARIETIES. 1. — A MAXIM OF WASHINGTON. 1. " Labor to keep alive in your breast that little spark of celestial fire, conscience," was one of a series of maxims which Washington framed or copied for his own use when a boy. His llgid adherence to principle, his steadfast dis- charge of duty, his utter abandonment of self, his unre- served devotion to whatever interests were committed to his care, attest the vigilance with which he obeyed that maxim, lie kept alive that spark, lie made it shine before men. He kindled it into \ flame that illumined his life. No occa- sion was so momentous, no circumstance so minute, as to DIDACTIC. 177 absolve him from following its guiding ray. The explana- tion in his account-book, in regard to his wife's annual visit to the camp during the revolutionary war. and his passing allusion to the "self-denial" which the exigences of his country had cost him, furnish a charming illustration of his habitual exactness. 2 The fact that every barrel of flour, which bore the brand of "George Washington, Mount Vernon," was exempted from the otherwise uniform inspection in the West India ports — that name being regarded as an ample guarantee of the quality and quantity of any article to which it was af- fixed — supplies a not less striking proof that his exactness was every where understood. 2. — MIRTn. 1. It is something even to look upon enjoyment, so that it be free and wild, and in the face of nature, though it is but the enjoyment of an idiot. It is something to know that heaven has left the capacity of gladness in such a crea- ture's breast; it is something to be assured that, however lightly men may crush that faculty in their fellows, the great Creator of mankind imparts it even to his despised and slighted work. Who would not rather see a poor idiot happy in the sunlight, than a wise man pining in jail? 2. Ye men of gloom and austerity, who paint the face of Infinite Benevolence with an eternal frown, read in the ever- lasting book, wide open to your view, the lesson it would teach. Its pictures are not in the black and somber hues, but bright and glowing tints; its music, save when ye drown it, is not in sighs and groans, but in songs and cheerful sounds. Listen to the million of voices in the summer air, and find one dismal as your own. Remember, if you :*an. the sense of hope and pleasure which every grand return oi day awakens in the breast of all your kind, who have not changed your nature, and learn wisdom even from the wit- less, when their hearts are lifted up, they know not why, ly al 1 the mirth and happiness it brings. CIIAS. DICKENS. /78 ELOCUTION. 3. — ENGAGING MANNERS. There are a thousand pretty, engaging little ways which every person may put on, without the risk of being deemed either affected or foppish. The sweet smile, the quiet cordial bow, the earnest movement in addressing a friend, or more especially a stranger, whom one may recom- mend to our good regards, the inquiring glance, the graceful attention which is captivating when united with self-posses- sion, these will insure us the good regards of even a churl. Above all there is a certain softness of manner which should be cultivated, and which, in either man or woman, adds a charm that almost entirely compensates for lack of beauty. The voice may be modulated so to intonate, that it will speak directly to the heart, and from that elicit an answer; and politeness may be made essential to our nature. Neither is time thrown away in attending to such things, insignificant as they may seem to those who engage in weightier matters. IX— GOOD TEMrER. 1. There's not a cheaper thing on earth. Nor yet one half so dear; ; Tis worth more than distinguished birth, Or thousands gained a year. 2. It lends the day a new delight ; 'Tis virtue's firmest shield ; And adds more beauty to the night Than all the stars may yield. 3. It makcth poverty content, To sorrow whispers peace ; It is a gift from heaven sent For mortals to increase. 4. It meets you with a smile at morn ; It lulls you to repose ; A flower for peer and peasant born, An everlasting rose. 5. A charm to banish grief away, To free the brow from care ; DIDACTIC. 179 Turns tears to smiles, makes dullness gay — Spreads gladness every where. 6. And 3*et 'tis cheap as summer's dew, That gems the lily's breast; A talisman for love as true As ever man possessed. 7. As smiles the rainbow through the cloud When threat'ning storm begins — ^ As music 'mill the tempest loud, That still its sweet way wins — 8. As springs an arch across the tide, When wavea conflicting foam, So conies this seraph to our side, This angel to our home. 9. What may this wondering spirit be, With power unheard before — This charm, this bright divinity? (Jood nature — nothing more ! 10. Good temper — 'tis the choicest gift That woman homeward brings, And can the poorest peasant lift To bliss unknown to kings. LIL— OPrOSITE EXAMINES. 1. I ask the young man who is just forming his habits of life, or just beginning to indulge those habitual trains of tlif.dglit out of which habits grow, to look around him and mark the examples whose fortune he would covet, or whose fate he would abhor. Even as we walk the streets, we meet with exhibitions of each extreme. 2. Here, behold a patriarch, whose stock of vigor three- score years and ten seem hardly to have impaired. His erect form, his firm step, his elastic limbs, and undimnicd senses, are so many certificates of good conduct; or, rather, so many jewels and orders of nobility with which nature has honored him for his fidelity to her laws. His fair com- 180 ELOCUTION. plexion shows that his blood has never been corrupted ; his pure breath, that he has never yielded his digestive apparatus to abuse; his exact language and keen apprehension, that his brain has never been drugged or stupefied by the poisons of distiller or tobacconist. 3. Enjoying his appetites to the highest, he has preserved the power of enjoying them. As he drains the cup of life, there are no lees at the bottom. His organs will reach the goal of existence together. Painlessly as a candle burns down in its socket, so will he expire ; and a little imagination would convert him into another Enoch, translated from earth to a better world without the sting of death. 4. But look on an opposite extreme, where an opposite history is recorded. What wreck so shocking to behold as the wreck of a dissolute man ! — the vigor of life exhausted, and yet the first steps in an honorable career not taken; in himself a lazar-house of diseases ; dead, but by a heathenish custom of society, not buried ! Rogues have had the initial letter of their title burnt into the palms of their hands; even for murder, Cain was only branded on the forehead ; but over the whole person of the debauchee or the inebriate, the signatures of infamy are written. 5. How nature brands him with stigma and opprobrium ! How she hangs labels all over him, to testify her disgust at his existence, and to admonish others to beware of his ex- ample ! How she loosens all his joints, sends tremors along his muscles, and bends forward his frame, as if to bring him upon all-fours with kindred brutes, or to degrade him to the reptile's crawling! How she disfigures his countenance, as if intent upon obliterating all traces of her own image, so that she may swear she never made him ! How she pours rheum over his eyes, sends foul spirits to inhabit his breath, and shrieks, as with a trumpet, from every pore of his bodj "Behold a Beast!" 6. Such a man may be seen in the streets of our cities every day : if rich enough, he may be found in the saloons, and at the tables of the " Upper Ten ;," but surely, to every man of purity and honor, to every man whose wisdom as well as whose heart is unblemished, the wretch who eomca DIDACTIC. LSI cropped and bleeding from the pillory, and redolent with its appropriate perfumes, would be a guest or a companion far less otfensive and disgusting. Now let the young man, re- joicing in his manly proportions, and in his comeliness, look on this picture, and on this, and then say, after the likeness of which model he intends his own erect stature and sublime countenance shall be configured. n. MANN. Lin.— ADDRESS TO THE INDOLENT. 1. Is not the field, with lively culture green, A sight more joyous than the dead morass? Do not the skies, with active ether clean, And fanned by sprightly zephyrs, far surpass The foul November fogs, and slumb'rous mass, With which sad nature vails her drooping face? Does not the mountain-stream, as clear as glass, Gay dancing on, the putrid pool disgrace? — The same in all holds true, but chief in human race. 2. Ah! what avail the largest gifts of Heaven, "When drooping health and spirits go amiss? How tasteless then whatever can he given! Health is the vital principle of bliss, And exercise of health. In proof of this Behold the wretch who slugs his life away, Soon swallowed in disease's sad abyss, While he whom toil has braced, or manly play, (las light as air each limb, each thought as clear as day. 3. 0, who can speak the vigorous joy of health, — Un clogged the body, tinohscured the mind? The morning rises gay, with pleasing stealth The temperate evening falls serene and kind. In health the wiser brutes true gladness find : See! how the younglings frisk along the meads, As May comes on, and wakes the balmy wind; Rampant with life, their joy all joy exceeds; Vet what but high-strung health this dancing pleasance breeds? 182 ELOCUTION. 4. There are, I see, who listen to my lay, Who wretched, sigh for virtue, yet despair. "All may be done," methinks I hear them say, " Even death despised by generous actions fair, — All, but for those who to these bowers repair 1 Their every power dissolved in luxury, To quit of torpid sluggishness the lair, And from the powerful arms of sloth get free — ! T is rising from the dead: — Alas! — it can not be!" 5. Would you, then, learn to dissipate the band Of these huge, threatening difficulties dire, That in the weak man's way like lions stand, His soul appall, and damp his rising fire? liesolve, — resolve! and to be men aspire. Exert that noblest privilege, — alone Here to mankind indulged: — control desire! Let godlike reason, from her sovereign throne, Sneak the commanding word, I Will! — and it is done. THOMSON. LI V.— VARIETIES. 1. — DO IT YOURSELF. 1. Why ask the teacher or some classmate to solve that problem? Do it yourself. You might as well let them eat your dinner as '-do your sums for you." It is in studying as in eating — he that docs it gets the benefit, and not he that sees it done. 2. Do not ask your teacher tc parse all the difficult words, or assist you in the performance of any of your du- ties. Do it yourself. Never mind, though they look dark as Egypt. Do n't ask even a hint from any body. Every trial increases your ability, and you will finally succeed by dint of the very wisdom and strength gained in this effort, even though at first the problem was beyond your skill. It is the study and not the answer that really rewards your pains. 3. Look at that boy who has succeeded after six hours of hard study, perhaps. How his eye is lit up with a proud joy, as he inarches to his class ! He reads like a conqueror, DIDACTIOr 183 and well he may. His poor, weak schoolmate, who gave up after the first trial, now looks up to him with something of wonder as a superior. 4. There lies a great gulf between those boys who stool yesterday side by side. They will never sland together as equals again. The boy that did it for himself has taken a stride upward, and, what is better still, has gained strength for greater efforts. The boy who waited to see others do it has lost both strength and courage, and is alicady lookiug for some excuse to give up school and study forever. 2. — ELOQUENCE. Eloquence consists in feeling a. truth yourself, and in making those who hear you feel it. Oratory is not vocifera- tion ; it is not stamping a hole in the platform, nor beating all the dust out of the cushion of the pulpit; nor tearing off the skirt of your coat in the violence of your gesticula- tions. It is not holding the breath until the face is purple and the eyes bloodshot; it is not hissing through the teeth like the fizzle of a squib, nor crouching down, then bound' ing upward like a wildcat springing on its prey; nor rant- ing about from one side of the rostrum to another until the skin is drenched in perspiration, and the body weakened into helplessness. You are not eloquent in all this, unless it be for the grave, for it is suicidal. 3. — GOOD ADVICE. Whatever you re^, whatever you see, or hear, or do, at the earliest opportunity reduce it, be it much or little, to a few simple ideas, a short sketch, not longer than an epitaph, that it may be clearly impressed on the memory, without being a burden or taking too much room. Most people run on the moment they are set on a subject, if they are at all personally interested. Ihey plunge into circumstances, lose their heads, and fling masses of description, narrative, whole documents, dialogues — in a word, the whole thing over again, at their hearers. The great art is to extract the essence of a story, and perfume it with a little sentiment — • 184 ELOCUTION. good nature, if nothing else. It will take its place in youi memory, be always at hand, and be producible as well as welcome. LV.— A PSALM OF LIFE. I Tell me not in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream ! For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. - 2. Life is real ! Life is earnest ! And the grave is not its goal: " Dust thou art, to dust returnest," Was not written of the soul. 3. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end and way, But to act, that each to-morrow Find us further than to-day. 4. 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. 5. 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 ! 6. Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act! — act in the living Present! Heart within, and God o'er head. 7. Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time ; 8. Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o'er life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again. DIDACTIC. 1H5 9 Let us, then, be up and doing, With a fa :ny fate ; achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait. LONGFELLOW. LVL— VARIETIES. 1. — EFFECTS OF TEMPERATURE OX MAN. 1. Owing mainly to the flexibility of his constitution, although obtaining much artificial aid, man can subsist under the greatest climatic extremes. The Esquimaux en- dure the cold between the parallels of seventy and eighty dc«rr< AXrican Negroes subsist under the burning sun of the Equator ; while Europeans, accustomed to an inter- mediate temperature, have borne the rigor of the highest latitude, and the fiercest heat of the Torrid Zone. 2. The power of the human frame to resist cold, accord- ing to Sir John Ross, who experienced four successive Arc- tic winters, appears to vary remarkably in different consti- tutions. His general conclusion is, that the ruddy, elastic, florid, or clear-complexioned man, endowed with what phvsi- - call the sanguine temperament, has a peculiar power of retaining heat; while those having pale, flabby, sallow countenances, whose temperament is said to be phlegmatic or melancholic, are proportionately deficient. The most ample clothing will not compensate for the deficiency, since it can only retain the internal heat ; and if this be wanting one might as well attempt to " warm a piece of ice by means of a blanket." He places his chief reliance on abundance of food; and it is well known that an Esqui- maux takes as much as ten or twelve pounds weight of ani- mal food in twenty-four hours, its effect being heightened by the fat and oleaginous quality of the diet. -A. The oxygen which is inhaled with atmospheric air combines chemically with the carbon of the food, and that chemical action is the cause of heat and vital force. There- fore a much larger supply of animal food, which contains many times more carbon than vegetables, is necessary KlDD.— 16 186 ELOCUTION. in a cold climate ; while, amid torrid heat, rice and fruit form a more appropriate diet. 2. — OPPOSITION. "A certain amount of opposition," says John Neal, "is a great help to a man." Kites rise against and not with the wind. Even a head-wind is better than none. No man ever worked his passage any where in a dead calm. Let no man wax pale, therefore, because of opposition. Opposition is whai he wants, and must have, to be good for any thing. Hardship is the native soil of manhood and self-reliance. 3. — A GOOD CHARACTER. A good character in a young man is what a firm founda tion is to the architect, who proposes to erect a building — on it he can build with safety ; but let a single part of this be defective, and he goes on a hazard, amid doubting and dis- trust, and ten to one the edifice he erects on it will tumble down at last, and mingle all that was built on it in ruin. Without a good character poverty is a curse — with it, it is scarcely an evil. All that is bright in the hope of youth, all that is calm and blissful in the sober scenes of life, all that is soothing in the vale of years, centers in, and is derived from, a good character. LVIL— WHAT 'LL THEY THINK. 1. Who cares what they'll think, or what they'll say, concerning ourselves, so long as we have the approval of our own reason and conscience ? What they '11 think and what they '11 say, are to us as idle scarecrows, dead carcasses of conventionality, which we hold in abhorrence and contempt. 2. And yet, how many waste their lives, and fritter away their man and womanhood in the everlasting query, "What '11 they think?" They are serfs to the worid around them — bond-slaves to the whims and caprices of others. "What '11 they think?" arranges all their house- hold, fashions their drawing-rooms, their feasts, their DIDACTIC. 1£7 equipage, their garments, their amusements, their sociality, their religion, their every thing ! Poor, hampered souls ! 3. Society abounds in such. Men are often enough of the lot, but women oftener. If one hoops, all must hoop ; if one flounces, all must flounce. No matter whether it is convenient or prudent, they must follow the lead. "What '11 they think?" if one dares to stand alone, is their withering fear and torment. 4. They have lost all desire to be independent. It is how will the Priggses look at it, that determines them. They must do just as the Priggses do. Out upon the Priggses and all their retinue ! They are emasculating society, con- fusing weak men's ideas, and making weak women's minds weaker. Let us have done with, "What '11 they think?" and bury it with the corpses of the bowing, scraping, cring- ing, and fawning of feudal days and universal slave ages. LVIIL— PADDLE YOUR OWN CANOE. 1: Voyager upon life's sea, To yourself be true ; And where'er your lot may be, Paddle your own canoe. Never, though the winds may rave, Falter nor look back, But upon the darkest wave Leave a shining track. 2. Nobly dare the wildest storm. Stem the hardest gale, Brave of heart and strong of arm, You will never fail. When the world is cold and dark, Keep an end in view, And toward the beacon mark, Paddle your own canoe. 3. Every wave that bears you on To the silent shore, From its sunny source has gone To return no more: 188 ELOCUTION. Then let not an hour's delay Cheat you of your due; But while it is called to-day, Paddle your own canoe. 4 If your birth denied you wealth, Lofty state and power, Honest fame and hardy health Are a better dower ; But if these will not suffice, Golden gain pursue, And to win the glittering prize, Paddle your own canoe. 5. "Would you wrest the wreath of fame From the hand of Fate ; Would you write a deathless name, With the good and great ; Would you bless your fellow men? Heart and soul imbue With the holy task, and then Paddle your own canoe. 6. Would you crush the tyrant Wrong, In the world's fierce fight? With a spirit brave and strong, Battle for the Right; And to break the chains that bind The many to the few — To enfranchise slavish mind, Paddle your own canoe. 7. Nothing great is lightly won, Nothing won is lost — Every good deed nobly done, Will repay the cost: Leave to Heaven, in humble trust, All you will to do; But if you succeed, you must Paddle your own canoe. MRS. SARAU T. DIDACTIC. l#y LIX.— VARIETIES. 1. — PURE AIR. 1. Notiiino is more detrimental to health than foul air. The air drawn into the lungs is the great purifier of the blood ; from the blood every part and fiber of the body receive growth and nourishment ; and if this be allowed to carry impurities through the system, health will be speedily destroyed. Either immediate death, or eventual disease, will unavoidably ensue. As you are going to rest at night, suspend a bird at the top of your curtained bedstead, on the inside, and you will find it lifeless in the morning. It is for this reason that domesticated birds are so fro quently short-lived and sickly. They need to inhale the free air from the lakes and mountains. 2. Washington Irving remarks, that, on his endeavoring to sleep in a close room, after his famous wild-wood ram- bles in the west, he found the air so oppressive as almost to banish sleep from his eyelids. Dr. Franklin states, that he seldom or never slept in a room, at home or abroad, either in summer or in winter, without having raised in his apartment one or more of the windows. Let parents, teach- ers, and invalids be sure to furnish for themselves, and for those under their guardianship, the purest air that circulates about them. Many a cheek will look fairer, and many a heart will beat fuller and freer, if all will attend to this salutary caution. 2. — THINKING. Man may see and hear, and read and learn, whatever he pleases, and as much as he pleases — hles on the eye-lid, holds, locked in its transparent cello, ^n amount of electric fire equal to that which is disth;* g*«J during a storm from a thunder-cloud? ZV2 ELOCUTION. 4. In these studies of the effects which are continual!) presenting themselves to the observing eye, and of the phe- nomena of causes, as far as they are revealed by science in its search of the physical earth, it will be shown that be- neath the beautiful vesture of the external world there exists, like its quickening soul, a pervading power, assum- ing the most varied aspects, giving to the whole its life an d loveliness, and linking every portion of this material mas^ in a common bond with some great universal principle be- yond our knowledge. 5. Whether by the improvement of the powers of the human mind, man will ever be enabled to embrace within his knowledge the laws which regulate these remote princi- ples, we are not sufficiently advanced in intelligence to de- termine. But if admitted even to a clear perception of the theoretical power which we regard as regulating the known forces, we must still see an unknown agency beyond us. vvhieh can only be referred to the Creator's will. ROBERT HUNT. LXX.— EARLY RISING CONDUCIVE TO HEALTH. 1 . Lin wary belles, Who, day by day, the fashionable round Of dissipation tread, stealing from art The blush Eliza owns, to hide a cheek Pale and deserted ; come, and learn of me How to be ever blooming, young and fair. Give to the mind improvement. Let the tongue Be subject to the heart and head. Withdraw From city smoke, and trip with agile foot, Oft as the day begins, the steepy down Or velvet lawn, earning the bread you eat. 2. Rise with the lark, and with the lark to bed The breath of night's destructive to the hue Of ev'ry flower that blows. Go to the field, And ask the humble daisy why it sleeps Soon as the sun departs? Why close the eyes Of blossoms infinite, long ere the moon Her oriental vail puts off? DIDACTIC. 203 Nor let the sweetest blossom nature boasts Be thus exposed to night's unkindly damp. Well may it droop, and all its freshness lose, Compelled to taste the rank and poisonous steam Of midnight theater, and morning ball. Give to repose the solemn hour she claims, And from the forehead of the morning, steal The sweet occasion. 3. Oh, there is a charm "Which morning has, that gives the brow of age A smack of youth, and makes the life of youth Shed perfumes exquisite. Expect it not, Ye who till noon upon a down-bed lie, Indulging feverous sleep — a wakeful dream, Of happiness, no mortal heart has felt But in the regions of Romance. Ye fair, Like you, it must be wooed, or never won ; And, being lost, it is in vain ye ask For milk of roses, and Olympian dew. . Cosmetic art no tincture can afford The faded features to restore: no chain, Be it of gold, and strong as adamant, Can fetter beauty to the fair one's will. nuRDis. LXXI.— ORATORY. 1. It is absolutely necessary for the orator to keep one man in view amidst the multitude that surround him; and, while composing, to address himself to that one man whose mistakes he laments, and whose foibles he discovers. This man is to him as the genius of Socrates, standing continu- ally at his side, and by turns interrogating him, or answer- ing his questions. This is he whom the orator ought never to lose sight of in writing, tilt lie obtain a conquest over bis prepossessions. The arguments which will be suffi- ciently persuasive to overcome his opposition, will equally control a large assembly. 2. The orator will derive still farther advantages from a numerous concourse of people, where all the impressions made at the time will convey the finest triumphs of tho 204 ELOCUTION. art, by forming a species of action and reliction between the auditory and the speaker. It is in this sense that Cicero is right in saying, "That no man can be eloquent without a multitude to hear him." 3. The auditor came to hear a discourse; the orator at tacks him, accuses him, makes him abashed; addresses him at one time as his confidant, at another as his mediator oi' his judge. See with what address he unvails his most con- cealed passions; with what penetration he shows him his most intimate thoughts; with what energy he annihilates his best framed excuses! The culprit repents. Profound attention, consternation, confusion, remorse, all announce that the orator has penetrated, in his retired meditations, into the recesses of the heart. Then, provided no ill-timed sally of wit follow to blunt the strokes of Christian elo- quence, there may be in the church two thousand auditors, yet there will be but one thought, but one opinion; and all those individuals united, form that ideal man whom the ora- tor had in view while composing his discourse. 4. But, you may ask, where is this ideal man, composed of so many different traits, to be found, unless we describe some chimerical being? Where shall we find a phantom like this, singular but not outre, in which every individual may recognize himself, although it resembles not any one ? Where shall we find him ? In your own heart. Often re- tire there. Survey all its recesses. There you will trace both the pleas for those passions which you will have to combat, and the source of those false reasonings which you must point out. To be eloquent we must enter within our- selves. The first productions of a young orator are gener- ally too far fetched. His mind, always on the stretch, is making continual efforts, without his ever venturing to com- mit himself to the simplicity of nature, until experience teaches him that, to arrive at the sublime, it is, in fact, less necessary to elevate his imagination, than to be deeply im pressed with his subject. 5. If you have studied the sacred books; if you have observed men ; if you liaye attended to writers on morals, who serve you instead of historians; if you have become DIDACTIC. 205 familiar with the language of orators, make trial of your eloquence upon yourself, become, so to speak, the auditor of your own discourses; and thus, by anticipating the effect which they ought to produce, you will easily delineate true characters ; you will perceive that, notwithstanding the shades of difference which distinguish them, all men bear in interior resemblance to one another, and that their vices have a uniformity, because they always proceed either from weakness or interest. In a word, your descriptions will not be indeterminate ; and the more thoroughly you shall have examined what passes within your own breast, with more ability will you unfold the hearts of others. MAURY. LXXIL— FLOWERS. 1. Spake full well, in language quaint and olden, One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, When he called the flowers, so blue and golden, Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine. 2. Stars they are, wherein we read our history, As astrologers and seers of eld ; Yet not wrapped about with awful mystery, Like the burning stars which they beheld. 3. "Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous, God hath written in those stars above ; But not less in the bright flow'rets under us Stands the revelation of His love. 4. Bright and glorious is that revelation, "Written all over this great world of ours, Making evident our own creation, In these stars of earth — these golden flowers. 5. And the poet, faithful and far-seeing, Sees, alike in stars and flowers, a part Of the self-same universal Being, Which is throbbing in his brain and heart 6. Gorgeous flowers in the sunlight shining, Blossoms flaunting in the eye of day; ' Tremulous leaves, with Buds that open only to decay •206 ELOCUTION. 7. Brilliant hopes, all woven in gorgeous tissues, Flaunting' gaily in the golden light; Large desires, with most uncertain issues, Tender wishes, blossoming at night! 8. These in flowers and men are more than seeming; Workings are they of the self-same Power, Which the poet, in no idle dreaming, Seeth in himself and in the flower. 9. Every where about us are they glowing, Some, like stars, to tell us Spring is born ; Others, their blue eyes with tears o'erflowing, Stand, like Ruth, amid the golden corn. 10. Not alone in Spring's armorial bearing, And in Summer's green-emblazoned field, But in arms of brave old Autumn's wearing, In the center of his brazen shield ; 11. Not alone in meadows and green alleys, On the mountain-top, and by the brink Of sequestered pools in woodland vaileys, Where the slaves of nature stoop to drink ; 12. Not alone in her vast dome of glory, Not on graves of bird and beast "Uone, But in old cathedrals, high and hoary, On the tombs of heroes, carved in stone ; 13. In the cottage of the rudest peasant, In ancestral homes, whose crumbling towers, Speaking of the Past unto the Present, Tell us of the ancient games of flowers; 14. In all places, then, and in all seasons, Flowers expand their light and soul-like wings. Teaching us, by most persuasive reasons, How akin they are to human thii gs. 15. And with childlike, credulous affection, We behold their tender buds expand ; Emblems of our own great resunection, Emblems of " the bright and better land." LONGFELLOW ORAL AND RELIGIOUS. 207 'MORAL AND RELIGIOUS. LXXITL— THE INSBIRATION OF THE BIBLE. 1. Such is the intrinsic excellence of Christianity that it is adapted to the wants of all, and it provides for all, not only by its precepts and by its doctrines, but also by its evidence. 2. The poor man may know nothing of history, or sci- ence, or philosophy; he may have read scarcely any book but the Bible; he may be totally unable to vanquish the skeptic in the arena of public debate; but he is nevertheless surrounded by a panoply which the shafts of infidelity can never pierce. 3. You may go to the home of the poor cottager, whose heart is deeply imbued with the spirit of vital Christianity; you may see him gather his little family around him : lie expounds to them the wholesome doctrines and principles of the Bible, and if they want to know the evidence upon which he rests his faith, of the divine origin of his religion, he can tell them upon reading the bo-ok which teaches Chris- tianity, he finds not only a perfectly true description of his own natural character, but in the provisions of this religion i perfect adaptation to all his needs. 4. It is a religion by which to live — a religion by which to die; a religion which cheers in darkness, relieves in per plexity, supports in adversity, keeps steadfast in prosperity, and guides the inquirer to that blessed land where "the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.' r 5. AVe entreat you, therefore, to give the Bible a wel- come — a cordial reception ; obey its precepts, trust its prom ises, and rely implicitly upon that Divine Redeemer, whose religion brings glory to God in the highest, and on earth, peace and good will to men. G. Thus will you fulfill the noble end of your existence, und the great God of the universe will be your father and your friend ; and when the last mighty convulsion shall shake the earth, and the sea, and the sky, and the fragments 208 ELOCUTION. of a thousand barks, richly freighted with intellect ana learning, are scattered on the shores of error and delusion your vessel shall in safety outride the storm and enter in triumph the haven of eternal rest. edw. wintiirop. LXXIV.— POETICAL SELECTIONS. 1. — MY MOTHER'S BIBLE. 1. This book is all that's left me now! Tears will unbidden start ; With faltering lip and throbbing brow, I press it to my heart. For many generations past, Here is our family tree : My mother's hands this Bible clasped ; She, dying, gave it me. 2. Ah ! well do I remember those Whose names these records bear, Who round the hearth-stone used to close, After the evening prayer ; And speak of what these pages said, In tones my heart would thrill! Though they are with the silent dead, Here are they living still. 3. My father read this holy book To brothers, sisters, dear; How calm was my dear mother's look, Who loved God's word to hear. Her aged face — I see it yet, As thronging memories come ! Again that little group is met Within the halls of home ! 4. Thou truest friend man ever knew, Thy constancy I've tried; When all were false I found thee true, My counselor and guide. The mines of earth no treasure give That could this volume buy: In teaching me the way to live, It taught me how to die. o. p. morris y MORAL AND RELIGIOUS. 209 2. TARRY WITH ME. 1. Tarry with me, my Savior ! For the day is passing by ; See ! the shades of evening gather, And the night is drawing nigh : Tarry with me ! tarry with me! Pass me not unheeded by. 2. Many friends were gathered round me, In the bright days of the past ; But the grave has closed above them, And I linger here the last: I am lonely, tarry with me Till the dreary night is past. 3. Dimmed for me is earthly beauty; Yet the spirit's eye would fain Rest upon thy lovely features; Shall I seek, dear Lord, in vain? Tarry with me, my Savior, Let me see thy smile again! 4. Dull my ear to earth-born music ; Speak thou, Lord, in words of cheer ; Feeble, tottering my footsteps, Sinks my heart with sudden fear; Cast thine arms, dear Lord, around mo Let me feel thy presence near. LXXV.— VARIETIES. -GOODNESS OF GOD. 1. The light of nature, the works of creation, the general consent of nations, in harmony with divine revelation, at- test the being, the perfections, and the providence of God Whatever cause we have to lament the frequent inconsis- tency of human conduct, with this belief, yet an avowed atheist is a monster, that rarely makes his appearance. God's government of the affairs of the universe, an acknowl- edgment of his active, superintending providence, over thai portion of it, which constitutes the globe we inhabit, is re- jected, at least theoretically, by very few. Kmi).- IS 210 ELOCUTION. 2. That a superior, invisible power, is continually em- ployed in managing and controlling by secret, impercep- tible, irresistible means, all the transactions of the world, is so often manifested in the disappointment, as well as in the success of our plans, that blind and depraved must our minds be, to deny what every day's transactions so fully prove. The excellence of the divine character, especially in the ex- ercise of that goodness toward his creatures, which is seen in the dispensation of their daily benefits, and in overruling occurring events, to the increase of their happiness, is equally obvious. 3. Do we desire evidence of these things? Who is with- out them, in the experience of his own life ? Who has not reason, to thank God for the success, which has at- tended his exertions in the world? Who has not reason to thank him, for defeating plans, the accomplishment of which, it has been afterward seen, would have resulted in injury or ruin ? Who has not cause, to present him the unaffected homage of a grateful heart, for the consequences of events, apparently the most unpropitious, and for his unquestionable kindness, in the daily supply of needful mercies ? 2. — THE SNOW OP AGE. •' No snow falls lighter than the snow of age ; but none is heavier, for it never melts." 1. The figure is by no means novel, but the closing part of the sentence is new as well as emphatic. The Scripture represents age by the almond tree, which bears blossoms of the purest white. " The almond tree shall flourish " — the head shall be hoary. Dickens says of one of his char- acters whose hair was turning gray, that it looked as if Time had lightly splashed his snows upon it in passing. 2. " It never melts" — no, never. Age is inexorable, lis wheels must move onward — they know no retrograde move- ment. The old man may sit and sing, " I would I were a boy again " — but he grows older as he sings. He may read of the elixir of youth, but he can not find it; he may sigh for the secrets of that alchemy which is able to make him voung again, but sighing brings it not. He may gaze back MORAL AND RELIGIOUS. 211 ward with an eye of longing upon the rosy schemes of carl^ years; but, as one who gazes on his home from the deck of a departing ship, every moment carries him farther and farther away. Poor old man ! he has little more to do than die. 3. " It never melts." The snow of winter comes and Bheds its white blessings upon the valley and the mountaiu, but soon the sweet Spring comes and smiles it all away. Not so with that upon the brow of the tottering veteran. There is no Spring whose warmth can penetrate its eternal frost. It came to stay. Its single flakes fell unnoticed — and now it is drilled there. We shall see it increase until we lay the old man in his grave. There it shall be ab- sorbed by the eternal darkness — for there is no age in heaven. 4. Yet why speak of age in a mournful strain? It is beautiful, honorable, eloquent. Should we sigh at the prox- imity of death, when life and the world are so full of empti- ness? Let the old exult because they are old — if any must weep, let it be the younsr, at the long succession of cares that are before them. "Welcome the snow, for it is the cm- blcni of peace and of rest, It is but a temporal crown which shall fall at the gates of Paradise, to be replaced by *». br'.rrhtei and a better. LXXVL— SUSrEXSE. 1. "Wiiex all is known, the darkest fate The smitten heart may learn to bear, And feel, when time can not abate, The settled calmness of despair; 33ut who can well endure the grief — Which knows no refuge or defense, That aje of pain, in moments brief — The untold anguish of suspense! 2. When once the first rude shock is past The heart may still the storm outride, As, from the wreck around it cast, It finds support to breast the tide ; 212 ELOCUTION. But thus to linger day by day, A prey to that foreboding sense Which gifes a, pang to each delay, And agonizes -with suspense ! 3. To feel an ever present dread Of some impei ding, nameless ill, Is keener than the shaft, when sped, Which makes the -wounded bosom thrill. Then let me know the worst of fate, Though it may rend with pangs intense, For sure no pangs were e'er so great As are the tortures of suspense. 4. And yet, the soul that trusts in God Can find a balm for every woe, Since His own hand upholds the rod, And mercy tempers every blow ; then, my soul, be strong in trust — Whatever fate He may dispense, Although the swelling heart may burst, W'hile agonizing in suspense. REV. SIDNEY DYER. LXXVIL— THE TELESCOPE AND MICROSCOPE. 1, It was the telescope that, by piercing the obscurity which lies between us and distant worlds, put infidelity in possession of the argument against which we are now con- tending; but, about the time of its invention, another in- strument was formed, which laid open a scene no less won- derful, and rewarded the inquisitive spirit of man with a discovery, which serves to neutralize the whole of this argu- ment. This was the microscope. The one led me to a sys- tem in every star — the othor leads me to see a world in every atom. 2. The one taught me that this mighty globe, with the thole burden of its people and of its countries, is but a grain of sand on the high field of immensity — the other teaches me that every grain of sand may harbor within it the tribes and families of a busy population. The one told me of the magnificence of the world I tread upon — the other MORAL AND RELIGIOUS. 213 redeems it from all its insignificance ; for it tells me that in the leaves of every forest, and in the flowers of every gar- den, and in the waters of every rivulet, there are worlds teeming with life, and numberless as are the glories of the firmament. 3. The one has suggested to me, that beyond and above all that is visible to man, there may lie fields of creation which sweep immeasurably along, and carry the impress of the Almighty's hand to the remotest scenes of the uni- verse — the other suggests to me, that within and beneath all that minuteness which the aided eye of man has been able to explore, there may lie a region of invisibles ; and that, could we draw aside the mysterious curtain which shrouds it from our senses, we might there see a theater of as many wonders as astronomy has unfolded, a universe within the compass of a point so small, as to elude all the powers of the microscope, but where the wonder-working God finds room for the exercise of all His attributes, where He can raise another mechanism of worlds, and fill and animate them all with the evidences of his glory. 4. Now, mark how all this may be made to meet the ar- gument of our infidel astronomers. By the telescope, they have discovered that no magnitude, however vast, is beyond the grasp of the Divinity ; but by the microscope, we have also discovered, that no minuteness, however shrunk from the notice of the human eye, is beneath the condescension of His regard.- Every addition to the powers of the one in- strument extends the limit of His visible dominions; but, by every addition of the powers of the other instrument, we see each part of them more crowded than before with the wonders of His unwearying hand. The one is constantly widening the circle of Ilis territory — the other is as con- Btantly filling up its separate portions with all that is rich, mil various, and exquisite. In a word, by the one I am told that the Almighty is now at work in regions more dis- tant than geometry has ever measured, and among worlds more manifold than numbers have ever reached; but, by the other, I am also told, that with a mind to comprehend the wholo, in the vast compass of its generality, He has also 214 ELOCUTION. a mind to concentrate a close and a separate attention on each and on all of its particulars; and that the same God, who sends forth an upholding influence among the orbs and the movements of astronomy, can fill the recesses of every single atom with the intimacy of His presence, and travel, in all the greatness of His unimpaired attributes, upon every one spot and corner of the universe He has formed. 5. They, therefore, who think that God will not put forth such a power, and such a goodness, and such a condescen- sion, in behalf of this world, as are ascribed to Him in the New Testament, because He has so many other worlds to at- tend to, think of Him as a man. They confine their view to the informations of the telescope, and forget altogether the informations of the other instrument. They only find room in their minds for His one attribute of a large and gen- eral superintendence; and keep out of their remembrance the equally impressive proofs we have for His ether attri- bute, of a minute and multiplied attention to all that diver- sity of operations, where it is lie that worketh all in all. 6. And when I think, that as one of the instruments of philosophy has hightened our every impression of the first of these attributes, so another instrument has no less hightened our impression of the second of them — then I can no longer resist the conclusion, that it would be a transgression of sound argument, as well as a daring of impiety, to draw a limit around the doings of this unsearchable God — and, should a professed revelation from heaven tell me of an act of con- descension, in behalf of some separate world, so wonderful, that angels desire to look into it, and the Eternal Son had to move from His seat of glory to carry it into accomplish- ment, all I ask is the evidence of such a revelation ; for, let it tell me as much as it may of God letting himself down for the benefit of one single province of His dominions, this is no more than what I see lying scattered, in numberless ex- amples, before me; and running through the whole line of my recollections; and meeting me in every walk of observa- tion to which I can betake myself; and, now that the mi croscope has unvailed the wonders of another region, I see strewed around me. with a profusion which baffles my every MORAL AND RELIGIOUS. 215 attempt to comprehend it. the evidence that there is no one portion of the universe of God too minute for His notice, nor too humble for the visitations of His care. Dlt. dlALMEIld LXXVIII.— THE UNSEEN LATTLE-FIELD. 1. Tuere is an unseen battle-field In every human breast, "Where two opposing forces meet, But where they seldom rest. 2. That field is vailed from mortal sight, 'T is only seen by One Who knows alone where victory lies, When each day's fight is done. 3. One army clusters strong and fierce, Their chief of demon form ; His brow is like the thunder-cloud, His voice the bursting storm, 4. His captains, Pride, and Lust, and Hate, Whose troops watch night and day. Swift to detect the weakest point, And thirsting for the fray. 5. Contending with this mighty force Is but a little band ; Yet there, with an unquailing front, Those warriors firmly stand! 6. Their leader is a God-like form, Of countenance serene ; And glowing on his naked breast A simple cross is seen. 7. Ills captains, F.mn, and Hope, and Lots, Point to that wondrous sign; And, gazing on it, all receive Strength from a Source divine. 8. Thoy feel it speak a glorious truth, A truth as great as sure, That to be victors they must learn To love, confide, endure. 216 ELOCUTION. 9. That faith sublime in wildest strife, Imparts a holy calm; For every deadly blow a shield, For every wound a balm. JO. And when they win that battle-field, Past toil is quite forgot ; The plain where carnage once had reigned, Becomes a hallowed spot : 11. A spot where flowers of joy and peace Spring from the fertile sod, And breathe the perfume of their praise On every breeze — to God. LXXIX.— VARIETIES. 1. THE PROrER LIMITS OF BENEVOLENCE. 1. Kind and amiable people, your benevolence is most lovely in its display, but oh ! it is perishable in its conse- quences. Does it never occur to you that in a few years this favorite will die; and that he will go to the place where neither cold nor hunger will reach nim ; but that a mighty interest remains, of which both of *us may know the cer- tainty, though neither you nor I can calculate the extent? Your benevolence is too short: it does not shoot far enough ahead: it is like regaling a child with a sweetmeat or a toy, and then abandoning the happy, unreflecting infant to exposure. 2. You make the poor old man happy with your crumbs and your fragments, but he is an infant on the mighty range of duration ; and will you leave the soul, which has the in- finity to go through, to its chance? How comes it that the grave should throw so impenetrable a shroud over the real- ities of eternity? how comes it that heaven, and hell, and judgment, should be treated as so many nonentities; and that there should be as little real and operative sympathy felt for the soul which lives forever, as for the body after it is dead, or for the dust into which it molders? Eternity is longer than time ; the arithmetic, my brethren, is all on MORAL AND RELIGIOUS. 217 one side upon this question; and the wisdom which calcu- lates, and guides itself by calculation, gives its weighty and respectable support to what may be called the benevo- lence Of faith. CHALMERS. 2. — ACCESS TO GOD. 1 However early in the morning you seek the gate of & ,cess, you find it already open; and the midnight moment when you find yourself in the sudden arms of death, the winged prayer can bring an instant Savior near. And this wherever you are. It needs not that 3*011 ascend some special Pisgah or Moriah. It needs not that you should enter some awful shrine, or pull off your shoes on some holy ground. 2. Could a memento be reared on every spot from which an acceptable prayer had passed away, and on which a prompt answer has come down, we should find Jehovah- shammah. "the Lord hath been here," inscribed on many a cottage hearth, and man}* a dungeon floor. We should find it not only in Jerusalem's proud Temple, and David's cedar galleries, but in the fisherman's cottage by the brink of Genesareth and in the chamber where Pentecost began. 8. Whether it be the field where Isaac went to meditate, or the rocky knoll where Jacob lay down to sleep, or the brook where Israel wrestled, or the den where Daniel gazed on lions and the lions gazed on him, on the hill-sides where the Man of sorrows prayed all night, we should still discern the prints of the ladder's feet let down from heaven — the landing-place of mercies, because the starting-point of prayer. And all this whatsoever you are. 4. It needs no saints, no proficient in piety, no adept in eloquent language, no dignity of earthly rank. It needs 1 ut a blind beggar, a loathsome lazar. It needs but a penitent publican, or a dying thief. And it needs no sharp ordeal, no costly passport, no painful expiation, to bring you to the mercy-seat. The Savior's merit — the name of Jesus, priceless as they are, cost the sinner nothing. They are freely put at his disposal, and instantly and constantly he may use of them. This access to God in every place, at Kidd— 19 218 ELOCUTION. every moment without any price or personal merit, is it not a privilege? .tames Hamilton. LXXX.—G OD, THE TRUE SOURCE OF CONSOLATION. 1. Thou, who driest the mourner's tear, How dark this world would be, If, when deceived and wounded here, "We could not fly to thee ! 2. The friends who in our sunshine live, When winter comes, are flown ; And he who has but tears to give, Must weep those tears alone. 3. But Thou wilt heal the broken heart, Which, like the plants that throw Their fragrance from the wounded part. Breathes sweetness out of woe. 4. When joy no longer soothes or cheers, And e'en the hope that threw A moment's sparkle o'er our tears, Is dimmed and vanished, too ! 5. Oh! who could bear life's stormy doom, . Did not Thy wing of love Come brightly wafting through the gloom Our peace-branch from above! 6. Then, sorrow, touched by Thee, grows bright With more then rapture's ray, As darkness shows us worlds of light, We never saw by day. moorr LXXXL— "WE 'LL ALL MEET AGAIN IN THE MORNING." 1, wild is the tempest, and dark is the night. But soon will the daybreak be dawning; Then the friendships of yore Shall blossom once more, "And we'll all meet again in the morning." MORAL AND RELIGIOUS. 219 2. Art thou doomed in a far distant region to roam, To meet the cold gaze of the stranger ; Dost thou yearn for the smiles of the loved ones at home, While thou pray'st God to shield them from danger? Ah! the hight of the waters may shadow my form, Yet soon will the daybreak he dawning ; And thou 'It mingle once more "With the loved ones on shore — "For we '11 all meet again in the morning." ' 3. Dost thou miss the sweet voice of a fond loving wife, Whose music brought balm to thy sorrow; Didst thou see her decline in the sunset of life, Nor felt one bright hope for the morrow? 0, cheer up, dear brother! the night may be dark, Yet soon will the daybreak be dawning; ^ Of all ties bereft, One hope is still left — "We'll all meet again in the morning." 4. Art thou wearied, pilgrim, on life's desert waste; Dost thou sigli for the shade of the wild-wood; Have the world's choicest fruits proved bitter to taste, And mocked all the dreams of thy childhood? 0, cheer up, poor pilgrim, faint not on thy way. For soon will the daybreak be dawning; Then the dreams which have lied, Shall arise from the dead — "And all will be bright in the morning!" 5. 0, servant of Christ! too heavy the cross, Has thy trust in thy Master been shaken? In doubt and in darkness thy faith has been lost, And thou criest, "My God, I 'm forsaken!" But cheer up, dear brother! the night can not last, And soon will the daybreak be dawning; Then the trials of earth We have borne from our birth, 'Will all be made right in the morning!" H. CLAY TREUSS 220 . ELOCUTION. LXXXIL— TELL ME, Y/E WINCED WINDS. 1. Tell me, ye winged winds, That round my pathway roar, Do you not know some spot Where mortals weep no more? Some lone and pleasant dell, Some valley in the west, Where, free from toil and pain, The weary soul may rest? The loud wind softened to a whisper low, And sighed for pity as it whispered — "No!" 2. Tell me, thou mighty deep, Whose billows round me play, Know'st thou some favored spot, Some island far away, Where weary man may find ^ The bliss for which ho sighs, Where sorrow never lives And friendship never dies? The loud waves rolling in perpetual flow, Stopped for a while, and sighed to answer — "-No!" 3. And thou, serenest moon, That with such holy face Dost look upon the earth, Asleep in night's embrace, Tell me, in all thy round, Hast thou not seen some spot, Where miserable man Might find a happier lot? Behind a cloud the moon withdrew in woe, And a voice sweet, but sad, responded — "No'" 4. Tell me, my secret soul, ! tell me, Hope and Faith, Is there no resting-place From sorrow, sin, and death? Is there no happy spot, Where mortals may be blest Where grief may find a balm, And weariness a rest? Faith, Ilcpe, and Love — best boons to mortals given — Waved their bright wings, and whispered — "Yes! in heaven! 1 CHARLES MAC KAY. MORAL AND RELIGIOUS. 221 LXXXIII.— OX A SURVEY OF THE HEAVENS, BEFORE DAY-BREAK. 1. Ye many twinkling stars -who yet do hold Your brilliant places in the sable vault Of night's dominion — planets, and central orbs Of other systems ; big as the burning sun Which lights this nether globe, yet to our eye Small as the glow-worm's lamp! to you I raise My lowly orisons, while, all bewildered, My vision strays o'er your ethereal hosts ; Too vast, too boundless for our narrow mind, Warped with low prejudices, to unfold, And sagely comprehend — thence higher soaring-- Through ye I raise my solemn thoughts to Ilim, The mighty Founder of this wondrous maze, fIThc great Creator ! Ilim ! who now sublime, Wrapt in the solitary amplitude Of boundless space, above the rolling spheres Sits on His silent throne, and meditates. 2. The angelic hosts, in their inferior heaven, Hymn to the golden harps His praise sublime. Repeating loud, "The Lord oui Uod is great!" In varied harmonies: tue glorious sounds Roll o'er the air serene : the iEolian spheres, Harping along their viewless boundaries, Catch the full note, and cry, "The Lord is great I" Responding to the seraphim. O'er all, From orb to orb, to the remotest verge Of the created world, the sound is borne, Till the whole universe is full of Him. 3. Oh ! 'tis this heavenly harmony which now [i\ fancy strikes upon my listening ear, And thrills my inmost soul. It bids me smile On the vain world, and all its bustling cares, And gives a shadowy glimpse of future bliss, Oil ! what is man, when at ambition's bight — What even are kings, when balanced in the scald Of these stupendous worlds? Almighty Uod! Thou, the dread Author of these wondrous work*! Say, canst thou cast on me, poor passing worm, One look of kind benevolence ? — Thou canst ; 222 ELOCUTION. For Thou art full of universal love, And in Thy boundless goodness wilt impart Thy beams as well to me as to the proud, The pageant insects of a glittering hour. 4. Oh ! when reflecting on these truths sublime, How insignificant do all the joys, The gauds and honors of the world appear ! How vain ambition ! Why has my wakeful lamp Outwatched the slow-paced night? Why on the page — The schoolman's labored page — have I employed The hours devoted by the world to rest, And needful to recruit exhausted nature? Say ; can the voice of narrow Fame repay The loss of health ? or can the hope of glory Send a new throb unto my languid heart, Cool, even now, my feverish aching brow, Relume the tires of this deep sunken eye, Or paint new colors on this pallid cheek ? 11. K. WHITE. LXXXIY.— DEFENSE OF TULFIT ELOQUENCE. 1. It is sufficiently evident that eloquence has a strong influence over the minds and passions of men. I do not call the attention of the reader to those compositions which filled Athens with valor, which agitated or calmed, at the will of the orator, the bosoms of a thousand warriors, and which all nations have consented to immortalize. The thun- der, which Demosthenes hurled at the head of Philip, con- tinues to roll to the present hour; and his eloquence, stripped as it is of action and utterance, mutilated by time, and enfeebled by translation, is yet powerful enough to kindle in our bosoms, at this remote age, a fire, which the hand of death has extinguished in the hearts of those who were originally addressed ! We pass over, also, the elo- quence which Cicero poured out, in a torrent so resistless, that the awful senate of Rome could not withstand its force; an eloquence that could break confederacies, disarm forces, control anarchy — an eloquence that years can not impair, age can not weaken, time can not destroy ! 2. But we appeal to its influence, in an age -*t very MORAL AND RELIGIOUS. 223 remote, nor very unlike the present, in a neighboring coun- try, in the ministerial profession. The name of Massiilon was more attractive than all the perfumes that Arabia could furnish; and this was the incense that filled the churches of spiritual Babylon. The theater was forsaken, while the church was crowded; the court forgot their amusements, to attend the preacher; and his spirit-controlling accents drew the monarch from his throne to his feet, stopped the impet- uous stream of dissipation, and compelled the mocking world to listen ! 3. This is not a picture delineated by fancy, but a repre- sentation of facts; and it is well known that no fashionable amusements had attractions when the French bishop was to ascend the pulpit. While he spoke, the king trembled; while he denounced the indignation of God against a cor- rupted court, nobility shrunk into nothingness; while he described the horrors of a judgment to come, infidelity turned pale, and the congregation, unable to support the thunder of his language, rose from their seats in agony! Let these instances suffice to show the power of eloquence, the influence which language, well chosen, has upon the mind of man, who alone, of all the creatures of God, is able to transmit his thoughts through the medium of speech, to know, to relish, and to use the charms of language. 4. I am well aware that an argument is deduced from the power of eloquence against the use of it in the pulpit. "It is liable to abuse," say they ; " it tends to impose upon the understanding, by fascinating the imagination." Most true, it is liable to abuse ; and what is there so excellent in its nature that is not? The doctrines of grace have been abused to licentiousness; and the liberty of Christianity "used as a cloak of maliciousness." This, however, is no refutation of those doctrines, no argument against that liberty. Because eloquence has been abused, because it has served Anti-Christ, or rendered sin specious, is it, therefore, less excellent in itself? or is it, for that reason, to be rejected from tne ser- vice of holiness? No; let it be employed in the service of God, and it is directed to its noblest ends; it answers th* best of purposes ! 224 ELOCUTION. 5. " But the most eloquent are not always the most useful and God hath chosen the ignorant, in various instances, U confound the wise." It is granted. But does God uni- formly work one way ? When he sends, it is by whom he will send ; and he can qualify, and does qualify those whom he raises up for himself. He can give powers as a substitute for literature, and by his own energy effect that which elo- quence alone can not. But we set not up this attainment against his energy; we know that it is useful only in depend- ence upon it. We know, too, why the ignorant are frequently exalted in the scale of usefulness, to show that "the power is not of man, but of God ; " and " that no flesh should glory in his presence." But has he not blessed talents also, for the same important purpose? Has he never employed eloquence usefully? Has his favor been uniformly limited, or ever limited to the illiterate? Because he sometimes works with out the means, and apparently in defiance of the means, are we therefore to lay them aside ? Who possessed more advan- tages, or more eloquence, than the apostle whose words are al- luded to in this objection ? Did Paul make a worse preacher for being brought up at the feet of Gamaliel? 6. But the gospel of Jesus disdains such assistance: for the apostle says to the Corinthians, "I came not to you with excellency of speech" — "and my speech, and my preaching, was not with enticing words of men's wisdom." That the gospel of Jesus disdains the assistance of eloquence, in a certain sense, I admit. It will not accept of any thing as its support. It stands upon its own inherent excellence, and spurns all extraneous aid. It is a sun absorbing every surrounding luminary. Its beauty eclipses every charm brought in comparison with it. Yet, is this a reason why in enforcing its glorious truths upon our fellow-men, we should disdain assistance which, although it aids not the gospel, is useful to them? 7. Follow the opposite principle, and lay aside preaching The gospel approves itself to the conscience; every attempt to illustrate and enforce it is useless, when applied to the truth itself, for it can not be rendered more excellent than it is: yet it may be rendered more perspicuous to our fellow- MORAL AND RELIGIOUS. 22l men ; it needs enforcing as it regards them ; and preaching lias been instituted by God himself for that express purpose. So eloquence can not render assistance to the gospel itself; but may be useful to those who attend it. True eloquence has for its object, not merely to please, but to render lumin* ous the subject discussed, and to reach the hearts of those concerned. 8. We live in a day when it becomes us to be equal ever/ way to our adversaries. This we can never be, if we cherish a contempt for liberal science. Infidelity lifts her standard, and advances, with daring front, to "defy the armies of the living God." Distinguished talents rally around her ensign. The charms of eloquence, the force of reason, the majesty of literature, the light of science, are all enlisted under her banner; are all opposed to the "truth as it is in Jesus." Let us, in reliance upon Divine aid, meet them upon equal terms, contend with them on their own ground, turn against them their own weapons. Let us meet them in the plain, or upon the mountain ; let us ascend to their elevation, or stoop to their level. Let us oppose science to science, eloquence to eloquence, light to light, energy to energy. Let us prove that we are their equals in intellect, their colleagues in lite- rature: but that, in addition to this, "One is our master, even Christ" — thatwehave "a more sure word of prophecy" — and that our light borrowed from the fountain of illumina- tion, will shine with undiminished luster, when their lamp, fed only by perishable, precarious supplies, shall be forevei extinguished ! LXXXV.— POETICAL SELECTIONS. 1. — THE HEAVENLY CANAAN. There is a land of pure delight, Where saints immortal reign ; Eternal day excludes the night, And pleasures banish pain. There everlasting spring abides, And never-fading flowers ; Death, like a narrow sea, divides This heavenly land from ours. ■J2G ELOCUTION. 3. Swe^t fields, beyond the swelling flood, Stand dressed in living green : So to the Jews fair Canaan stood, While Jordan rolled between. 4. But timorous mortals start and shrink, To cross this narrow sea ; And linger, trembling on the brink, And fear to launch- away. 5. Oh ! could we make our doubts remove. Those gloomy doubts that rise, And see the Canaan that we love With unbeclouded eyes ; — 6. Could we but climb where Moses stood, And view the landscape o'er, Not Jordan's stream — nor death's cold flood. Should fright us from the shore. watti 2. — GRATITUDE. 1. When all thy mercies, my God, My rising soul surveys, Transported with the view, I'm lost In wonder, love, and praise. 2. Unnumbered comforts to my soul Thy tender care bestowed, Before my infant heart conceived From whom those comforts flowed. 3. When in the slippery paths of youth With heedless steps I ran, I bine arm, unseen, conveyed me safe, And led me up to man. 4. Ten thousand thousand precious gifts My daily thanks employ ; Nor is the least a cheerful heart, That tastes those gifts with joy 5. Through every period of my life, Thy goodness I'll pursue ; And after death, in distant worlds, The glorious theme renew. MORAL AND RELIGIOUS. 227 6. Through all eternity, to thee A joyflii song I'll raise: But uli ! eternity's too short To utter all thy praise! addison LXXXVI.— INFIDELITY TESTED. 1. We might ask the patrons of infidelity, what fury impels them to attempt the subversion of Christianity? Is it that they have discovered a better system? To what vir- tues are their principles favorable? Or is there one which Christians have not carried to a higher than any of which their party can boast? Have they discovered a more excel- lent rule of life, or a better hope in death, than that which the Scriptures suggest? Above all, what are the pretensions on which they rest their claims to be the guides of mankind, or which emboldened them to expect we should trample on the experience of ages, and abandon a religion which has boon attested by a train of miracles and prophecies, in which millions of our forefathers have found a refuge in every trouble, and consolation in the hour of death ; a religion which has been adorned with the highest sanctity of char- acter and splendor of talents; which enrols among its dis- ciples the names of Bacon, Newton, and Locke, the glory of their species, and to which these illustrious men were proud to dedicate the last and best fruits of their immortal genius. 2. If the question at issue is to be decided by argument, nothing can be added to the triumph of Christianity; if by an appeal to authority, what have our adversaries to oppose to these great names? Where are the infidels of such pure, uncontaminated morals, unshaken probity, and extended benevolence, that we should be in no danger of being seduced into impiety by their example? Into what obscure recesses of misery, into what dungeons, have their philan- thropists penetrated, to lighten the fetters and relieve the sorrows of the helpless captive? What barbarous tribes have their apostles visited? What distant climes have they explored, encompassed with cold, nakedness, and want, to 228 ELOCUTION. diffuse principles of virtue and the blessings of civilization ? Or will they choose to waive their pretensions to this extra- ordinary, and in their eyes eccentric species of benevolence, and rest their character on their political exploits; on their efforts to reanimate the virtues of a sinking state, to restrain licentiousness, to calm the tumult of popular fury ; and, by inculcating the spirit of justice, moderation and pity for fallen greatness, to mitigate the inevitable horrors of revo- lution? Our adversaries will, at least, have the discretion if not the modesty to recede from this test. 3. More than all, their infatuated eagerness, their parrici- dal zeal, to extinguish a sense of Deity, must excite aston- ishment and horror. Is the idea of an almighty and perfect ruler unfriendly to any passion which is consistent with innocence, or an obstruction to any design which is not shameful to avow ? 4. Eternal God! on what are thine enemies intent? What are those enterprises of guilt and horror, that, for the safety of their performers, require to be enveloped in a darkness which the eye of Heaven must not pierce? Miser- able men! — proud of being the offspring of chance; in love with universal disorder; whose happiness is involved in the belief of there being no witness to their designs, and who are at ease only because they suppose themselves inhabi- tants of a forsaken and fatherless world ! LXXXVIL— RELIGION THE ONLY BASIS OF SOCIETY. 1. Few men suspect, perhaps no man comprehends the extent of the support given by religion to every virtue. No man, perhaps, is aware how much our moral and social sen- timents are fed from this fountain; how powerless eon« science would become without the belief of a God ; how pal sied would be human benevolence, were there not the sense of a higher benevolence to quicken and sustain it ; how suddenly the whole social fabric would quake, and with what a fearful crash it would sink into hopeless ruin, were the ideas of a supreme being, of accountableness, and of a future life, to be utterly erased from every mind. MORAL AND RELIGIOUS. 2"29 2. And let men thoroughly believe that they are the work and sport of chance; that no superior intelligence concerns itself with human affairs; that all their improvements perish for over at death ; that the weak have no guardian, and the injured no avenger; that there is no recompense for sacri- fices to uprightness and the public good ; that an oath is an heard in heaven ; that secret crimes have no witness but the perpetrator; that human existence has no purpose, and human virtue no unfailing friend; that this brief life is every thing tu us, and death is total, everlasting extinction; once let them thoroughly abandon religion ; and who can conceive or describe the extent of the desolation which would follow! 3. We hope, perhaps, that human laws and natural sym- pathy would hold society together. As reasonably might we believe, that, were the sun quenched in the heavens, our torches would illuminate, and our fires quicken and fertilize the creation. * What is there in human nature to awaken respect and tenderness, if man is the unprotected insect of a day? And what is he more, if atheism be true? 4. Erase all thought and fear of God from a community, and selfishness and sensuality would absorb the whole man. Appetite, knowing no restraint; and suffering, having no solace or hope, would trample in scorn on the restraints of human laws. Virtue, duty, principle, would be mocked, and spurned as unmeaning sounds. A sordid 1 self-interest would supplant every other feeling, and man would become, in fact, what the theory of atheism declares him to be — a com- panion for brutes. w. e. ciianning. Lxxxvni.— THE CELESTIAL army. 1. I stood by the open casement, And looked upon the night, And saw the westward-going stars Pass slowly out of sight. 2. Slowly the bright procession Went down the gleaming arch, And my soul discerned the music Of their long triumphant march, 230 ELOCUTION. 3. Till the great celestial army, Stretching far beyond the poles, Became the eternal symbol Of the mighty march of souls. 4. Onward 1 forever onward, Red Mars led down his clan, And the moon, like a mailed maiden, Was riding in the van. 5. And some were bright in beauty. And some were faint and small — But these might be in their great liight, The noblest of them all. 6. Downward ! forever downward, Behind earth's dusky shore, They passed into the unknown night — They passed, and were no more. 7. No more ! 0, say not so ! And downward is not just; For the sight is weak and the sense is dim That looks through the heated dust 8. The stars and the mailed moon, Though they seem to fall and die, Still sweep with their embattled lines An endless reach of sky. 9. And though the hills of death May hide the bright array, The marshaled brotherhood of souls Still keeps its upward way. 10. Upward ! forever upward ! I see their march sublime, And hear the glorious music Of the conquerors of time. 11. And long let mo remember, That the palest fainting one, May unto Divine wisdom be A bright and blazing sun. T. DUCIIANAN READ MORAL AND RELIGIOUS. 231 LXXXIX.— THE PROMISES OF RELIGION TO THE YOUNG. 1. In every part of Scripture, it is remarkable with what singular tenderness the season of youth is always men- tioned, and what hopes are offered to the devotion of the young. It was at that age that God appeared unto Moses when he fed his flock in the desert, and called him to the command of his own people. It was at that age he visited the infant Samuel, while he ministered in the temple of the Lord, '• in days when the word of the Lord was precious, and when there was no open vision." It was at that age that his spirit fell upon David, while he was yet the young- est of his father's sons, and when among the mountains of Bethlehem he fed his father's sheep. 2. It was at that age, also, that they brought young chil- dren unto Christ that he should touch them ; and his dis- ciples rebuked those that brought them. But when Jesus saw it, he was much displeased, and said to them, ;> Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of Heaven." If these, then, are the effects and promises of youth and piety, rejoice, young man, in thy youth! — rejoice in those days which are never to return, when religion comes to thee in all its charms, and when the God of nature reveals himself to thy soul, like the mild radiance of the morning sun, when he rises amid the blessings of a grateful world. 3. If already Devotion hath taught thee her secret pleas- ures ; if, when Nature meets thee in all its magnificence or beauty, thy heart humbleth itself in adoration before the hand which made it, and rejoiceth in the contemplation of the wisdom by which it is maintained ; if, when llevelation unvails her mercies, and the Son of God comes forth to give peace and hope to fallen man, thine eye follows with astonishment the glories of his path, and pours at last ovci his cross those pious tears which it is a delight to shed ; if thy soul accompanieth him in his triumph over the grave, and entercth on the wings of faith into that heaven " where he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on High," and sceth the "society of angels and of the spirits of jurt men made perfect," and listeneth to the "everlasting song 232 ELOCUTION. wliicli is sung before the throne ;" if such are the medita- tions in which thy youthful hours are passed, renounce not, for all that life can offer thee in exchange, these solitary joys. The world which is before thee — the world which thine imagination paints in such brightness — has no pleas- ures to bestow which can compare with these ; and all that its boasted wisdom can produce has nothing so acceptable in the sight of Heaven, as this pure offering of thy in- fant soul. 4. In these days, " the Lord himself is thy shepherd, and thou dost not want. Amid the green pastures, and by the still waters" of youth, he now makes " thy soul to repose." But the years draw nigh, when life shall call thee to its trials; the evil days are on the wing, when "thou shalt say thou hast no pleasure in them ;" and, as thy steps advance, " the valley of the shadow of death opens," through which thou must pass at last. It is then thou shalt know what it is to " remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth." In these days of trial or of awe, "his spirit shall be with thee," and thou shalt fear no ill ; and, amid every evil that surrounds thee, " he shall restore thy soul. His goodness and mercy shall follow thee all the days of thy life ;" and when at last " the silver cord is loosed, thy spirit shall re- turn to the God who gave it, and thou shalt dwell in tha bouse of the Lord forever." alison. SENATORIAL. 233 SENATOKIAL. XCi— SriRIT OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION. 1. Be not deceived, my countrymen. Believe not these venal hirelings, when they would cajole you by their sub- tilties into submission, or frighten you by their vaporings into compliance. When they strive to flatter you by the terms " moderation and prudence," tell them that calmness and deliberation are to suppress. I will not sit unconcerned, while my liberty is invaded ; nor look in silence upon public robbery. I will exert my endeavors, at whatever hazard, to repel the ag- gressor, and drag the thief to justice — what power soever may protect the villainy, and whoever may partake of the plunder. WM. PITT. 238 ELOCUTION. XCIII.— AMERICAN LABORERS. 1. The gentleman, sir, has misconceived the spirit and tendency of Northern institutions. He is ignorant of Northern character. He has forgotten the history of his country. Preach insurrection to the Northern lab( rers ! Who are the Northern laborers? The history of your country is their history. The renown of your country is their renown. The brightness of their doings is enibla zoned on its every page. Blot from your- annals the words and the doings of Northern laborers, and the history of your country presents but a universal blank. Sir, who was he that disarmed the Thunderer ; wrested from his grasp the bolts of Jove; calmed the troubled ocean; became the cen- tral sun of the philosophical system of his age, shedding his brightness and effulgence on the whole civilized world ; whom the great and mighty of the earth delighted to honor; who participated in the achievement of your inde- pendence, prominently assisted in molding your free insti- tutions, and the beneficial effects of whose wisdom will be felt to the last moment of "recorded time?" Who, sir, I ask, was he? A Northern laborer — a Yankee tallow-chan- dler's son — a printer's runaway boy I 2. And who, let me ask the honorable gentleman, who was he that, in the days of our Revolution, led forth a Northern army — yes, an army of Northern laborers — and aided the chivalry of South Carolina in their defense against British aggression, drove the spoilers from their firesides, and redeemed her fair fields from foreign invaders? Who was he? A Northern laborer, a Rhode Island blacksmith — the gallant General Green — who left his hammer and his forge, and went forth conquering and to conquer in the bat- tle for our independence! And will you preach insurrec- tion to men like these ? 3. Sir, our country is full of the achievements of North- ern laborers! Where is Concord, and Lexington, aud Princeton, and Trenton, and Saratoga, and Bunker Hill, but in the North? And what, sir, has shed an imperisha- ble renown on the never-dying names of those hallowed spots, but the blood and the struggles, the high daring, and SENATORIAL. 239 patriotism, and sublime courage of Northern laborers ? The whole North is an everlasting monument of the free- dom, virtue, intelligence, and indomitable independence of Northern laborers! Go, sir, go preach insurrection to men like these ! 4. The fortitude of the men of the North* under intense suffering for liberty's sake, has been almost god-like ! His- tory has so recorded it. Who comprised that gallant army without food, without pay, shelterless, shoeless, penniless, and almost naked, in that dreadful winter — the midnight of our Revolution — whose wanderings could be traced by their blood-tracks in the snow ; whom no arts could seduce, no appeal lead astray, no sufferings disaffect ; but who, true to their country and its holy cause, continued to fight the goud fight of liberty, until it finally triumphed? Who, sir. were these men? Why, Northern laborers! — yes, sir, Northern laborers ! Who. sir, were Roger Sherman and — . But it is idle to enumerate. To name the Northern labor- ers who have distinguished themselves, and illustrated the history of their country, would require days of the time of this house. Nor is it necessary. Posterity will do them justice. Their deeds have been recorded in characters of fire ! c. c. naylor. XCLV.— EXTRACT FROM TITE LAST SrEECII OF ROBERT EMMET. 1. I have been charged with that importance in the ef- forts to emancipate my country, as to be considered the key- stone of the combination of Irishmen, or, as your lordship expressed it, "the life and blood of the conspiracy." You do me honor over-much : you have given to the subaltern all the credit of a superior. There are men engaged in this conspiracy, who are not only superior to me, but even to your own conceptions of yourself, my lord : men. before the splendor of whose genius and virtues. I should bow with respectful deference, and who would think themselves dis honored to be called your friend — who would not disgrace themselves by shaking your blood-stained hand. 240 ELOCUTION. 2. What, my lord, shall you tell me, on the passage to that sea Sold, which that tyranny, of which you are only the intermediary executioner, has erected for my murder, that I am accountable for all the blood that has been, and will be shed, in this struggle of the oppressed against the oppressor? Shall you tell me this, and must I be so very a slave as not to repel it? I do not fear to approach the omnipotent' Judge, to answer for the conduct of my whole life ; and am [ to be appalled and falsified by a mere remnant of mor- tality here ? by you, too, who, if it were possible to collect all the innocent blood that you have shed in your unhal- lowed ministry, in one great reservoir, your lordship might swim in it. 3. Let no man dare, when I am dead, to charge me with dishonor ! let no man attaint my memory, by believing that [ could have engaged in any cause but that of my country's liberty and independence; or, that I could have become the pliant minion of power, in the oppression, or the miseries, of my countrymen. The proclamation of the provisional government speaks forth our views; no inference can be tor- tured from it, to countenance barbarity, or debasement at home, or subjection, humiliation, or treachery from abroad. I would not have submitted to a foreign invader, for the same reason that I would resist the foreign and domestic oppres- sor ; in the dignity of freedom, I would have fought upon the threshold of my country, and its enemy should enter only by passing over my lifeless corpse. Am I, who have lived but for my country, and who have subjected myself to the dangers of the jealous and watchful oppressor, and the bondage of the grave, only to give my countrymen their rights, and my country her independence, and am I to be loaded with calumny, and not suffered to resent or repel it? No, God forbid ! 4. If the spirits of the illustrious dead participate in the concerns, and cares of those, who are dear to them in this transitory life, O, ever dear and venerated shade of my de- parted father, look down with scrutiny, upon the conduct of your suffering son ; and see if I have even for a moment deviated from those principles of morality and patriotism, SENATORIAL. 24.1 which it was your care to instill into my youthful mind; and for which I am now to offer up my life. My lords, you are impatient for the sacrifice. The blood, which you seek, is not congealed by the artificial terrors which surround your victim; it circulates warmly and unruffled, through the channels which God created for noble purposes, but which you are bent to destroy, for purposes so grievous, that they cry to heaven. 5. Be yet patient! I have but a few words more to say. 1 am going to my cold and silent grave : my lamp of life is nearly extinguished ; my race is run : the grave opens to receive me. and I sink into its bosom ! I have but one re- quest to ask at my departure from this world, — it is the charity of its silence ! Let no man write my epitaph : for, as no man, who knows my motives, dare now vindicate them, let not prejudice or ignorance asperse them. Let them, and me, repose in obscurity and peace, and my tomb remain uninscribed, until other times, and other men, can do justice to my character: when my country takes her place among the nations of the earth, then, and not till then, let my epi- taph be written. I have done. XC V.— AGAINST THE AMERICAN WAR. 1. I CAN not, my lords, I will not join in congratulation on misfortune and disgrace. This, my lords, is a perilous and tremendous moment. It is not a time for adulation ; the smoothness of flattery can not save us in this rugged and awful crisis. It is now necessary to instruct the throne in the language of truth. We must, if possible, dispel the delusion and darkness which envelop it; and display, in its full danger, and genuine colors, the ruin which is brought ta our doors. Can ministers still presume to expect sup port in their infatuation? Can parliament be so dead to its dignity and duty, as to give their support to measures thus obtruded and forced upon them ? Measures, my lords, which have reduced this late flourishing empire to scorn and contempt! Kidd.— 21 242 ELOCUTION. 2. " But yesterday, and Britain might have stood against the world ; now, none so poor as to do her reverence." The people, whom we at first despised as rebels, but whom we now acknowledge as enemies, are abetted against us, sup- plied with every military store, have their interest con- sulted, and their embassadors entertained by our inveterate enemy — and ministers do not, and dare not interpose with dignity or effect. 3. The desperate state of our army abroad, is in part known. No man more highly esteems and honors the British troops than I do ; I know their virtues arid their valor; I know they can achieve any thing but impossibili- ties ; and I know that the conquest of British America is an impossibility. You can not, my lords, you can not con- quer America. What is your present situation there? We do not know the worst; but we know that in three cam- paigns we have done nothing, and suffered much. 4. You may swell every expense, and accumulate every assistance, and extend your traffic to the shambles of every German despot : your attempts will be forever vain and impotent — doubly so, indeed, from this mercenary aid on which you rely ; for it irritates to an incurable resentment the minds of your adversaries, to overrun them with the mercenary sons of rapine and plunder, devoting them and their possessions to the rapacity of hireling cruelty. If I were an American, as I am an Englishman, while a foreign troop remained in my country, I never would lay down my arms ; no, never, never, never. Chatham. XC VI.— ARBITRARY POWER NOT GIVEN TO MAN. 1, Mr. Hastings has declared his opinion that he is a despotic prince ; that he is to use arbitrary power, and that of course all his acts are covered with that shield. "I know," says he, " the constitution of Asia only from its practice." Will your lordships submit to hear the corrupt practices of mankind made the principles of government? No • it will be your pride and glory to teach men intrusted SENATORIAL. 243 with power, that, in their use of it, they are to conform to principles, and not to draw their principles from the corrupt practice of any man "whatever. 2. Was there ever heard, or could it be conceived, that a governor would dare to heap up all the evil practices, all the cruelties, oppressions, extortions, corruptions, briberies, of all the ferocious usurpers, desperate robbers, thieves, cheats, and jugglers, that ever had office from one end of Asia to another, and, consolidating all this mass of the crimes and absurdities of barbarous domination into one code, establish it as the whole duty of an English governor? 1 believe that, till this time, so audacious a'thing was never attempted by man. 3. He have arbitrary power! My lords! the East India Company have not arbitrary power to give him — the king has no arbitrary power to give him; your lordships have it not, nor the commons, nor the whole legislature. We have no arbitrary power to give, because arbitrary power is a thing which neither any man can hold nor any man can give. No man can lawfully govern himself according to his own will, much less can one person be governed by the will of another. We are all born in subjection, all born equally, high and low, governors and governed, in subjection to'one great immutable preexistent law, prior to all our devices, and prior to all our contrivances, paramount to all our ideas, and all our sensations, antecedent to our very exist- ence, by which we are knit and connected in the eternal frame of the universe, and out of which we can not stir. BURKE. XCVII.— BARBARITY OF NATIONAL HATREDS 1. Mr. President, we must distinguish a little. Thai there exists in this country an intense sentiment of nation ality; a cherished energetic feeling and consciousness of our independent and separate national existence ; a feeling that we have a transcendent destiny to fulfill, which we mean to fulfill ; a great work to do, which w T e know how to do, and are able to do; a career to run, up which we iiopu 244 ELOCUTION. to iscend, till we stand on the steadfast and glittering summits of the world; a feeling, that we are surrounded and attended by a noble historical group of competitors and rivals, the other nations of the earth, all of whom we hope to overtake, and even to distance — such a sentiment as this exists, perhaps, in the character of this people. And this I do not discourage, I do not condemn. But, sir, that among these useful and beautiful sentiments, predominant among them, there exists a temper of hostility toward this one particular nation, to such a degree as to amount to a habit, a trait, a national passion — to amount to a state of feeling which "is to be regretted," and which really threat- ens another war — this I earnestly and confidently deny. I would not hear your enemy say this. Sir, the indulgence of such a sentiment by the people supposes them to have forgotten one of the counsels of Washington. Callto mind the ever seasonable wisdom of the Farewell Address: "The nation which indulges toward another an habitual hatred, or an habitual fondness, is, in some degree, a slave. It is a slave to its animosity, or to its affection, either of which is sufficient to lead it astray from its duty and its interest." 2. No, sir! no, sir! "We are above all this. Let the Highland clansman, half-naked, half-civilized, half-blinded by the peat-smoke of his cavern, have his hereditary enemy and his hereditary enmity, and keep the keen, deep, and pernicious hatred, set on lire of hell, alive, if he can ; let the North American Indian have his, and hand it down from father to son, by what symbols he may please, of alligators, and rattlesnakes, and war-clubs smeared with vermilion and entwined with scarlet; let such a country as Poland — cloven to the earth, the armed heel on the radiant forehead, her body dead, her soul incapable to die — let her remember the "wrongs of days long past;" let the lost and wandering tribes of Israel remember theirs — the manliness and the sympathy of the world may allow or pardon this to them; but shall America, young, free, prosperous, just setting out on the highway of heaven, "decorating and cheering the elevated sphere she just begins to move in, glittering like the morning star, full of life and joy," shall she be supposed SENATORxAi,. 245 to be polluting and corroding her noble and happy heart, by moping over old stories of stamp act, and tea. tax, and the firing of the Leopard upon the Chesapeake in a time of peace? No, sir! no., sir! a thousand times no! Why, I protest I thought all that had been settled. I thought two wars had settled it all. What else was so much good blood shed for, on so many more than classical fields of Revolu- tionary glory? For what was so. much good blood more lately shed, at Lundy's Lane, at Fort Erie, before and be- hind the lines at New Orleans, on .the deck of the Consti- tution, on the deck of the Java, on the lakes, on the sea, but to settle exactly these " wrongs of past days?" And have we come back sulky and sullen from the very field of honor? For my country, I deny it. 3. Mr. President, let me say that, in my judgment, this notion of a national enmity of feeling toward Great Bri- tain belongs to a past age of our history. My younger countrymen are unconsc'ous of it. They disavow it. That generation in whose opinions and feelings the actions and the destiny of the next are unfolded, as the tree in the germ, do not at all comprehend your meaning, nor your fears, nor your regrets. We are born to happier feelings. We look to England as we look to France. We look to them from our new world — not unrenowncd, yet a new world still — and the blood mounts to our cheeks ; our eyes swim ; our voices are stifled with cmulousness of so much glory; their trophies will not let us sleep; but there is no hatred at all ; no hatred — no barbarian memory of wrongs, for which brave men have made the last expiation to the I rave. RUFL'S ciioate. XCVIII.— VARIETIES. 1. — TIIE NATURE OF ELOQUENCE. 1. When public bodies are to be addressed, on momentous occasions, when great interests are at stake, and strong pas- sions excited, nothing is valuable in speech, farther than il is connected with high intellectual and moral endowments 246 ELOCUTION. Clearness, force and earnestness, are the qualities which pro dur-p conviction True eloquence, indeed, does not consist in speech. It can not be brought from far. Labor and learning may toil for it, but they will toil in vain. 2. Words and phrases may be marshaled in every way, but they can not 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 can not 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. 3. 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. 4. Then, patriotism is eloquent; then, self-devotion 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, in- forming every feature, and urging the whole man onward, right onward to his object, — this is eloquence. WEBSTER. 2. — HANNIBAL TO HIS SOLDIERS. 1. On what side soever I turn my eyes, I behold all full of courage and strength ; a veteran infantry, a most gallant cavalry; you, my allies most faithful and valiant; you, Carthaginians, whom not only your country's cause, but the justest anger, impels to battle. The hope, the courage of assailants, is always great 3r than of thoso who act upon the r 1 ".fensive. With hostile banners displayed, you are come down upon Italy; you bring the war. Grief, injuries, in- dignities, fire jour minds, and spur you forward to revenge. 2. First, they demand me — that I, your general, should SENATORIAL. 247 be delivered up to them ; next, all of you, who had fought at the siege of Saguntum ; and we were to be put to deatli by the extremest tortures. Proud, and cruel nation ! every thing must be yours, and at your disposal ! You are to pre- scribe to us, with whom we shall make war, with whom we shall make peace! You are to set us bounds; to shut us up within hills and rivers; but you — you are not to observe the limits, which yourselves have fixed. 3. Pass not the Iberus ! What next? Touch not the Saguntines; is Saguntum upon the Iberus? move not a step toward that city. Is it a small matter, then, that you have deprived us of our ancient possessions, Sicily and Sardinia? you would have Spain, too? Well, we shall yield Spain; and then you will pass into Africa ! Will pass, did I say ? this very year, they ordered one of their consuls into Africa, the other into Spain. 4. No, soldiers, there is nothing left for us, but what we can vindicate with our swords. Come on then, be men. The Romans may with more safety be cowards ; they have their own country behind; have places of refuge to flee to, and are secure from danger in the roads thither; but for you, there is no middle fortune between death and victory. Let this be but well fixed in your minds, and once again, t say, you are conquerors. livy. XCIX.— SPEECH OF PATRICK HENRY. 1. I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided; and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but by the past. And, judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been, in the con- duct of the British mini-try, for the last ten years, to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves, and the house? Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has been lately received ? Trust it not, sir; it will prove a snare to your feeL. Suf- fer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask your- selves how this gracious reception of our petition comporti 248 ELOCUTION. witli those warlike preparations which cover our waters, and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled, that force must be called in to win back our love? 2. Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the im- plements of war and subjugation — the last arguments to which kings resort. I ask, gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to submis- sion ? Can gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it? Has Great Britain any enemy in this quarter of the world, to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies? No, sir, she has none. They are meant for us; they can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains which the British min- istry have been so long forging. And what have we to oppose to them? Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years. Have we any thing new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. 3. We have held the subject up in every light of which it is capable ; but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication ? What terms shall we find which have not been already exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves longer. ^>ir, we have done every thing that could be done to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned; we have remonstrated ; we have supplicated ; we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have implored its interpo- sition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and parliament. Our petitions have been slighted; our remon- strances have produced additional violence and insult; our supplications have been disregarded, and we have been spurned with contempt from the foot of the throne. 4. In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free ; if we mean to pre- serve inviolate those inestimable privileges, for which we have been so long contending ; if we mean not basely t«o abandon the noble struggle, in which we have been so long SENATORIAL. 240 engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon, until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained — we must fight! I repeat it, sir, we must fight! 5. An appeal to arms, and to the God of hosts, is all that is left us. They tell us. sir. that we are weak, unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs, and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot? 6. Sir, we are not weak if we make a proper use of those means which the God of nature hath placed in our power. Three millions of people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are invinci- ble by any force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir. we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just God who presides over the destinies of nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone, it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submis- sion and slavery. Our chains are forged. Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston ! The war is inevi- table, and let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come! 7. It is vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry peace, peace, but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the North will bring to our cars the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle! What is it that gentlemen wish? what would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it. Almighty God! I know not what course others may take, but as for me. give me liberty, or give me death ! PATRICK HENRY. 250 ELOCUTION. C— VARIETIES. 1. — RIGHT OP FREE DISCUSSION. 1. Important as I deem it to discuss, on all proper occa- sions, tlie policy of the measures at present pursued, it is still more important to maintain the right of such discus- ion, in its full and just extent. Sentiments lately sprung up, and now growing fashionable, make it necessary to be explicit on this point. The more I perceive a disposition to check the freedom of inquiry by extravagant and uncon- stitutional pretenses, the firmer shall be the tone, in which I shall assert, and the freer the manner, in which I shall exercise it. 2. It is the ancient and undoubted prerogative of this people to canvass public measures and the merits of public men. It is a " home-bred right," a fireside privilege. It hath ever been enjoyed in every house, cottage and cabin in the nation. It is not to be drawn into controversy. It is as undoubted as the right of breathing the air, or walk- ing on the earth. Belonging to private life as a right, it belongs to public life as a duty; and it is the last duty, which those, whose representative I am, shall find me to abandon. Aiming at all times to be courteous and temperate in its use, except when the right itself shall be questioned, I shall place myself on the extreme boundary of my right, and bid defiance to any arm that would move me from my ground. 3. This high constitutional privilege, I shall defend and exercise, within this house, and without this house, and in all places ; in time of peace, and at all times. Living I shall assert it ; and should I leave no other inheritance to my children, by the blessing of God, I will leave them the inheritance of free principles, and the example of a manly, independent and constitutional defense of them. WEBSTER. 2. — MORAL desolation. 1. War may stride over the land with the crushing step of a giant. Pestilence may st^al over it like an invisible SENATORIAL. 251 curse — reaching its victims silently and unseen — unpeopling here a village and there a city, until every dwelling is a scpulcher. Famine may breed over it with a long and weary visitation, until the sky itself is brazen, and the beau- tiful greenness gives place to a parched desert — a wide waste of unproductive desolation. But these are only physical evils. The wild flower will bloom in peace on the field of battle and above the crushed skeleton. The destroying angel of the pestilence will retire when his errand is done, and the nation will again breathe freely: the barrenness of famine will cease at last — the cloud will be prodigal of its hoarded rain — and the wilderness will blossom. 2. But for moral desolation there is no reviving spring. Let the moral and republican principles of our country be abandoned— our representatives bow in unconditional ob- sequiousness to individual dictation — let impudence and in- trigue and corruption triumph over honesty and intellect, and our liberties and strength will depart forever. Of these there can be no resuscitation. The "abomination of deso- lation" will be fixed and perpetual; and as the mighty fabric of our glory totters into ruins, the nations of the earth will mock us in our overthrow, like the powers of darkness, when the throned one of Babylon became even as themselves — and the "glory of the Chaldee's excellency" had gone down. CI.— NOBILITY OF LABOR. 1. Why, in the great scale of things, is labor ordained for us? Easily, had it so pleased the great Ordainer, might it have been dispensed with. The world itself might have been a mighty machinery, for producing all that man wants, [louses might have risen like an exhalation, " With the sound Of dulcet symphonies, and voices sweet, Built like a temple." 2. Gorgeous furniture might have been placed in them, and soft couches and luxurious banquets spread by hands unseen ; and man, clothed with fabrics of nature's weaving, 252 ELOCUTION. rather than with imperial purple, might have been sei^t to disport himself in those Elysian palaces. 3. "Fair scene!" 1 imagine you are saying; "fortunate for us had it been the scene ordained for human life !" But where, then, had been human energy, perseverance, patience, virtue, heroism ? Cut off labor with one blow from the world, and mankind had sunk to a crowd of Asiatic voluptuaries. 4. No, it had not been fortunate! Bettor that the earth be given to man as a dark mass whereupon to labor. Bet- ter that rude and unsightly materials be provided in the ore-bed, and in the forest, for him to fashion in splendor and beauty. Better, I say, not because of that splendor and beauty, but because the act of creating them is better than the things themselves; because exertion is nobler than enjoyment; because the laborer is greater and more worthy of honor than the idler. 5. I call upon those whom I address, to ytand up for the nobility of labor. It is heaven's great ordinance for human improvement. Let not the great ordinance be bro- ken down. What do I say? It is broken down ; and has been broken down for ages. Let it then be built again ; here, if any where, on the shores of a new world — of a new civili- zation. 6. But how, it may he asked, is it broken down ? Do not men toil? it may be said. They do indeed toil, but they too generally do because they must. Many submit to it, as in some sort, a degrading necessity; and they desire nothing so much on earth as an escape from it. They ful- fill the great law of labor in the letter, but break it in the spirit. To some field of labor, mental or manual, every idler should hasten, as a chosen, coveted field of improvement. 7. But so he is not compelled to do, under the teachings of our imperfect civilization. On the contrary, he sits down, folds his hands, and blesses himself in idleness. This way of thinking is the heritage of the absurd and unjust feudal system, under which serfs labored, and gentlemen spent their lives in fighting and feasting. It is time that tl«i« opprobrium of toil were done away. SENATORIAL. 25-J 8. Ashamed to toil ? Ashamed of thy dingy work-shop, and dusty labor-field; of thy hard hand, scarred with ser- vice more honorable than that of war; of thy soiled and weather-stained garments, on which mother nature has embroidered mist, sun and rain, fire and steam, her own heraldic honors? Ashamed of those tokens and titles, and Obvious of the flaunting robes of imbecile idleness and van- ity ? It is treason to nature, it is impiety to heaven ; it is breaking heaven's great ordinance. Toil, I repeat — toil, either of the brain, of the heart, or of the hand, is the only true manhood — the only true nobility 1 DEWEY. C1L— THE RIGHT TO TAX AMERICA. 1. " But, Mr. Speaker, we have a right to tax America." Oh, inestimable right ! Oh, wonderful, transcendent right ! the assertion of which has cost this country thirteen prov- inces, six islands, one hundred thousand lives, and seventy millions of money : Oh, invaluable right ! for the sake of which we have sacrificed our rank among nations, our im- portance abroad, and our happiness at home! Oh, right; more dear to us than our existence ! which has already cost us so much, and which seems likely to cost us our all. In- fatuated man ! miserable and undone country ! not to know that the claim of right, without the power of enforcing it, is nugatory and idle. AVe have a right to tax America — the noble lord tells us — therefore we ought to tax America. This is the profound logic which comprises the whole chain of his reasoning. 2. Not inferior to this was the wisdom of him who re- solved to shear the wolf. What, shear a wolf! Have you considered the resistance, the difficulty, the danger of the attempt? No, says the madman, I have considered nothing but the right. Man has a right of dominion over the beasts of the forest; and therefore I will shear the wolf. How wonderful that a nation could be thus deluded! But the noble lord deals in cheats and delusions. They are the dail^ traffic of his invention; and he will continue to play off 254 ELOCUTION his cheats on this house, so long as he thinks them neces sary to his purpose, and so long as he has money enougl at command to bribe gentlemen to pretend that they believe him. But a black and bitter day of reckoning will surely come ; and whenever that day comes, I trust I shall be able, by a parliamentary impeachment, to bring upon the heads of the authors of our calamities, the punishment they de- serve. BURKE. CIIL— CHARACTER AND FATE OE THE AMERICAN INDIANS. 1. In the fate of the Aborigines of our country — the American Indians — there is, my friends, much to awaken our sympathy, and much to disturb the sobriety of our judgment; much which may be urged to excuse their atro- cities; much in their characters, which may betray us into an involuntary admiration. What can be more melancholy than their history ? Two centuries ago, the smoke of their wigwams, and the fires of their councils rose in every valley, from Hudson's Bay to the farthest Florida, from the ocean to the Mississippi and the Lakes. The shouts of victory and the war-dance rang through the mountains and the glades. The thick arrows and the deadly tomahawk whistled through the forests ; and the hunter's trace, and the dark encamp- ment startled the wild beasts in their lairs. The warriors stood forth in their glory. The young men listened to the songs of other days. The mothers played with their infants, and gazed on the scene with warm hopes of the future. The aged sat down ; but they wept not. They should soon be at rest in fairer regions, where the Great Spirit dwelt, in a home prepared for the brave, beyond the western skies. Braver men never lived; truer men never drew the bow. They had courage, and fortitude, and sagacity and persever- ance, beyond most of the human race. They shrunk from no dangers, and they feared no hardships. 2. If they had the vices of savage life, they had the vir- tues also. They were true to their country, their friends and their homes. If they forgave not injury, neither did they forget kindness. If their vengeance was terrible, their fidelity and generosity were unconquerable also. Their lo^e- SENATORIAL. 255 like their hate, stopped not on this side of the grave. But where are they? Where are the villages, and warriors, and youth? The sachems and the tribes? The hunters and their families? They have perished. They are consumed. The wasting pestilence has not alone done the mighty work. No — nor famine, nor war. There has been a mightier power, a moral canker, which hath eaten into their heart-cores — a plague, which the touch of the white man communicated — a poison, which betrayed them into a lingering ruin. The winds of the Atlantic fan not a single region which they may now call their own. Already, the last feeble remnants of the race are preparing for their journey beyond the Mis- sissippi. 3. I see them leave their miserable homes, the aged, the helpless, the women and the warriors, u few and faint, yet fearless still." The ashes are cold on their native hearths. The smoke no longer curls round their lowly cabins. They move on with a slow, unsteady step. The white man is upon their heels, for terror or despatch; but they heed him not. They turn to take a last look of their deserted villages. They cast a last glance upon the graves of their fathers. They shed no tears; they utter no cries; they heave no groans. There is something in their hearts which passes speech. There is something in their looks, not of vengeance or submission, but of hard necessity, which stifles both ; which chokes all utterance; which has no aim or method. It is courage, absorbed in despair. They linger but for a moment. Their look is onward. They have passed the fatal stream. It shall never be repassed by them — no, never. Yet there lies not between us and them an impassable gulf. They know and feel that there is for them still one remove further, not distant, nor unseen. It is to the general burial ground of their race. story. CIV.— ILLUSTRIOUS MODEL FOR THE FORMATION OF CHARACTER. 1. Let your ambition, gentlemen, be to enroll your names amons: those over whose histories our hearts swell, and oui 256 ELOCUTION. eyes overflow with admiration, delight, and sympathy, from infancy to old age; and the* story of whose virtues, ex- ploits, and sufferings will continue to produce the same effect throughout the world, at whatever distance of time they may be read. It is needless, and it were endless to name them. On the darker firmament of history, ancient and modern, they form a galaxy resplendent with their luster. 2. To go no farther back, look for your model to the signers of our Declaration of Independence. You see revived in those men the spirit of ancient Rome in Rome's best day ; for they were willing, with Curtius, to leap into the flaming gulf, which the oracle of their own wisdom had assured them could be closed in no other way. There was one, however, whose name is not among those signers, but who must not, nay, can not be forgotten ; for when a great and decided patriot is the theme, his name is not far off. 3. Gentlemen, you need not go to past ages nor to dis- tant countries. You need not turn your eyes to ancient Greece or Rome, or to modern Europe. You have in your own Washington a recent model, whom you have only to imitate to become immortal. Nor must you suppose that he owed his greatness to the peculiar crisis which called out his virtues, and despair of such another crisis f.r the display of your own. His more than Roman virtues, his consummate prudence, his powerful intellect, and his daunt- less decision and dignity of character, would have made him illustrious in any age. The crisis would have done noth- ing for him had not his character stood ready to match it. 4. Acquire this character, and fear not the recurrence of a crisis to show forth its glory. Look at the elements of commotion that are already at work in this vast republic, and threatening us w T ith a moral earthquake that will con- vulse it to its foundation. Look at the political degene- racy which pervades the country, and which has already borne us so far away from the golden age of the revolu- tion ; look at all the " signs of the times," and you will see but little cause to indulge the hope that no crisis is SENATORIAL. *Z57 likely to occur to give full scope for the exertion of the most heroic virtues. 5. Hence it is that I so anxiously hold up to j*ou the model of Washington Form yourselves on that noble model. Strive to acquire his modesty, his disinterested- ness, his singleness of heart, his determined devotion to his country, his candor in deliberation, his accuracy of judg- ment, his invincible firmness of resolve, and then may you hope to be in your own age, what he was in his — "first in war. first in peace, and first in the hearts of your country- men.'' 6. Commencing your career with this high strain of char- acter, your course will be as steady as the needle to the pole. Your end will be always virtuous, your means always noble. You will adorn as well as bless your country. You will exalt and illustrate the age in which you live. Your example will shake like a tempest that pestilential pool in which the virtues of our people are already beginning to stagnate, and restore the waters and the atmosphere to their revolutionary purity. WIRT. CV.— SUPrOSED SPEECH OF JOHN ADAMS. 1. The war must go on. AYe must fight it through. And if the war must go on, why put off longer the Decla- ration of Independence? That measure will strengthen us. It will give us character abroad. "Why then, sir, do we not, as soon as possible, change this from a civil to a national war? And since we must fight it through, why not put ourselves in a state to enjoy all the benefits of victory, if we gain the victory ? If we fail, it can be no worse for us. But we shall not fail. The cause will raise up armies; the cause will create navies. The people, the people, if we are true to them, will carry us and will carry themselves glori- ously through this struggle. 2. I care not how fickle other people have been found. L know the people of these colonies; and I know that resist- ance to British aggression is deep and settled in their hearts, Kidt>.-22 258 ELOCUTION. and can not be eradicated. Every colony, indeed, has ex- pressed its willingness to follow, if we but take the lead. Sir, the declaration will inspire the people with increased courage. Instead of a long and bloody war for restoration of privileges, for redress of grievances, for chartered immu- nities, held under a British king, set before them the glo- rious object of entire independence, and it will breathe into them anew the breath of life. 3. Read this declaration at the head of the army ; every sword will be drawn from its scabbard, and the solemn vow uttered, to maintain it or to perish on the bed of honor. Publish it from the pulpit; religion will approve it, and the love of religious liberty will cling round it, resolved to stand with it or fall with it. Send it to the public halls ; proclaim it there ; let them hear it, who heard the first roar of the enemy's cannon ; let them see it, who saw their brothers and their sons fall on the field of Bunker Hill, and in the streets of Lexington and Concord, and the very walls will cry out in its support. 4. Sir, I know the uncertainty of human affairs; but 1 see, I see clearly through this day's business. You and I, indeed, may rue it. We may not live to the time when this declaration shall be made good. We may die ; die col- onists; die slaves; die, it may be, ignominiously, and on the scaffold. Be it so. Be it so. If it be the pleasure of heaven that my country shall require the poor offering of my life, the victim shall be ready at the appointed hour of sacrifice, come when that hour may. But while I do live, let me have a country, or at least the hope of a coun- try, and that a free country. 5. But whatever may be our fate, be assured, be assured, that this declaration will stand. It may cost treasure, and it may cost blood ; but it will stand, and it will richly com- pensate for both. Through the thick gloom of the present, I see the brightness of the future, as the sun in heaven. We shall make this a glorious, an immortal day. When we are in our graves, our children will honor it. They will celebrate it with thanksgiving, with festivity, with bonfires, and illuminations. On its annual return they will shed SENATORIAL. 259 tears, copious, gushing tears, not of subjection and tlavery ; not of agony and distress, but of exultation, of gratitude, and of joy. 6. Sir, before God, I believe the hour is come. My judgment approves this measure, and my whole heart is in it. All that I have, and all that I am, and all that I hope in this life, I am now ready here to stake upon it; and I leave off as I began, that live or die, survive or perish, I am for the declaration. It is my living sentiment, and by the blessing of God it shall be my dying sentiment; inde- pendence now; and independence forever. WEBSTER. C VI.— AMBITION OF A STATESMAN. 1. I HAVE been accused of ambition in presenting this measure — ambition, inordinate ambition. If I had thought of myself only, I should have never brought it forward. I know well the perils to which I expose myself — the risk of alienating faithful and valued friends, with but little pros- pect of making new ones, if any new ones could compensate for the loss of those we have long tried and loved; and I know well the honest misconception both of friends and foes. Ambition? If I had listened to its soft and seducing whispers — if I had yielded myself to the dictates of a cold, calculating, and prudential policy, I would have stood still and unmoved. I might even have silently gazed on the raging storm, enjoyed its loudest thunders, and left those who are charged with the care of the vessel of state to con- duct it as they could. 2. I have been, heretofore, often unjustly accused of am- bition. Low, groveling souls, who are utterly incapable of elevating themselves tothe higher and nobler duties of pure patriotism — beings who, forever keeping their own selfish ends in view, decide all public measures by their presumed influence or their aggrandizement — judge me by the venal rule which they prescribe to themselves. I have given to the winds those false accusations, as I consign that which now impeaches my motives. I have no desire for office, not ELOCUTION. even the highest. The most exalted is but a prison, in which the incarcerated incumbent daily receives his cold, heartless visitants, marks his weary hours, and is cut off from the practical enjoyment of all the blessings of genuine free- dom. 3. I am no candidate for any office in the gift of the peo- ple of these States, united or separated; I never wish, never expect to be. Pass this bill, tranquilize the country, restore confidence and affection in the Union, and I am willing: to go home to Ashland, and renounce public service forever. I should there find, in its groves, under its shades, on its lawns, mid my flocks and herds, in the bosom of my familyj cincerity and truth, attachment and fidelity, and gratitude, which I have not always found in the walks of public life. Yes, I have ambition ; but it is the ambition of being the humble instrument, in the hands of Providence, to reconcile a divided people; once more to revive concord and harmony in a distracted land — the pleasing ambition of contemplating the glorious spectacle of a free, united, prosperous, and fraternal people ! H. CLAY. CVIL— SPEECH IN THE CONVENTION OF VIRGINIA. 1. Sir, I see no wisdom in making this provision for future changes. You must give governments time to ope- rate on the people, and give the people time to become gradually assimilated to their institutions. Almost any thing is better than this state of perpetual uncertainty. A people may have the best form of government that the wit of man ever devised; and yet, from its uncertainty alone, may, in effect, live under the worst government in the world. Sir, how often must I repeat, that change is not reform. I am willing that this new constitution shall stand as long as it is possible for it to stand, and that, believe me, is a very short time. 2. Sir, it is vain to deny it. They may say what they please about the old constitution — the defect is not there It is not in the form of the old edifice, neither in the SENATOKIAL. 261 design nor the elevation ; it is in the material — it is in the people of Virginia. To my knowledge that people are changed from what they have been, 'ihe four hundred men who went out to David were in debt. The partisans of Cocsar were in debt. The fellow-laborers of Catiline were in debt. And I defy you to show me a desperately indebted people any where who can bear a regular, sober government. I throw the challenge to all who hear me. £ say that the character of the good old Virginia planter — the man who owned from five to twenty slaves, or less, who lived b) hard work, and who paid his debts, is passed away. A new order of things is come. The period has arrived of living by one's wits — of living by contracting debts that one can not pay — and above all, of living by office-hunting. 3. Sir, what do we see ? Bankrupts — branded bankrupts ■ — giving great dinners — sending their children to the most expensive schools — giving grand parlies — and just as well received as any body in society. I say, that in such a state of things the old constitution was too good for them; they could not bear it. No, sir — they could not bear a free- hold suffrage and a property representation. 4. I have always endeavored to do the people justice; but I will not flatter them — I will not pander to their appetite for change. 1 will do nothing to provide for change. I will not agree to any rule of future apportionment, or to any provision for future changes, called amendments, to the constitution. They who love change — who delight in pub- lic confusion — who wish to feed the caldron, and make it bubble — may vote if they please for future changes. But by what spell — by what formula are you going to bind the people to all future time? You may make what entries upon parchment you please. Give me a constitution that will last for half a century — that is all I wish for. No constitution that you can make will last the one-half of half a century. 5. Sir, I will stake any thing short of my salvation, that those who are malcontent now, will be more malcontent three years hence than they arc at this day. ] have no favor for this constitution — I shall vote against its adop- 262 ELOCUTION. tion, and 1 shall advise all the people of my district to set their faces — ay — and their shoulders against it. But if we are to have it — let us not have it with its death-warrant in its very face, with the Sardonic grin of death upon its countenance. john Randolph. CVIII.— IGNORANCE IN OUR COUNTRY A CRIME. 1. In all the dungeons of the old world, where the strong champions of freedom are now pining in captivity beneath the remorseless power of the tyrant, the morning sun does not send a glimmering ray into their cells, nor does night draw a thicker vail of darkness between them and the world, but the lone prisoner lifts his iron-laden arms to heaven in prayer, that we, the depositaries of freedom and of human hopes, may be faithful to our sacred trust ; while, on the other hand, the pensioned advocates of des- potism stand, with listening ear, to catch the first sound of lawless violence that is wafted from our shores, to note th« first breach of faith or act of perfidy among us, and to convert them into arguments against liberty and the rights of man. 2. There is not a shout sent up by an insane mob, on this side of the Atlantic, but it is echoed by a thousand presses, and by ten thousand tongues, along every moun- tain and valley on the other. There is not a conflagration kindled here by the ruthless hand of violence, but its flame glares over all Europe, from horizon to zenith. On each occurrence of a flagitious scene, whether it be an act of turbulence and devastation, or a deed of perfidy or breach of faith, monarchs point them out as fruits of the growth and omens of the fate of republics, and claim for themselves and their heirs a further extension of the lease of despotism. 3. The experience of the ages that are past, the hopes of the ages that are yet to come, unite their voices in an ap- peal to us ; they implore us to think more of the character of our people than of its numbers ; to look upon our vast SENATORIAL. 263 natutal lenources, not as tempters to ostentation and pride, but as a means to be converted, by the refining alchemy of education, into mental and spiritual treasures; they sup- plicate us to seek for whatever complacency or self-satisfac- tion we are disposed to indulge, not in the extent of our territory, or in the products of our soil, but in the expan- sion and perpetuation of the means of human happiness ; they beseech us to exchange the luxuries of sense for the joys of charity, and thus give to the world the example of a nation whose wisdom increases with its prosperity, and whose virtues are equal to its power. For these ends they enjoin upon us a more earnest, a more universal, a more religious devotion to oar 'exertions and resources, to the culture of the youthful mind and heart of the nation. Their gathered voices assert the eternal truth, that, in a republic, ignorance is a crime; and that, private immorality is not less an opprobrium to the date than it is guilt in the perpetrator. H. mann. CIX.— REBELLION AND REVOLUTION. 1. I shall resist all encroachments on the constitution, whether it be the encroachment of this government on the States, or the opposite — the executive on congress, or con- gress on the executive. My creed is, to hold both govern- ments, and all the departments of each, to their proper sphere, and to maintain the authority of the laws and the constitution, against all revolutionary movements. I be- lieve the means which our system furnishes to preserve itself are ample, if fairly understood and applied ; and I shall resort to them, however corrupt and disordered the times, so long as there is hope of reforming the govern- ment. 2. The result is in the hands of the Disposer of events. It is my part to do my duty. Yet, while I thus openly avow myself a conservative, God forbid I should ever deny the glorious right of rebellion and revolution ! Should corruption and oppression become intolerable, and can not 264 ELOCUTION. otherwise bo thrown off — if liberty must perish, or the government be overthrown — I would not hesitate, at the hazard of life, to resort to revolution, and to tear down a corrupt government, that could neither be reformed nor borne by freemen. But I trust in God that things will never come to that pass. I trust never to see such fearful times; for fearful indeed they would be, if they should ever befall us. It is the last remedy, and not to be thought of till common sense and the voice of mankind would justify the resort. j. c. caliioun. CX.— POLITICAL CORRUPTION. 1. We are apt to treat the idea of our own corruptibil- ity as utterly visionary, and to ask, with a grave affectation of dignity — what! do you think a member of congress can be corrupted ? Sir, I speak what I have long and delibe- rately considered, when I say, that since man was created, there never has been a political body on the face of the earth, that would not be corrupted under the same circum- stances. Corruption steals upon us in a thousand insid- ious forms, when we are least aware of its approaches. 2. Of all the forms, in which it can present itself, the bribery of office is the most dangerous, because it assumes the guise of patriotism to accomplish its fatal sorcery. We are often asked, where is the evidence of corruption ? Have you seen it? Sir, do you expect to see it? You might as well expect to see the embodied forms of pesti- lence and famine stalking before you, as to sec the latent operations of this insidious power. We may walk amid it, and breathe its contagion, without being conscious of its presence. 3. All experience teaches us the irresistible power of temptation, when vice assumes the form of virtue. The great enemy of mankind could not have consummated his infernal scheme, for the seduction of our first parents, but for the disguise in which he presented himself. Had he appeared as the devil, in his proper form — had the spear SENATORIAL. 26J> of Ithuriel disclosed the naked deformity of the fiend of hell, the inhabitants of paradise would have shrunk with horror from his presence. 4. But he came as the insinuating serpent, and presented a beautiful apple, the most delicious fruit in all the garden. He told his glowing story to the unsuspecting victim of hi? guile — "It can be no crime to taste of this delightful fruit-— it will disclose to you the knowledge of good and evil — it will raise you to an equality with the angels." 5. Such, sir, was the process ; and, in this simple, but impressive narrative, we have the most beautiful and philo- sophical illustration of the frailty of man, and the power of temptation, that could possibly be exhibited. Mr. Chair- man, I have been forcibly struck with the similarity be- tween our present situation and that of Eve, after it was announced that Satan was on the borders of paradise. We, too, have been warned, that the enemy is on our borders. 6. But God foruid that the similitude should be carried any further. Eve, conscious of her innocence, sought temptation and defied it. The catastrophe is too fatally known to us all. She went " with the blessings of heaven on her head, and its purity in her heart," guarded by the ministry of angels — she returned covered with shame, under the heavy denunciation of heaven's everlasting curse. 7. Sir, it is innocence that temptation conquers. If our first parent, pure as she came from the hand of God, was overcome by the seductive power, let us not imitate her fatal rashness, seeking temptation when it is in our power to avoid it. Let us not vainly confide in our own infalli- bility. "We are liable to be corrupted. To an ambitious man, an honorable office will appear as beautiful and fas cinating as the apple of paradise. 8. I admit, sir, that ambition is a passion, at once the most powerful and the most useful. Without it human affairs would become a mere stagnant pool. By means of his patronage, the President addresses himself in the mosx irresistible manner, to this the noblest and strongest of out passions. All that the imagination can desire — honor. Kidd.— 23 266 ELOCUTION power, wealtl , ease, are held out as the temptation. Maa was not mae'e to resist such temptation. It is impossible to conceive, Satan himself could not devise, a system which would more infallibly introduce corruption and death into our political Eden. Sir, the angels fell from heaven with less temptation. m'duffie. CXL— EXTENSION OF THE REPUBLIC. 1. In the grand and steady progress of the Republic, the career of duty and usefulness will be run by all its children, under a constantly increasing excitement. The voice, which, in the morning of life, shall awaken the patriotic sympathy of the land, will be echoed back by a community, incalcu- lably swelled in all its proportions, before that voice shall be hushed in death. 2. The writer, by whom the noble features of our scenery shall be sketched with a glowing pencil, the traits of our romantic early history gathered up with filial zeal, and the peculiarities of our character seized with delicate perception, can not mount so entirely and rapidly to success, but that ten years will add new millions to the numbers of his readers. The American statesman, the orator, whose voice is already heard in its supremacy, from Florida to Maine, whose intellectual empire already extends beyond the limits of Alexander's, has yet new states and new nations, starting into being, the willing tributaries to his sway. 3. The wilderness, which one year is impassable, is tra- versed the next by the caravans of the industrious emigrants, who go to follow the setting sun with the language, the in- stitutions, and the arts of civilized life. It is not the ir- ruption of wild barbarians, sent to visit the wrath of God on a degenerate empire; it is not the inroad of disciplined banditti, marshaled by the intrigues of ministers and kings. It is the human family, let out to possess its broad patri- mony. The states and nations, which are springing up in the valley of the distant west, are bound to us by the dear- est ties of a common language, a common government, and a common descent. SENATORIAL. 2t>7 4. Who, then, can forget that this extension of our ter- ritorial limits, is the extension of the empire of all we hold dear ; of our laws, of our character, of the memory of our ancestors, of the great achievments in our history? Whith- ersoever the sons of the original states shall wander, to southern or western climes, they will send back their heaita to the rocky shores, the battle fields, and the intrepid coun- cils of the Atlantic *coast. These are placed beyond the reach of vicissitude. They have become already matter of history, of poetry, of eloquence. E. EVERETT. ' CXIL— SPEECH OF JAMES OTIS. 1. England may as well dam up the waters of the Nile with bulrushes, as to fetter the step of freedom, more proud and firm in this youthful land, than where she treads the sequestered glens of Scotland, or couches herself among the magnificent mountains of Switzerland. Arbitrary principles, like those against which we now contend, have cost one king of England his life, another his crown, and they may yet cost a third his most flourishing colonies. 2. Some have sneeringly asked, " Are the Americans too poor to pay a few pounds on stamped paper?" No ! Amer- ica, thanks to God and herself, is rich. But the right to take ten pounds, implies the right to take a thousand ; and what must be the wealth, that avarice, aided by power, can not exhaust! True, the specter is now small; but the shadow he casts before him is huge enough to darken all this fair land Others, in sentimental style, talk of the im- mense debt of gratitude which we owe to England. And what is the amount of this debt? Why, truly it is the same that the young lion owes to the dam, which has brought it forth on the solitude of the mountain, or left it amid the winds and storms of the desert. 3. We plunged into the wave, with the great charter of freedom in our teeth, because the fagot and torch were be- hind us. We have waked the new world from its- savage lethargy; forests have been prostrated in our path; towns 2*58 ELOCUTION. and cities have grown up suddenly as the flowers of tha tropics, and the fires in our autumnal woods are scarcely more rapid than the increase of* our wealth and population. And do we owe all this to the kind succor of the mother country? No! we owe it to the tyranny that drove us from her, to the pelting storms which invigorated our helpless infancy. CXIIL— THE AGE OF REASON. 1. Gentlemen, I have no objection to the most ex- tended and free discussion upon doctrinal points of the Christian religion ; and, though the law of England does not permit it, I do not dread the reasonings of deists against the existence of Christianity itself, because, as it was said by its divine author, if it be of God, it will stand. An intellectual book, however erroneous, addressed to the intellectual world upon so profound and complicated a sub- ject, can never work the mischief it is calculated to repress. Such works will only incite the minds of men, enlightened Dy study, to a closer investigation of a subject well worthy of their deepest and continued contemplation. The pow- ers of the mind are given for human improvement in the progress of human existence. The changes produced by such reciprocations of lights and intelligences are certain in their progression, and make their way imperceptibly by the final and irresistible power of truth. 2. If Christianity be founded in falsehood, let us become deists in this manner, and I am contented. But this book has no such object and no such capacity ; it presents no arguments to the wise and enlightened ; on the contrary, it treats the faith and opinions of the wisest with the most shocking contempt, and stirs up men, without the advan- tages of learning or sober thinking, to a total disbelief of every thing hitherto held sacred; and consequently to a rejection of all the laws and ordinances of the State, which Btand only upon the assumption of their truth. 3. Gentlemen, I can not conclude without expressing the SENATORIAL. 269 deepest regret at all the attacks upon the Christian religion by authors who profess to promote the civil liberties of the world. For under what other auspices than Christianity have the lost and subverted liberties of mankind in former ages been reasserted? By what zeal, but the warm zea] of devout Christians, have English liberties been redeemed and consecrated? Under what other sanctions, even in our own days, have liberty and happiness been spreading to the uttermost corners of the earth? "What work of civ- ilization, what commonwealth of greatness, has this baid religion of nature ever established? 4. We see, on the contrary, those nations that have no other light than that of nature to direct them, sunk in bar- barism, or slaves to arbitrary governments; while under the Christian dispensation the great career of the world has been slowly but clearly advancing, lighter at every step, from the encouraging prophecies of the Gospel, and lead- ing, I trust, in the end, to universal and eternal happiness. Each generation of mankind can see but a few revolving links of this mighty and mysterious chain ; but by doing our several duties in our alloted stations, we are sure that we are fulfilling the purposes of our existence. ERSKINE. CXIV.— REPLY TO MR. CORRY. 1. Has the gentleman done? has he completely done? He was unparliamentary from the beginning to the end of his speech. There was scarce a word he uttered that was not a violation of the privileges of the house. But I did not call him to order — why? because the limited talents of some men render it impossible for them to be severe with- out being unparliamentary. But before I sit down, 1 sha., show him how to be severe and parliamentary at the same time. 2. On any other occasion, I should think myself justifi able in treating with silent contempt any thing which might full from that honorable member ; but there are times when the insignificance of the accuser is lost in the magnitude 270 ELOCUTION. oi' the accusation. I know the difficulty the honorable gen< tlernan labored under when he attacked me, conscious that, on a comparative view of our characters, public and private, there is nothing he could say which would injure me. The public would not believe the charge. I despise the false- hood. If such a charge were made by an honest man, I would answer it in the manner I shall do before I sit down. But I shall first rcpl}* to it, when not made by an honest man. 3. The right honorable gentleman has called me "an unimpeached traitor." I ask why not "traitor," unquali- fied by an epithet? I will tell him — it was bocause he durst not. It was the act of a coward who raises his arm to strike, but has not the courage to give the blow. I will not call him villain, because it would be unparliamentary, and he is a privy counselor. I will not call him fool, be- cause he happens to be chancellor of the exchequer. But I say, he is one who has abused the privilege of parlia- ment, and freedom of debate, by uttering language, which, if spoken out of the house, I should answer only with a blow. I care not how high his situation, how low his character, how contemptible his speech ; whether a privy counselor or a parasite — my answer would be a blow. 4. He has charged me with being connected with the rebels. The charge is utterly, totally, and meanly false. Docs the honorable gentleman rely on the report of the house of lords for the foundation of his assertion? If he docs, I can prove to the committee, that there was a physical impossibility of that report being true. But I scorn to answer. any man for my conduct, whether he be a political coxcomb, or whether he brought himself into power by a false glare of courage or not. grattan. CXV— ON SUDDEN TOLITICAL CONVERSIONS. 1. Mr, President, public men must certainly be allowed to change their opinions, and their associations, whenever they see fit. No one doubts this. Men may have grown wiser — they may have attained to better and more correct SENATORIAL. 271 views of great public subjects. Nevertheless, sir, it must be acknowledged, that what appears to be a sudden, as well as a great change, naturally produces a shock. I confess, for one, I was shocked, when the honorable gentleman, at the last session, espoused this bill of the administration. Sudden movements of the affections, whether personal or political, are a little out of nature. 2. Several years ago, sir, some of the wits of England wrote a mock play, intended to ridicule the unnatural and false feeling — the sentimentality of a certain German school of literature. In this play two strangers were brought to- gether at an inn. While they are warming themselves at the fire, and before their acquaintance is yet five minutes old, one springs up and exclaims to the other, "A sudden thought strikes me! — let us swear an eternal friendship!" 3. This affectionate offer was instantly accepted, and the friendship duly sworn, unchangeable and eternal ! Now, sir, how long this eternal friendship lasted, or in what manner it ended, those who wish to know may learn by referring to the play. But it seems to me, sir, that the honorable member has carried his political sentimentality a good deal higher than the flight of the German school ; for he appears to have fallen suddenly in love, not with strangers, but with opponents. Here we all had been, sir, contending against the progress of executive power, and more particularly, and most strenuously against the projects and experiments of the administration upon the currency. The honorable member stood among us, not only as an associate, but as a leader. We thought we were making some headway. The people appeared to be coming to our support and our assistance. The country had been roused: every successive election weakening the strength of the ad- versary, and increasing our own. 4. We were in this career of success, carried strongly forward by the current of public opinion, and only needed to hear the cheering voice of the honorable member — - "Once more to the breach, clear friends, once mere!'' *nd we should have prostrated, forever, this anti-constitu 272 ELOCUTION. tional, anti-commercial, anti-republican, and anti-American policy of the administration. But, instead of these encour- aging and animating accents, behold! in the very crisis of our affairs, on the very eve of victory, the honorable mem- ber cries out to the enemy — not to us, his allies, but to the enemy — " Holloa ! a sudden thought strikes me ! — I aban- don my allies ! Now I think of it, they have always been my oppressors ! I abandon them ; and now let you and me swear an eternal friendship !" 5. Such a proposition, from such a quarter, sir, was not likely to be long withstood. The other party was a little coy, but, upon the whole, nothing loath. After a proper hesitation, and a little decorous blushing, it owned the soft impeachment, admitted an equally sudden sympathetic im- pure on its own side ; and, since few words are wanted where hearts are already known, the honorable gentleman takes his place among his new friends, amid greetings and caresses, and is already enjoying the sweets of an eternal friendship. webster. CXVL— INVECTIVE AGAINST WARREN HASTINGS. 1. Before I come to the last magnificent paragraph, let me call the attention of those who, possibly, think them- selves capable of judging c-f the dignity and character of justice in this country — let me call the attention of thos< who, arrogantly perhaps, presume that they understand whal the features, what the duties of justice are here and in India — let them learn a lesson from this great statesman, this en- larged, this liberal philosopher : " I hope I shall not depart from the simplicity of official language, in saying, that the majesty of justice ought to be approached with solicitation, not descend to provoke or invite it, much less to debase itself by the suggestion of wrongs, and the promise of re- dress, with the denunciation of punishment before trial, and even before accusation." This is the exhortation Mr. Has- tings makes to his counsel. This is the character which he gives of British justice. SENATORIAL. 273 2. But I will ask your lordships, do you approve this representation ? Do you feel that this is the true image of justice? Is this the character of British justice? Are these her features? Is this her countenance? Is this her gait or her mien ? No ; I think even now I hear you calling upon me to turn from this vile libel, this base caricature, this Indian pagod, formed of guilty and knavish tyranny to dupe the heart of ignorance — to turn from this deformed idol, to the true majesty of justice here. Here, indeed, I see a different form, enthroned by the sovereign hand of freedom — awful, without severity — commanding, without pride — vigilant and active, without restlessness or suspicion — searching and inquisitive, without meanness or debase- ment — not arrogantly scorning to stoop to the voice of af- flicted innocence, and in its loveliest attitude when bend- ing to uplift the suppliant at its feet. 3. It is by the majesty, by the form of that justice, that I do conjure and implore your lordships to give your minds to this great business; that I exhort you to look, not so much to words, which may be denied or quibbled away, but to the plain facts — to weigh and consider the testimony in your own minds ; we know the result must be inevitable. Let the truth appear, and our cause is gained. It is this, I conjure your lordship, for your own honor, for the honor of the nation, for the honor of human nature, now entrusted to your care — it is this duty that the commons of England, speaking through us, claim at your hands. 4. They exhort you to it by every thing that calls sub- limely upon the heart of man — by the majesty of that justice which this bold man has libeled — by the wide fame of your own tribunal — by the sacred pledge by which you swear in the solemn hour of decision; knowing that that decision will then bring you the highest reward that ever blessed the heart of man — the consciousness of having done the greatest act of mercy for the world, that the earth has ever yet received from any hand but heaven My lords, I have done. SHERIDAX. 274 ELOCUTION. CXVIL— POPULAR ELECTIONS. 1. Sir, if there is any spectacle from the contemplation of which I would shrink with peculiar horror, it would be that of the great mass of the American people sunk into a profound apathy on the subject of their highest political nterests. Such a spectacle would be more portentous to the eye of intelligent patriotism, than all the monsters of the earth, and fiery signs of the heavens, to the eye of trenbling superstition. If the people could be indifferent to the fate of a contest for the presidency, they would be unworthy of freedom. If I were to perceive them sinking into this apathy, I would even apply the power of political galvanism, if such a power could be found, to rouse them from their fatal le- thargy. 2. Keep the people quiet ! Peace ! peace ! Such are the whispers by which the people are to be lulled to sleep, in the very crisis of their highest concerns. Sir, " you make a solitude, and call it peace!" Peace? 'Tis death! Take away all interest from the people, in the election of their chief ruler, and liberty is no more. What, sir, is to be the consequence? If the people do not elect the president, somebody must. There is no special providence to decide the question. Who, then, is to make the election, and how will it operate ? You throw a general paralysis over the body politic, and excite a morbid action in particular mem- bers. The general patriotic excitement of the people, in relation to the election of the president, is as essential to the health and energy of the political system, as circulation of the blood is to the health and energy of the natural body. Check that circulation, and you inevitably produce local inflammation, gangrene, and ultimately death. 3. Make the people indifferent, destroy their legitimate influence, and you communicate a morbid violence to the efforts of those who are ever ready to assume the control of such affairs — the mercenary intriguers and interested office-hunters of the country. Tell me not, sir, of popular violence ! Show me a hundred political factionists — men who look to the election of a president as the means of grat- ifying their high or their low ambition — and I will show SENATORIAL. 275 }"*w iV* very materials for a mob; ready for any desperate a*f venture connected with their common fortunes. The reason of T lJs extraordinary excitement is obvious. It is a matter of self-interest, of personal ambition. The people can have 1:0 such motives. They look ouly to the interest and glory of the country. GEORGE M'DUFFIE. CX VIII.— ORATION AGAINST VERRES. 1. I ASK now, Yerres, what have you to advance against this charge? Will you pretend to deny it? "Will you pre- tend that any thing false, that even an} 7 thing exaggerated is alleged against you? Had any prince, or any state, com- mitted the same outrage against the privileges of Roman citizens, should we not think we had sufficient reason for declaring immediate war against them? What punishment, then, ought to be inflicted on a tyrannical and wicked pre- tor, who dared, at no greater distance than Sicily, within sight of the Italian coast, to put to the infamous death of crucifixion that unfortunate and innocent citizen, Publius Gavius Cosanus, only for his having asserted his privilege of citizenship, and declared his intention of appealing to the justice of his country against a cruel oppressor, who had unjustly confined him in prison at Syracuse, whence he bad just made his escape? The unhappy man, arrested as he was going to embark for his native country, is brought before the wicked pretor. With eyes darting fury, and a countenance distorted with cruelty, he orders the helpless victim of his rage to be stripped, and rods to be brought ; accusing him, but without the least shadow of evidence, or even of suspicion, of having come to Sicily as a spy. 2. It was in vain that the unhappy man cried out, " I am & Roman citizen, I have served under Lucius Pretius, who is now at Panormus, and will attest my innocence." The bloodthirsty pretor, deaf to all he could urge in his own defense, ordered the infamous punishment to be inflicted. Thus, fathers, was an innocent Roman citizen publicly man- 276 ELOCUTION. gled with scourging; while the only words he uttered amid his cruel sufferings were, "I am a Roman citizen !" With these he hoped to defend himself from violence and infamy. But of so little service was this privilege to him, that while he was asserting his citizenship, the order was given for his execution — for his execution upon the cross ! 3. liberty ! sound once delightful to every Roman ear ! sacred privilege of Roman citizenship ! once sacred, now trampled upon ! But what then — is it come to this ? Shall an inferior magistrate^ governor, who holds his power of the Roman people, in a Roman province, within sight of Italy, bind, scourge, torture with fire and red-hot plates of iron, and at last put to the infamous death of the cross, a Roman citizen? Shall neither the cries of innocence ex- piring in agony, nor the tears of pitying spectators, nor the majesty of the Roman commonwealth, nor the fear of the justice of his country, restrain the licentious and wanton cruelty of a monster, who, in confidence of his riches, strikes at the root of liberty and sets mankind at defiance? CICERO. CXIX.-^FROM THE FIRST ORATION AGAINST CATILINE. 1. How far wilt thou, Catiline, abuse our patience? How long shall thy madness outbrave our justice? To what extremities art thou resolved to push thy unbridled inso- lence of guilt ! Canst thou behold the nocturnal arms that watch the palatium, the guards of the city, the consternation of the citizens; all the wise and worthy clustering into con- sultation ; this impregnable situation of the seat of the senate, and the reproachful looks of the fathers of Rome? Janst thou, I say, behold all this, and yet remain undaunted' and unabashed? Art thou sensible that thy measures are detected ? 2. Art thou sensible that this senate, now thoroughly in- formed, comprehend the full extent of thy guilt? Point me out the senator ignorant of thy practices, during the last and the preceding night: of the rdace where you met, SENATORIAL. 277 the company you summoned, and the crime you concerted. The senate is conscious, the consul is witness to this : yet mean and degenerate — the traitor lives ! Lives! did I say? He mixes with the senate ; he shares in our counsels ; with a steady eye he surveys us; he anticipates his guilt; he en- joys his murderous thoughts, and coolly marks us out for bloodshed. Yet we, boldly passive in our country's cause, think we act like Romans if we can escape his frantic rage. 3. Long since, Catiline ! ought the consul to have doomed thy life a forfeit to thy country ; and to have di- rected upon thy own head the mischief thou hast long been meditating for ours. Could the noble Scipio, when sovereign pontiff, as a private Homan kill Tiberius Gracchus for a slight encroachment upon the rights of this country; and shall we, her consuls, with persevering patience endure Cat- iline, whose ambition is to desolate a devoted world with fire and sword? 4. There was — there was a time, when such was the spirit of Rome, that the resentment of her magnanimous sons more sternly crushed the Homan traitor, than the most in- veterate enemy. Strong and weighty, Catiline! is the decree of the senate we can now produce against you; neither wisdom is wanting in this state, nor authority in this as- sembly ; but we, the consuls, we are defective in our duty. CICERO. CXX.— DEGENERACY OF ATHENS. 1. SUCH, 0, men of Athens ! were your ancestors : so glorious in the eye of the world; so bountiful and munifi- cent to their country; so sparing, so modest, so self-deny ing, to themselves. What resemblance can we find, in the present generation, to these great men? At the time when your ancient competitors have left you a clear stage, when the Lacedemonians are disabled, the Thebans, employed in troubles of their own, when no other state whatever is in a condition to rival or molest you — in short, when you are at lull liberty, when you have the opportunity and the power 378 ELOCUTION. to become once more the sole arbiters of Greece — you per- mit, patiently, whole provinces to be wrested from you: you lavish the public money in scandalous and obscure uses; you suffer your allies to perish in time of peace, whom you pr3served in time of war ; and, to sum up all, you yourselves, by your mercenary court, and servile resignation to the will and pleasure of designing, insidious leaders, abet, encour- age, and strengthen, the most dangerous and formidable of your enemies. Yes, Athenians, I repeat it, you yourselves are the contrivers of your own ruin. 2. Lives there a man who has confidence enough to deny it? Let him arise and assign, if he can, any other cause of the success and prosperity of Philip. " But," you reply, "what Athens may have lost in reputation abroad she has gained in splendor at home. Was there ever a greater ap- pearance of prosperity and plenty? Is not the city en- larged? Are not the streets better paved, houses repaired and beautified?" Away with such trifles! Shall I be paid with counters? An old square new vamped up! a fountain! an aqueduct! Are these acquisitions to boast of? Cast your eyes upon the magistrate under whose ministry you boast these precious improvements. Behold the despicable creature, raised all at once from dirt to opulence, from the lowest obscurity to the highest honors. Have not some of these upstarts built private houses and seats vying with the most sumptuous of our public palaces? And how have their fortunes and their power increased, but as the common- wealth has been ruined and impoverished? DEMOSTHENES. CXXL— ON THE REDUCTION OF THE REVENUE. 1. The sole object of proclaiming to the American peo- ple the unutterable character of this law, was to quiet the fearful agitation that then every where prevailed. What. sir, were the happy, the glorious effects of that compromise? The day before that law received the president's approval was overcast with the gathering cloud of civil war, deepen- SENATORIAL. 279 ing, spreading, and blackening every hour. The ground on which we stood seemed to heave and quake with the first throes of a convulsion that was to rend in fragments the last republic on earth. 2. Are we prepared now to break the bonds of peace and renew the war? I have said you have the power to do so, but I deny your right. I do not measure that right by the standard of law in a municipal court. I can not conceive any idea more ridiculous or contemptible, than that which finds no standard of moral and political duties and rights for a Christian, a private gentleman, or a statesman, except that which is applicable to a contest before a justice's court, or a nisi prius jury. No, sir, I appeal to a law in the bosom of man prior and paramount to this. I appeal to the South, where I know that law will be obeyed, and where I know I do not appeal in vain. I invoke its character- istic chivalry ; I summon to my aid that sensitive honor which feels a "stain like a wound," which abhors deception and shudders at violated faith. 3. Will that South, which I am sure I have truly de- scribed, join in this odious infraction of its own treaty, and unite in this miserable w T ar against the laboring thousands who have their all in its' securities ? — a war not waged with open force^ and strong hand — a war not waged to avenge insulted honor, but to recover the difference between five and ten cents duty upon a yard of cotton. I repeat, will they engage in such a war? Your approach to this battle is not heralded by the trumpet's voice; no, you are to steal into the dwelling of the poor, and boldly capture a mechan- ic's dinner! You are to march into the cottage of the widow and fearlessly confiscpto. the breakfast of a factory girl, for the benefit of the planting and grain growing states of this mighty republic ! 4. IIow little do they who have presented such argu- ments as these, in this report, know of the people of the South and West. The hardy race that have subdued the forests of the West, and in a green youth have constructed monuments of enterprise that shall survive the Pyramids, is not likely from merely sordid motives, to join in inflict 280 ELOCUTION. ing a great evil on any portion of our common country, The fearless pioneers of the West, whose ears are as famil- iar with the sharp crack of the Indian's rifle, and his wild war-whoop at midnight, as are those of your city dan- dies with the dulcet notes of the harp and piano— they } sir, are not the men to act upon selfish calculations and sinister inducements. They hold their rights by law, and they believe that compacts, expressed or implied, arising from individual engagements or public law, are to be kept and defended with their lives, if need be, and not to be broken at will, or regarded as the proper spirit of legisla- tive or individual caprice. THOS. CORWIN. CXXIL— PATRIOTIC SELF-SACRIFICE. 1. I rose not to say one word which should wound the feelings of the president. The senator says, that, if placed in like circumstances, I would have been the last man to avoid putting a direct veto upon the bill, had it met my disapprobation ; and he does me the honor to attribute to me high qualities of stern and unbending intrepidity. I hope, that in all that relates to personal firmness, all that concerns a just appreciation of the insignificance of human life — whatever may be attempted, to threaten or alarm a soul not easily swayed by opposition, or awed or intimidated by menace — a stout heart and a steady eye, that can survey, unmoved and undaunted, any mere personal perils that assail this poor, transient, perishing frame — I may, without disparagement, compare with other men. 2. But there is a sort of courage, which, I frankly con- fess I do not possess ; a boldness to which I dare 'not aspire; a valor which I can not covet. I can not lay myself down in. the way of the welfare and happiness of my country. That I can not, I have not the courage to do. I can not interpose the power with which I may be invested— a power conferred, not for my personal benefit, nor for my aggran- dizement, but for my country's good — to check her onward march to greatness and glory. I have not courage enough SENATORIAL. 281 — I am too cowardly, for that. I would not, I dare not, in the exercise of such a trust, lie down, and place ray body across the path that leads ray country to prosperity and happiness. This is a sort of courage widely different from that which a man may display in his private conduct and private relations. Personal or private courage is totally dis- tinct from that higher and nobler courage which prompts the patriot to offer himself a voluntary sacrifice to h'ia country's good. 3. Apprehension of the imputation of the want of firm- ness sometimes impels to the performance of rash and in- considerate acts. It is the greatest courage to be able to bear the imputation of the want of courage. But pride, vanity, egotism, so unamiable and offensive in private life, are vices which partake of the character of crimes in the conduct of public affairs. The unfortunate victim of these passions can not see beyond the little, petty, contemptible circle of his own personal interests. All his thoughts are withdrawn from his country, and concentrated on his con- sistency, his firmness, himself. The high, the exalted, the sublime emotions of a patriotism, which, soaring toward heaven, rises far above all mean, low, or selfish things, and is absorbed by one soul-transporting thought of the good and the glory of one's country, are never felt in his im- penetrable bosom. That patriotism which, catching its in- spirations from the immortal God, and leaving at an im- measurable distance below all lesser, groveling, personal interests and feelings, animates and prompts to deeds of self-sacrifice, of valor, of devotion, and of death itz,elf — that is public virtue ; that is the noblest, the sublimit of all public virtues ! henry clay. CXXIIL— SOUTH CAROLINA AND MASSACHUSETTS. 1. The eulogium pronounced on the character of the itate of South Carolina, by the honorable gentleman, for her revolutionary and other merits, meets my bea/ij con- currence. I shall not acknowledge that the bffiorabln Kinn. — 24 282 ELOCUTION. member goes before me in regard for whatever of distin guished talents, or distinguished character, South Carolina has produced. I claim part of the honor, I partake in the pride of her great names. I claim them for countrymen, one and all. The Laurcnses, the Rutledges, the Pinck- neys, the Sumptcrs, the Marions — Americans all — whose fame is no more to be hemmed in by state lines than their talents and patriotism were capable of being circumscribed within the same narrow limits. In their day and genera- tion, they served and honored the country, and the whole country ; and their renown is of the treasures of the whole country. Him whose honored name the gentleman himself bears — does he suppose me less capable of gratitude for his patriotism, or sympathy for his sufferings, than if his eyes had first opened upon the light in Massachusetts, instead of South Carolina? Sir, does he suppose it is in his power to exhibit a Carolina name so bright as to produce envy in my bosom? No, sir; increased gratification and delight, rather. 2. Sir, I thank God, that, if I am gifted with little of the spirit which is said to be able to raise mortals to the skies, I have yet none, as I trust, of that other spirit, which would drag angels down. When I shall be found, sir, in my place here in the senate, or elsewhere, to sneer at public merit, be- cause it happens to spring up beyond the little limits of my own state or neighborhood ; when I refuse, for any such cause, or for any cause, the homage due to American talent, to elevated patriotism, to sincere devotion to liberty and the country ; or, if I see an uncommon endowment of heaven — if I see extraordinary capacity and virtue in any son of the South — and if, moved by local prejudices, or gangrened by state jealousy, I get up here to abate the tithe of a hair from his just character and just fame, may my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth ! Sir, let me recur to pleasing recollections ; let me indulge in refreshing remembrance of the past; let me remind you that, in early times, no states cherished greater harmony, both of principle and feel- ing, than Massachusetts and South Carolina. Would to God that harmony might again return ! Shoulder to shoul- SENATORIAL. 283 dcr they went through the Revolution ; hand in hand they stood round the administration of Washington, and felt his own great arm lean on them for support. Unkind feeling, if it exist- — alienation and distrust — are the growth, unnat- ural to such soils, of false principles since sown. They arc weeds, the seeds of which that same great arm neve? scattered. 3. Mr. President, I shall enter on no encomium upon Massachusetts — she needs none. There she is — behold her, and judge for yourselves. There is her history — the world knows it by heart. The past, at least, is secure. There is Boston, and Concord, and Lexington, and Bunker Hill — and there they will remain forever. The bones of her sons, fallen in the great struggle for Independence, now lie min- gled with the soil of every state from New England to Georgia — and there they will lie forever. And, sir, where Ameri can liberty raised its first voice, and where its youth was nurtured and sustained, there it still lives, in the strength of its manhood, and full of its original spirit. If discord and disunion shall wound it — if party strife and blind ambition shall hawk at and tear it — if folly and madness, if uneasi- ness under salutary and necessary restraints, shall succeed to separate it from that Union by which alone its existence is made sure — it will stand, in the end, by the side of that cradle in which its infancy was rocked; it will stretch forth its arm, with whatever vigor it may still retain, over the friends who gather round it; and it will fall at last, if fall it must, amid the proudest monuments of its own glory, and on the very spot of its origin ! webste".. CXXIV.— THE PASSING OF THE RUBICON. 1. A gentleman, Mr. President, speaking of Caesar's be nevolent disposition, and of the reluctance with which he had entered into the civil war, observes, "How long did he pause upon the brink of the Bubicon ?" How came he to the brink of that river! How dared he cross it! Shall private men respect the boundaries of private property and 284 ELOCUTION. shall a man pay no respect to the boundaries of his coun- try'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 mur- derer, 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 Caesar 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! 2. Caesar paused upon the brink of the Rubicon! What was the Rubicon? The boundary of Caesar's province. From what did it separate his province ? From his country. Was that country a desert? No; it was cultivated and fer- tile, rich and populous! Its sons were men of genius, spirit, md generosity ! Its daughters were lovely, susceptible, and jhaste ! Friendship was its inhabitant! Love was its in- habitant! Domestic affection was its inhabitant! Liberty was its inhabitant! All bounded by the stream of the Rubicon ! What was Csesar, 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! — lie crossed! — and Rome was free no more! knowles. CXXV.— ^NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 1. If Napoleon's fortune was great, his genius was trans- cendent; decision flashed upon his counsels; and it was the sane to decide and to perform. To inferior intellects, his combinations appeared perfectly impossible, his plans per- fectly impracticable; but, in his hands, simplicity marked their development, and success vindicated their adoption. SENATORIAL. 285 2. His person partook the character of his mind — if the one never yielded in the cabinet, the other never bent in the field. Nature had no obstacles 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 of Europe trembled at beholding the audacity of his designs, and the miracle of their execution. Skepticism bowed to the prodigies of his performance; ro- mance assumed 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 antiquity became common places 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 the titular dignitaries of the chess-board ! 3. Through the pantomime of his 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 victory — his flight from Egypt confirmed his destiny — ruin itself only elevated him to empire. Amid all these changes he stood immutable as adamant. It mattered little whether in the field or the drawing room — with the mob or the levee — wearing the Jacobin bonnet or the iron crown — banishing a Braganza, or espousing a Hapsburg — dictating peace on a raft to the czar of Russia, or contemplating de- feat at the gallows of Leipsic — he was still the same mili- tary despot! miLLixs. CXXVL— THE STABILITY OF OUR GOVERNMENT. 1. If there be on the earth one nation more than another, whose institutions must draw their life-blood from the indi- 286 ELOCUTION. vidual purity of its citizens, that nation is our own. Rulers by divine right, and nobles by hereditary succession, may, perhaps, tolerate with impunity those depraving indulgences which keep the great mass abject. "Where the many enjoy little or no power, it were a trick of policy to wink at those enervating vices, which would rob them of both the ability and the inclination to enjoy it. But in our country, where almost every man, however humble, bears to the omnipo- tent ballot-box his full portion of the sovereignty — where at regular periods the ministers of authority, who went forth to rule, return to be ruled, and lay down their dignities at the feet of the monarch multitude — where, in short, public sentiment is the absolute lever that moves the political world, the purity of the people is the rock of political safety. 2. We may boast, if we please, of our exalted privileges, and fondly imagine that they will be eternal ; but when- ever those vices shall abound, which undeniably tend to de- basement, steeping the poor and ignorant still lower in pov- erty and ignorance, and thereby destroying that wholesome mental equality which can alone sustain a self-ruled people, it will be found, by woful experience, that our happy sys- tem of government, the best ever devised for the intelligent and good, is the very worst to be intrusted to the degraded and vicious. The great majority will then truly become a many-headed monster, to be tamed and led at will. The tremendous power of suffrage, like the strength of the eye- less Nazarite, so far from being their protection, will but serve to pull down upon their heads the temple their ances- tors reared for them. 3. Caballers and demagogues will find it an easy task to delude those who have deluded themselves; and the freedom of the people will finally be buried in the grave of their vir- tues. National greatness may survive ; splendid talents and brilliant honors may fling their delusive luster abroad — theso may illume the darkness that hangs round the throne of a monarch, but their light will be like the baleful flame that hovers over decaying mortality, and tells of the corruption that festers beneath. The immortal spirit will have gone ; SENATORIAL. 287 and along oar shores, and among our hills — those shore? made sacred by the sopulcher of the pilgrim, those hills hallowed by the uncoffined bones of the patriot — even there, in the ears of their degenerate descendants, shall ring the last knell of departed liberty! c. sprague. CXXYTL — AGAINST CURTAILING THE RIGHT OF SUFFRAGE. 1. Gentlemen: — I address the men who govern us, and say to them — Go on, cut off three millions of voters; cut off eight out of nine, and the result will be the same to you, if it be not more decisive. What you do not cut off, is your own fault; the absurdities of your policy of com- pression, your fatal incapacity, your ignorance of the present epoch, the antipathy that you feel for it, and that it feels for you ; what you will not cut off, is the times which are advancing, the hour now striking, the ascending movement of ideas, the gulf opening broader and deeper between your- self and the age, between the young generation and you, between the spirit of liberty and you, between the spirit of philosophy and you. '2. What you will not cut off, is this immense fact, that the nation goes to one side, while you go to the other; that what for you is the sunrise, is for it the sun's setting; that you turn your backs to the future, while this great people of France, its front all radiant with light from the rising dawn of a new humanity, turns its back to the past. Gen- tlemen, this law is invalid ; it is null ; it is dead even before it exists. And do you know what has killed it? It is that, when it meanly approaches to steal the vote from the pocket of the poor and feeble, it meets the keen, terrible eye of the national probity, a devouring light, in which the work of darkness disappears. 3. Yes, men who govern us, at the bottom of every citi- zen's conscience, the most obscure as well as the greatest, at the very depths of the soul — I use your own expression — of the last beggar, the last vagabond, there is a sentiment, sublime, sacred, insurmountable, indestructible, eternal — the sentiment, which is the very essence of the human 288 ELOCUTION. conscience, which the Scriptures call the corner-stone of justice, is the rock on which iniquities, hypocrisies, bad laws, evil designs, bad governments, fall and are shipwrecked. This is the hidden, irresistible obstacle vailed in the recesses of every mind, but ever present, ever active, on which you will always exhaust yourselves ; and which, whatever you do, you will never destroy. I warn you, your labor is lost; you will not extinguish it, you will not confuse it. Far easier to drag the rock from the bottom of the sea, than the sentiment of right from the heart of the people ! VICTOR HUGO. CXXVIIL— TO THE AMERICAN TROOPS BEFORE THE BATTLE OF LONG ISLAND, 1770. 1. The time is now near at hand which must probably determine whether Americans are to be freemen or slaves ; whether they are to have any property they can call their own ; and whether their houses and farms are to be pillaged and destroyed, and themselves consigned to a state of wretch- edness from which no human efforts will deliver them. The fate of unborn millions will now depend, under God, on the courage and conduct of this army. Our cruel and unrelen- ting enemy leaves us only the choice of a brave resistance, or the most abject submission. We have, therefore, to re- solve to conquer or to die. 2. Our own, our country's honor, calls upon us for a vigorous and manly exertion ; and if we now shamefully fail, we shall become infamous to the whole world. Let us, then, rely on the goodness of our cause, and the aid of the Supreme Being, in whose hands victory is, to animate and encourage us to great and noble actions. The eyes of all our countrymen are now upon us ; and we shall have their blessings and praises, if happily we are the instruments of saving them from the tyranny meditated against them. Let lis, therefore, animate and encourage each other, and show the whole world that a freeman contending for liberty on his own ground is superior to any slavish mercenary on earth. SENATORIAL. 289 3. Liberty, property, life and honor, are all at stake. Upon your courage and conduct rest the hopes of our bleed- ing and insulted country. Our wives, children and parents, expect safety from us only; and they have every reason to believe that heaven will crown with success so just a cause. The enemy will endeavor to intimidate by show and appear- ance ; but remember they have been repulsed on various occasions by a few brave Americans. Their cause is bad— their men are conscious of it; and, if opposed with firmness and coolness on their first onset, with our advantage of works, and knowledge of the grouud, the victory is most assuredly ours. Every good soldier will be silent and at- tentive, wait for orders, and reserve his fire until he is sure of doins execution. Washington. CXXIX.— LIBERTY AND UNION. 1. I profess, -*«', in my career hitherto, to have kept steadily in view, ihe prosperity and honor of the whole country, and the preservation of our federal union. It is to that union we owe our safety at home, and our consid- eration and dignity abroad. It is to that union that we are chiefly indebted for whatever makes us most proud of our country. That union we reached only by the discipline of our virtues, in the severe school of adversity. It had its origin in the necessities of disordered finance, prostrate commerce, and ruined credit. Under its benign influences, these great interests immediately awoke, as from the dead, and sprang forth with newness of life. Every year of its duration has teemed with fresh proofs of its utility and its blessings ; and although our territory has stretched out. wider and wider, and our population spread farther and far- ther, they have not outrun its protection or its benefits. It 1 as been to us all a copious fountain of national, social, and personal hnppiness. 2. I have not allowed myself, sir, to look beyond the union, to r-ee what might lie hidden in the dark recess be- hind. I have not coolly weighed the chances of preserving Kidd. — '2"> 290 ELOCUTION. liberty, when the bonds that unite us together shall be broken asunder. I have not accustomed myself to hang over the precipice of disunion, to sec whether, with my short sight, I can fathom the depth of the abyss below; nor could I regard him, as a safe counselor in the affairs of this government, whose thoughts should be mainly bent on considering, not how the union should be preserved, but how tolerable might be the condition of the people, when it shall be broken up and destroyed. 3. While the unior lasts we have high, exciting, gratify- ing prospects spread out before us, for us and our children. Beyond that I seek not to penetrate the vail. God grant that in my day, at least, that curtain may not rise. God grant that on my vision never may be opened what lies be- hind. When my eyes shall be turned to behold, for the last time, the sun in heaven, may I not see him shining on the broken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious union; on states dissevered, discordant, belligerent; on a land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, in fra- ternal blood ! Let their last feeble and lingering glance, rather, behold the gorgeous ensign of the republic, now known and honored throughout the earth, still full high advanced, its arms and trophies streaming in their original luster, not a stripe erased or polluted, nor a single star ob- scured, bearing for its motto no such miserable interroga- tory as — What is all this worth ? Nor those other words of delusion and folly — Liberty first and union afterward ; but every where spread all over in characters of living light, blazing on all its ample folds, as they float over the sea and over the land, in every wind under the whole heavens, that other sentiment, dear to every true American heart — Liberty and union, now and forever, one and inseparable! WEBSTER. CXXX.— DEATH OF JOHN Q. ADAMS. 1. Mr. Speaker: The mingled tones of sorrow, like tho voice of many waters, have come unto us from a sister state, — Massachusetts, weeping for her honored son. The state SENATORIAL. 291 f have the honor in part to represent once endured, with yours, a common suffering, battled for a common cause, and rejoiced in a common triumph. Surely, then, it is meet, that in this the day of your affliction, we should mingle our griefs. 2. When a great man falls, the nation mourns; when a patriarch is removed, the people weep. Ours, my associates, is no common bereavement. The chain which linked our hearts with the gifted spirits of former times has been sud- denly snapped. The lips from which flowed those living and glorious truths that our fathers uttered are closed in death. 3. Yes, my friends, Death has been among us ! He has not entered the humble cottage of some unknown, ignoble peasant; he has knocked audibly at the palace of a nation ! His footstep has been heard in the halls of state ! He has cloven down his victim in the midst of the councils of a people. He has borne in triumph from among you the gravest, wisest, most reverend head. Ah ! he has taken him as a trophy who was once chief over many statesmen, adorned with virtue,- and learning, and truth; he has borne at his chariot wheels a renowned one of the earth. 4. How often have we crowded into that ai.slc, and clus- tered around that now vacant desk, to listen to the counsels of wisdom as they fell from the lips of the venerable sage, we can all remember, for it was but of yesterday. But what a change ! How wondrous ! how sudden ! 'Tis like a vision of the night. That form which we beheld but a few days since, is now cold in death ! 5. But the last sabbath, and in this hall he worshiped with others. Now his spirit mingles with the noble army of martyrs and the just made perfect, in the eternal adora- tion of the living God. With him, " this is the end of earth." He sleeps the sleep that knows no waking. He is gone — and forever! The sun that ushers in tlic morn of that next holy day, while it gilds the lofty dome of the capitol, shall rest with soft and mellow light upon the con- secrated spot beneath whose turf forever lies the Patriot Father and the Patriot Sage. l. e. holme? '292 ELOCUTION. CXXXI.— MORAL EFFECTS OF INTEMPERANCE. 1. The sufferings of animal nature, occasioned by intem- perance, are not to be compared with the moral agonies, which convulse the soul. It is an immortal being, who sins, and suffers ; and, as his earthly house dissolves, he is approaching the judgment-seat, in anticipation of a mis- erable eternity. 2. He feels his captivity, and, in anguish of spirit, clanks his chain, and cries for help. Conscience thunders, remorse goads, and, as the gulf opens before him, he recoils, and trembles, and weeps, and prays, and resolves, and promises, and reforms, and "seeks it yet again;" again resolves, and weeps, and prays, and "seeks it yet again !" 3. Wretched man ! he has placed himself in the hands of a giant, who never pities, and never relaxes his iron gripe. He may struggle, but he is in chains. He may cry for release, but it comes not; and lost! lost! may be inscribed on the door-posts of his dwelling. 4. In the meantime, these paroxysms of his dying nature decline, and a fearful apathy, the harbinger ^of spiritual death, comes on. His resolution fails, and his mental energy, and his vigorous enterprise; and nervous irritation and depression ensue. The social affections lose their full- ness and tenderness, and conscience loses its power, and the heart its sensibility, until all that was once lovely, and of good report, retires and leaves the wretch, abandoned to the appetites of a ruined animal. 5. In this deplorable condition, reputation expires, busi- ness falters, and becomes perplexed, and temptations to drink multiply, as inclination t) do so increases, and the power of resistance declines. An 1 now the vortex roars, and the struggling victim buffets the fiery wave, with feebler stroke, and warning supplication, until despair flashes upon his soul, and, with an outcry that pierces the heavens, he ceases to strive, and disappears. L. beecher. DRAMATIC, ETC. 293 DRAMATIC and RHETORICAL. CXXXIL— BERNARDO DEL CARRO. 1. The warrior bowed his crested head, and tamed his heart ci fire, And sued the haughty king to free his long-imprisoned sire; "I bring thee here my fortress-keys, I bring my captive train, I pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord ! — ! break my father's chain I" 2. "Rise, rise! even now thy father comes, a ransomed man, this day ! Mount thy good horse ; and thou and I will meet him on his way." Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his steed, And urged, as if with lance in rest, the charger's foamy speed, 3. And lo ! from far, as on they pressed, there came a glitter- ing band, With one that 'midst them stately rode, as a leader in the land; "Now haste, Bernardo, haste! for there, in very truth, is he, The father whom thy faithful heart hath yearned so long to see." 4. His dark eve flashed, his proud breast heaved, his cheek's hue came and went; lie reached that gray-haired chieftain's side, and there, dismount- ing, bent ; A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand he took — What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit shook? 5. That hand was cold — a frozen thing — it dropped from his like lead! lie looked up to the face above — the face was of the dead! A plume waved o'er the noble brow — the brow was fixed and white ; He met, at last, his father's eyes — but in them was no sight 1 G. Up from the ground he sprang and gazed ; but who could paint that gaze ? They hushed their very hearts, that saw its horror and amaze — They might have chained him, as before that stony form he stood; for the power was stricken from his arm, and from his lip the blood. 294 ELOCUTION. 7. "father!" tit length he murmured low, and wept like child- hood then : Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of warlike men ! lie thought on all his glorious hopes, and all his young renown — [le flung his falchion from his side, and in the dust sat down. 8. Then covering with his steel-gloved hands his darkly mourn- ful brow, " No more, there is no more," he said, " to lift the sword for, now ; My king is false — my hope betra} T ed ! My father — 0! the worth, The glory, and the loveliness, are passed away from earth ! 9. " I thought to stand where banners waved, my sire, beside thee, yet ! I would that there our kindred blood on Spain's free soil had met! Thou wouldst have known my spirit, then — for thee my fields were won ; And thou hast perished in thy chains, as though thou hadst no son \" 10. Then, starting from the ground once more, he seized the monarch's rein, Amid the pale and wildered looks of all the courtier train ; And, with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp, the rearing war-horse led, And sternly set them face to face — the king before the dead : 11. "Came I not forth, upon thy pledge, my father's hand to kiss? — Be still, and gaze thou on, false king! and tell me what is this? The voice, the glance, the heart I sought— give answer, where are they ? — If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, send life through this cold clay ! 12. " Into these glassy eyes put light — be still ! keep down thine ire ! Bid these white lips a blessing speak — this earth is not my sire — Give me back him for whom I strove, for whom my blood was shed ! Thou canst not? — and a king! — his dust be mountains on thv head !" 13. He loosed the steed — his slack hand fell — upon the silent face He cast one long, deep, troubled look, then turned from that sad place ; His hope was crushed, his after fate untold in martial strain — His banner led the spears no more, amid the hills of Spain. MRS. HEMAN3. DRAMATIC, ETC. 295 CXXXII1.— PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE TO THE MEN OF GHENT. 1. Sirs, ye have heard these knights discourse to you Of your ill fortunes, telling on th?:r fingers The worthy leaders ye have lately lost. True, they were worthy men, most gallant chiefs ; And ill would it become us to make light Of the great loss we have suffer'd ^>y their fall. They died like heroes ; for no recreant step Had e'er dishonored them, no stain of fear, No base despair, no cowardly recoil. They had the hearts of freemen to the last, And the free blood that bounded in their veins "Was shed for freedom with a liberal joy. 2. But had they guessed, or cook] they but have dreamed The great examples which they died to show Should fall so flat, should shine so fruitless here, That men should say, " For liberty these died, Wherefore let us be slaves" — had they thought this, 0, then, with what an agony of shame, Their blushing faces buried in the dust, Had their great spirits parted hence for heaven ! 3. What ! shall we teach our chroniclers henceforth To write, that in five bodies were contained The sole brave hearts of Ghent ! which five defunct. The heartless town, by brainless o-ninsel led, Delivered up her keys, stript off her robes, And so with all humility besought Her haughty lord that he would scourge her lightly! It shall not be — no, verily ! for now, Thus looking on you as ye stand before me, Mine eye can single out full many a man Who lacks but opportunity to shiue As great and glorious as the chiefs that fell. 4. But, lo ! the earl is "mercifully minded!" And, surely, if we, rather than r°~enge The slaughter of our bravest, crv them shame, And fall upon our knee?, and say we 've sinned, Then will my lord the earl have mercy on us, And pardon us our strike for liberty! 5. 0, sirs ! look round you, lust ye be deceived ; Forgiveness may be spoken with the tongue. 296 ELOCUTION. Forgiveness may be written with the pen, But think not that the parchment and mouth pardon Will e'er eject old hatreds from the heart. There's that betwixt you been which men remember Till they forget themselves, till all's forgot — Till the deep sleep falls on them in that bed from which no morrow's mischief rouses them. There's that betwixt you been which you yourselves, Should ye forget, would then not be yourselves, For must it not be thought some base men's souls Have ta'en the seats of yours and turned you out If, in the coldness of a craven heart, Ye should forgive this bloody-minded man For all his black and murderous monstrous crimes? IIENRr TAYLOR CXXXIV.— VARIETIES. 1. — SPEECH OF SEMPRONIUS. 1. My voice is still for war. Gods ! can a Roman senate long debate, Which of the two to choose — slavery or death? No ! let us rise at once, gird on our swords, And, at the head of our remaining troops, Attack the foe ; break through the thick array Of his thronged legions, and charge home upon him. Perhaps some arm, more lucky than the rest, May reach his heart, and free the world from bondage. 2. Rise, fathers, rise ! 't is Rome demands your help ; Rise, and revenge her slaughtered citizens, Or share their fate ! The slain of half her senate Enrich the fields of Thessaly, while we Sit here, deliberating in cold debates, If we should sacrifice our lives to honor, Or wear them out in servitude and chains. Rouse up, for shame ! Our brothers of Pharsalia Point at their wounds, and cry aloud, "To battle!" ADDISON 2. -CATO'S SOLILOQUY ON IMMORTALITY. 1. It must be so — Plato, thou reasonest well! Else, whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, 297 This longing after immortality? Or, whence this secret dread, and inward horror, Of falling into nought? "Why shrinks the soul Back on herself, and startles at destruction? 'Tis the divinity that stirs within us: 'Tis Heaven itself that points out a hereafter, And intimates eternity to man. 2. Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought! Through what variety of untried being, Through what new scenes, and changes, must w r e pass? The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me; But shadows, clouds, and darkness, rest upon it. Here will I hold. If there's a power above us-- And that there is, all nature cries aloud Through all her works — lie must delight in virtue, And that, which He delights in must be happy. But when? or where? This world was made for Caesar 3. I'm weary of conjectures — this must end'them. Thus I am doubly armed. My death and life, My bane and antidote, are both before me. This, in a moment, brings me to an end ; But this, informs me I shall never die. The soul, secured in her existence, smiles At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. The stars shall fade away, the sun himself Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years; But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, Unhurt among the war of elements, The wreck of matter and the crash of worlds. ADDISON CXXXV.— MARMION TAKING LEAVE OF DOUGLAS. 1. The train from out the castle drew; But Marmion stopped to bid adieu — " Though something I might 'plain," he said, "Of cold respect to stranger guest, Sent hither by your king's behest, AVhile in Tantallon's towers I stayed — Part we in friendship from your land, And, noble earl, receive my hand. 298 ELOCUTION. 2. But Douglas round him drew his cloak, Folded his arms, and thus he spoke : "My manors, halls and bowers, shall still Be open, at my sovereign's will, To each one whom he lists, howe'er Unmeet to be the owner's peer. My castles are my king's alone, From turret to foundation-stone — The hand of Douglas is his own ; And never shall in friendly grasp The hand of such as Marmion clasp 1" 3. Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fir©, And shook his very frame for ire, And—" This to me !" he said ; "An 't were not for thy hoary beard, Such hand as Marmion's had not spared To cleave the Douglas' head! And first I tell thee, haughty peer, He who does England's message here, Although the meanest in her state, May well, proud Angus, be thy mate ! And, Douglas, more I tell thee here, Even in thy pitch of pride, Here, in thy hold, thy vassals near, (Nay, never look upon your lord, And lay your hands upon your sword,) I tell thee, thou 'rt defied! And if thou saidst I am not peer To any lord in Scotland here, Lowland or Highland, far or near, Lord Angus, thou hast lied !" 4. On the earl's cheek the flush of rage O'ercame the ashen hue of age ; Fierce he broke forth: "And darest thou, then. To beard the lion in his den — The Douglas in his hall? And hopest thou hence unscathed to go ? No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no ! Up drawbridge, grooms ! — what, warder, ho ! Let the portcullis fall." 5. Lord Marmion turned — well was his need— And dashed the rowels in his steed ; Like arrow through the archway sprung, 29P The ponderous gate behind him rung: To pass, there was such scanty room, The bars, descending, grazed his plume. The steed along the drawbridge flies, Just as it trembled on the rise: Not lighter does the swallow skim Along the smooth lake's level brim : And when lord Mansion reached his band, He halts, and turns with clenched hand, A shout of loud defiance pours, And shakes his gauntlet at the towers ! WALTER SCOTT CXXXVI.— ODE ON THE PASSIONS. 1 "Wiien Music, heavenly maid, was young, While yet in early Greece she sung, The Passions oft, to hear her shell, Thronged around her magic cell, Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting — Possessed beyond the Muse's painting. By turns they felt the glowing mind Disturbed, delighted, raised, refined: Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired, Filled with fury, rapt, inspired, From the supporting myrtles round They snatched her instruments of sound; And, as they oft had heard apart Sweet lessons of her forceful art, Each — for madness ruled the hour — Would prove his own expressive power. 2. First, Fear, his hand, its skill to try, Amid the chords bewildered laid — And back recoiled, he knew not why, Even at the sound himself had made. 3. Next, Anger rushed: his eyes on fire, In lightnings OAvned his secret stings — "With one rude clash he struck the lyre, And swept with hurried hands the strings. 4. With woful measures, wan Despair — Low sullen sounds his grief beguiled; A solemn, strange, and mingled air: Twas sad, by fits — by starts, 'twas wild 300 ELOCUTION. 5. But thou, Hope ! with eyes so fair, What was thy delighted measure ? Still it Avhispered promised pleasure, And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail. Still would her touch the strain prolong; And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, She called on Echo still through all her song: And, where her sweetest theme she chose, A soft responsive voice was heard at every close ; And Hope, enchanted, smiled, and waved her golden hair. 6. And longer had she sung — but, with a frown, lievenge impatient rose ; He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down. And with a withering look, The war-denouncing trumpet took, And blew a blast, so loud and dread, Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe: And ever and anon, he beat The doubling drum with furious heat; And though, sometimes, each dreary pause between, Dejected Pity at his side, Her soul-subduing voice applied, Yet still he kept his wild, unaltered mien ; While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from his head, 7. Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fixed ; Sad proof of thy distressful state! Of differing themes the veering song was mixed : And, now, it courted Love; now, raving, called on Hate. 8. With eyes upraised, as one inspired, Pale Melancholy sat retired ; And from her wild sequestered seat, In notes by distance made more sweet, Poured through the mellow horn her pensive soul ; And, dashing soft from rocks around, Bubbling runnels joined the sound. Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole, Or o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay, Round a holy calm diffusing, Love of peace and lonely musing, In hollow murmurs died away. 9. But, oh ! how altered was its sprightlier tone, When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue. DRAMATIC, ETC. 301 Her bow across her shoulder flung, Her buskins gemmed with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known ! The oak-crowned sisters, and their chaste-eyed queen Satyrs and sylvan boys were seen, Peeping from forth their alleys green : Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear, And Sport leaped up, and seized his beechen spear 10 Last, came Joy's ecstatic trial: He, with viny crown advancing, First to the lively pipe his hand addressed: But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol, Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best. They would have thought, who heard the strain, They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids, Amid the festal-sounding shades, To some unwearied minstrel dancing; While as his flying fingers kissed the strings, Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round: Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound, And he amid his frolic play, As if he would the charming air repay, Shook thousand odors from his devfy wing. collins CXXXVIL— ANTONYS ORATION OVER CESAR. 1. Friends Romans, countrymen! Lend me your ear: I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil, that men do, lives after them — The good is oft inter-red with their bones- So, let it be with Caesar! Noble Brutus Hath told you, Ca3sar "was ambitious: If it were so, it was a grievous fault; And grievously hath Caesar answered it. 2. Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest, (For Brutus is an honorable man, So are they all, all honorable men,) Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral — He was my friend, faithful, and just to me: But Brutus says he was ambitious; And Brutus is an honorable man. 302 ELOCUTION. 3. He hath brought many captives home to Rome, Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill: 7>id this, in C;esar, seem ambitious? When that the poor have cried, CoDsar hath wept: Ambition should be made of sterner stuif; Yet Brutus says 'he was ambitious ; And Brutus is an honorable man. 4. You all did see, that, on the Lupercal, f thrice presented him a kingly crown, Which he did thrice refuse; was this ambition? Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ; And sure, he is an honorable man. I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, But here I am to speak what I do know. 5. You all did love him once; not without cause. What cause withholds you, then, to mourn for him? judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts, And men have lost their reason ! Bear with me : My heart is in the coffin there, with Coosar; And I must pause, till it come back to me. But yesterday, the word of Ciesar might Have stood against the world! now, lies he there, And none so poor to do him reverence. 6. masters ! if I were disposed to stir Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong ; Who, you all know, are honorable men. I will not do them wrong; I rather choose To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you, Than I will Avrong such honorable men. But here's a parchment, with the seal of Ccesar; I found it in his closet ; 'tis his will. Let but the commons hear this testament, (Which pardon me, I do not mean to read,) And they would go, and kiss dead Caesar's wounds, And dip their napkins in his sacred blood — Yea, beg a hair of him, for memory, And, dying, mention it within their wills ; Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy, Unto their issue. 7. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle: I remember DRAMATIC, ETC. 303 The first time ever Caesar put it on; 'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent; That day he overcome the Nervii — Look ! in this place ran Cassius' dagger through, See what a rent the envious Casea made: Through this, the well beloved Brutus stabbed, And, as he plucked his curs-ed steel away, Mark how the blood of Caesar followed it! 8. This was the most unkindest cut of all ! For when the noble Caesar saw him stab, Ingratitudi, more strong than traitors' arms, Quite vanquished him: then burst his mighty heart; And, in his mantle, muffling up his face, Even at the base of Pompey's statue, (Which all the while ran blood) great Caesar fell. what a fall was there my countrymen ! Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, While bloody treason flourished over us. 9. 0, now you weep ; and I perceive, you feel The dint of pity : these are gracious drops. Kind souls ! what, weep you, when you but behold Our Caesar's vesture wounded? Look you here! Here is himself — marred as you see, by traitors ! 10. Good friends! sweet friends ! let me not stir you up To such a sudden flood of mutiny. They, that have done this deed, are honorable ; What private griefs they have, alas ! I know not, That made them do it; they are wise, and honorable, And will, no doubt, with reason answer you. 11. I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts: 1 am no orator, as Brutus is ; But, as you know me all, a plain, blunt man, That love my friend ; and that they know full well, That gave me public leave, to speak of him. For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor power of speech, To stir men's blood — I only speak right on, I tell you that which you yourselves do know — Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor, poor dumb mouths, And bid them speak for me. But were I Brutus, And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue 304 ELOCUTION. In every wound of Cassar, that should move The stones of Home to rise and mutiny. snAKsrEARB CXXXVIIL— VARIETIES. 1. — THE PRIDE OF BIRTH. I was not born A shepherd's son to dwell with pipe and crook, And peasant men amid the lowly vales ; Instead of ringing clarions, and bright spears, And crested knights! — I am of princely race: And if my father would have heard my suit, I tell thee, infidel, that long ere now I should have seen how lances meet and swords Do the field's work. Moslem ! — on the hills, Around my father's castle, I have heard The mountain-peasants, as they dressed the vines, Or drove the goats, by rock and torrent, home, Singing their ancient songs; and these were all Of the Cid Campeador; and how his sword, Tizona, cleared its way through turbaned hosts, And captured Afric's kings, and how he won Valencia from the Moors — I will not shame The blood we draw from him mrs. heman& 2. — THREATENING. If they but speak the truth of her, These hands shall tear her; if they wrong her honor, The proudest of them shall well hear of it. Time hath not so dried this blood of mine, Nor age so eat up my invention, Nor fortune made such havoc of my means, Nor my bad life 'reft me so much of friends But they shall find awaked, in such a kind, Both strength of limb and policy of mind, Ability in means, and choice of friends, To quit me of them thoroughly. 3. — laila's anger at thalaba's suspicions. Begone then, insolent! Why dost thou stand and gaze upon me thus? Aye ! watch the features well that threaten thee DRAMATIC, ETC. 305 With fraud and danger! In the wilderness They shall avenge me — in the hour of want Rise on thy view, and make thee feel How innocent I am: And this remembered cowardice and insult With a more painful shame will burn thy cheek Than now heats mine with anger. soctdey CXXXIX.— HAMLETS SOLILOQUY. 1. To be or noff to be — that is the question! Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The stings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And, by opposing, end them — To die — to sleep — No more ! — and, by a sleep, to say we end The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to — 'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished. 2. To die — to sleep — To sleep? — perchance to dream — aye, there's the rub! For, in that sleep of death, what dreams may come, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause ! There 's the respect, That makes calamity of so long life: For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of the unworthy takes — When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin? 3. Who would fardels bear, To groan and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death — That undiscovered county, from whose bourne No traveler returns — puzzles the will, And makes us rather bear those ills we have, Than fly to others that ytc know not of! 4. Thus, conscience does make cowards of us all; And thus, the native hue of resolution 306 ELOCUTION. is sicklied ^'er with the pale cast of thought ; And enterprise? of great pith and moment, With this regard, their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action. Shakespeare CXL.—TIIE MANIAC. .' Stay, jailer, stay, and hear my woe ! She is not mad that kneels ^o thee; For what I 'm now, too well I know, And what I was, and what should be. I '11 rave no more in proud despair ; My language shall be mild, though sad: But yet I firmly, truly swear, I am not mad, I am not mad. 2. My tyrant husband forged the tale Which chains me in this dismal cell ; My fate unknown my friends bewail — Oh! jailer, haste that fate to tell: Oh ! haste my father's heart to cheer ; His heart at once 't will grieve and glad To know, though kept a captive here, I am not mad, I am not mad. 3. He smiles in scorn, and turns the key ; He quits the grate ; I knelt in vain ; His glimmering lamp, still, still I see — 'T is gone ! and all is gloom again. Cold, bitter cold ! — No warmth ! no light !— Life, all thy comforts once I had ; Yet here I 'm chained, this freezing night, Although not mad ; no, no, not mad. 4 'T is sure some dream, some vision vain ; What! I — the child of rank and wealth — Am I the wretch who clanks this chain, Bereft of freedom, friends, and health? Ah ! while I dwell on blessings fled, Which never more my heart must glad, How aches my heart, how burns my head, But ; t is not mad ; no, 't is not mad. DRAMATIC, ETC. 307 5 Kast thou, my child, forgot, ere this, A mother's face, a mother's tongue? She '11 ne'er forget your parting kiss, Nor round her neck how fast you clung ; Nor how with her you sued to stay ; Nor how that suit your sire forbade ; Nor how — I '11 drive such thoughts away ; They '11 make me mad, they '11 make me maf the arena, I begged that poor boon, while all the assembled maids and matrons, and the holy virgins they call Vestals, and the rabble, shouted in derision, deeming it rare sport. forsooth, to see ffcome's fiercest gladiator turn pale and trcm- DRAMATIC, ETC. 325 ble at sight of that piece of bleeding clay ! And the pretor drew back as I were pollution, and sternly said — ' v Let the carrion rot; there are no noble men but Romans!" And so, fellow-gladiators, must you, and so must I, die like dogs. 5. O, Rome! Rome! thou hast been a tender nurse to me. Ay ! thou hast given, to that poor, gentle, timid shep- herd-ldd, who never knew a harsher tone than a flute-note, muscles of iron and a heart of flint; taught him to drive the sword through plaited mail and links of rugged brass, and warm it in the marrow of his foe : — to gaze into the glaring eye-balls of the tierce Numidian lion, even as a boy upon a laughing girl! And he shall pay thee back, until the yellow Tiber is red as frothing wine, and in its deepest ooze thy life-blood lies curdled ! 6. Ye stand here now like giants, as ye are ! The strength of brass is in your toughened sinews; but to-mor- row some Roman Adonis, breathing sweet perfume from his curly locks, shall with his lily fingers pat your red brawn, and bet his sesterces upon your blood. Hark ! hear ye yon lion roaring in his den? 'Tis three days since he tasted flesh ; but to-morrow he shall break his fast upon yours — and a dainty meal for him ye will be! 7. If ye are beasts, then stand here like fat oxen, wait- ing for the butcher's knife! If ye are men, — follow me! Strike down yon guard, gain the mountain passes, and there do bloody work, as did your sires at old 1 hermopyhe ! Is Sparta dead? Is the old Grecian spirit frozen in your veins, that you do crouch and cower like a belabored hound be- neath his master's lash? 0, comrades! warriors! Thracians! ■ — if we must fight, let us fight for ourselves! If we must slaughter, let us slaughter our oppressors ! If we must die, let it be under the clear sky, by the bright waters, in noble, honorable battle! e. kellogg. CLVL— WOLSEY'S FALL. 1. Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness I This is the state of man ; to-day he puts forth Th« tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, 320 ELOCUTION. And bears his blushing honors thiols upon him ; The third day comes a frost— a killing frost; And when he thinks, good easy man ! full surely His greatness is a ripening — nips the root, And then he falls, as I do. 2. I have ventured, Like little wanton boys, that swim on bladders, These many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride At length broke under me, and now has left me, Weary and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream that must forever hide me. 3. Yain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye ! I feel my heart new opened; oh! how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors ! There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to, ' That sweet aspect of princes and his ruin, More pangs and fears than wars or women have; And when he falls, he fulls like Lucifer, Never to hope again. shaksv/Iars CLYII.— THE RUM MANIAC. 1. " Say, Doctor, may I not have rum, To quench this burning thirst within? Here on this cursed bed I lie, And can not get one drop of gin. I ask not health, nor even life — Life! what a curse it 's been to me! I'd rather sink in deepest hell, Than drink again its misery. 2. "But, Doctor, may I not have rami One drop alone is all I crave: Grant this small boon — I ask no more — Then 1 '11 defy — yes, e'en the grave ; Then, without fear, I '11 fold my arms, And bid the monster strike his dart, To haste me from this world of woe, And claim his own — this ruined heart. 3. "A thousand curses on his head Who gave me first the poisoned bowl, 327 Who taught me first this bane to drink — Brink — death and ruin to my soul. My soul ! oh cruel, horrid thought ! Full well I know thy certain fate; "With what instinctive horror shrinks The spirit from that awful state! 4. "Lost — lost — I know forever lost! To me no ray of hope can come : My fate is sealed ; my doom is But give me rum ; I will have rum. But, Doctor, do n't you see him there? In that dark corner low he sits ; See ! how he sports his fiery tongue, And at me burning brimstone spits ! 5. " Say, do n't you see this demon fierce? Does no one hear? will no one come? Oh save me — save me — I will give — But rum ! I must have — will have rum ! Ah! now he's gone; once more I 'm free: He — the boasting knave and liar — He said that he would take me off Down to But there ! my bed's on fire ! 6. "Fire! water! help! come, haste — I '1 lie Come, take me from this burning bed: The smoke — I 'm choking — can not cry; There now — it 's catching at my head! But see! again that demon's come; Look ! there he peeps through yonder crack , Mark how his burning eyeballs flash ! How fierce he grins! what brought him back? 7. There stands his burning coach of fire; ITe smiles and beckons me to come — "What are those words he 's written there? 'In hell, we never Avant for rum !' " One loud, one piercing shriek was heard; One yell rang out upon the air; One sound, and one alone, came forth — The victim's cry of wild despair. 6. ""Why longer wait? I 'm ripe for hell; A spirit 'b sent to bear me down : 328 ELOCUTION. There, in the regions of the lost, I sure will wear a fiery crown. Damned, I know, without a hope! — One moment more, and then I '11 come !- And there I '11 quench my awful thirst With boiling, burning, fiery rum ! CLVIIL— BATTLE HYMN. 1. Father of earth and heaven! I call thy name! Round me the smoke and shout of battle roll ; My eyes are dazzled with the rustling flame ; Father! sustain an untried soldier's soul. Or life, or death, whatever be the goal That crowns or closes round the struggling hour, Thou knowest, if ever from my spirit stole One deeper prayer, 't was that no cloud might lower On my young fame ! — hear ! God of eternal power ! 2. Now for the fight! Now for the cannon-peal! Forward — through blood, and toil, and cloud, and fire, Glorious the shout, the shock, the clash of steel, The volley's roll, the rocket's blasting spire ! They shake! like broken waves their squares retire! On then, hussars! Now give them rein and heel; Think of the orphaned child, the murdered sire: Earth cries for blood! — in thunder on them wheel! This hour to Europe's fate shall set the triumph-seal! TilEO. KORNER. CLIX.— ROCKS OF MY COUNTRY. i x{ocks of my country ! let the cloud your crested hights array, And rise ye, like a fortress proud, above the surge and spray ! My spirit greets you as ye stand, breasting the billow's foam: ! thus forever guard the land, the sacred land of home ! 2 I have left rich blue skies behind, lighting up classic shrines, And music in the southern wind, and sunshine on the vines. The breathings of the myrtle-flowers have floated o'er my way; The pilgrim's voice, at vesper-hours, hath soothed me with it? lay. DEAMATIC, ECT. 329 3. The isles of Greece, the hills of Spain, the purple heavens of Home, Yes, all are glorious — yet again I bless thee, Land of Home! For thine the sabbath peace, my land ! and thine the guarded hearth ; And thine the dead, the noble band, that make the holy earth. \ Their voices meet me in thy breeze, their steps aro on thy plains ; Their names by old majestic trees are whispered round thy fanes. Their blood hath mingled with the tide ^f thine exulting sea: I be it still a joy, a pride, to live and die for thee ! MRS. IIEMANS. CLX.— BRUTUS ON THE DEATH OF LUCRETIA. 1. Titus, thus, my friends! fast as our breaking hearts Permitted utterance, we have told our story: And now, to say one word of the imposture — The mask necessity has made me wear. When the ferocious malice of your king- King! do I call him? — when the monster, Tarquin, Slew, as most of you may well remember, My father, Marcus, and my elder brother, Envying at once their virtues and their wealth, How could I hope a shelter from his power, But in the false face I have worn so long? 2. "Would you know why I summoned you together ? Ask ye what brings me here ? Behold this dagger, Clotted with gore ! Behold that frozen corse ! See where the lost Lucretia sleeps in death ! She was the mark and model of the time, The mold in which eavjh female face was formed, The very shrine and sacristy of virtue ! 3. The worthiest of the worthy ! not the nymph Who met old Numa in his hallowed walks, And whispered in his ear her strains divine, Can I conceive beyond her ! — the young choir Of vestal virgins bent to h^r ! — Such a mind, Might have abashed the boldest libertine, And turned desire to reverential love And holiest affection ! Kiih>.— 28 830 ELOCUTION. 4. Oh my countrymen ! You all can witness when that she went forth It was a holiday in Rome : old age Forgot its crutch; labor its task! all ran; And mothers, turning to their daughters, cried "There, there 's Lucretia!" — Now look ye where she lies That beauteous flower, that innocent sweet rose, Torn up by ruthless violence — gone ! gone ! 5. Say — would you seek instructions ! would you seek What. ye should do? — Ask ye yon conscious walls Which saw his poisoned brother, saw the crime Committed there, and they will cry, Revenge! — Ask yonder senate-house, whose stones are purple With human blood, and it will cry, Revenge! Go to the tomb where lie his murdered wife, And the poor queen who loved him as her son, Their unappeased ghosts will shriek, Revenge! The temples of the gods, the all-viewing heaven, — The gods themselves^-will justify the cry, And swell the general sound — Revenge ! Revenge ! PAYNE CLXI.— VARIETIES. 1. — RICHARD II. ON THE VANITY OP POWER. 1. Of comfort no man speak: Let 's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs ; Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth. Let 's choose executors and talk of wills : And yet not so — for what can we bequeath, Save our depos-ed bodies to the ground? Our lands, our lives, and all are Bolingbrooke's, And nothing can we call our own, but death, And that small model of our barren earth, Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. 2. For heaven's sake let us sit upon the ground, And tell sad stories of the death of kings — How some have been deposed, some slain in war; Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed ; Some poisoned by their wives, some sleeping killed DRAMATIC, ETC. 333 All murdered — for within the hollow crown, That rounds the mortal temples of a king, Keeps death his court, and there the antic sits, Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp; Allowing him a breath, a little scene To monarchize, he feared and killed with looks ; Infusing him with self and vain conceit — As if this flesh which walls about our life, "Were brass impregnable: and humored thus, Comes at the last and with a little pin Bores through his castle wall, and — farewell, king! SIIAKSPEA.RE 2. — PITY FOR A rOOR OLD MAN. 1. What cutting blast! and he can scarcely crawl; He freezes as he moves — he dies ! if he should fall : With cruel fierceness drives this icy sleet, And must a Christian perish in the street, In sight of Christians?— There ! at last he lies — Nor unsupported can he ever rise: He can not live. — In pity do behold The man affrighted, weeping, trembling, cold: Oh ! how those flakes of snow their entrance win Through the poor rags, and keep the frost within; His very heart seems frozen as he goes, Leading that starved companion of his woes: He tried to pray — his lips, I saw them move, And he so turned his piteous looks above ; But the fierce wind the willing heart opposed, And, ere he spoke, the lips in misery closed : Poor suffering object ! yes, for ease you prayed, And God will hear — He only, I 'm afraid. 2. When reached his home to what a cheerless fire And chilling bed will those cold limbs retire? Yet ragged, wretched as it is, that bed Takes half the space of his contracted shed; I saw the thorns beside the narrow grate, With straw collected in a putrid state: There will he, kneeling, strive the fire to raise, And that will warm him rather than the blaze; The sullen, smoky blaze, that can not last One moment after his attempt is past: And I so warmly and so purely laid, To sink to rest — indeed, I am afraid. crabbe 332 ELOCUTION. 6. — SEYD S DETERMINED REVENGE. Oulnare ! — if for each drop of blood a gem Were offered rich as Stamboul's diadem ; If for each hair of his a massy mine Of virgin ore should supplicating shine ; If all our Arab tales divulge or dream Of wealth were here — that gold should not redeem I It had not now redeemed a single hour ; But that I know him fettered, in my power; And, thirsting for revenge, I ponder still On pangs that longest rack, and latest kill. byron. 4. — REVENGE. Must I despise thee too, as well as hate thee? Complain of grief! — Complain thou art a man. Priam from fortune's lofty summit fell, Great Alexander 'mid his conquests mourned, Heroes and demigods have known their sorrows, Caesars have wept — and I have had my blow ! But 't is revenged ; and noAv, my work is done ! Yet, ere I fall, be it one part of vengeance To make even thee confess that I am just. Thou seest a prince, whose father thou hast slain, Whose native country thou hast laid in blood, Whose sacred person — oh ! — thou hast profaned, Whose reign extinguished ! What was left to" me, So highly born? — JS'o kingdom, but revenge 1 No treasure, but thy tortures, and thy groans I If cold white mortals censure this great deed, Warn them, they judge not of superior beings, Souls made of fire, and children of the sun, With whom revenge is virtue ! young. CLXIL— OTHELLO'S APOLOGY. 1. Most potent, grave, and reverend seigniors: My very noble, and approved good masters: That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter. It is most true; true, I have married her: The very head and front of my offending Ilath this extent : no more. DRAMATIC, ETC. 333 2. Rude am I in speech, And little blessed with the set phrase of peace: For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith, Till now some nine moons wasted, they have used Their dearest action in the tented field ; And little of this great world can I speak, More than pertains to feats of broils and battle ; And therefore, little shall I grace my cause, In speaking of myself. 3. Yet, by your patience. I will, a round, unvarnished tale deliver, Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms, What conjuration, and what mighty magic — For such proceedings I am charged withal — I won his daughter with. 4. Her father loved me ; oft invited me ; Still questioned me the story of my life, From year to year: the battles, sieges, fortunes, That I had past. I ran it through, e'en from my boyish days, To the very moment, that he bade me tell it. Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances ; Of moving accidents by flood and field ; Of hairbreadth 'scapes, in the imminent deadly breach; Of being taken by the insolent foe, And sold to slavery ; of my redemption thence, And with it all my travel's history. 5. All these to hear, Would Desdemona seriously incline ; But still the house affairs would draw her thence, Which ever as she could with haste despatch, She'd come again, and with a greedy ear, Devour up my discourse. Which, I observing, Took once a pliant hour, and found good means To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart, That I would all my pilgrimage dilate; Whereof by parcels, she had something heard, But not distinctly. 6. I did consent ; And often did beguile her of her tears, When I did speak of some distressful stroke, 334 ELOCUTION. That by my youth suffered. My story being done, She gave me for my pains, a world of sighs. She swore in faith, 't was strange, ; t was passing strange*, 'T was pitiful; 't was wondrous pitiful; She wished she had not heard it ; yet she wished That heaven had made her such a man. 7. She thanked me, And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her, I should but teach him how to tell my story, And that would woo he?. On this hint I spake; She loved me for the dangers I had passed ; And I loved her, that she did pity them. This is the only witchcraft which I 've used. SHAKSFEARE CLXIIL— HOTSPUR'S DESCRIPTION OF A FOP. 1. My liege, I did deny no prisoners. But I remember, when the tight was done, When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil, Breathless, and faint, leaning upon my sword, Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dressed, Fresh as a bridegroom ; and his chin, new reaped, Showed like stubble-land at harvest home. 2. He was perfumed like a milliner ; And, twixt his finger and his thumb, he held A pouncet-box, which, ever and anon, He gave his nose. And still ho smiled, and talked, And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by, He called them untaught knaves, unmannerly, To bring a slovenly, unhandsome corse Betwixt the wi;d and his nobility. 3. With many holiday and lady terms, He questioned me ; among the rest, demanded My prisoners, in her majesty's behalf; I then, all smarting with my wounds, being galled To be so pestered with a popinjay, Out of my grief and my impatience, Answered negligently — I know not what — lie should, or should not ; for he made me mad, To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, 335 And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman, Of guns, and drums, and wounds — heaven save the mark And telling me the sovereign'st thing on earth, Was spermaceti — for an inward bruise : 4. And that it was great pity — so it was — That villainous saltpeter should be digged Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, Whi.-h many a good, tall fellow had destroyed So cowardly ; and, but for these vile guns, He would himself have been a soldier. 5. This bald, unjointed chat of his, my lord, I answered indirectly, as I said ; And I beseech you, let not his report Come current, for an accusation, Betwixt my love, and your high majesty. SHAKSPEARE. CLXIV.—TIIE GAMBLERS WIFE. 1. Dark is the night! how dark — no light — no fire! Cold, on the hearth, the last faint sparks expire! Shivering she watches by the cradle side, For him who pledged her love — last year a bride! 2. "Hark! 'tis his footstep! No — 'tis past: 'tis gone: Tick! — Tick! — How wearily the time crawls on! Why should lie leave me thus? lie once was kindl And I believed 'twould last — how mad! — how blind! 3. " Rest thee, my babe ! — rest on ! — 'tis hunger's cry ! Sleep! — for there is no food! the fount is dry! Famine and cold their wearying work have done, My heart must break ! — and thou !" The clock strikes one 4. " Hush ! 'tis the dice-box ! Yes, he's there, he's there, For this ! for this he leaves me to despair ! Leaves love! leaves truth! his wife! his child 1 for what J The wanton's smile — the villain — and the sot! 5 "Yet I'll not curse him! No! 'tis all in vain! 'Tis long to wait, but sure he'll come again! And I could starve and bless him, but for you, My child! — his child! — fiend!" The clock strikes two. 336 ELOCUTION. G. "Hark! how the sign-board creaks! The blast howls by! Moan ! moan! A dirge swells through the cloudy sky! Ha! 'tis his knock! he conies! — he conies once more! 'Tis but the lattice flaps ! Thy hope is o'er. 7. "Can he desert me thus? He knows I stay Night after night in loneliness to pray Fur his return — and yet he sees no tear ! No ! no ! it can not be. lie will be here. 8. "Nestle more closely, dear one, to my heart! Thou 'rt cold ! thou 'rt freezing ! But we will not part. Husband! — I die! — Father! — It is not he! Oh God ! protect my child !" The clock strikes three. 0. They 're gone! they 're gone! the glimmering spark hath fled The wife and child are numbered with the dead ! On the cold hearth, out-stretched in solemn rest, The child lies frozen on its mother's breast! The gambler came at last — but all was o'er — Dead silence reigned around — The clock struck four ! COATES. CLXV.— CASSIUS AGAINST CESAR. 1. IIoxor is the subject of my story, ' I can not tell what you, and other men Think of this life ; but for my single self, I had as lief not be, as live to be In awe of such a thing as myself. I was born as free as Caesar ; so were you ; We have both fed as well ; and we can both Endure the winter's cold as well as he. 2. For, once upon a raw and gusty day, The troubled Tiber, chafing with its shores, Ccesar says to me — " Darest thou, Cassius, now Leap in with me, into this angry flood, And swim to yonder point?" — Upon the word, Accoutred as I was, I plunged in, And bade him follow; so, indeed he did. The torrent roared, and we did bulfct it; With lusty sinews, throwing it aside, And stemming it, with hearts of controversy. DRAMATIC, ETC. 337 But ere we could arrive the point proposed, Cu?sar cried— "Help me, Cassius, or I sink." 3. I, as iErieas, our great ancestor, Did from the flames of Troy, upon his shoulder The old Anchises bear, so, from the waves of Tiber Did I the tired Caesar; and this man Is now become a god; and Cassius is A wretched creature, and must bend his body, If Cajs.ir carelessly but nod to him. 4. H I had a fever when he was in Spain, And Yihen the fit was on him, I did mark How he did shake: 'tis true, this god did shake; His coward lips did from their color fly; And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world, Did lose its luster; I did hear him groan, Aye, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans Mark him, and write his speeches in their books, "Alas!" it cried — "Give me some drink, Titinius." 5. Ye gods ! it cloth amaze me, A man of such a feeble temper should So get the start of the majestic world, And bear the palm alone. "Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world, Like a Colossus, and we, petty men, Walk under his huge legs, and peep about, To find ourselves dishonorable graves. 6. Men, at some time, are masters of their fates: The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves, that we are underlings. Brutus and Ciesar! What should be in that Cresar? Why should that name be sounded more than yours? Write them together: yours is as fair a name; Sound them : it doth become the mouth as well ; Weigh them: it is as heavy: conjure with 'em: Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Caesar. 7. Now, in the name of all the gods at once, Upon wdiat meats doth this our Coesar feed, That he hath grown so great? Age, thou art ashamed; Kome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods. When went there by an age, since the great flood, But it was famed with more than with one *nan ? Kino — 20 838 ELOCUTION. When could they say, till now, that talked of Rome, That her wide walls encompassed but one man? Oh ! you, and I have heard our fathers say, There was a Brutus once, that would have brooked The infernal devil, to keep his state in Home, As easily as a kins;. shakspkarf CLXVL— RIENZI'S ADDRESS TO THE ROMANS. 1. I come not here to talk. You know too well The story of our thralldom. We are slaves ! The bright sun rises to his course and lights A race of slaves! lie sets, and his last beams Fall on a slave ; not such as swept along By the full tide of power, the conqueror led To crimson glory and undying fame : But base, ignoble slaves ; slaves to a horde Of petty tyrants, feudal despots, lords, Rich in some dozen paltry villages ; Strong in some hundred spearmen ; only great In that strange spell — a name. 2. Each hour, dark fraud, Or open rapine, or protected murder, Cry out against them. But this very day An honest man, my neighbor — there he stands — Was struck — struck like a dog, by one who wore The badge of TJrsini ; because, forsooth, lie tossed not high his ready cap in air, Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts, At sight of that great ruffian! Be we men, And suffer such dishonor? men, and wash not The stain away in blood? Such. shames are common I have known deeper wrongs ; I, that speak to ye I had a brother once — a gracious boy, Full of gentleness, of calmest hope, Of sweet and quiet joy: there was the look Of heaven upon his face, which limners give To the beloved disciple. 3. How I loved "*fcat gracious boy ! Younger by fifteen years, brother at once, and son ! He left my side, ETC. 339 A summer bloom on his fair cheek, a smile Parting his innocent lips. In o»e short hour, That pretty, harmless boy was slain! I saw The corse, the mangled corse, and then I cried For vengeance! House, ye Romans! rouse, ye slaves I Have ye brave sons ? Look in the next tierce brawl To see them die. Have ye fair daughters? Look To see them live, torn from your arms, distained, Dishonored ; and if ye dare call for justice, Be answered by the lash! 4. Yet this is Rome, That sat on her seven hills, and, from her throne Of beauty, ruled the world! Yet we are Romans! "Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman, "Was greater than a king ! and once again — Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread Of either Brutus! once, again, I swear, The eternal city shall be free. miss mitford CLXVII.— THE SAILOR BOY'S DREAM. 1 In slumbers of midnight the sailor-boy lay ; His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind; But watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away, And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind. 2. He dreamed of his home, of his dear native bowers, And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn ; While memory stood sidewise, half-covered with flowers, And restored every rose, but secreted its thorn. 3. Then fancy her magical pinions spread wide, And bade the young dreamer in ecstacy rise — Now far, far behind him the green waters glide, And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes. 4 The jessamine clambers in flower o'er the thatch, And the swallow sings sweet from her nest in the wall All trembling with transport, he raises the latch, And the voices of loved ones reply to his call. 5. A father bends o'er him with looks of delight, His cheek is im pearled with a mother's warm tear, 340 ELOCUTION And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear. 6. The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast, Joy quickens his pulse — all his hardships seem o'er, And a murmur uf happiness steals through his rest — "Oh God thou hast blest me — I ask for no more." 7. Ah! what is that flame, which now bursts on his eye? Ah! what is that sound which now larums his ear? 'T is the lightning's red glare, painting hell on the sky! 'T is the crash of the thunder, the groan of the sphere! 8. lie springs from his hammock — he flies to the deck; Amazement confronts him with images dire — "Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a wreck — The masts fly in splinters— the shrouds are on fire ! 9. Like mountains the billows tremendously swell — In vain the lost wretch calls on Mercy to save; Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell, And the death-angel flaps his broad wing o'er the wave ! 10. Oh! sailor-boy, woe to thy dream of delight! In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss — Where now is the picture that fancy touched bright, Thy parent's fond pressure, and love's honeyed kiss? 11. Oh! sailor-boy! sailor-boy ! never again Shall home, love, or kindred, thy wishes repay; Unblessed and unhonored, down deep in the main, Full many a score fathom, thy frame shall decay. 12. No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee, Or redeem form or frame from the merciless surge: But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be, And winds, in the midnight of winter, thy dirge. 13 On beds of green sea-flowers thy limbs shall be laid, Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow; Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be made. And every part suit to thy mansion below. 14. Days, months, years, and ages, shall circle away, And still the vast waters above thee shall roll — Earth loses thy pattern forever and aye — ■ Oh ! sailor-boy ! sailor-boy ! peace to thy soul, dimond. DRAMATIC, ETC. 34J CLX VIII.— HENRY V. AT HARFLEUR. 1. Oxce more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the Avail up with our English dead. In peace there 's nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility; But when the blast of Avar bloAA's in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger ; Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard-favored rage; Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; Let it pry through the portage of the head Like the brass cannon; let the broAv o'ei'Avhelm it, As fearfully as doth a gall-ed rock O'erhang and jutty his confounded base, Swilled with the wild and Avasteful ocean. 2. Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril Avidc, Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit To his full hight. Now on, you noblest English, "Whose blood is fetched from lathers of war-proof; Fathers, that like so many Alexanders, Have in these parts from morn till even fought, And sheathed their swords for lack of argument: Be copy now to men of grosser blood, And teach them how to Avar ! 3. And you, good yeomen, Whose limbs are made in England, sIioav us here Tne mettle of your pasture ; let us swear That you are worth your breeding, which I doubt not . For there is none of you so mean and base That hath not noble luster in your eye; I see uiu stand like grayhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start: the game 's a-foot ; FoIIoav your spirit : and, upon this charge, Cry, Heaven for Harry, England, and St. George 1 SUAKSrEARB CLXIX.— SEVEN AGES OF MAN. 1 All the Avorld 's a stage, And all the men and Avomen merely players: They have their exits and their entrances. 342 ELOCUTION. And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. Then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel, And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then, the lover, Sighing like a furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then, a soldier, Full of strange oaths, and bearded like a pard, Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth. 2. And then, the justice, In fair round belly, with good capon lined, With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances: And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slippered pantaloon, With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side ; His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes — '»^^^nd whistles in his sound. Last scene of all, That ends this strange, eventful history, Is second childishness, and mere oblivion ; Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing. SHAKSPEARE CLXX.— rARRIIASIUS. 1. PARRfiASius stood, gazing forgetfully Upon his canvas. There Prometheus lay, Chained to the cold rocks of Mount Caucasus, The vultures at his vitals, and the links Of the lame Lemnian festering in his flesh ; And, as the painter's mind felt through the dim, Rapt mystery, and plucked the shadows wild Forth with his reaching fancy, and with form And color clad them, his tine, earnest eye Flashed with a passionate fire, and the quick curl Of his thin nostril, and his quivering lip, Were like the winged god's breathing from his flight. DRAMATIC, ETC. 3-13 2. " Bring me the captive now ! My hand feels skillful, and the shadows lift From my Avaked spirit airily and swift; And I could paint the bow _7pon the bended heavens; around me play Colors of such divinity to-day. "Ila! bind him on his back! Look ! as Prometheus in my picture here ! Quick ! or he faints ! stand with the cordial near 1 Now, bend him to the rack ! Press down the poisoned links into his flesh ! And tear agape that healing wound afresh ! 4. "So! let him writhe! How long Will he live thus ? Quick, my good pencil, now 1 What a fine agony works upon his brow ! Ila ! gray-haired, and so strong ! How fearfully he stifles that short moan ! Gods ! if I could but paint a dying groan ! 5 "'Pity' thee? So I do: I pity the dumb victim at the altar; But does the robed priest for his pity falter? I 'd rack thee, though I knew ^^**t A thousand lives were perishing in thine; What were ten thousand to a fame like mine? 6. " Ah ! there 's a deathless name ! A spirit that the smothering vault shall spurn, And, like a steadfast planet, mount and burn ; And though its crown of flame Consumed my brain to ashes as it won me; By all the fiery stars ! I 'd pluck it on me ! 7. "Ay, though it bid me rifle My heart's last fount for its insatiate thirst; Though every life-strung nerve be maddened first ; Though it should bid me stifle The yearning in my throat for my sweet child, And taunt its mother till my brain went wild . 8. " All ! I would do it all, Sooner than die, like a dull worm, to rot; Thrust foully in the earth to be forgot. Oh heavens ! but I appall 344 ELOCUTION. Your heart, old man ! forgive — ha ! on your lives Let him not faint ! rack him till he revives I 9. "Vain — vain — give o'er. His eye Glazes apace. He does not feel you now. Stand back ! I '11 paint the death dew on his brow ! Gods! if he do not die But for one moment — one — till I eclipse Conception with the scorn of those calm lips! LO " Shivering ! Hark ! he mutters Brokenly now ; that was a difficult breath ; Another? Wilt thou never come, oh, Death? Look ! how his temple flutters ! Is his heart still ? Aha ! lift up his head ! He shudders — gasps — Jove help him — so, he 's dead \" 11. How like a mountain devil in the heart Rules this unreined ambition ! Let it once But play the monarch, and its haughty brow Glows with a beauty that bewilders thought And unthrones peace forever. Putting on The very pomp of Lucifer, it turns The heart to ashes, and with not a spring Left in the desert for the spirit's lip, We look upon our splendor, and forget The thirst of which we perish ! willis. CLXXL— THE SEMINOLE'S DEFIANCE. 1. Blaze, with your serried columns! I will not bend the knee; The shackle ne'er again shall bind the arm which now is free ! I 've mailed it with the thunder, when the tempest muttered low ; And where it falls, ye well may dread the lightning of its blow. I 've scared you in the city; I 've scalped you on the plain; Go, count your chosen where they fell beneath my leaden rain! 1 scorn your proffered treaty : the pale-faee I defy ; Kevenge Is stamped upon my spear, and "bloud" my battle- cry! 2. Some strike for hope of booty; some to defend their all: — 1 batue for the j( y I have to see the white man fall. DRAMATIC, ETC. 345 1 love, among the wounded, to hear his dying moan, And catch, while chanting at his side, the music of his groan. Ye 'vc trailed me through the forest ; ye 've tracked me o'er the stream ; And struggling through the everglade your bristling bayonets gleam. But I stand as should the warrior, with his rifle and his spear; The scalp of vengeance still is red, and warns you — " (June not here V* Think ye to find my homestead ?— I gave it to the fire. My tawny household do ye seek? — I am a childless sire. But, should ye crave life's nourishment, enough I have, and good ; I live on hate — 't is all my bread ; yet light is not my food. I loathe you with my bosom! I scorn you with mine eye! And I '11 taunt you with my latest breath, and fight you till 1 die! I ne'er will ask for quarter, and I ne'er will be your slave ; But I '11 swim the sea of slaughter till I sink beneath the wave! g. w. pattex. CLXXIL— LOVE OF COUNTRY. 1. Breathes there tho man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, " This is my own, my native land I" "Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, As home his footsteps he hath turned, From wandering on a foreign strand ? If such there breathe, go, mark him well; For him no minstrel-raptures swell. 2. High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim; Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown; And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust from which he sprung, Unwept, unhonored, and unsung. 3 Caledonia! stern and wild, Meet nurse for a poetic child, ;Ufi ELOCUTION. Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, Land of the mountain and the flood, Land of my sires; what mortal hand Can e'er untie the filial band, That knits me to thy rugged strand? scott CLXXHL— VARIETIES. 1. — MELANCHOLY. 1. man! while in thy early years, How prodigal of time ! Misspending all thy precious hours, Thy glorious youthful prime ! Alternate follies take the sway ; Licentious passions burn ; Which tenfold force give nature's law, That man was made to mourn. 2. Look not alone on youthful prime, Or manhood's active might; Man then is useful to his kind, Supported is his right : But see him on the edge of life, With cares and sorrows worn, Then age and want, -oh ! ill-matched pair I Show man was made to mourn. 3. A few seem favorites of fate, In pleasures lap caressed ; Yet think not all the rich and great Are likewise truly blest. But, oh ! what crowds in every land Are wretched and forlorn ; Through weary life this lesson learn That man was made to mourn. 4 Many and sharp the nameless ills Inwoven with our frame ! More pointed still we make ourselves, Regret, remorse, and shame ! And man, whose heaven-erected face The smiles of love adorn, iMiAMATIC, ETC. 347 Man's inhumanity to man Makes countless thousands mourn. 5. See yonder poor, o'er-labored wight, So abject, mean a,nd vile, Who begs a brother of the earth To give him leave to toil ; And see his lordly fellow-worm The poor petition spurn, Unmindful though a weeping wife And helpless offspring mourn. 6. death ! the poor man's dearest friend, The kindest and the best! Welcome the hour my aged limbs Are laid by thee to rest ! The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow, From pomp and pleasure torn; But, oh ! a blest relief to those That weary-laden mourn ! BURX& 2. — JEALOUSY. 1 no mistrust thee, woman ! and each word Of thine stamps truth on all suspicion heard. Borne in his arms through fire from yon Serai — Say, wert thou lingering there with him to fly? Thou need'st not answer, thy confession speaks, Already reddening on thy guilty cheeks! Then, lovely dame, bethink thee ! and beware ; ; T is not his life alone may claim such care; Another word — and — nay — I need no more. Accursed was the moment when he bore Thee from the flames, which better far — but — no— I then had mourned thee with a lover's woe — Now 't is thy lord that warns, deceitful thing! Know' st thou that 1 can clip thy wanton wing? In words alone I am not wont to chafe : Look to thyself, nor deem thy falsehood safe ! byron 3. — HOPE. It shall be my delight to tend his eyes, And view him sitting in the house, ennobled "With all those high exploits by him achieved. And on his shoulders waving down those locks ELOCUTION. That, of a nation armed, the strength contained; And, I persuade me, God hath not permitted His strength again to grow up with his hair, Garrisoned round about him like a camp Of faithful soldiery, were not his purpose To use him farther yet in some great service; Not to sit idle with so great a gift Useless, and thence ridiculous about him ; And, since his strength with eye-sight was not lost, God will restore him eye-sight to his strength. MILTON 4. — FEAR. On, agony of fear ! "Would that he yet might live ! even now I heard The legate's followers whisper, as they passed, They had a warrant for his instant death, All was prepared by unforbidden means, Which we must pay so dearly, having done, Even now they search the tower, and find the body , Now they suspect the truth; now they consult Before they come to tax us with the fact; 0, horrible ! 't is all discovered ! shellet 5. — THE TOWER OF LOVE. But love, first learned in a lady's eyes, Lives not alone immured in the brain; But with the motion of all elements, Courses as swift as thought in every power; And gives to every power a double power, Above their functions and their offices. It adds a precious seeing to the eye ; A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind ; A lover's ear will hear the lowest sound, "When the suspicious head of theft is stopped; Love's feeling is more soft, and sensible, Than are the tender horns of cockled snails; Love's tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste : For valor, is not love a Hercules, Still climbing trees in the Ilesperides? Subtle as sphinx, as sweet and musical As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair; And, when love speaks, the voice of all the gods, Makes heaven drowsy with the harmony. DRAMATIC, ETC. 349 Never durst poet touch a pen to write, Until ills ink were tempered with love's sighs: 0, then his lines would ravish savage ears, And plant in tyrants mild humility. soaksi-eare. CLXXIV.— FROM LALLA ROOKII. 1 Bct see — he starts — what heard he then? That dreadful shout! — across the glen From the land-side it comes, and loud Kings through the chasm ; as if the crowd Of fearful things, that haunt that dell, Its Ghouls and Dives and shapes of hell, Had all in one dread howl broke out, So loud, so terrible that shout! " They come — the Moslems come •" he crre's, His proud soul mounting to his eyes — "Now spirits of the brave, who roam Enfranchised through yon starry dome, Rejoice — for souls of kindred fire Are on the wing to join your choir!" 2. lie said — and, light as bridegrooms bound To their young loves, reclimbed the steep And gained the shrine — his chiefs stood round — Their swords, as with instinctive leap, Together, at that cry accurst, Had from their sheaths, like sunbeams, burst, And hark! — again — again it rings: Near and more near its echoings Peal through the chasms — Oh ! who that then Hail seen those listening warrior-men, With their swords grasped, their eyes of flame Turned on their chief — could doubt the shame. The indignant shame with which they thrill To hear those shouts and yet stand still? 3. He read their thoughts — they were his own — "AVhat! while our arms can wield these blades, Shall we die tamely? die alone? Without one victim to our shades, One Moslem heart, where, buried deep, The saber from its toil may sleep? No — Hod of Iran's burning skies ! 350 ELOCUTION. Thou scorn'st the inglorious sacrifice. No— though of all earth's hope bereft, Life, swords, and vengeance still are left: We '11 make yon v;il ley's reeking caves Live in the awestruck minds of men, Till tyrants shudder, when their slaves Tell of the Gueber's bloody glen ! Follow, brave hearts ! — this pile remains Our refuge still from life and chains; But his the best, the holiest bed, "Who sinks entombed in Moslem dead V CLXXV.— MOLOCH AND SATAN, BEFORE THE POWERS OP HELL. 1. One there was whose loud defying tongue Nor hope nor fear had silenced, but the swell Of overboiling malice. Utterance long His passion mocked and long he strove to tell His laboring ire; still syllable none fell From his pale quivering lip, but died away For very fury ; from each hollow cell Half sprang his eyes, that cast a flamy ray. 2. ''This comes," at length burst from the furious chief, "This comes of dastard counsels! Here behold The fruits of wily cunning! the relief Which coward policy would fain unfold To soothe the powers that warred with heaven of old. wise ! potent ! sagacious snare ! And lo ! our prince — the mighty and the bold, There stands he, spell-struck, gaping at the air While heaven subverts his reign and plants her standard thei- '' 3. Here as recovered, Satan fixed his eye Full on the speaker — dark as it- was stern — lie wrapped his black vest round him gloomily And stood like one whom weightiest thoughts concern. Him Moloch marked and strove again to turn His soul to rage. "Behold, behold," he cried, "The lord of hell, who bade these legions spurn Almighty rule — behold he lays aside The spear of just revenge, and shrinks, by man defied." 351 4. Thus ended Moloch, and his burning tongue Hung quivering as if mad to quench its heat In slaughter. So, his native wilds among, The famished tiger pants, when near his seat, Pressed on the sands, he marks the traveler's feet Instant low murmurs rose, and many a sword Had from its scabbard sprung; but toward the seat Of the arch-fiend, all turned with one accord, As loud he thus harangued the sanguinary horde: 5. "Ye powers of hell, I am no coward. I proved this of old. "Who led your forces against the armies of Jeho- vah ? Who coped with Ithuriel, and the thunders of the Almighty? Who, when stunned and confused ye lay on the burning lake, who first awoke and collected your scat- tered powers? Lastly, who led you across the unfathom- able abyss to this delightful world, and established that reign here which now totters to its base? How, therefore, dares yon treacherous fiend to cast a stain on Satan's bravery? He, who preys only on the defenseless — who sucks the blood of infants, and delights only in acts of igno- ble cruelty and unequal contention! Away with the boaster who never joins in action ; but, like a cormorant, hovers over the field, to feed upon the wounded and overwhelm the dying. True bravery is as remote from rashness as from hesitation. Let us counsel coolly, but let us execute our counseled purposes determinedly. In power, we have learned by that experiment which lost us heaven, that we are inferior to the thunder-bearer: in subtlety — in subtletv alone, we are his equals." white. CLXXVI.— THE FIREMAN. 1. Hoarse wintry blasts a solemn requiem sung To the departed day, Upon whose bier The velvet pall of midnight had been flung, *. And nature mourned through one wide hemisphere Silence and darkness held their cheerless sway, Save in the haunts of riotous excess, And half the world in dreamy slumbers lay — rf52 ELOCUTION. Lost in the maze of sweet forge tfulness, When lo ! upon the startled ear, Tl^ere broke a sound so dread and drear— Ai^ like a sudden peal of thunder, Kurst the bands of sleep asunder, And filled a thousand throbbing hearts with fear. 2. llaik ! the faithful watchman's cry Speaks a conflagration nigh! — See ! yon glare upon the sky, Confirms the fearful tale. The deep-mouthed bells, with rapid tone, Combine to make the tidings known; Affrighted silence now has flown, And sounds of terror freight the chiUy gale! 3 At the first note of this discordant din, The gallant fireman from his slumber si H's; Reckless of toil and danger, if he win The tributary meed of grateful hearts. From pavement rough, or frozen ground, His engine's rattling wheels resound, And soon before his eyes The lurid flames, with horrid glare, Mingled with murky vapors rise, In wreathy folds upon the air, And vail the frowning skies! 4. Sudden a shriek assails his heart — A female shriek, so piercing wild, As makes his very life-blood start — "My child! Almighty God, my child!" He hears, And 'gainst the tottering wall, The ponderous ladder rears ; While blazing fragments round him fall, And crackling sounds assail his ears. 5. His sinewy arm, with one rude crash, Hurls to the earth the opposing sash; And heedless of the startling din — Though smoky volumes round hi:n roll, The mother's shriek has pierced his soul, See ! see ! he plunges in ! The admiring crowd, with hopes and fears, ect. 353 In breathless expectation stands, When lo ! the daring youth appears, Hailed by a" burst of warm, ecstatic cheers, Bearing the child triumphant in his hands 1 CLXXVII.— THE DYING BRIGAND. 1 She stood before the dying man, And her eye grew wildly bright — "Ye will not pause for a woman's ban, Nor shrink from a woman's might ; And his glance is dim that made you fly, As ye before have fled: Look dastards ! — how the brave can die — - Beware ! — he is not dead ! 1. By his blood } 7 ou have tracked him to his lair !- Would you bid the spirit part? — He that durst harm one single hair Must reach it through my heart. I can not weep, for my brain is dry — Nor plead, for I know not how ; But my aim is sure, and the shaft may fly, — And the bubbling life-blood flow! 3. Yet leave me, while dim life remains, To list his parting sigh ; To kiss away those gory stains, To close his beam less eye! Y^e will not! no — he triumphs 'still, Whose foes his death-pangs dread— His was the power — yours but the will : Back — back— he is not dead! 4 His was the power that held in thrall, Through many a glorious year, Priests, burghers, nobles, princes, all Slaves worship, hate, or fear. Wrongs, insults, injuries thrust him forth A bandit chief to dwell ; How he avenged his slighted worth, Ye, cravens, besc may tell 1 5. His spirit lives in the mountain breath, It flows in the mountain wave ; i.i)-:-;!) 354 ELOCUTION. Rock — stream — hath done the work of death- Yon deep ravine — the grave ! — That which hath been again may be! — Ah ! by yon fleeting sun, ^ Who stirs, no morning ray shall see — His sand of life has run !" 6. Defiance shone in her flashing eye, But her heart beat Avild with fear — She starts — the bandit's last faint sigh Breathes on her sharpened ear — She gazes on each stiffening limb, And the death-damp chills her brow;—- "For him I lived — I die with him I Slaves, do your office now I" CLXXVIIL— SOLILOQUY FROM MANFRED. 1. The spirits I' have raised abandon me— The spells which I have studied baffle me — The remedy I recked of tortured me ; I lean no more on superhuman aid, It hath no power upon the past, and for The future, till the past be gulfed in darkness, It is not of my search. My mother earth ! And thou, fresh breaking day ; and you, ye mountains, Why are ye beautiful ? I can not love ye. 2. And thou, the bright eye of the universe, That open est over all, and unto all Art a delight — thou shinest not on my heart: And you, ye crags, upon whose extreme edge I stand, and on the torrent's brink beneath Behold the tall pines dwindle as to shrubs In dizziness of distance ; when a leap, A stir, a motion, even a breath, would bring My breast upon its rocky bosom's bed To rest forever — wherefore do I pause? 3. I feel the impulse — yet I do not plunge; I see the peril — yet do not recede; And my brain reels — and yet my foot is firm : There is a potfer upon me which withholds DRAMATIC, ETC. 355 And makes ib my fatality to live: If it bo life to wear within myself This barrenness of spirit, and to be My own soul's sepulcher, for I have ceased To justify my deeds unto myself — .«. The last infirmity of evil. 4. Ay, thou winged and cloud-cleaving minister, [An eagle passes. Whose happy flight is highest into heaven, "Well mayest thou swoop so near me — I should be Thy prey, and gorge thine eaglets; thou art gone Where the eye can not follow thee ; but thine Yet pierces downward, onward or above With a pervading vision. 5. Beautiful! How beautiful is all this visible world! How glorious in its action and itself! But we, who name ourselves its sovereigns, we, Half-dust, half-deity, alike unfit To sink or soar, with our mixed essence make A conflict of its elements, and breathe The breath of degradation and of pride, Contending with low wants and lofty will Till our mortality predominates, And men are— what they name not to themselves, And trust not to each other. 6. Hark ! the note, [The shepherd's pipe in the distance is heard. The natural music of the mountain reed — For here the patriarchal days are not A pastoral fable — pipes in the liberal air, Mixed with the sweet bells of the sauntering herd ; My soul would drink those echoes. Oh, that I were The viewless spirit of a lovely sound, A living voice, a breathing harmony, A bodiless enjoyment — born and dying With the blest tone which made me ! byron ' CLXXIX.— GINEVRA. 1. She was an only child, her name Ginevra, The joy, the pride of an indulgent father ; 356 ELOCUTION. And in her fifteenth year became a bride, Marrying an only son, Francisco Doria, Her playmate from her birth, and her first love. 2. She was all gentleness, all gayety, Her pranks the favorite theme of every tongue. But now the day was come, the day, the hour., Now frowning, smiling for the hundredth time, The nurse, the ancient lady, preached decorum ; And in the luster of her youth she gave Her hand, with her heart in it, to Francisco. 3. Great was the joy; but at the nuptial feast, When all sat down, the bride herself was wanting. Nor was she to be found ! Her father cried, " 'T is but to make a trial of our love \" And filled his glass to all; but his hand shook, And soon from guest to guest the panic spread. 4. 'T was but that instant she had left Francisco, Laughing, and looking back, and flying still, Her ivory tooth imprinted on his finger; But, now, alas she was not to be found; Nor froin that hour could any thing be guessed, But that she was not ! 5. Weary of his life, Francisco flew to Venice, and embarking, Flung it away in battle with the Turk. The father lived, and long might you have seen An old man wandering as in quest of something; Something he could not find, he knew not what. When he was gone the house remained awhile Silent and tenantless — then went to strangers. 6. Full fifty years were past, and all forgotten, When on an idle day, a day of search, ; Mid the old lumber in the gallery, That moldering chest was noticed, and 't was said By one as young, as thoughtless as Ginevra ; " Why not remove it from its lurking place V 7. 'T was done as soon as said, but on the way It burnt, it fell; and lo! a skeleton, With here and there a pearl, an emerald stone, A golden clasp, clasping a shred of gold. DRAMATIC, ETC. 357 All else had perished — save a wedding-ring And a small seal, her mother's legacy, Engraven with a name, the name of both, "Ginevra" 8. There then she had found a grave ! "Within that chest had she concealed herself, Fluttering with joy, the happiest of the happy, When a spring-lock that lay in ambush there, Fastened her down forever 1 roger9 CLXXX — " EXCELSIOR !" 1. Tite shades of night were falling fast, As through an Alpine village passed A youth, who bore, 'mid snow" and ice, A banner with the strange device, " Excelsior !" 2. His brow was sad ; his eye, beneath, Flashed like a falchion from its sheath: And like a silver clarion rung The accents of that unknown tongue, " Excelsior I" 3. In happy homes he saw the light Of household fires gleam warm and bright Above, the spectral glaciers shone ; And from his lips escaped a groan, " Excelsior!" 4. "Try not the pass!" the old man said, "Dark lowers the tempest overhead; The roaring torrent 's deep and wide!" And loud that clarion voice replied, " Excelsior !" 5. "Oh! stay," the maiden said, "and rest Thy weary head upon this breast!" — A tear stood in his bright blue eye; "But still he answered, with a sigh, " Excelsior !" 6. "Beware the pine-tree's withered branch! "Beware the awful avalanche!" 358 ELOCUTION. This was the peasant's last good-night ; — A voice replied, far up the hight, "Excelsior!" 7. At break of day, as heavenward The pious monks of Saint Bernard Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, A voice cried through the startled air, " Excelsior!" 8. A traveler, by the faithful hound, Half-buried in the snow was found, Still grasping in his hand of ice That banner with the strange device, " Excelsior I" 9. There, in the twilight cold and gray, Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay; And from the sky, serene and far, A voice fell, like a falling star— " Excelsior 1" longfellow. CLXXXI.— SOLILOQUY OF KING RICHARD III. 1. Give me another horse — bind up my wounds — Have mercy, Jesu — soft : I did but dream ! 0, coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me! The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight. What do I fear? Myself? There 's none else by. Richard loves Richard ; that is, I am I. Is there a murderer here? No: yes; I am. Then fly. What ! From myself? Great reason, why ? Lest I revenge. What? Myself on myself? I love myself? Wherefore? For any good That I myself have done unto myself? 0, no ; alas ! I rather hate myself, For hateful deeds committed by myself. 2. I am a villain: yet I lie ; I am not. Fool, of thyself speak well — fool, do not flatter— My conscience hath a thousand several tongues : And every tongue brings in a several tale ; And every tale condemns me for a villain. Perjury, perjury, in the highest degree, DRAMATIC, ETC. 359 Murder, stern murder, in the direst degree, Throng to the bar, crying all, Guilty! guilty! I shall despair. There is no creature loves me, And, if I die, no soul will pity me ; Nay ; wherefore should they ; since that I myself Find in myself no pity to myself? — Methought the souls of all that I had murdered Came to my tent, and every one did threat To-moirow 's vengeance on the head of Richard. SIIAKSPEARS CLXXXIL— MOONLIGHT AND MUSIC. 1. How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears ; soft stillness, and the night, Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica: Look, how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold; There 's not the smallest orb, which thou beholdest. But in his motion like an angel sings, Still OjUiring to the young-eyed cherubim: But, while this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we can not hear it. — Come, ho ! and wake Diana with a hymn ; With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear, And draw her home with music. 2. Do thou but note a wild and wanton herd, Or race of youthful and unhandled colts, Fetching mad bounds, bellowing, and neighing loud, Which is the hot condition of their blood; If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound, Or any air of music touch their ears, You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, Their savage eyes turned to a modest gaze, By the sweet power of music. Therefore, the poet Did fe r gn that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods ; Since nought so stockish hard, and full of rage, But music for the time doth change his nature. The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, 360 ELOCUTION. la fit for treason, stratagems, and spi lis ; The motions of his spirit are dull as night, And his affections dark as Erebus: Let no such man be tiusted. suwkspeari*, CLXXXIIL— THE ISLES OF GREECE. 1. The isles of Greece! the isles of Greece! Where burning Sappho loved and sung. — Where grew the arts of war and peace, — Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung ! Eternal summer gilds them yet; But all, except their sun, is set. 2. The mountains look on Marathon — And Marathon looks on the sea; And musing there an hour alone, I dreamed that Greece might still be free; For, standing on the Persian's grave, I could not deem myself a slave. 3. 'Tis something, in the dearth of fame. Though linked among a fettered race, To feel at least a patriot's shame, Even as I sing, suffuse my face; For what is left the poet here? For Greeks a blush — for Greece a tear. 4. Must we but weep o'er days more blessed? Must we but blush? — Our fathers bled — Earth ! render back from out thy breast A remnant of our Spartan dead ! Of the three hundred grant but three, To make a new Thermopylae. 5. What ! silent still ? and silent all ? Ah ! no ; — the voices of the dead Sound like a distant torre it's fall, And answer, " Let one living head, But one arise, — we come, we come!" 'Tis but the living who are dumb. 6. In vain — in vain : strike other chords ; Fill high the cup with Samian wine I DRAMATIC, ETC. 361 Leave battles to the Turkish hordes, And shed the blood of Scio's vine t— Hark ! rising to the ignoble call, llow answers each bold bacchanal ! 7. The tyrant of the Chersonese Was freedom's best and bravest friend: That tyrant was Miltiades ! that the present hour would lend Another despot of the kind ! Such chains as his were sure to bind. 8. Trust not for freedom to the Franks — They have a king who buys and sells. In native swords and native ranks The only hope of courage dwells; But Turkish force and Latin fraud Would break your shield, however broad. 9. Place me on Sunium's marble steep, Where nothing, save the waves and I, May hear our mutual murmurs sweep; There, swan-like, let me sing and die: A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine — Dash down yon cup of Saurian wine ! byron CLXXXIV.— VARIETIES. 1. — DISAPPOINTED AMBITION. What is 't to me, if all have stooped in turn? Does fellowship in chains make bondage proud? Does the plague lose its venom if it taint My brother with myself? Is 't victory, If I but find stretched by my bleeding side All who come with me in the golden morn, And shouted as my banner met the sun? I can not think on 't. There 's no faith in earth ! The very men with whom I walked through life, Nay, till within this hour, in all the bonds Of courtesy and high companionship, They all deserted me; Metelius, Scipio, iEmilius, Cato, even my kinsman, Caesar. Kipd. — 31 E(J2 ELOCUTION. AD the chief names and senators of Rome, This day, a* H the heavens had stamped me black, Turned on their heel, just at the point of fate; Left me a mockery, in the rabble's midst, And followed their plebeian consul, Cicero ! This was the day to which I looked through life ; And it has failed me — vanished from my grasp, Like air, crolf 2. — DESPAIR. I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless ; That only men incredulous- of despair, Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air Beat upward to God's throne in loud access Of shrieking and reproach. Full desertness In hearts, as countries, lieth silent, bare Under the blanching, vertical eye-glare Of the free chartered heavens. Be still ! express Grief for thy dead in silence like to death! Most like a monumental statue sat In everlasting watch and moveless woe, Till itself crumble to the dust beneath. Touch it, spectator! Are its eyelids wet? If it could weep, it could arise and go ! E. BARRETT »-»CWI ^J 3. — LOVE. 1. Strange ! that one lightly-whispered ton* Is far, far sweeter unto me, Than all the sounds that kiss the earth Or breathe along the sea ; But, lady, when thy voice I greet, Not heavenly music seems so sweet. 2. I look upon the fair, blue skies, And naught but empty air I see ; But when I turn me to thine eyes. It seemeth unto me Ten thousand angels spread their wings Within those little azure rings. 3. The lily hath the softest leaf That ever western breeze hath fanned. But thou shalt have the tender flower, Say I ma£ take thy hand ; DRAMATIC, ETC. £ ^3 That little hand to me doth yield More joy than all the broidered field. 0, lady! there be many things That seem right fair, below, above ; But sure not one among them aJl Is half so sweet as love; Let us not pay our vows alone, But join two altars both in one. o. w. holmfi CLXXXV.— LOCIIIEL'S WARNING. Wizard. Lochiel ! Lochiel ! beware of the dny When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array ! For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight: They rally! — they bleed! — for their kingdom and crown; Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down ! Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the shun, And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain. But hark ! through the fast-flashing lightning of war, What steed to the desert flies frantic and far? 'T is thine, Glenullin! whose bride shall await, Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate. A steed comes at morning: no rider is there; But its bridle is red with the sign of despair. Weep Albin ! to death and captivity led! Oh, weep! but thy tears can not number the dead: For a merciless sword o'er Culloden shall wave, Culloden ! that reeks with the blood of the brave. Lochiel. do, preach to the coward, thou deat.Vtellicg r'-o*i Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear, Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight, This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright. Wizard. Ha! laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn? Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn! Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth, From his home in the dark-rolling clouds of the North? Lo ! the death-shot of foemen outspeeding, he rode Companionless, bearing destruction abroad; But down let him stoop from his havoc on high ! Ah! home let him speed — for the spoiler is nigh. 364 ELOCUTION. Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast Those embers* like stars from the firmament cast? 'T is the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven From his eyry, that beacons the darkness of heaven. 01), crested Lochiel ! the peerless in might, Whose banners arise on the battlements' bight, Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn; R.turn to thy -dwelling, all lonely! — return! Fjr the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood. And a Avild mother scream o'er her famishing brood. Lochiel. False Wizard, avaunt ; I have marshaled my clan Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one! They are true to the last of their blood and their breath And like reapers descend to the harvest of death. Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock! Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock! But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause, When Albin her claymore indignantly draws; When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, Clanranald the dauntless, and Moray the proud, All plaided and plumed in their tartan array — Wizard. Lochiel! Lochiel! beware of the day! For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal, But man can not cover what God would reveal: 'T is the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, And coming events cast their shadows before. I tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring With the blood-hounds that bark for thy fugitive king. Lo ! anointed by heaven with vials of wrath, Behold, where he flies on his desolate path! Ts!ow, in darkness and billows, he sweeps from my sight: Ilise ! rise! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight! ; T is finished. Their thunders are hushed on the moo.ru ; Culloden is lost, and my country deplores: But where is the iron-bound prisoner? where? For the red eye of battle is shut in despair. Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banished, forlorn, Like a limb from his country, cast bleeding and torn? Ah, no ! for a darker departure is near ; The war-arum is muffled; and black is the bier; Ills death-bell is tolling; oh! mercy, dispel Yon sight that it freezes my spirit to tell ! Life flutters, convulsed, in his quivering limbs, And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims. DRAMATIC, ETC. SG5 Accursed bo the faggots that blaze at his feet, Where his heart shall be thrown, ere it ceases to beat, With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale — Lochiel. Down, soothless insulter ! i trust not the tale, For never shall Albin a destiny meet, So black with dishonor, so foul with retreat. Though my perishing ranks should be strewed in their gore, Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore, Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains, While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low, With his back to the field and his feet to the foe, And leaving in battle no blot on his name, Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fame. cam r BEL i CLXXXVL— SONG OF THE WAR, In their ragged regimentals, Stood the old continentals, Yielding nut, When the grenadiers were lunging. And like hail fell the plunging Cannon shot; When the files Of the isles From the smoky night encampment. Lore the banner of the rampant Unicorn, And gruramer, grummer, grummer, Hulled the roll of the drummer, Through the morn! I Then with eyes to the front all, And with guns horizontal. Stood our sires ; And the balls whistled deadly, And in streams Hashing redly Blazed the fires ; As the roar On the shore Swept the strong battle breakers O'er the green-sodded acres Of the plain, SCO KLOCUTION. And louder, louder, louder, Cracked the black gunpowder, Cracked amain ! 3. Now like smiths at their forges Worked the red St. George's Car.noniers, And the "villainous saltpeter" Rang a fierce discordant meter Round their ears: As the swift Storm-drift, "With hot sweeping anger, Came the horseguards' clangor On our flanks ; Then higher, higher, higher, Burned the old-fashioned fire Through the ranks ! 4. Tht,n the old-fashioned colonel Galloped through the white infernal Powder cloud ; And his broad sword was swinging, And his brazen throat was ringing, Trumpet loud : Then the blue Bullets flew, And the trooper jackets redden At the touch of the leaden Rifle breath, And rounder, rounder, rounder, Roared the iron six-pounder Hurling: death ! CLXXXVIL— CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE. I. Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of death, Rode the six hundred. " Charge !" was the captain's cry ; Theirs not to reason why, DRAMATIC, ETC. 367 Theirs not to make reply, Theirs but to do or die, Into the valley of death, rode the six hundred 2. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon in front of them Volleyed and thundered ; Stormed at with shot and shell, Boldly they rode and well, Into the mouth of hell, Into the jaws of death, rode the six hundred. 3. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon behind them Volleyed and thundered; Stormed at with shot and shell, They that had struck so well Rode through the jaws of death Half a league back again, Up from the mouth of hell All that was left of them, left of six hundred. 4. Honor the brave and bold ! Long shall the tale be told, Yes, when our babes are old — How they rode onward. tennitsox CLXXVIII.— LORD ULLINS DAUGHTER. 1. A chieftaix to the Highlands bound, Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry! And I '11 give thee a silver pound, To row us o'er the ferry." 2. " Now, who be ye would cross Loch-Gyle, This dark and stormy water V' "Oh! I 'm the chief of Ulva's isle, And this — Lord UHin's daughter. 3. "And fast before her father's men, Three days we 7 ve fled together, For should he find us in the glen, My blood would stain the heather. 4. "His horsemen hard behind us ride: Should they our steps discover, 868 ELOCUTION. Then who will cheer my bonny bride, When they have slain her lover?" 5. Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, "I '11 go, my chief — I 'm ready: It is not for your silver bright, But for your winsome lady : 6. "And, by my word! the bonny bird In danger, shall not tarry ; So, though the waves are raging white, I '11 row yon o'er the ferry." 7. 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. 8 But still, as wilder grew the wind, And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode armed men, Their trampling sounded nearer. 0. "0 haste thee, haste!" the lady cries, "Though tempests round us gather r I '11 meet the raging of the skies, But not an angry father." 10. 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. 11. And while they rowed, amid the roar Of waters fast prevailing, Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore, His wrath was changed to wailing. 12. For, sore dismayed, through storm and shads, His child he did discover; One lovely arm she stretched for aid, And one was round her lover. 13. "Come back! come back 1" he cried in grief, "Across this stormy water: And I Tl forgive your Highland chief: My daughter ! oh, my daughter !" 14. 'T was vain : the loud waves lashed the shore, Keturn, or aid preventing: The waters wild went o'er his child, And he was left lamenting. Campbell. AMUSING. 369 AMUSING. CLXXXIX.— TIIE WIDOW BEDOTT TO ELDER SNIFFLES. 1. Sexce the first time I lieerd you preacli, I 'vc had an andiscribable desire to have some privit conversashun with you in regard to the state of my mind — your discourse was so wonderful sarchin, that I felt to mourn over my backslidden state of stewpidity, and my consarn increased every time I Ve sot under the droppins of your sanctuery. Last night, when I heerd of your sickness I felt wonder- ful overcom ; onable to conseal my aggitation, I retired to my chamber, and bust into a flud of tears. I felt for you, elder Sniffles — I felt for you. I was wonderful exercised in view of your lone condition. 2. O, it 's a terrible thing to be alone in the world! I know all about it by experience, for I 've been pardnerless for nigh twelve year; its a trying thing, but I thought 't was better to be alone than to run enny resk — for yer know it 's runnin' a great resk to take a second companion, espeshelly if they aint decidedly pious — and them that 's tried to perswade me to change my condition, diuent none of 'em give very satisfactory evidence of piety — 'taint for me to say how inenny I 've refused on account of their want of religion. Accordin' to my notions, riches and grander aint to be compared to religion, no how you can fix it, and I always told 'em so. 3. But I was tellin' how overcome I was when I heerd of your being attacked with influenzy. I felt as if I must go right over and take care of you. I wouldent desire no better intertainment than to nuss you up, and if 'twant for the speech of peeple, Ide tly to your rclefe instanter; but I know 't would make talk, and so I 'm necessitated to stay away. 4. But I felt so consarned about you that I could n't help writin' these few lines to you to let you know how anxious T be on your account, and to beg of you to take care of 370 ELOCUTION. yourself. O elder, do be careful — the influcnzy 's a danger- ous eppidemik, if you let it run on without attendin' to it in season — do be careful — consider what a terrible thing 't would be for you to be took away in the height of yer yusefulnis ; and 0, elder, no body wouldent feel yer loss with more intensitude than what I should, though mebby I hadent oughter say so. 5. 0, elder Sniffles, I do feel as if I couldent part with you no how. I 'm so interested in your preaehin'. and it 's had such a wonderful attendancy to subdew my prejudishes agin' your denominashun, and has sot me considerin' whether or no there aint good christuns in all denominashuns, 'cept, of course, the unevarsallers. G. 0, reverend elder, I intreat you to take care of your preshus health. I send you herewith a paper of boneset, you must make some good stiff tea on 't and drink about a quart to-night afore you retire. Molasses or vinegar 's a good thing, too, for a cold or coff ; jest take about a pint of molasses and bile it down with a teacup of vinegar and a hunk of butter as big as a hen's egg^ and stir in about a half a teacup full of peppersass, and eat it down hot jest afore bedtime — and take a strip of flannil, and rub some hog's lard on 't, though goose ile 's about as good, and pin it round yer throte rite off; and I send likewise a bag of hops — you must dip it in bilin' vinegar and lap it on yer chist when you go to bed, and keep a dippin' on 't as fast as it begins to git cool ; and jest afore you git into bed, soke yer feet in bilin' hot water with some red peppers in it ; now do n't forgit nothing I 've proscribed. 7. But I was a tellin' how exercised I was when I heerd of your sickness. I went immejitly to my chamber, and gin away to a voiellent flud of tears. I retired to my couche of repose, but my aggetashun prevented my sleepin'. I felt quite a call to express my feelins in poitry — I '_n very apt to when en ny thing comes over me — so I riz and lited my candle, and composed these stanzys, which I hope will be aggreible to you. 8. reverend sir, I do declare, It drives me a'most to frenzy, AMUSING. 371 To think of you a lyin' there Down sick with influenzy. 9 A body 'd a thought it was enough To mourn yer wife's departer, Without such trouble as this 'ere To come a fullerin' arter. 10. But sickness and affliction are trials sent By the will of a wise creation, And always ought to be underwent With fortytude and resignashun. 11. Then mourn not for your pardner's deth, But to submit endevver; For sposen she hadent a died so soon, She could n't a lived forever. 12. 0, I could to your bedside fly, And wipe your wepin' eyes, And try my best to cure you up, If 't wouldent create surprize. 13. It \s a world of trouble we tarry in — But elder do n't dispair; That you may soon be movin' agin, Is constantly my prayer. 14. Both sick and well, yrm may depend Yoult' never be forgot, By your faithful and affectionate friend, PR ISC ILL A TOOL BEDOTT. CXC— THE LA YIN'— A TOE-M. 1. Lords and Ladies of creation, to a metrical oration, — Funny epical narration, — your attention I implore ; Not a blood-and-thunder story, with a hero grim and gory, And a highferluten glory, heavy, dull, — in short, a bore; But an "ower-true tale" of "hair breadth 'scapes," and danger* haply o'er : Tast, I trust, for evermore. 2 As 1 sat one morning lonely in my school-room, thinking onlj Of the mighty glorious oyster-soup, I 'd had the night before, Suddenly 1 heard a clatter, as of some one beating batter, 072 ELOCUTION. And my thoughts began to scatter, as I started for the door, As I hastened, half in anger, muttering, to my school-room door v Blattering this, and something more. 3. "That 's some mother, now; I wonder if she ; s come to give me thunder, For the flogging that I gave her hopeful dear the day before ; If it is, I Ml speak her civil, though she rates me like the devil>- I 've endured as grand an evil, and, perchance, as great a bore," — ■ In my days of pedagoguing I ; ve endured full many a bore, And expect to many more. 4. As my bodings thus concentered, open flew the door, and entered A two-fisted Amazonian, in her socks some sis feet four ; And the door-posts seemed to squeeze her, as with mien of king or kesar, Crossed my Rubicon this Ccesar, and came striding up the floor, AVith her green eyes glaring at me as she strode the creaking floor : — Sight forgotten nevermore ! 5. At her gaze my heart beat quicker, for I saw she was in liquor, By her wild gesticulations and the Billingsgate she swore: Thought I, " vixen," — quite uncourtly — " though you are enormous portly, If you do not very shortly take yourself from out the door, Take your fat and burly carcass past the threshold of yon door, You will rue it evermore." 6. Then I told her in a flurry, she must be off in a hurry, And I pointed, as I told her, to the open standing door; Sternly then I frowned upon her, shook my fist like practiced foiner, When, upon my word of honor, down she sat upon the floor; »Vith her arms braced out beside her, sat she down upon tho floor ! — Rose there then a wild uproar. 7. Every pupil, in a titter, stretched his neck to see the critter, See a sight to them uncommon — woman sitting on the floor, Woman sitting still and swearing, while her eyes were wildlv glaring, AMUSING. 373 And in stentor tones declaring, if I got her out of door, I shoiud have to take her in my arms and lug her out of door; This she told me evermore. 8. First I hushed the wild confusion, caused by this unique in- trusion, And a single word sufficing perfect quiet to restore; For a moment I reflected : " She 's a woman, loved, respected, By some heart with her's connected, that may grieve in sorrow sore, For this lorn and fallen being, whom my vengeance hovers o'er; Loved, though fallen, evermore. 9. "Can I rudely treat a woman? It will be an act inhuman : One which I, through all the future, shall with deep remorse de- plore ; O'er the outrage will grow witty News Reporters of the city" — Here she swore again, and pity fled my heart, grown soft before: Maugcr sex and gallant promptings, thought I, she shall out of door, And return thence nevermore. JO. Then I thought, "My arch virago, with your craft, a la I a go, I will try a simple stratagem, I ne'er have tried before ; And if I 'm not mistaken, you will have \-our courage shaken, And will take away your bacon, from that place upon the floor ; From your comic situation, sprawling on my school-room floor, And you '11 sit there nevermore." 11. There 's a maxim worth possession, and 't is this: a sound discretion Is the better part of valor, when there ; s danger hovering o'er ; So I seized a pail of water, and resolved I 'd duck this daughter. And I did n't do nothing shorter, as she sat upon the floor; For I dashed the liquid round her in a deluge on the floor,— And, my conscience, how she swore! 12. For a moment, gasping, choking, while the moisture in was soaking, Sat she still in wild amazement, fixed like statue to the floor; But right short her hesitation, for I smiled in exultation, When, withovten explanation, broke she fur the open door; Never looking once behind her, quickly bounced she out of door; And I saw her nevermore. O. J. WILSON. 874 ELOCUTION. CXCL. —DR. BASHAWS ORATION. 1. Fellow Citizens : — It is but natural for me to feci my own self importance, and self insufficiency on this momentous and direful occasion ; but as I seldom have recourse to the high absurdity of apologizing, I shall con- tinue to proceed, notwithstanding I do not feel myself abso ately tantamount to the task you have imposed upon me. 2. We have met, fellow citizens, on this delightful and desecrated spot, for the sublime purpose of contaminating our nation's ever glorious anniversary. Fellow citizens! ,1 feel my want of that hypercritical learning so necessary to the complete disembodiment of my exaggerated imagination. 3. Let us now, with the deepest-Jtoned energies of the heart, take a transient survey of the many contaminating causes which led to the masculine independence ; yea, a declaration that caused a diabolical amputation of one of the most transcendent members of the British Empire. 4. Let us, then, in a prolixly brief way, glance at, or rather anticipate, some of the ostensible causes which gave rise to that mighty and obstreperous revolution — a revolu- tion which raised up from the nethermost depths of con- temptibility the most dignified generals the world has ever saw — generals whose characters are particularly and unin- tentionally stamped upon the ever invulnerable lists of fame, where they must ever stand, highly ridiculous aud vener- able, far above the reach of the the most copious mind thai ever exaggerated in the ethereal blue. CXCII.— THE APPLE-DUMPLINGS AND GEORGE THE TUIhO 1. Once in the chase, this monarch drooping. From his high consequence and wisdom stooping, Entered, through curiosity, a cot, Where an old crone was hanging on the pot: The wrinkled, blear-eyed, good old granny. In this same cot, illumed by many a cranny, Had apple-dumplings ready for the pot: AMUSING. 375 In tempting row the naked dumplings lay, "When lo! the monarch, in his usual way, Like lightning asked, "What's here? what's here? wliat? what? what? what?" 2. Then taking up a dumpling in his hand, His eyes with admiration did expand — And oft did majesty the dumpling grapple ; 44 'Tis monstrous, monstrous, monstrous hard," he cried . "What makes the thing so hard?" The dame replied, Low courtesying, 4< Please your majesty, the apple." 44 Very astonishing indeed! strange thing!" (Turning the dumpling round) rejoined the king, "'Tis most extraordinary now, all this is — It beats the conjurer's capers all to pieces — Strange I should never of a dumpling dream — But Goody, tell me, where, where, where 's the seam?" 14 Sire, there 's no seam," quoth she, " I never knew That folks did apple-dumpiings sew!" — "No!" cried the staring monarch with a grin, "Then, where, where, where pray, got the apple in?" WOUOOT CXCIII.— THE DIRECTING POST. 1. In winter, omv, an honest traveling wight Pursued his road to Derby, late at night ; 'Twas very cold, the wind was bleak and high, And not a house nor living thing was nigh ; At length he came to where some four roads met, (It rained too, and he was completely wet,) And being doubtful which way he should take He drew up to the finger-post to make It out — and after much of poring, fumbling, Some angry oaths, and a great deal of grumbling, 'Twas thus the words he traced — " To Derby — five, 44 A goodly distance yet, as I 'm alive !" 2. But on he drove a weary length of way, And wished his journey he 'd delayed till day: lie wondered that no town appeared in view, (The wind blew stronger, it rained faster, too,) When to his great relief he met a man: "I say, good friend, pray tell me, if you can, 376 ELOCUTION. How far is 't hence to Derby?" "Derby, hey! Why zur, thee be'est completely come astray ; This y'ant the road." "Why, zounds! the guide-post showed 'To Derby, five' — and pointed down this road!" "Ay, yes sir, that may be, for you maun know, The post it war blown down last night, and so This morn I put it up again, but whether (As I can't put great A and B together) The post is right, I'm zure I can not zay — The town is just five miles the other way." CXCIV.— rARODY— THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET. 1 How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood, When fond recollection presents them to view ! The cheese-press, the goose-pond, the pigs in the wild-wood, And every old stump that my infancy knew. The big linkum-basswood, with wide-spreading shadow; The horses that grazed where my grandmother fell ; The sheep on the mountain, the calves in the meadow, And all the young kittens we drowned in the well — The meek little kittens, the milk-loving kittens, The poor little kittens, we drowned in the well. 2. I remember with pleasure my grandfather's goggles, Which rode so majestic astraddle his nose; And the harness, oft mended with tow-string and "toggles," That belonged- to old Dolly, now free from her woes. And fresh in my heart is the long maple wood-pile, Where often I've worked with beetle and wedge, Striving to whack up enough to last for a good while, And grumbling because my old ax had no edge. And there was the kitchen, and pump that stood nigh it, AVhere we sucked up the drink through a quill in the spout, And the hooks where we hun<* up the pumpkin to dry it; And the old cider pitcher, "no doing without;" The brown-earthen pitcher, the nozzle-cracked pitcher, The pain-easing pitcher, " no doing without." 3. And there ivas the school-house, away from each dwelling, Where school-ma'ams would govern with absolute sway; Who taught me my " 'ritlunetio," reading, and spelling, And "whaled me like blazes" about every day! AMUSING. 377 I remember the ladder that swung in the passage, Which led to the loft in the peak of the house; "Where my grandmother hung up her "pumpkin and sausage,'' To keep them away from the rat and the mouse. But now, far removed from that nook of creation, Emotions of grief big as tea-kettles swell, When Fancy rides back to my old habitation, And thinks of the kittens we drowned in the well — The meek little kittens, the milk-loving kittens, The poor little kittens, Ave drowned in the well. CXCV.— LYCEUM SPEECH OF MR. ORATOR CLIMAX. 1. Mr. P resident, — Happiness is like a crow perched upon the neighboring top of a far distant mountain, which some fisherman vainly strives, to no purpose, to ensnare. He looks at the crow, Mr. President, — and — Mr. President, the crow looks at him; and, sir, they both look at each other. But the moment lie attempts to reproach him, he banishes away like the schismatic taints of the rainbow, the cause of which, it was the astonishing and perspiring genius of a Newton, who first deplored and enveloped the cause of it. 2. Can not the poor man, sir, precipitate into all the beau- tics of nature, from the loftiest mounting up to the most humblest valley, as well as the man prepossessed of indi- gence? Yes, sir; while trilling transports crown his view, and rosy hours allure his sanguinary youth, he can raise "lis mind up to the laws of nature, incompressible as they are, while viewing the lawless storm that kindleth up the treinenjious roaring thunder, and fircth up the dark and ,apid lightenings, and causcth it to fly through the inten- sity of space, that belches forth those awful and sublime tncteors, and roll-abolly-aliases, through the unfathomable legions of fiery hemispheres. 3. Sometimes, sir, seated in some lovely retreat, beneath the shadowy shades of an umbrageous tree, at whose venal foot flows some limping stagnant stream, he gathers around him his wife and the rest of his orphan children. He there takes a retrospective view upon the diagram of futurity, and Krnn. — 32 378 ELOCUTION. casts his eye like a flashing meteor forward into the past Seated in their midst, aggravated and exhaled by the dig- nity and independence coincident with honorable poverty, his countenance irrigated with an intense glow of self defi- ciency and excommunicated knowledge, he quietly turns to instruct his little assemblage. He there endeavors to distill into their young youthful minds, useless lessons to guard their juvenile youths against vice and immortality. 4. There, on a clear sunny evening, when the silvery moon is shining forth in all her indulgence and ubiquity, he teaches the first sediments of gastronomy, by pointing out to them the bear, the lion, and many other fixed invis- ible consternations, which are continually involving upon their axletrees, through the blue cerulean fundamus above. From this vast etherial he dives with them to the very bot- tom of the unfathomable oceans, bringing up from thence liquid treasures of earth and air. He then courses with them on the imagina-ble wing of fancy through the bound- less regions of unimaginable either, until, swelling into impalpable immensity, he is forever lost in the infinite radiation of his own overwhelming genius. CXCVL— THE WHISKERS. 1. The kings who ruled mankind with haughty sway.. The prouder pope, whom even kings obey — Love, at whose shrine both popes and monarchs fall, And e'en self-interest, that controls them all — Possess a petty power, when all combined, Compared with fashion's influence on mankind : For love itself will oft to fashion bow ; The following story will convince you how: 2. A petit m nitre wooed a fair, Of virtue, wealth, and graces rare; But vainly had preferred his claim, The maiden owned no answering flame; At length, by doubt and anguish torn, Suspense, too painful to be borne, Low at her feet he humbly kneeled, And thus his ardent flame revealed: AMUSING. 37& 3. "Pity my grief, aTigelic fair, Behold my anguish and despair; For you, this heart must ever burn — bless me, with a kind return; My love, no language can express, Reward it then, with happiness; 4. Nothing on earth but you I prize, All else is trifling in my eyes ; And cheerfully would I resign The wealth of worlds, to call you mine. But, if another gain your hand, Far distant from my native land, Far hence from you and hope I '11 fly, And in some foreign region die." 5. The virgin heard, and thus replied : " If nn- consent to be your bride, Will make you happy, then be blest ; But grant me, first, one small«request ; A sacrifice f must demand, And in return will give my hand." G. "A sacrifice! speak its name, For you I 'd forfeit wealth and fame; Take my whole fortune — every cent — " 7. "'T was something more than wealth I meant" 8. " Must I the realms of Neptune trace ? speak the word— where 'er the place, For you, the idol of my soul, 1 'd e'en explore the frozen pole ; Arabia's sandy deserts tread, Or trace the Tigris to its head." 9. "0 no, dear sir, I do not ask, So long a voyage, so hard a task ; You must — but ah ! the boon I want, I have no hope that you will grant." 10. " Shall I, like Bonaparte, aspire To be the world's imperial sire? Express the wish, and here I vow, To place a crown upon your brow." 880 ELOCUTION. 11. "Sir, these are trifles" — she replied — " But, if you wish me for your bride, You must — but still I fear to speak — You Tl never grant the boon I seek/' 12. "0 say ;" he cried — "dear angel say— - "What must I do, and I obey ; No longer rack me with suspense, Speak your commands, and send me hence." 13. "Well, then, dear generous youth!" she cries* "If thus my heart you really prize, And wish to link your fate with mine, On one condition I am thine; ; T will then become my pleasing duty, To contemplate a husband's beauty; And, gazing on your manly nice, His feelings and his wishes trace ; To banish thence each mark of care, And light a*smile of pleasure there. let me then, 7 t is all I ask, Commence at once the pleasing task; let me, as becomes my place, Cut those huge whiskers from your face." 14 She said — but 0, what strange surprise — ■ Was pictured in her lover's eyes ! lake lightning, from the ground he sprung. While wild amazement tied his tongue; A statue, motionless, he gazed, Astonished, horror-struck, amazed. So, looked the gallant Perseus, when Medusa's visage met his ken ; So, looked Macbeth, whose guilty eye Discerned an "air-drawn dagger" nigh; And so, the prince of Denmark stared, Y/hen first his father's ghost appeared. 15. At length our hero silence broke, And thus, in wildest accents spoke: "Cut off my whiskers! ye gods! T M sooner lose my ears, by odds ; Madam, 1 'd not be so disgraced, So lost to fashion and to taste. AMUSING. 381 To win an empress to my arms ; Though blest with more than mortal #harms. My whiskers! zounds!" He said no more, But quick retreated through the door, And sought a less obdurate fair, To take the beau with all his hair. woodswortu. ' XCVIL— ELOQUENCE IN A WESTERN COURT. L. Gentlemen of the jury: — Can you for an instant suppose that my client here, a man that has alers sustained a high depredation in society; a man you all on you suspect and esteem for his many good quantities: yes, gentlemen, a man what never drinks more nor a quart of liquor a day; can you, I say, for an instant suppose that this 'ere man would be guilty of hooking a box of pcrcushams ? Rattle- snakes and coonskins forbid ! 2. Picture to yourselves, gentlemen, a feller fast asleep in his log cabin, with his innocent wife and orphan children by his side — all nature hushed in deep repose, and nought to be heard but the muttering of the silent thunder and the hollcrin' of bull frogs. Then imagine to yourself a feller sneakin' up to the door like a despicable hyena, softly enter- ing the dwelling of the peaceful and happy family, and in the most mendacious manner hooking a whole box of pcr- cushams. 3. Gentlemen, I will not, I can not dwell upon the mon- strosity of such a scene. IVIy feelings turn from such a picture of moral turpentine, just like a big woodchuck would turn from my dog Rose. I can not, for an instant, harbor the idea that any man in these diggins, much less this "ere man, could be guilty of committing an act of sich rantank- erous and unextrampled discretion. 4. And now, gentlemen, alter this 'ere brief view of the case, let me retreat of you to make up your minds candidly and unpractically, and give us sich a verdict as we might reasonably suspect from sich an enlightened and intolerant body of our fellow-citizens, llemember that, in the lau- 382 ELOCUTION. giiape of the immortal Nimrod, who fell in the Battle of Bunker Hill, * It is better that ten men should escape, than one guilty should suffer." dr. valentine. CXCVIII.— rOETRY NOW-A-DAYS. L. How very absurd is half the stuff Called "Poetry," now-a-days! The "Stanzas," and "Epics," and "Odes," are enough To put every lover of rhyme in a huff, And disgust the old hens with their " lays." 2. There 's one sighing for "wings to soar o'er the sea," And " bask in some distant clime," "Without ever thinking how "sore" he 'd be, After flying away on such a spree, AVith nothing to eat, the meantime. 3. Another insists on being a " bird," To "fly to his lady-love's bower," When he knows that the "lady" to whom he referred Don't own such a thing; for (upon my word) In a "yaller" brick house, up in story the third, She 's living this very hour. 4. One asks but "a cave in some forest dell, Away from the cold world's strife." Now, the woods in fine weather are all very well, But give him a six weeks' " rainy spell," And he '11 soon "cave in" in his forest cell, And be sick enough of the life. 5. Another one wants his "love to go And roam o'er the dark blue sea ; " Perhaps he don't think, if there "comes on a blow." That they 'd both be sea-sick down below, And a wretched pair they 'd be. 6. Another young man would like to die "When the roses bloom in spring." Just let him get sick, and he '11 change his cry; His "passing away" is "all in my eye;" Of "dreamless sleeps" he gets quite shy; It is n't exactly the thing. AMUSING. 383 7. Another would "die and be laid in a dell, Beneath some murmuring rill." v, in poetry's jingle, it 's nice to tell; But a nasty, wet [dace! — so why not as well llave a nice, dry grave on the hill? £. One "loves" — how he loves! — "the glittering foam And the mad waves' angry strife." Jest take the young genius who wrote the pome, "Where the " billows dash and the sea-birds roam," And he 'd give all he had to be safely at home ; He 'd stay there the rest of his life. 9. Another young "heart-broken" calls on his "own, To cheer him with one sweet smile;" Then he follows it up in a love-sick tone, With his "bosom pangs:" (if the truth was known,) It is n't the "love" that causes his moan, But a superabundance of " bile." CXCIX.— DANIEL versus DISHCLOTH. . 1. We will consider the law, as our laws are very consid- erable, both in bulk and magnitude according as the statutes declare, considerandi^ considerando^ cansiJerandum ; and are not to be meddled with by those who do not understand them. Law always expresses itself with true grammatical precision, never confounding words, cases, or genders, ex- cept, indeed, when a woman happens to be slain, then the verdict is always brought in manslaughter. Wc all know that the essence of the law is altercation; for the law can altercate, fulminate, deprecate, irritate, and go on at any rate. Now the quintessence of the law has, according to its name, five parts : — the first is the beginning, or incipiendum ; — the second, the uncertainty, or dubitandum ; — the third, delay, or puzzleendum ; — fourthly, replication without endum; ' — and fifthly, monstrum . Fellow citizens! I entreat and beseech of you, hearken not to the siren voice that whispers in your credulous ears the delusive sounds of peace and harmony; for in our leg- islative halls, confusion, riot, and anarchy reign supreme. Then, arouse you; shake the dew drpps from your hunting shirts; sound the tocsin; beat the drum, and blow the horn until the startled echoes, reverberating from hill top to hill top, shall cause the adamantine mountains of New England, the ferruginous soil of Missouri, and the auriferous particles of California to prick up their ears, and inquire of their neighbors, what can the matter be? 7. Fellow citizens; I repeat it. To your posts! and, from the topmost mountains of the Alleghanies bid defiance to the universal airth, by shouting our terrific watchword. Hail Columbia, in such thunder tones, that the enemies of our country shall be utterly scatterlophisticated before the morning sun reaches to the full zenith of his meridian bight. CCXIX.— PARODY ON HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY. To spout, or not to spout, that is the question; Whether 't is better for a shame-faced fellow, With voice unmusical and gesture awkward, To stand a more spectator in this business, Or have a tuuch of rhetoric? To speak— to spout, No more : and by this effort, to say we end 408 ELOCUTION. Thvtt bashfulness, that nervous trepidation, Displayed in maiden speeches — 't were a consummation Devoutly to be wished. To read — to speechify Before folks — perhaps to fail ! — ay, there 's the rub ; For from that ill success what sneers may rise, Ere we have scrambled through the sad oration, Must give us pause. 'T is the same reason, That makes a novice stand in hesitation, And gladly hide his own diminished head Beneath some half-fledged orator's importance, When he himself might his quietus make By a mere recitation. Who would speeches hear Responded to, with hearty acclamation, And yet restrain himself from holding forth, But for the dread of some unlucky failure — Some unforseen mistake — some frightful blunder — Some vile pronunciation and inflection, Improper emphasis or wry-necked period, Which carping critics note and raise the laugh, Not to our credit, nor so soon forgot? We muse on this ! Then starts the pithy question, Had we not best be mute and hide our faults, Than spout to publish them ? CCXX.— CHARGE OF A DUTCH MAGISTRATE. i Mr. Foreman and Toder Jurymens : — Hans peen dried for murder pefore you, and you must pring in te verdict; put it must pe 'cordin' to law. 2. De man he kill'd vasli n't kill'd at all, as vas broved ; he is in ter chail, at Morristown, for sheep stealing. Put dat ish no matter ; te law says ven ter ish a doubt you give him to ter brisoner ; put here ter ish no doubt, zo you see ter brisoner ish guilty. 3. Pesides, he ish a great loafer, I have known him fifty years, and he has not done any work in all dat times; and dere is no one depending upon him for dere living, for he ish no use to nopody. 4. I dinks, derfore, Mr. Foreman, he petter pe hung next Fourth of July, as der militia is going to drain in anoder county, and dere will be noting going on here. AMUSING. 409 CCXXL— THE NANTUCKET SKIPPER. 1 Many a long, long year ago, Nantucket skippers had a plan Of finding out, though " lying low," How near New York their schooners ran. 2. They greased the lead before it fell, And then by sounding, through the night, Knowing the soil that stuck so well, They always guessed their reckoning right. 3. A" skipper gray, whose eyes were dim, Could tell, by tasting, just the spot, And so below he 'd "douse the glim" — After, of course, his "something hot." 4. Snug in his berth, at eight o'clock, This ancient skipper might be found ; No matter how his craft would rock, He slept — for skippers' naps are sound. 5. The watch on deck would now and then Run down and wake him, with the lead ; He 'd up, and taste, and tell the men How many miles they went ahead. 6. One night, 't was Jotham Marden's watch, A curious wag — the pedlar's son ; And so he mused, (the wanton wretch !) " To-night I '11 have a grain of fun. 7. " We 're all a set of stupid fools, To think the skipper knows, by tasting, What ground he 's on ; Nantucket schools Do n't teach such stuff, with all their basting V* 8. And so he took the well-greased lead, And rubbed it o'er a box of earth That stood on deck — (a parsnep-bed,) And then he sought the skipper's berth. 9. "Where are we now, sir? Please to taste." The skipper yawned, put out his tongue, And oped his eyes in wondrous haste, And then upon the floor he sprung! KlDD.— 3"> 41 ELOCUTION. 10. The skipper stormed, and tore his hair, Thrust on his boots, and roared to Harden, "Nantucket 's sunk, and here we are, Eight over old Marm Hackett's garden I" J. T. FIEI D? £CXXIL— THE FROG. 1. Of all the funny things that live In woodland, marsh, or bog, That creep the ground, or fly the air, The funniest is the frog. The frog — the scien thickest Of .Nature's handiwork — The frog, that neither walks nor runs, But goes it with a jerk. 2. With pants and coat of bottle green, And yellow fancy vest, He plunges into mud and mire, All in his Sunday best. He has his trials by the lump, Yet holds himself quite cool; For when they come, he gives a jump, And drowns 'em in the pool. 3. There ! see him sitting on that log, Above the dirty deep ; You feel inclined to say, " Old chap, Just look before you leap I" You raise your cane to hit him, on His ugly-looking mug; But, ere you get it half way up, Adown he goes, ker chug. OCXXIIL— PARODY ON BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE 1. Not a sous had he got, — not a guinea or note, And he looked confoundedly flurried, As he bolted away without paying his shot, And the landlady after him hurried. 2. We saw him again at dead of nighfc, When home from the club returning; AMUSING. 41J We twigged the doctor beneath the light Of the gas-lamp brilliantly burning. 3. All bare, and exposed to the midnight dews, Reclined in the gutter we found him ; And he looked like a gentleman taking a snooze With his Marshall cloak around him. 4. " The doctor 's as drunk as he can be," we said, And we managed a shutter to borrow ; We raised him, and sighed at the thought that his head Would "consuniedly ache" on the morrow. 5. We carried him home, and put him to bed, And we told his wife and his daughter To give him, next morning, a couple of red Herrings, with iced soda-water. 6. Loudly they talked of his money that ; s gone, And his lady began to upbraid him ; But little he recked, so they let him snore on 'Neath the counterpane just as we laid him. 7. We tucked him in, and had hardly done, When, beneath the window calling, We heard the rough voice of a son of a gun Of a watchman, "One o'clock!" bawling. 8. Slowly and sadly we all walked down From his room in the uppermost story ; A rush-light we placed on the cold hearth-stone, And we left him alone in his glory I INGOLDSBY LEGENDS. CCXXIV.— THE HYPOCHONDRIAC. 1. Good morning, Doctor; how do you do? I haint quite so well as I have been ; but I think I 'm some better than I was. I do n't think that last medicine you gin me did me much good. I had a terrible time with the ear ache iast night; my wife got up and drapt a few draps of Wal- nut sap into it, and that relieved it some ; but I did n't get a wink of sleep till nearly daylight. For nea-ly a week, Doctor, I've had the worst kind of a narvoua hajid-aobe; 412 ELOCUTION. it has been so bad sometimes that I thought my head would bust open. Oh, dear ! I sometimes think that I 'm the most afflictedest human that ever lived. 2. Since this cold weather sot in, that troublesome cough, that I have had every winter for the last fifteen year, has began to pester me agin. (Coughs.) Doctor, do you think you can give me any thing that will relieve this desprit pain I have in my side? 3. Then I have a crick, at times, in the baok of my neck, so that I can't turn my head without turning the hull of my body. (Coughs.) 4. Oh dear ! What shall I do ! I have consulted almost every doctor in the county, but they do n't any of them seem to understand my case. I have tried every thing that I could think of; but I can't find any thing that does me the leastest good. (Coughs.) 5. Oh this cough — it will be the death of me yet ! You know I had my right hip put out last fall at the raising of Deacon Jones' saw mill ; its getting to be very troublesome just before we have a change of weather. Then I 've got the sciatica in my right knee, and sometimes I 'in so crip- pled up that I can hardly crawl round in any fashion. 6. What do you think that old white mare of ours did while I was out plowing last week ? Why, the weacked old critter, she kept a backing and backing, on till she back'd me right up agin the colter, and knock'd a piece of stin off my shin nearly so big. (Coughs.) 7. But I had a worse misfortune than that the other day, Doctor. You see it was washing-day — and my wife wanted me to go out and bring in a little stove-wood — you know we lost our help lately, and my wife has to wash and tend to every thing about the house herself. 8. I knew it would n't be safe for me to go out — as it was a raining at the time — but I thought I 'd risk it any how. So I went out, pick'd up a few chunks of stove-wood, and was a coming up the steps in to the house, when my feet slipp'd from under me, and I fell down as sudden as if I 'd been shot. Some of the wood lit upon my face, broke down the bridge of my nose, cut my upper lip, and knock'd out AMUSING. 413 three of my front teeth. I suffered dreadfully on account of it, as you may suppose, and my face aint well enough yet to make me fit to be seen, specially by the women folks (Coughs.) Oh dear! Bat that aint all, Doctor, I've got fifteen corns on my toes — and I 'm afeard I 'm a going to have the yellow jaundice. (Coughs.) CCXXV.— BUZFUZ versus PICKWICK. 1. You have heard from my learned friend, gentlemen of the jury, that this is an action for a breach of promise of marriage, in which the damages are laid at fifteen hundred pounds. The plaintiff, gentlemen, is a widow — yes, gentle- men, a widow. The late Mr. Bardell, some time before his death, became the father, gentlemen, of a little boy. With this little boy, the only pledge of her departed exciseman, Mrs. Bardell shrunk from the world, and courted the retire- ment and tranquillity of Goswell street; and here she placed in her front parlor window a written placard, bearing this inscription : "Apartments, furnished, for a single gentleman. Inquire within." Mrs. Bardell's opinions of the opposite sex, gentlemen, were derived from a long contemplation of the inestimable qualities of her lost husband. She had no fear — she had no distrust — all was confidence and reliance " Mr. Bardell," said the widow, "was a man of honor, — Mr. Bardell was a man of his word, — Mr. Bardell was no deceiver, — Mr. Bardell was once a single gentleman him- self; to single gentlemen I look for protection, for assist- ance, for comfort and consolation ; — in single gentlemen I shall perpetually see some thing to remind me of what Mr. Bardell was, when he first won my young and untried affections; to a single gentleman, then, shall my lodgings be let." 2. Actuated by this beautiful and touching impulse, (among the best impulses of our imperfect nature, gentle- . men,) the lonely and desolate widow dried her tears, furnished her first floor, caught her innocent boy -o her maternal bosom, and put the bill up in her parlor window, 4:14 ELOCUTION. Did it remain there long? No. The serpent was on the watch ; the train was laid ; the mine was preparing ; the sapper and miner was at work! Before the bill had been in the parlor window three days — three days, gentlemen — a being, erect upon two legs, and bearing all the outward semblance of a man, and not of a monster, knocked at the door of Mrs. Bardell's house. . He inquired within ; he took the lodgings ; and on the very next day, he entered into possession of them. This man was Pickwick — Pickwick, the defendant. 3. Of this man I will say little. The subject presents but few attractions; and I, gentlemen, am not the man, nor are you, gentlemen, the men, to delight in the contempla- tion of revolting heartlessness, and of systematic villainy. I say systematic villainy, gentlemen ; and when I say sys- tematic villainy, let me tell the defendant, Pickwick, if he be in court, as I am informed he is, that it would have been more decent in him, more becoming, if he had stopped away. Let me tell him, further, that a counsel, in the discharge of his duty, is neither to be intimidated, nor bullied, nor put down ; and that any attempt to do either the one or the other will recoil on the head of the attempter, be he plaintiff, or be he defendant; be his name Pickwick, or J^Toakes, or Stoakes, or Stiles, or Brown, or Thompson. 4. I shall show you, gentlemen, that for two years Pick- wick continued to reside constantly, and without interruption or intermission, at Mrs. Bardell's house. I shall show you that Mrs. Bardell, during the whole of that time, waited on him, attended to his comforts, cooked his meals, looked out his linen for the washerwoman when it went abroad, darned, aired, and prepared it for wear when it came home ; and, in short, enjoyed his fullest trust and confidence. I shall show you that on many occasions he gave half-pence, and on some occasions even sixpence, to her little boy. I shall prove to you that on one occasion, when he returned from the country, he distinctly and in terms offered her marriage ; previously, however, taking special care that there should be no witnesses to their solemn contract. And I am in a situation to prove to you, on the testimony of three of his AMUSING. 415 own friends — most unwilling witnesses, gentlemen — most unwilling witnesses — that on that morning, he was dis- cjvered by them holding the plaintiff in his arms, and soothing her agitation by his caressess and endearments. 5. And now, gentlemen, but one word more. Two letters have passed between these parties — letters that must be Tiewed with a cautious and suspicious eye — letters that were evidently intended, at the time, by Pickwick, to mislead and delude any third parties into whose hands they might fall. Let me read the first: — " Garraway ; s, twelve o'clock. — Dear Mrs. B. : Chops and tomato sauce. Yours. Pickwick." Gentlemen, what does this mean? Chops and tomato sauce! Yours. Pickwick I Chops ! — gracious fathers ! — and tomato sauce ! Gentlemen, is the happiness of a sensitive and con- fiding female to be trifled away by such shallow artifices as these ? The next has no date whatever, which is in itself suspicious. " Dear Mrs. B. : I shall not be at home to- morrow. Slow coach.' r And then follows this very remark- able expression — " Do n't trouble yourself about the warm- ing-pan." The warming-pan! Why, gentlemen, who docs trouble himself about a warming-pan '? Why is Mrs. Bar- dell so earnestly entreated not to agitate herself about this warming-pan. unless (as is no doubt the case) it is a mere cover for hidden fire — a mere substitute for some endearing word or promise, agreeably to a preconcerted system of correspondence, artfully contrived by Pickwick with a view to his contemplated desertion ? And what does this allusion to the slow coach mean ? For aught I know it may be a reference to Pickwick himself, who has most unquestionably been a criminally slow coach during the whole of this trans- action, but whose speed will be now very unexpectedly accelerated, and whose wheels, gentlemen, as he will find lo his cost, will very soon be greased by you. 6. But enough of this, gentlemen. It is difficult to smile with an aching heart. My client's hope? and prospects are ruined ; and it is no figure of speech to say that her " occu- pation is gone " indeed. The bill is down ; but there is no tenant. Eligible single gentlemen pass and repass; but ticre is no invitation for them to inquire within or without 416 ELOCUTION. All is gloom and silence in the house : even the voice of the child is hushed ; his infant sports are disregarded, when his mother weeps. But Pickwick, gentlemen — Pickwick, the ruthless destroyer of this domestic oasis in the desert of Groswell street — Pickwick, who has choked up the well, aud thrown ashes on the sward — Pickwick, who comes before you to-day with his heartless tomato sauce and warming- pans — Pickwick still rears his head with unblushing effront- ery, and gazes without a sigh on the ruin he has made ! Damages, gentlemen, heavy damages, is the only punish- ment with which you can visit him — the only recompense you can award to my client. And for those damages she now appeals to an enlightened, a high minded, a right- feeling, a conscientious, a dispassionate, a sympathizing, a contemplative jury of her civilized countrymen ! CHARLES DICKENS. CCXXVL— SOCRATES SNOOKS. 1. Mister Socrates Snooks, a lord of creation, The second time entered the married relation: Xantippe Caloric accepted his hand, And they thought him the happiest man in the land. But scarce had the honeymoon passed o'er his head, When, one morning, to Xantippe, Socrates said, " I think, for a man of my standing in life, This house is too small, as I now have a wife: So, as early as possible, carpenter Carey Shall be sent for to widen my house and my dairy. 2. "Now, Socrates, dearest," Xantippe replied, "I hate to hear every thing vulgarly my'd; Now, whenever you speak of your chattels again, Say, our cow house, our barn yard, our pig pen." " By your leave, Mrs. Snooks, I will say what I please Of my houses, my lands, my gardens, my trees." " Say Our" Xantippe exclaimed in a rage. "1 won't, Mrs. Snooks, though you ask it an age!" 3. Oh,- woman ! though only a part of man's rib, If the story in Genesis do n't tell a fib, AMUSING. 117 Should your naughty companion e'er quarrel with you, You are certain to prove the best man of the two. In the following case this was certainly true ; For the lovely Xantippe just pulled off her shoe, And laying about her, all sides at random, The adage was verified — "Nil desperandum." 4. Mister Socrates Snooks, after trying in vain, To ward off the blows which descended like rain, — Concluding that valor's best part was discretion — Crept under the bed like a terrified Hessian : But the dauntless Xantippe, not one whit afraid, Converted the siege into a blockade. 5. At last, after reasoning the thing in his pate, He concluded 't was useless to strive against fate ; And so, like a tortoise protruding his head, Said, "My dear, may we come out from under our bed?" " Hah ! hah I" she exclaimed, " Mr. Socrates Snooks, I perceive you agree to my terms, by your looks : Now, Socrates, — hear me, — from this happy hour, If you '11 only obey me, I '11 never look sour." 'T is said the next Sabbath, ere going to church, He chanced for a clean pair of trowsers to search : Having found them, he asked, with a few nervous twitches, "My dear, may we put on our new Sunday breeches?" CCXXVIL— VARIETIES. 1. — HUSBAND VERSUS WIFE. Abel McAdain — may his tribe increase — Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw, within the gas-light of his room, A female^spirit (dressed up a la Bloom- Er,) writing some thing in a book of gold. Exceeding drink had made McAdam bold, And to the presence in the room he said, "What writest, dear?" The spirit raised its head, And with a voice like that of cooing dove, Murmured, "The names of men whom women love." "And is mine one?" asked Abel. "No, sir-ee," Replied the spirit. Abel roared with glee, 118 ELOCUTION. Then coolly said, " Sweet sprite, write me as one Who ne'er finds fault with what a woman 's done." The Bloomer wrote and vanished ; but the next nigh? It came again with a great wakening light, And showed the names by love of woman blessed ; When, lo ! McAdam's name led all the rest ! 2. — WHY DIGGEST THOU? " Old man, for whom diggest thou this grave ?" I asked as I walked along; For I saw in the heart of London streets A dark and busy throng. 'T was a strange, wild deed, but a wilder wish Of the parted soul, to lie, 'Mid the troubled numbers of living men Who would pass him idly by. So I said, " For whom diggest thou this grave, In the heart of London town?" And the deep-toned voice of the digger replied— " We 're laying a gas-pipe down." 3. — THE RETORT. 1 Old Birch, who taught a village school, Wedded a maid of homespun habit; He was as stubborn as a mule, And she was playful as a rabbit. % Poor Kate had scarce become a wife, Before her husband sought to make her The pink of country polished life, And prim and formal as u Quaker. 3 One day the tutor went abroad, And simple Kitty sadly missed him^f When he returned, behind her lord She slyly stole, and fondly kissed him ! 4. The husband's anger rose ! — and red And white his face alternate grew! "Less freedom, ma'am!" Kate sighed and said, "Oh, dear! I did n't know 't was you!" G. P. MORRIS AMUSING. 419 CCXXVIIL— FUSS AT FIRES. 1. It having been announced to me, my young friends, that you were about forming a fire-company, I have called you together to give you such directions as long experience in a first-quality engine company qualifies me to communi- cate. The moment you hear an alarm of fire, scream like a pair of panthers. Run any way, except the right way — for the furthest way round is the nearest way to the fire. If you happen to run on the top of a wood-pile, so much the better ; you can then get a good view of the neighbor- hood. If a light breaks on your view, "break" for it im- mediately ; but be sure you do n't jump into a bow window. Keep yelling, all the time ; and, if you can 't make night hideous enough yourself, kick all the dogs you come across, and set them yelling, too. A brace of cats dragged up stairs by the tail would be a M powerful auxiliary." When you reach the scene of the fire, do all you can to convert it into a scene of destruction. Tear down all the fences in the vicinity. If it be a chimney on fire, throw salt down it; or, if you can 't do that, perhaps the best plan would be to jerk off the pump-handle and pound it down. Don 't forget to yell, all the while, as it will have a prodigious effect in frightening off the fire. The louder the better, of course ; and the more ladies in the vicinity, the greater necessity for " doing it brown." 2. Should the roof begin to smoke, get to work in good earnest, and make any man "smoke" that interrupts you. If it is summer, and there are fruit-trees in the lot, cut them down, to prevent the fire from roasting the apples. Don 't forget to yell ! Should the stable be threatened, carry out the cow-chains. Never mind the horse — he '11 be alive and kicking ; and if his legs do n't do their duty, let them pay for the roast. Ditto as to the hogs — let them save their own bacon, or smoke for it. When the roof begins to burn, get a crow-bar and pry away the stone steps ; or, if the steps be of wood, procure an axe and chop them up. Next, cut away the wash-boards in the basement story; and, if that do n't stop the flames, let the chair-boards on the 420 ELOCUTION. first floor share a similar fate. Should the " devouring ele* ment" still pursue the "even tenor of its way," you had better ascend to the second story. Pitch out the pitchers, and tumble out the tumblers. Yell all the time ! 3. If you find a baby abed, fling it into the second story window of the house across the way ; but let the kitten carefully down in a work-basket. Then draw oui the bureau drawers, and empty their contents out of the back window ; telling some body below to upset the slop-barrel and rain- water hogshead at the same time. Of course, you will attend to the mirror. The further it can be thrown, the more pieces will be made. If any body objects, smash it over his head. Do not, under any circumstances, drop the tongs down from the second story : the fall might break its legs, and render the poor thing a cripple for life. Set it strad- dle of your shoulders, and carry it down carefully. Pile the bed-clothes carefully on the floor, and throw the crock- ery out of the window. By the time you will have attended to all these things, the fire will certainly be arrested, or the building be burnt down. In either case, your services will be no longer needed; and, of course, you require no further directions, except at all times to keep up a yell. CCXXIX.— PRAYING FOR RAIN. 1. How difficult, alas! to please mankind! One or the other every moment mutters : This wants an eastern, that a western wind; A third, petition for a southern, utters. Some pray for rain, and some for frost and snow: How can Heaven suit all palates ? — I do n't know. 2. Good Lamb, the curate, much approved, Indeed by all his flock beloved, Was one dry summer begged to pray for rain : The parson most devoutly prayed — The powers of prayer were soon displayed; ., Immediately a torrent drenched the plain. 3. It chanced that the church warden, Robin Jay, Had of his meadow not yet saved the hay : AMUSING. 421 Thus was his hay to health quite past restoring. It happened too that Robin was from home ; But when he heard the story, in a foam He sought the parson, like a lion roaring. *. "Zounds! Parson Lamb, why, what have you been doing 7 A pretty storm, indeed, ye have been brewing ! What ! pray for rain before I saved my hay ! Oh ! you 're a cruel and ungrateful man ! I that forever help you all I can ; Ask you to dine with me and Mistress Jay Whenever we have some thing on the spit, Or in the pot a nice and dainty bit; 5. " Send you a goose, a pair of chicken, Whose bones you are so fond of picking ; And often too a keg of brandy ! You that were welcome to a treat, To smoke and chat, and drink and eat; Making my house so very handy ! 6. " You, parson, serve one such a scurvy trick ! Zounds ! you must have the bowels of Old Nick. What ! bring the flood of Noah from the skies, With my fine field of hay before your eyes ! A numskull, that I wex'n't of this aware. — Hang me, but I had stopped your pretty prayer I" "Dear Mister Jay?" quoth Lamb, "alas! alas! I never thought upon your field of grass." 7. " Oh ! parson, you 're a fool, one might suppose — Was not the field just underneath your nose? This is a very pretty losing job !" — "Sir," quoth the curate, "know that Harry Cobb, Your brother warden, joined to have the prayer." — "Cobb! Cobb! why this for Cobb was only sport: What doth Cobb own that any rain can hurt?" Roared furious Jay as broad as he could stare. b The fellow owns, as far as I can larn, A few old houses only, and a barn; As that 's the case, zounds ! what are showers to him ? Not Noah's flood could make his trumpery swim. "Besides — why could you not for drizzle pray? Why force it down in buckets on the hay ? 422 ELOCUTION. Would I have played with your hay such a freak? No ! I'd have stopped the weather for a week." 9. " Dear Mister Jay, I do protest, I acted solely for the best; I do affirm it, Mister Jay, indeed. Your anger for this once restrain, I'll never bring a drop again Till you and all the parish are agreed." PETER PINDAR CCXXX.— THE DAPPLE MARE. 1. " Once on a time," as ancient tales declare, There lived a farmer in a quiet dell In Massachusetts, but exactly where, Or when, is really more than I can tell — Except that, quite above the public bounty, He lived within his means and Bristol count}-. 2. By patient labor and unceasing care, He earned, and so enjoyed, his daily bread; Contented always with his frugal fare, Ambition to be rich ne'er vexed his head: And thus unknown to envy, want, or wealth, He flourished long in comfort, peace and health. 3. The gentle partner of his humble lot, The joy and jewel of his wedded life, Discharged the duties of his peaceful cot, Like a true woman and a faithful wife ; Her mind improved by thought and useful reading, Kind words and gentle manners showed her breeding. 4. Grown old at last, the farmer called his son, The youngest, (and the favorite I suppose,) And said — "I long have thought, my darling John, 'T is time to bring my labors to a close; So now to toil I mean to bid adieu, And deed, my son, the homestead farm to you." 5. The boy embraced the boon with vast delight, And promised while their precious lives remained, He 'd till and tend the farm from morn till night, And see his parents handsomely maintained ; AMUSING. 4.23 God help him, he would never fail to love, nor Do aught to grieve his generous old gov'nor! 6. The farmer said — " Well, let us now proceed, (You know there 's always danger in delay.) And get 'Squire Robinson to write the deed; Come — where 's my staff? — we '11 soon be on the way.'' But John replied, with tender, filial care, " You 're old and weak — I ; 11 catch '■he Dapple Mare." 7. The mare was saddled, and the old man got on, The boy on foot trudged cheerfully along, The while, to cheer his sire, the duteous son Beguiled the weary way with talk and song. Arrived at length, they found the 'Squire at home, And quickly told him wherefore they had come. 8. The deed was writ in proper form of law, With many a "foresaid," "therefore," and "the same," And made throughout Avithout mistake or flaw, To show that John had now a legal claim To all his father's laud — conveyed, given, sold, Quit-claimed, et cetera — to have and hold. 9. Their business done, they left the lawyer's door, Happier, perhaps than when they entered there ; And started off as they had done before — The son on foot, the father on the mare. But ere the twain a single mile had gone, A brilliant thought occurred to Master John. 10. Alas for truth ! — alas for filial duty ! — Alas that Satan in the shape of pride, (His most bewitching form save that of beauty,) Whispered the lad — " My boy, you ought to ride !" " Get off!" exclaimed the younker — "'t is n't fair That you should always ride the Dapple Mare !" 11. The son was lusty, and the sire was old, And so, with many an oath and many a frown, The hapless farmer did as he was told, The man got off the steed, the boy got on, And rode away as fast as she could trot, And left his sire to trudge it home on foot! 124 ELOCUTION. 12. That night, while seated round the kitchen fire The household sat, cheerful as if no word Or deed, provoked the injured father's ire, Or aught to make him sad had e'er occurred — Thus spoke he to his son — "We quite forgot, I think, t' include that little turnip lot I" 13 " I 'm very sure my son, it would n't hurt it," Calmly observed the meditative sire, "To take the deed, my lad, and just insert it:" Here the old man inserts it — in the fire ! Then cries aloud with most triumphant air, "Who now, my son, shall ride the Dapple Mare?" JOHN G. SAXR. CCXXXL— FIRST APPEARANCE IN TYPE. 1. "Ah, here it is ! I 'm famous now; An author and a poet, It really is in print. Hurrah ! How proud I '11 be to show it, And gentle Anna! what a thrill Will animate her breast, To read these ardent lines, and know To whom they are addressed. 2^ "Why, bless my soul! here's some thing wrong; What can the paper mean, By talking of the ' graceful brook,' That 'ganders o'er the green?' And here 's a t instead of r, Which makes it 'tippling rill,' We '11 seek the ' shad ' instead of ' shade/ And ' hell ' instead of ' hill/ 3. "'Thy looks so' — what? — I recollect, 'T was ' sweet/ and then 't was ' kind / And now, to think, — the stupid fool — For 'bland' has printed 'blind/ Was ever such provoking work? ('T is curious, by the by, That any thing is rendered blind By giving it an i.) AMUSING. 422 4. " The color of the c rose ' is ' nose/ 'Affection' is 'affliction/ (I wonder if the likeness holds In fact as well as fiction?) 'Th?u art a friend/ The r is gone; Whoever would have deemed That such a trifling thing could change A friend into a fiend. 5. "'Thou art the same/ is rendered 'lame/ It really is too bad ! And here because an t is out My lovely 'maid' is mad. They drove her blind by poking in An i — a process new — And now they 've gouged it out again, And made her crazy, too. 6. " I '11 read no more. What shall I io ? [ '11 never dare to send it The paper's scattered far and wide, 'T is now too late to mend it. Oh, fame! thou cheat of human life, Why did I ever write ? I wish my poem had been burnt, Before it saw the light. 7. " Was ever such a horrid hash, . In poetry or prose? I 've said she was a 'fiend!' and praised The color of her ' nose/ I wish I had the printer here About a half a minute, I 'd bang him to his heart's content, And with an h begin it." CCXXXIL— LOVE AND PHYSIC. I A clever man was I>r. Digg, Misfortunes well he bore ; He never lost his patience till He had no patients more ; Kino.— 3fi 426 ELOCUTION. And though his practice once was largo, It did not swell his gains, The pains he labored for were but The labor for his pains. 2. Though " art i3 long," his cash got short* And well might Galen dread it, For who will trust a name unknown When merit gets no credit? To marry seemed the only way To ease his mind of trouble ; Misfortunes never singly come, And misery made them double. 3. He had a patient, rich and fair, That hearts by scores was breaking, And as he once had felt her wrist, He thought her hand of taking ; But what the law makes strangers do Did strike his comprehension, Who live in these United States, Do first declare intention. 4. And so he called — his beating heart With anxious fears was swelling — And half in habit took her hand, And on her tongue was dwelling : But thrice, though he essayed to speak, He stopped, and stuck, and blundered, For say what mortal could be cool, Whose pulse was 'most a hundred? 5. "Madame," at last he faltered out— His love had grown courageous — "I have discerned a new complaint, I hope to prove contagious: And when the symptoms I relate, And show its diagnosis, All, let me hope from those dear lips, Some favorable prognosis. 6. "This done," he cries, "let's tie those tied Which none but death can sever, Since 'like cures like,' I do infer That love cures love forever." AMUSING. 427 He paused— she blushed, however strange It seems on first perusal, Although there was no promise made. She gave him a refusal. 7. "I can not marry one who lives By other folks' distresses — The man I marry I must love, Not fear his fond caresses ; For who, whatever be their sex, However strange the case is, Would like to have a doctor's bill Stuck up into their faces ? " 8 Perhaps you think, 'twixt love and rage, He took some deadly potion, Or with his lancet breathed a vein To ease his pulse's motion. To guess the vent of his despair, The wisest one might miss it ; He reached his office — then and there. He charged her for the visit! CCXXXTIL— VARIETIES. 1. — SALE OF OLD BACHELORS. I dreamed a dream in the midst of my slumbers, And as fast as I dreamed it was coined into numbers — My thoughts ran along in such beautiful meter, I 'm sure I ne'er saw any poetry sweeter. It seemed that a law had been recently made That a tax on old bachelors' pates should be laid ; And in order to make them all willing to marry, The tax was as large as a man could well carry. The bachelors grumbled, and said 't were no use, 'T was horrid injustice and shameful abuse; And declared, that to save their own heart's blood from spilling Of such a vile tax they would ne'er pay a shilling. But the rulers determined their course to pursue, So they set the old bachelors up at vendue ; A crier was sent through the town to and fro, To rattle his bell and his trumpet to blow; 28 ELOCUTION. And to call out to all he might meet in the way, " IIo ! fort}* old bachelors sold here to-day ! " And presently all the old maids in the town, Each one in her very best bonnet and gown, From thirty to sixty, fair, plain, red and pale, Of every description all flocked to the sale. The auctioneer then in his labors began. And called out aloud, as he held up a man, "How much for a bachelor — who wants to buy?" In a twink every maiden responded, " I — I." In short, at a hugely extravagant price, The bachelors all were sold off in a trice ; And forty old maidens, some younger, some older, Each lugged an old bachelor home on her shoulder 'toto s 2. — A RECIPE. " Just take enough of good Scotch snuff," Said the parson to his hearer ; " You '11 keep awake, and grace partake, And to the truth come nearer." Said Mister Smith, " Go now forthwith, My dear good parson Hermon, And take enough of that same snuff And put it in your sermon V 3. — A TALE OF WONDER. 1 Now the laugh shakes the hall, and the ruddy wine flows ; Who, who is so merry and gay ? Lemona is happy, for little she knows Of the monster so grim, that lay hushed in repose, Expecting his evening prey. 2. While the music played sweet, and, with tripping so light, Bruno danced through the maze of the hall ; Lemona retired, and her maidens in white, Led her up to her chamber, and bid her good night, Then went down again to the hall. 3. The monster of blood now extended his claws, And from under the bed did he creep ; With blood all besmeared, he now stretched out his paws; With blood -ill besmeared, he now stretched out his jaws, To feed on the angel asleep. AMUSING. 42*) H3 seized on a vein, and gave such a bite, And he gave, with his fangs, such a tug — She shrieked ! Bruno ran up the stairs in a fright; The guests followed after, when brought to the light, "Mercy on us!" they cried, "what a bug!" 4. — PARODY. J. On, ever thus since childhood's hour, "We 've seen our fondest hopes decay ; We never raised a calf, or cow, or Hen that laid an egg a day, But it was "marked" and took away. 2. We never raised a sucking pig, To glad us with its sunny eye, But when 't was grown up fat and big, And tit to roast, or broil, or fry — We could not find it in the sty. CCXXXIV.— THE OLD HAT. 1 I had a bat — it was not all a hat — Part of the brim was gone — yet still I wore It on, and people wondered, as I passed; Some turned to gaze — others, just cast an eye, And soon withdrew it, as 't were in contempt. But still, my hat, although so fashionless, In complement extern, had that within, Surpassing show — my head continued warm, Being sheltered from the weather, spite of all The want (as has been said) of shading brim. 2. A change came o'er the color of my hat. That which was black grew brown, and then men stared With both their eyes, (they stared with one before;) The wonder now was twofold — and it seemed Strange, that things so torn, and old, should still Be worn, by one who might — but let that pass! I had my reasons, which might be revealed, But for some counter reasons far more strong, Which tied my tongue to silence. Time passed on. Green spring and flowery summer, autumn brown, 430 ELOCUTION. And frosty winter came, — and went, and came, — And still, through all the seasons of two years, In park, in city, yea, in routs and balls, The hat was worn, and borne. Then folks grew wila With curiosity — and whispers rose, And questions passed about — how one so trim In coats, boots, pumps, gloves, trowsers, could ensconce His caput in a covering so vile. 3. A change came o'er the nature of my hat. Grease-spots appeared ; but still, in silence, on I wore it ; and then family and friends Glared madly at each other. There was one, Who said — but hold ! no matter what was said, A time may come when I — away, away — Not till the season 'a ripe, can I reveal Thoughts that do lie too deep for common minds ; Till then, the world shall not pluck out the heart Of this my mystery. When I will — I will ! The hat was greasy now, and old, and torn — But torn, old, greasy, still I wore it on. 4. A change came o'er the business of this hat. Women, and men, and children scowled on me ; My company was shunned — I was alone— None would associate with such a hat — Friendship itself proved faithless, for a hat. She that I loved, within whose gentle breast I treasured up my heart, looked cold as death : Love's fires went out, extinguished by a hat. Of those that knew me best, some turned aside, And scudded down dark lanes — one man did place His finger on his nose's side, and jeered — Others, in horrid mockery, laughed outright ; Yea, dogs, deceived by instinct's dubious ray, Fixing their swart glare on my ragged hat, Mistook me for a beggar, and they barked. Thus women, men, friends, strangers, lover, dogs — One thought pervaded all — it was, my hat. 5. A change — it was the last — came o'er this hat For lo! at length, the circling months went round, The period was accomplished, and one day This tattered, brown, old greasy coverture, (Time had endeared its vileness,) was transferred AMUSING. 431 To the possession of a -wandering son Of Israel's fated race, and friends once more Greeted my digits with the wonted squeeze: Once more I went my way along, along, And plucked no wondering gaze ; the hand of scorn, With its annoying finger, men and dogs, Once more grew pointless, jokeless, laughless, growlle?? ; And last, not least, of rescued blessings — love, Love smiled on me again, when I assumed A brand-new beaver of the Andre mold ; And then the laugh was mine, for then came out The secret of this strangeness — 't was a bet! CCXXXV.— THE THREE BLACK CROWS. 1. Two honest tradesmen meeting in the Strand, One took the other briskly by the hand ; " II ark ye," said he, " 't is an odd story this, About the crows!" — "I do n't know what it is," Replied his friend. " No ! I 'm surprised at that ; Where I come from it is the common chat: But you shall hear: an odd affair indeed! And that it happened, they are all agreed ; Not to detain you from a thing so strange, A gentleman, that lives not far from 'Change, This week, in short, as all the alley knows, Taking a puke, has thrown up three black crows " 2. "Impossible!" — "Nay, but it's really true, I had it from good hands, and so may you." "From whose, I pray?" So, having named the man, Straight to inquire, his curious comrade ran. "Sir, did you tell?" — relating the affair — "Yes, sir, I did; and if it 's worth your care, Ask Mr. Such-a-one, he told it me; But, by the by, 't was two black crows, not three " 3. Resolved to trace so wondrous an event, Whip to the third, the virtuoso went. "Sir," — and-so-forth — "Why, yes; the thing's a fact Though, in regard to number, not exact; It was not two black crows, 't was only one ; The truth of that you may depend upon, 43? ELOCUTION. The gentleman himself told me the case. "Where may I find him?" "Why — in such a place." 4. Away he goes, and, having found him out — " Sir, be so good as to resolve a doubt" Then, to his last informant, he referred, And begged .to know if true, what he had heard. "Did you, sir, throw up a black crow?" "Not I!" " Bless me ! how people propagate a lie ! Black crows have been thrown up, three, two, and one, And here I find, at last, all comes to none! Did you say nothing of a crow at all?" "Crow — crow — perhaps I might, now I recall The matter over." "And pray, sir, what was't?" " Why, I was horrid sick, and, at the last, I did throw up, and told my neighbor so, Something that was as black, sir, as a crow " CCXXXVL— CHAR-CO-O-AL ! 1. The chimney soot was falling fast, As through the streets and alleys passed A man who sang, with noise and din, This word of singular meanin, Char-co-o-al 1 2. His face was grim, his nose upturned, As if the very ground he spurned — And like a trumpet sound was heard, The accents of that awful word, Char-co-o-al ! 3. In muddy streets he did descry The "moire antiques" held high and dry, With feet and ankles shown too well, And from his lips escaped a yell ! — Char-co-o-al ! 4. " Do n't go there !" was the warning sound The pipes have all burst underground, The raging torrent 's deep and wide;" But loud his trumpet voice replied, Char-co-o-al ! AMUSING. 438 5. "Oh stop!" good Biddy cried, "and lave A brimful peck upon this pave.-" A smile his inky face came o'er, And on he went with louder roar, Char-co-o-al ! 6. " Beware of Main street crossing deep, Away from Walnut gutter keep \" This was the sweeper's only greet, A voice replied far up the street, Char-co-o-al i 7. At set of sun, as homeward went, The joyous men of cent per cent, Counting the dollars in their till, A voice was heard, both loud and shrili, Char-co-o-al ! 8. A man upon the watchman's round, Half-steeped in mud and ice was found, Shouting with voice, though not so strong That awful word which heads my song, Char-co-o-al ! 9. There in the gas-light, dim and gray, Dreaming unconsciously he lay, And from his nose, turned up still more, Came sounding like a thrilling snore — Char-co-o-al 1 CCXXXVIL— ALL TIPSY BUT ME. 1. Out of the tavern I 've just stepped to-night — Street ! you are caught in a very bad plight ; Right hand and left hand are both out of place — Street, you are drunk ; 't is a very clear dase. 2. Moon ! 't is a very queer figure you cut — One eye is staring while t' other is shut — Tipsy, I see, and you 're greatly to blame ; Old as you are, 't is a horrible shame. 3. Then the street lamps — what a scandalous sight ! None of them soberly standing upright: 4H4 ELOCUTION. Rocking and staggering — why, on my word, Each of those lamps is as drunk as a lord. 4. All is confusion ' now is n't it odd ? Nothing is sober chat I see abroad; Sure it were rash with this crew to remain ; Better go into the tavern again. CCXXXVIIL— EFFECTS OF INFLUENZA. "Good bordig, Biss Biller." "Good bordig, Bister Sbith." " How 's your Ba this bordig ? " " I do d't thig she 's buch better this bordig, Bister Sbith, I do d't at all." " Have you bade up your bides yet what is the batter with her?" " Do, dot egsactly ; Dr. Buggids, our fabily pbysieiad, thicks it's the beasels. Bisses Jodes, who has it id her fabily, says it 's the sball-pox, but I thick it's dothig bore thad an cruptiod of the skid frob eatig too buch beat, or sobthig else." "Has she taked eddy bedicid?" "Dot buch." "Have you tried bribstode add bolasses?" "Do. Is it codsidered good?" " Ad idfallible rebedy — cures everythig. Biss Browd's little dog was quite udwell dight before last — had a ruddig at the dose add subthig like the bups ; before puttig it to bed she gave it half a wide-glass of the bixture, add last dight at tea it was able to seat itself in the caie-basket, add help itself frob the sugar-bowl. It works like bagic, just like bagic." "Astodishig! I shall adbidister the rebedy tG Ba ibbedi- ately ! " " Do so, with by copplibets." "I will. Good bordig, Bister Sbith.' "Good bordig, Biss Biller." AMU SIX G. 435 CCXXXIX.— BOBADII/S MILITARY TACTICS. 1. I will tell you, sir, by the way of private and undei seal, I am a gentleman, and live here obscure and to myself; but were I known to bis majesty and the lords, observe me, I would undertake, upon this poor head and life, for the public benefit of the state, not only to spare the entire lives of his subjects, in general, but to save the one-half, nay, three parts of yearly charge in holding war, and against what enemy soever. 2. And how would I do it, think you ? Why thus, sir. I would select nineteen more to myself; gentlemen they should be, of a good spirit, strong and able constitution ; I would choose them by an instinct, a character that I have : and I would teach these nineteen the special rules, as your Punto, your Reverso, your Stoceato, your Imbrocato, your Passado, your Montanto, till they could all play very near, or altogether, as well as myself. This done, say the enemy were forty thousand strong, we twenty would come into the field the tenth of March or thereabout ; and we would challenge twenty of the enemy ; they could not in their honor refuse us ! 3. Well, we would kill them ; challenge twenty more, kill them; twenty more, kill them; twenty more, kill them, too : and thus would we kill, every man his twenty a day, that 's twenty score; twenty score, that's two hundred; two hun- dred a day, five days a thousand : forty thousand, — forty times five, five times forty. — two hundred days kills them all up by computation. And this I will venture my poor gentleman-like carcass to perform (provided there be no treason practiced upon us,) by discreet manhood, that is, civilly, by the sword. ben JON SON. CCXL.— SPEECH OBITUARY. 1. Mr. Speaker: Sir, — Our fellow-citizen, Mr. Silas ins. who was lately a member of this branch of the Legislature, is dead, and he died yesterday in the forenoon 436 ELOCUTION. He had the brown -creators, (bronchitis was meant,) and was an uncommon individual. His character was good up to the time of his death, and ho never lost his woice. He was fifty-six year old, and was taken sick before ho died at his boarding house, where board can be had at a dollar and seventy-five cents a week, washing and lights included. He was an ingenus creetur, and, in the early part of his life, had a father and mother. 2. He was an officer in our State militia since the last war, and was brave and polite ; and his uncle, Timothy Higgins, belonged to the Revolutionary war, and was com- missioned as lieutenant by General Washington, first Presi- dent and commander-in-chief of the army and navy of the United States, who died at Mount Yernon, deeply lamented by a large circle of friends, on the 14th of December, 1799, or thereabout, and was buried soon after his death, with military honors, and several guns were bu'st in firing salutes. 3. Sir ! Mr. Speaker : General Washington presided over the great continental Sanhedrim and political meeting that formed our constitution ; and he was, indeed, a first-rato good man. He was first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen ; and, though he was in favor of the United States Bank, he was a friend of edication ; and from what he said in his farewell address, I have no doubt he would have voted for the tariff of 1846, if he had been alive, and had n't ha' died beforehand. His death was considered, at the time, as rather premature, on account of its being brought on by a very hard cold. 4. Now, Mr. Speaker, such being the character of Gen- eral Washington, I motion that we wear crape around the left arm of this Legislature, and adjourn until to-morrow morning, as an emblem of our respects for the memory of S. Higgins who is dead, and died of the brown-creaters yesterday in the forenoon ! AMUSING. 487 CCXLI, -THANKSGIVING DINNER. " Elder Sniffles, let me give you another piece o' the turkey." " I 'ni obleeged to you, Mr. Maguire ; you probably recol- lect that I remarked in my discourse this morning, that individuals were too prone to indulge in an excessive indul- gence in creature comforts on thanksgiving occasions. In view of the lamentable fact that the sin of gormandizing is carried to a sinful excess on this day, I, as a preacher of the Gospel, deem it my duty to be unusually abstemious on such occasions : nevertheless, considering the peculiar cir- cumstances under which I am placed this day, I think I w-l waive objections and take another small portion of the turkey." " That 's right, elder — what part will you take now?" " Well, I 'm not particular ; a small quantity of the breast, with a part of a leg and some of the stuffing, will be quite sufficient." " Pass the cranberries to Elder Sniffles, Jeff — elder, help yourself; wife, give the elder some more o' the turnip sass and potater." " Thank you, Mrs. Maguire. I am an advocate for a vegetable diet — and have always maintained that it is more congenial to individuals of sedentary habits and intellectual pursuits like myself, than animal food." " Jeff, my son, pass the bread. Sister Bedott, send your plate for some more o' the turkey." " No, I 'm obleeged to ye — I 've had sufficient." "Jeff, cut the chicken pie." " Sure enough — I almost forgot that I was to carve tho pie — Aunt Silly, you'll take a piece of it, won't you?" " Well, I do n't care if I dew take a little mite on t. I 'm a great favoryte o' chicken pie — always thought 't was a delightful beverage — do n't you, Elder Sniffles?" "A very just remark, Mrs. Bedott — very indeed; chicken pie is truly a very desirable article of food." "Allow me to help you to some of it, elder." " Thank you, my young friend ; as I before remarked, I 438 ELOCUTION. am entirely opposed to an immoderate indulgence of the appetite at all times, but particularly on thanksgiving occa- sions — and am myself always somewhat abstemious. How- ever, I consider it my duty at the present time to depart, to some extent, from the usual simplicity of my diet. 1 will, therefore, comply with your request, and partake of the chicken pie." " Take some more o' the cranberry sass, elder : cranber- ries is hulsome." " A very just remark, Mrs. Maguire — they are so ; never- theless, I maintain that we should not indulge too freely in even the most wholesome of creature comforts ; however, since you desire it, I will take a small portion more of the cranberries." " Husband, dew pass that pickled tongue — it hain't been touched — take some on 't, Elder Sniffles." " I 'm obliged to you, Mrs. Maguire — but I confess I am somewhat fearful of taking articles of that description upon my stomach, as they create a degree of acidity which is incompatible with digestion. Is it not so, my young friend? You are undoubtedly prepared to decide, as you are, I be- lieve, pursuing the study of the medical science." " I think you are altogether mistaken, Elder Sniffles. We should always take a due proportion of acid with our food, in order to preserve the equilibrium of the internal economy, and produce that degree of effervescence -which is necessary to a healthy secretion." " Exactly. Your view of the subject is one which never struck me before; it seems a very just one. I will partake of the pickled tongue in consideration of your remarks." " Take a slice on 't, Sister Bedott. You seem to need some tongue to-day — you 're oncommon still." " What a musical man you be, brother Magwire ! but it strikes me when an indiwiddiwal has an opportunity o' hearin' intellectible conversation they 'd better keep still and improve it. Ain 't it so, Elder Sniffles?" " A very just remark, Mrs. Bedott ; and one which has often occurred to my own mind." " Take some more of the chicken pie ; Elder Sniffles." AMUSING. 439 " Excuse rue, my young friend ; I will take nothing more." " What ! you do n't mean to give it up yet, I hope, elder.' 1 11 Indeed, Mr. Maguire, I assure you I would rather not take any thing more, for as I before remarked, I am de- cidedly opposed to excessive eating upon this 4ay." " Well, then, we '11 have the pies and puddins. Jeff, my ijn t fly round and help your mar change the plates. I '11 take the puddin, Melissy — you may tend to the pies. Jeff, set on the cider. So here 's a plum-puddin' — it looks nice — I guess you 've had good-luck to-day, wife. Sister Be- dott, you '11 have some on 't?" " No ; I 'm obleeged to ye. I 've got ruther of a head- ache to-day, and plum puddin's rich. I guess I '11 take a small piece o' the punkin pie." "Elder Sniffles, you *11 be helped to some on 't of course?" " Indeed, Mr. Maguire, the practice of indulging in arti- cles of this description after eating meat is esteemed highly pernicious, and I inwardly protest against it; furthermore, as Mrs. Bedott has very justly remarked, plum pudding is rich — however, considering the peculiar circumstances of the occasion, I will for once overstep the boundaries which I have prescribed for myself." "Am I to understand that you '11 have some, or not?" " I will partake, in consideration of time and place." " Gracious ! wife, this is as good puddin' as I ever eat." " Elder Sniffles, will you take some o' the pie — here is a mince pie and punkin pie." ' ; I will take a small portion of the pumpkin pie if you please, Mrs. Maguire. as I consider it highly nutritious; but, as regards the mince pie. it is an article of food which I deem excessively deleterious to the constitution, inasmuch as it is composed of so great a variety of ingredients. I esteem it exceedingly difficult of digestion. Is it not so, my young friend?" x " By no means, elder ; quite the contrary — and the reason is obvious. Observe, elder — it is cut into the most minute particles ; hence it naturally follows, that being, as it were, nompletely'calcined before it ei.ters the system — it leaves, so 440 ELOCUTION. to speak, no labor to be performed by the digestive organs and it is disposed of without the slightest difficulty." " Ah, indeed ! your reasoning is quite new to me — yet 1 confess it to be most satisfactory and lucid. In considera- tion of its facility of digestion I will partake also of the mince pie." ' Wife, fill the elder a glass o' cider." "Desist! Mrs. Maguire, desist, I entreat you! I invari- ably set my face like a flint against the use of all intoxi- cating liquors as a beverage." " Gracious ! you do n't mean to call new cider an intoxi- catin' liquor, I hope? Why, man alive, it's jest made — hain't begun to work." " Nevertheless, I believe it to be exceedingly insalubrious, and detrimental to the system. Is not that its nature, my young friend ?" " Far from it, eider — far from it. Reflect a moment and you will readily perceive, that being the pure juice of the apple — wholly free from all alcoholic mixture — it possesses all the nutritive properties of the fruit, with the advantage of being in a more condensed form, which at once renders it much more agreeable, and facilitates assimilation." "Very reasonable — very reasonable indeed. Mrs. Ma- guire, you may fill my glass." " Take another slice o' the puddin', Elder Sniffles." "No more, I 'm obliged to you, Mr. Maguire." "Well, won't you be helped to some more o' the pie?" "No more, I thank you, Mr. Maguire." "But you '11 take. another glass o' cider, won't you?" " In consideration of the nutritious properties of new cider, which your son has abundantly shown to exist, I will permit you to replenish my glass." " So you won't take nothin' more, elder?" " Nothing more, my friends — nothing more whatsoever — for as I have several times remarked during the repast, I am an individual of exceedingly abstemious habits — endea- voring to enforce by example that which I so strenuously enjoin by precept from the pulpit, to wit — temperance \u all things." AMUSING. 441 CCXLIL— THE MYSTERIOUS WALKER, 1. Oft at eve when twilight holy Earth her mantle casteth o'er, Cometh one who walketh slowly, Slowly past my open door — Walketh by, all sad and lonely, Some times walks he back again ; No companion hath he — only With him his cigar and cane: Slowly walking, to none talMng, Goes he forth and back again ; Sad and lonely, with him only Always that cigar and cane ! 2. Never, while the sunbeams garish Pour upon the earth their light, Has that form, a little sparish, Have those whiskers met my sight ; But when sounds of insects humming, Hymn the praise of eve's fair star, And Miss Jones begins that strumming, After tea, on her guitar, — Then I spy him, far off coming, By the light of his cigar ! But whence comes he, or where goeth, Walking fast and back again, None can tell me — no one knoweth Whose are that cigar and cane ! 3. To the right or left ne'er looking, Onward as he slowly goes, Interruption never brooking, After his cigar and nose — No acquaintance ever seeking, 'Mid the crowds that he may meet — ■ No one knowing — to none speaking, As he walks along the street — Ever seeming like one dreaming O'er the flight of vanished years — Sadly pondering — on still wandering- Looking, as he disappears, In the smoke he cast behind him, Like the ghost of by-gone years ! 44*2 ELOCUTION". 4. Silent, sad, and meditative, Like a man who, walking, dreams — > Or a sage, all contemplative, Or like one in love, he seems! Is he single still ? — or may be, Doomed awhile thus far to roam, Thinks he of a wife and baby, He was forced to leave at home ? Something looks he like a stray bee, To his hive but newly come ! Much I fear though ('t would appear so If the truth were fairly known, That his beeship we should reship — That he 's nothing but a drone ; Idly stalking — smoking, walking, With cigar and cane alone! CCXLIIL— PLEADING EXTRAORDINARY. 1. May it Please the Court — Gentlemen of the Jury — You sit in that box as the great reservoir of Roman liberty, Spartan fame, and Grecian polytheism. You are to swing the great flail of justice and electricity over this immense community, in hydraulic majesty, and conjugal superfluity. You are the great triumphal arch on which evaporates the even scales of justice and numerical computation. You are to ascend the deep arcana of nature, and dispose of my client with equiponderating concatenation, in reference to his future velocity and reverberating momentum. 2. Such is your sedative and stimulating character. My client is only a man of domestic eccentricity and matrimo- nial configuration, not permitted, as you are, gentlemen, to walk in the primeval and lowest vales of society, but he has to endure the red hot sun of the universe, on the hights of nobility and feudal eminence. He has a beautiful wife of horticultural propensities, that henpecks the remainder of his days with soothing and bewitching verbosity, that makes his pandemonium as cool as Tartarus. 3. He has a family of domestic children, that gather AMUSING. 443 around the fireplace of his peaceful homicide in tumulti- tudinous consanguinity, and cry with screaming and rebounding pertinacity for bread, butter, and molasses. Such is the glowing and overwhelming character and defea- sance of my client, who stands convicted before this court of oyer, and terminer, and lex non scrvpta, by the persecuting petifogger of this court, who is as much- exterior to me as 1 am to the judge, and you, gentlemen of the jury. 4. This Borax of the law here, has brought witnesses into this court, who swear that my client stole a firkin of butter. Now, I say, every one of them swore to a lie, and the truth is concentrated within them. But if it is so, I justify the act on the ground that the butter was necessary for a public good, to tune his family into harmonious discord. But I take other mountainous and absquatulated grounds on this trial, and move a quash be laid upon this indictment. 5. Now, I will prove this by a learned expectoration of the principle of the law. Now butter is made of grass, and, it is laid down by St. Peter Pindar, in his principle of sub- terraneous law, that grass is couchant and levant, which in our obicular tongue, means that grass is of a mild and free nature ; consequently, my client had a right to grass and butter both. 6. To prove my second great principle, " let facts be sub- mitted to a candid world." Now butter is grease, and Greece is a foreign country, situated in the emaciated regions of Liberia and California; consequently, my client can not be tried in this horizon, and is out of the benediction of this court. I will now bring forward the ultimatum respon- dentia, and cap the great climax of logic, by. quoting an inconceivable principle of law, as laid down in Latin, by Pothier, Hudibras, Blackstone, Hannibal, and Sangrado. It is thus : Haic hoc moras midticaulis, a mensa at thoro, ruta bar/a centum. Which means, in English, that ninety-nine men are guilty, where one is innocent. 7. Now, it is your duty to convict ninety-nine men first ; then you come to my client, who is innocent, and acquitted according to law. If these great principles shall be duly depreciated in this court, then the great north pole of lib- 444 ELOCUTION. erty, that has stood so many years in ^pneumatic tallness, shading the republican regions of commerce and agriculture, will stand the wreck of the Spanish Inquisition, the pirates of the hyperborean seas, and the marauders of the Aurora Bolivar! But, gentlemen of the jury, if you convict my client, his children will be doomed to pine away in a state of hopeless matrimony ; and his beautiful wife will stand lone and delighted, like a dried up mullen-stalk in a sheep- pasture. L. B. PARTINGTON. CCXLIV.— THE FARMER AND THE COUNSELOR. 1. A counsel in the Common Pleas, Who was esteemed a mighty wit, Upon the strength of a chance hit Amid a thousand flippancies, And his occasional"bad jokes In bullying, bantering, browbeating, Ridiculing, and maltreating Women, or other timid folks, In a late cause resolved to hoax A clownish Yorkshire farmer — one Who, by his uncouth look and gait, Appeared expressly meant by fate For being quizzed and played upon : So having tipped the wink to those In the back rows, Who kept their laughter bottled down, Until our wag should draw the cork, He smiled jocosely on the clown, And went to work. 2, "Well, Farmer Numskull, how go calves at York? " Why — not, sir, as they do wi' you, But on* four legs, instead of two." " Officer ! " cried the legal elf, Piqued at the laugh against himself, " Do, pray, keep silence down below there. Now look at me, clown, and attend ; Have I not seen you somewhere, friend ? " " Yees — very like — I often go there." " Our rustic 's waggish — quite laconic,'' The counsel cried with grin sardonic; "I wish I \\ known this prodigy, AMUSING. 445 This genius of the clods, when I On circuit was at York residing. Now, Farmer, do for once speak true- Mind, you •'re on oath, so tell me, you,. Who doubtless think yourself so clever, Are there as many fools as ever In the West Riding?" "Why — no. sir, no; we 've got our share, But not so many as when you were there ! " HORACE SMITH CCXLV.— A MODEST WIT. 1. A supercilious nabob of the east- Haughty, being great — purse-proud, being rich, A governor, or general, at the least, I have forgotten which — Had in his family an humble youth, Who went from England in his patron's suite, An unassuming boy, and in truth A lad of decent parts, and good repute. L This youth had sense and spirit ; But yet, with all his sense, Excessive diffidence Obscured his merit. 3. One day, at table, flushed with pride and wine, His honor, proudly free, severely merry, Conceived it would be vastly fine To crack a joke upon his secretary. 4. "Young man," he said, "by what art, craft or trade, Did your good father gain a livelihood ? " — " He was a saddler, sir," Modestus said, " And in his time was reckoned good." 5. "A saddler, eh! and taught you Greek, Instead of teaching you to sew ! Pray, why did not your father make A saddler, sir, of you ? " 6. Each parasite, then, as in duty bound, The joke applauded, and the laugh went round. At length Modestus, bowing low, Said, (craving pardon, if too free he made,) " Sir, by your leave I fain would know Your lather's trade ! " 446 ELOCUTION. 7. '' My father's trade ! Bless me, that 's too bad ! My father's trade ? Why, blockhead, are you mad ? My father, sir, did never stoop so low — He was a gentleman, I 'd have you know." 8. " Excuse the liberty I take," Modestus said, with archness on his brow, " Pray, why did not your father make A gentleman of you ? " CCXLVL— THE MARCH OF INTELLECT, 1. Oh ! learning 's a very fine thing, As, also, are wisdom and knowledge; For a man is as great as a king, If he has biit the airs of a college. And now-a-days all must admit, In learning we 're wondrously favored, For you scarce o'er your window can spit, But some learn-ed man is beslavered ! 2. We '11 all of us shortly be doomed To part with our plain understanding; For intellect now has assumed An attitude truly commanding! All ranks are so dreadfully wise, Common sense is set quite at defiance, And the child for its porridge that cries, Must cry in the language of science ! 3. The Weaver it surely becomes . To talk of his web's involution ; For doubtless the hero of thrums, Is a member of some Institution. He speaks of supply and demand, With the air of a great legislator, And almost can tell you off-hand, That the smaller is less than the greater! 4. The Blacksmith, 'mid cinders and smoke, Whose visage is one of the dimmest, His furnace profoundly will poke, With the air of a practical chemist; AMUSING. 147 Poor Vul ran has recently got A lingo that 's almost historic, And can tell you that iron is hot, Because it is filled with caloric! 5. The Mason, in book-learned tone, Describes, in the very best grammar, The resistance that dwells in the stone, And the power that resides in the hammer; For the son of the trowel and hod Looks as big as the frog in the fable, "While he talks in a jargon as odd As his brethren, the builders of Babel! 6. The Cobbler who sits at your gate, Now pensively points his hog's bristle, Though the very same Cobbler of late O'er his work used to sing and to whistle; But cobbling 's a paltry pursuit For a man of polite education ; His works may be trod under foot, Yet lie 's one of the lords of creation! 7. Oh ! learning 's a very fine thing ! It almost is treason to doubt it — Yet many of whom I could sing, Perhaps, might as well be without it: And without it my days I will pass, For to me it was ne'er worth a dollar, And I do n't wish to look like an ass By trying to talk like a scholar! blackwood's magazine. CCXLVIL— A TEA PARTY. 1. When the party commences, all starched and all glum They talk of the weather, their corns, or sit mum : They will tell you of ribbons, of cambric, of lace, How cheap they were sold — and will tell you the place. They discourse of their colds, and they hem and they cough, And complain of their servants to pass the time off. 2. But tea, that enlivener of wit and of soul, More loquacious by far than the draught? of the bowl, 448 ELOCUTION. Soon loosens the tongue and enlivens the mind, And enlightens their eyes to the faults of mankind. It brings on the tapis their neighbors 7 defects, The faults of their friends, or their willful neglects ; Reminds them of many a good-natured tale Of those who are stylish and those who are frail, Till the sweet-tempered dames are converted by tea, Into character-manglers — Gunaikophagi. In harmless chit-chat an acquaintance they roast, And serve up a friend, as they serve up a toast. Some gentle faux pas, or some female mistake, Is like sweetmeats delicious, or relished as cake: A bit of broad scandal is like a dry crust, It would stick in the throat, so they butter it first "With a little affected good nature, and cry Nobody regrets the thing deeper than I. 3. Ah ladies, and was it by heaven designed, That ye should be merciful, loving, and kind! Did it form you like angels and send you below, To prophesy peace — to bid charity flow? And have you thus left your primeval estate, And wandered so widely — so strangely of late? Alas ! the sad course I too plainly can see, These evils have all come upon you through tea. 4. Cursed weed, that can make your fair spirits resign The character mild of their mission divine, That can blot from their bosoms that tenderness true, Which from female to female for ever is due. Oh how nice is the texture, how fragile the frame Of that delicate blossom, a female's fair fame. 'T is the sensitive plant, it recoils from the breath, And shrinks from the touch as if pregnant with death. How often, how often, has innocence sighed, Has beauty been reft of its honor, its pride, Has virtue, though pure as an angel of light, Been painted as dark as a demon of night ; All offered up victims — an auto da fe, At the gloomy cabals, the dark orgies of tea. 5. If I, in the remnant that ? s left me of life, Am to suffer the torments of slanderous strife, Let me fall, I implore, in the slang-whanger's claw, Where the evil is open, and subject to law; AMUSING. 449 Not nibbled and mumbled, and put to the rack, By the sly undermining of tea-party clack. Condemn me, ye gods, to a newspaper roasting, But sp*are me ! oh spare me, a tea-table toasting ! CCXLVIIL— THERE ONCE WAS A TOPER. 1. There once was a toper — I '11 not tell his name — Who had for his comfort a scolding old dame; And often and often he wished himself dead, For if drunk he came home, she would beat him to bed. lie spent all his evenings away from his home, And when he returned, he would sneakingly come And try to walk straightly, and say not a word — Just to keep his dear wife from abusing her lord ; For, if he dared say his tongue was his own, 'T would set her tongue going, in no gentle tone, And she 'd huff him, and cuff him, and call him hard name And he 'd sigh to be rid of all scolding old dames. 2. It happened, one night, on a frolic he went, He staid till his very last penny was spent, But how to go home, and get safely to bed, Was the thing on his heart that most heavily weighed. But home he must go: so he caught up his hat, And off he went singing, by this and by that, "I ; 11 pluck up my courage, I guess she 's in bed, If she aint, 't is no matter, I ; m sure : Who 's afraid ? " He came to his door: he lingered until He peeped : and he listened, and all seemed quite still ; In he went, and his wife sure enough was in bed ! "Oh!" says he, "it 's just as I thought: Who' s afraid ?" 3. He crept about softly, and spoke not a word, His wife seemed to sleep, for she never e'en stirred ! Thought he, "for this night, then, my fortune is made: For my dear scolding wife is asleep! Who \s afraid?" But soon, he felt thirsty ; and slyly he rose, And groping around, to the table he goes, The pitcher found empty, and so was the bowl, The pail and the tumblers, — she 'd emptied the whole! At length in a corner, a vessel he found ! Says he, "here's something to drink, "I'll be bound!" Kinrx — .'N 450 ELOCUTION. And eagerly seizing, he lifted it up, — And drank it all off, in one long hearty sup ! 4. It tasted so queerly: and, what it could he* He wondered : — it neither was water, nor tea ! Just then a thought struck him and filled him with fear, 'Oh I it must be the poison for rats, I declare I" /Vnd loudly he called on his dear sleeping wife, And begged her to rise: "for," said he, "on my life, — I fear it was poison, the bowl did contain ! Oh I dear I yes, — it was poison, I now feel the pain!" " And what made you dry, sir?" the wife sharply cried: " 'T would serve you just right if from poison you died: And you ; ve done njine job, and you ; d now better march, For just see, you brute, you have drank all my starch !" CCXLIX.— YES OR NO. 1. When of a man I ask a question, I wish he 'd answer "yes" or "no;" Not stay to make some smooth evasion, And only tell me, "may be so." 2. When of a friend I wish to borrow, A little cash, to hear him say I 7 ve none to-day, but on to-morrow," Is worse than if he told me " nay." 3. I from my soul despise all quibbling, I '11 use it not with friend or foe, But when they ask, without dissembling, I ; 11 plainly answer, "yes" or "no." 4. Why all this need of plastering over, What we in fact intend to show ; Why not at once, with much less labor, Say frankly "yes, my friend," or "no/ 5. But when I ask that trembling question, "Will you be mine, my dearest miss?" Then may there be no hesitation, But say distinctly, "yes, sir, yes." AMUSIXG. 451 CCL.— QUERIES. 1. Is it any body's business, If a gentleman should choose To wait upon a lady, If the lady do n't refuse? Or to speak a little plainer, That the meaning all may know ; Is it any body's business If a lady has a beau? 2. Is it any body's business When that gentleman may call. Or when he leayes a lady, Or if he leaves at all ? Or is it necessary That the curtain should be drawn, To save from further trouble, The outside lookers-on ? 3. Is it any body's business But the lady's, if her beau Rides out with other ladies, And does n't let her know? Is it any body's business But the gentleman's, if she Accepts another escort, Where he does n't chance to^ be ? 4. Is a person on the sidewalk, Whether great or whether small, Is it any body's business Where that person means to call ? Or if you see a person, As he 's calling any where. Is it any of your business What his business may be there? 5 The substance of our query, Simply stated, would be this— Is it any body's business What another's business is? If it is, or if it is n't, We would really like to know, For we 're certain if it is n't, There are some who make it so. 452 ELOCUTION. CCLL— DEACON STOKES. 1. There is something very curious in the manner In which you can twist words into rhymes, Single and double ; To see how one thing with another chimes ; That is, if you have wit enough to plan a Story, or something else to write about Without much trouble. 2. Suppose we try it now ; one Asa Stokes, One of those men whom every thing provokes, A surly-tempered, evil-minded, bearish, Ill-natured kind of being; He was the deacon of the parish, And had the overseeing Of some small matters, such as the ringing Of the church-bell, and took the lead in singing. 3. Well, Deacon Stokes had gone to bed, one night, About eleven or before, 'T was in December, if my memory 's right, in ; 24, 'T was cold enough to make a Russian shiver ; I think I .never knew one Colder than this, — in faith it was a blue one 1 As by the almanac foretold, 't was A real Lapland night. dear! how cold ; t was! 4. There was a chap about there named Ezekiel, A clever, good-for-nothing fellow, Who very often used to get quite mellow; Of whom the Deacon always used to speak ill; For he was fond of cracking jokes On Deacon Stokes, to show on What terms he stood among the women folks, and so on. 5. It came to pass that on the night I speak of, Kzekiel left the tavern bar-room, where lie spent the evening, for the sake of drowning his care, by partaking Of the merry-making and enjoyment Of some good fellows there, whose sole employment .Was, all kinds of weather, on every night,, By early candle light, to get together Reading the papers, smoking pipes and chewing, H'elling long yarns, and pouring down the ruin. AMUSING. 458 0' Pretty well corned, and up to any thing, Drunk as a lord, and happy as a king, Blue as a razor, from his midnight revel, Nor fearing muskets, women, or the devil ; With a light heart — much lighter than a feather — With a light soul that spurned the freezing weather, And with a head ten times as light as either; And a purse, perhaps, as light as all together, On went Ezekiel, with a great expansion Of thought, until he brought Up at a post before the Deacon's mansion. 7. With one arm round the post, awhile he stood In thoughtful mood, with one eye turned Up toward the window where, with feeble glare, A candle burned; Then with a serious face, and a grave, mysterious Shake of the head, Ezekiel said — (His right eye once more thrown upon the beacon That from the window shone,) " I '11 start the Deacon I" 8. Hap, rap, rap, rap, went Deacon Stokes's knocker. But no one stirred ; rap, rap, it went again ; " By George, it must be after ten, or They must take an early hour for turning in." Rap, rap, rap, rap — "My conscience, how they keep A fellow waiting — Patience, how they sleep ! 9. The Deacon then began to be alarmed, And in amazement threw up the casement; And with cap on head, of fiery red, Demanded what the cause was of the riot, That thus disturbed his quiet, 10. " Quite cool this evening, Deacon Stokes," replied The voice below. "Well, sir, what is the matter? " "Quite chilly, Deacon; how your teeth do chatter ! " " You vagabond, a pretty time you have chosen To show your wit ; for I am almost frozen ; Be off, or I will put the lash on!" " Why bless you, Deacon, do 'nt be in a passion ! " T was all in vain to speak again, For with the Deacon's threat about the lash, Down went the sash. 454 ELOCUTION. 11. Rap, rap, rap, rap, the knocker went again, And neither of them was a very light rap ; Thump, thump, against the door went Ezekiel's cane, And that once more brought Deacon Stokes's night-cap. 12. " Very cold weather, Deacon Stokes, to-night ! " " Begone, you vile, insolent dog, or I ; 11 dive you a warming that shall serve you right ; You villain, it is time to end the hoax ! " " Why bless your soul and body, Deacon Stokes, Do n't be so cross when I 've come here, in this severe Night, which is cold enough to kill a horse, For your advice upon a very difficult and nice Question. Now, bless you, do make haste and dress you." 13. "Well, well, out with it, if it must be so; Be quick about it, I 'm very cold." "Well, Deacon, I do n't doubt it, In a few words the matter can be told. D aeon, the case is this : I want to know 1 1 this cold weather lasts all summer here, — What time will green peas come along next year?" THOMAS QUILP. CCLU -THE DRUNKARD'S RESOLUTION. 1. Touch thee? No, viper of vengeance! Didst thoa not promise to make me strong ? aye, strong as Sampson ; and rich, rich as Croesus ? But instead of this, villain ! you have stripped me of my flocks ; left my pockets empty ; robbed me of my senses; made me wretched; made me miserable; and then laid me in the ditch. Touch thee? No ! I will slay thee, rather. 2. But one embrace before thou diest. I always thought 'twas best to give the devil his due; and (tasting), devil, thou hast a pleasant face, a sparkling eye, a ruby lip, and thy breath (tasting) is sweeter than the breath of roses. My honey (tasting), thou shalt not die. I '11 stand by thee, day and night; I'll fight for thee; I'll teach (hie) others a little wisdom ; I '11 live (tasting) on milk and (hic^ honey, and (tasting) be the happiest man on earth. MISCELLANEOUS. 455 MISCELLANEOUS CCLIIL— THE OLD ARM CHAIR. I love it ! I love it ! and who shall dare To chide me for loving that old arm chair? I 'vc treasured it long as a sainted prize, I 've bedewed it with tears and embalmed it with sighs: *T is bound by a thousand bands to my heart, Not a tie will break, not a link will start; Would you know the spell? a mother sat there I And a sacred thing is that old arm chair. In childhood's hour I lingered near That hallowed seat with a listening ear, To the gentle words that mother would give, To fit me to die and teach me to live ; She told me shame would never betide, With truth for my creed, and God for my guide ; She taught me to lisp my earliest prayer, As I knelt beside that old arm chair. I sat and watched her many a day When her eye grew dim, and her locks were gray, And I almost worshiped her when she smiled And turned from her Bible to bless her child : Years rolled on, but the last one sped, My idol was shattered, my earth-star fled! I felt how much the heart can bear, When I saw her die in that«old arm chair. 'T is past! 'tis past! but I gaze on it now With quivering lip and throbbing brow; 'T was there she nursed me, 't was there she died, And memory still flows with lava tide. Say it is folly, and deem me weak, As the scalding drops start down my cheek; But I love it! I love it! and can not tear My soul from my mother's old arm chair! ei.iza cook. 456 ELOCUTION. CCLI V.— POLITICAL INTEGRITY. 1. This immaculate, invincible uprightness in public station, is no dream of visionaries. We can not dismiss it as a glory of the past, impracticable and fabulous at present. This is infidelity to Providence, to history, to the ever- lining heart of Christ. Besides, the instances stand forth, illustrious and imperial, in every Christian nation — the honor of statesmanship, the defense of governments, the strength of their age against all partisan or selfish con- spiracies. 2. Look, for a single example of that power, into the last generation, and the legislative halls of England. Trained in the best refinement and learning of his time, coming forth from the midst of London fashions and pal- aces, where the frowns of the world are most formidable, and its flatteries most seductive, familiar from his child- hood with the luxuries of fortune and the policies of a false expediency, yet with his vision quickened by Christian faith, and his whole nature lightened and invigorated by the lessons of Olivet and Calvary, Wilberforce enters Par- liament. Many a hard test tries his steadfastness. Erect, and yet courteous, he never swerves. He sees straight through every moral sophistry, and no chicanery can cheat him into one doubtful compliance. Hardest of all, Melville is impeached. Friendship, favor, interest, social alliance, popularity, all importune this Christian statesman to take up the cause of the accused. 3. There was the eloquent countenance, and the trumpet tongue of Pitt pleading the same way. But there was one voice on the other side, stiller, grander, the voice of a righteous sincerity, and from that he was accustomed to take no appeal. He knew Melville was wrong, the accusa- tion just. Not an instant's hesitation. He stood up to speak for Bight, stripped bare of all enchantments, and he knew that, speaking for that, he spoke for man, for his country, for God ; because he who obeys a law higher than that of states, obeys a law in which alone any state .is safe : Proud and powerful men looked on with disappointment, MISCELLANEOUS. 457 not tc say with wrath. Every sentence was like hacking away old and precious bonds of fellowship. 4. Melville was condemned, and how? Let the words of another's history answer: "It was felt that in a question of pimple integrity, where casuistry had to be eluded, and plausibility swept aside, this religious tongue was the last authority in England. In the British senate, in the nine- teenth century, when a point of morality was to be settled, it was not to the man of dueling honor, it was not to the philosophic moralist, that men looked for a decision ; it was to the Christian senator whose code was the Bible," kneel- ing every morning before the All-seeing Eye, going up to his seat from his closet, through all the perplexities of his place, saying ever secretly to his God, " Lead me only by Thy light." prof, huntington. CCLV.— WHO SHALL JUDGE MAN? 1. Wno shall judge a man from nature? Who shall know him by his dress ? Paupers may be fit for princes, Princes fit for something less. Crumpled shirt and dirty jacket May beclothe the golden ore Of the deepest thought and feeling — Satin vest could do no more. 2. There are springs of crystal nectar Ever swelling out of stone ; There are purple buds and golden, Hidden, crushed, and overgrown. God, who counts by souls, not dresses, Loves and prospers you and me ; While He values thrones the highest But as pebbles in the sea. 3. Man, upraised above his fellows Oft forgets his fellows then ; Masters — rulers — lords, remember, That your meanest hands are men! Men of labor, men of feeling, Men by thought ami men by fame, Kion -39 15.8 ELOCUTION, Claiming equal rights to sunshine In a man's ennobling name. 4. There are foam-embroidered oceans, There are little weed-clad rills, There are feeble, inch-high saplings, There are cedars on the hills ; God, who counts by souls, not stations, Loves and prospers you and me : For to him all vain distinctions Are as pebbles in the sea. 5. Toiling hands alone are builders Of a nation's wealth and fame ; Titled laziness is pensioned, Fed, and fattened on the same ; By the sweat of other's foreheads, Living only to rejoice, While the poor man's outraged freedom Vainly lifteth up its voice. 6. Truth and justice are eternal, Born with loveliness and light ; Secret wrong shall never prosper While there is a starry night. God, whose world-heard voice is singing Boundless love to }^ou and me, Sinks oppression with its titles, As the pebbles in the sea. CCLVL— HIGHLAND MARY. Ye banks and braes and streams around The castle of Montgom'ry ; Green be your woods and fair your flowers, Your waters never drumlie. There summer first unfolds his robes, And there ttey longest tarry; For there I took my last farewell Of my sweet Highland Mary. How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk, IIow rich the hawthorn's blossom ; As underneath their fragrant shade, I clasped her to my bosom. MISCELLANEOUS. 459 The golden hours, on angel "wings, Flew o'er me and ray dearie ; For dear to me as light and life, Was my sweet Highland Mary. 3. With many a vow and locked embrace, Our parting -was full tender ; And pledging oft to meet again, We tore ourselves asunder, But, oh ! fell death's untimely frost, That nipt my flower so early! Now green 's the sod and cold 's the clay, That wraps my Highland Mary. 4. Oh ! pale, pale now those rosy lips I oft have kissed so fondly ; And closed for aye the sparkling glance, That dwelt on me so kindh\ And moldering now in silent dust, That heart that loved me dearly ; But still within my bosom's core Shall live my Highland Mary ! bcrn* CCLVIL— THE ROOK AND THE LARK. 1. "Good-xk;iit, Sir Rook," said a little Lark; " The daylight fades, it will soon be dark ; I 've bathed my wings in the sun's last ray, I 've sung my hymn to the dying day, So now I haste to my quiet nook In the dewy meadow : good-night, Sir Rook." 2. " Good-night, poor Lark," said his titled friend, With a haughty toss and a distant bend; "I also go to my rest profound, But not to sleep on the cold, damp ground; The fittest place for a bird like me, Is the topmost bough of the tall pine-tree. 3. " I opened my eyes at the peep of day, And saw you taking your upward way, Dreaming your fond romantic dreams, An ugly speck in the sun's bright beams ; Soaring too high to be seen or heard — And said to myself, what a foolish bird I IC'O ELOCUTION. 4. ''I trod the park with a princely air; I filled my crop with the richest fare ; T cawed all day 'mid a lordly crew, And made more noise in the world than you! The sun shone full on my ebon wing; I looked and wondered; good-night, poor thing!" 5 " Good-night, once more/ - ' said the Lark's sweet voice, "I see no cause to repent my choice; You build your nest in the lofty pine, But is your slumber more soft than mine ? You make more noise in the world than T, But whose is the sweeter minstrelsy?" CCLVIIL— THE OLD MAN DREAMS. 1. 0, for one hour of youthful joy ! Give me back my twentieth spring! I ; d rather laugh a bright-haired boy Than reign a gray-haired king ! 2. Off with the wrinkled spoils ^f age! Away with learning's crown ! Tear out life's wisdom-written page, And dash its trophies down! 3. One moment let my life-blood stream From boyhood's fount of flame ! Give me one giddy, reeling dream Of life all love and fame! 4. My listening angel heard the prayer, And, calmly smiling, said, " If I but touch thy silvered hair, Thy hasty wish hath sped. 5. " But is there nothing in thy track To bid thee fondly stay, "While the swift seasons hurry back To find the wished-for day?" 6. Ah ! truest soul of womankind ! Without thee what were life ? One bliss I can not leave behind : F '11 take — my — precious — wife! MISCELLANEOUS. 407 7. The angel took a sapphire pen And wrote in rainbow dew, " The man would be a boy again, And be a husband, too I" 8. " And is there nothing yet unsaid Before the change appears ? Remember, all their gifts have fled With those dissolving years !" 9. " Why, yes ; for memory would recall My fond paternal joys ; I could not bear to leave them all: I '11 take — my — girls — and — boys I" 10. The smiling angel dropped his pen — "Why, this will never do; The man would be a boy again. And be a father, too !" 1 1 . And so I laughed — my laughter woke The household with its noise — And wrote my dream, when morning broke, To please the gray-haired boys. DR. HOLKIS. CCLIX.— THE SNIVELER. 1. One of the most melancholy productions of a morbid condition of life is the sniveler ; a biped that infests all classes of society, and prattles, from the catechism of de- spair, on all subjects of human concern. The spring of his mind is broken. A babyish, nerveless fear has driven the sentiment of hope from his soul. He cringes to every phantom of apprehension, and obeys the impulses of cow- ardice, as though they were the laws of existence. He iv the very Jeremiah of conventionalism, and his life one long, and lazy lamentation. In connection with this maudlin brotherhood, his humble aim in life is, to superadd the snivelization of society to its civilization. Of all bores ht is the most intolerable and merciless. 2. He drawls misery to you through his nose on all oc- ma. He stops you at the corner of the street to intrust 462 ELOCUTION. you with his opinion on the probability, that the last mea- sure of Congress will dissolve the Union. He fears, also, that the morals and intelligence of the people are destroyed by the election of some rogue to office. In a time of gene- ral health, he speaks of the pestilence that is to- be. The mail can not be an hour late, but he prattles of railroad accidents and steamboat disasters. He fears that his friend who was married yesterday, will be a bankrupt in a year, and whimpers over the trials which he will then endure. As a citizen and politician, he has ever opposed every use- ful reform, and wailed over every rotten institution as it fell. He has been, and is, the foe of all progress, and always cries over the memory of the " good old days." In short, he is ridden with an eternal nightmare, emits aD eternal wail. e. p. Whipple. CCLX.— THE LAST FOOTFALL. 1. There is often sadness in the tone, And a moisture in the eye, And a trembling sorrow in the voice, When we bid a last good-bye. But sadder far than this, I ween, 0, sadder far than all, Is the heart-throb with which we strain To catch the last footfall. 2. The last press of a loving hand Will cause a thrill of pain, When we think, " Oh, should it prove that we Shall never meet again." And as lingeringly the hands unclasp, The hot, quick drops will fall ; But bitterer are the tears we shed, When we hear the last footfall. 3. We never felt how dear to us Was the sound we loved fall well, We never knew how musical, Till its last echo fell : And till we heard it pass away Far, far beyond recall, MISCELLANEOUS. 46^ We never thought what grief 't would be To hear the last footfall. 4. And years and days that long are passed, And the scenes that seemed forgot, Rush through the mind like meteor-light As we linger on the spot; And little things that were as nought, But now will be our all, Come to us like an echo low Of the last, the last footfall ! CCLXE— VARIETIES. 1. — THE MOUNTAINS OP LIFE. 1. There 's a land far away, 'mid the stars, we are told, Where they know not the sorrows of time — Where the pure waters wander though valleys of gold, And life is a treasure sublime ; 'T is the land of our God, 't is the home of the soul, Where the ages of splendor eternally roll — Where the way-weary traveler reaches his goal, On the evergreen Mountains of Life. 2. Our gaze can not soar to that beautiful land, But our visions have told of its bliss, And our souls by the gale of its gardens are fanned, When we faint in the desert of this ; And we some times have longed for its holy repose, When our spirits were torn with temptations and woes, And we 've drank from the tide of the river that flows From the evergreen Mountains of Life. 3. 0, the stars never tread the blue heavens at night, But we think where the ransomed have trod ; And the day never smiles from his palace of light, But we feel the bright smile of our God. We are traveling homeward through changes and gloom, To a kingdom where pleasures unceasingly bloom, And our guide is the glory that, shines through the tomb, From the evergreen Mountains of Life. J. G. CLARK. r64 ELOCUTION. 2. NIGHT AND DEATH. Mysterious night! when the first man but knew Thee by report, unseen, and heard thy name, Did he not tremble for this lovely frame, This glorious canopy of light and blue ? Yet 'neath a curtain of translucent dew, Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame, Hesperus, with the host of heaven, came, And lo ! creation widened on his view. AVho could have thought what darkness lay concealed Within thy beams, Sun ? or who could find, While fly, and leaf, and insect stood revealed, That to such endless orbs thou makest us blind ? Weak man ! why, to shun death, this anxious strife ? If light can thus deceive, wherefore not life ? J. BLANCO WHITE 3. — "DELIVER US FROM EVIL." 1. "Deliver us from evil," Heavenly Father ! It still besets us wheresoe'er we go! Bid the bright rays of revelation gather To light the darkness in our way of woe ! Remove the sin that stains our souls — forever! Our doubts dispel — our confidence restore ! Write thy forgiveness on our hearts, and never Let us in vain petition for it more. 2. Release us from the sorrows that attend us ! Our nerves are torn — at every vein we bleed ! Almighty Parent ! with thy strength befriend us ! Else we are helpless in our time of need ! Sustain us, Lord, with thy pure Holy Spirit — New vigor give to Nature's faltering frame ; And, at' life's close, permit us to inherit The hope that 's promised in the Savior's name! g. r. MORRia 4.— THE SABBATH. With silent awe I hail the sacred morn, Which slowly wakes while all the fields are still; A soothing calm on every breeze is borne, A graver murmur gurgles from the rill, MISCELLANEOUS. 4C5 And echo answers softer from the hill; And softer sings the linnet from the thorn— The skylark warbles in a tone less shrill. Hail, light serene ! Hail, sacred Sabbath morn ! The rooks float silent by in airy drove ; The sun, a placid yellow luster shows; The gales that lately sighed along the grove, Have hushed their downy wings in dead repose; The hovering rack of clouds forget to move So smiled the day when the first morn arose ! DR. LEYDEX CCLXIL— THE ISLE OF LOXG AGO. 1. 0, a wonderful stream is the river Time, As it runs through the realm of tears, With a faultless rhythm and a musical rhyme, And a boundless sweep and a surge sublime, As it blends with the Ocean of Years. 2. How the winters are drifting, like flakes of snow, And the summers, like buds between; And the year in the sheaf— so they come and they go, On the river's breast, with its ebb and flow, As it glides in the shadow and sheen. 3. There 's a magical isle up the river of Time, Where the softest of airs are playing; There 's a cloudless sky and a tropical clime, And a song as sweet as a vesper chime, And the Junes with the roses are staying. 4. And the name of that Isle is the Long Ago, And we bury our treasures there; There are brows of beauty and bosoms of snow — There are heaps of dust — but we loved them so ! — There are trinkets and tresses of hair ; 5. There are fragments of song that nobody sings, And a part of an infant's prayer : There 's a lute unswept, and a harp without strings There are broken vows and pieces of rings, And the garments that she used to wear 466 ELOCUTION. 6. There are hands that are waved, when the fairy shore By the mirage is lifted in air ; And we some times hear, through the turbulent roar, Sweet voices we heard in the days gone before, When the wind down the river is fair. 7. 0, remembered for aye, be the blessed Isle, All the day of our life till night — When the evening comes with its beautiful smile, And our eyes are closing to slumber awhile, May that "Greenwood" of Soul be in sight! B. F. TAYLOR. CCLXIIL— LLEWELLYN AND HIS DOG. 1. The spearmen heard the bugle sound, and cheerly smiled the morn ; And many a brach, and many a hound, attend Llewellyn's horn ; And still he blew a louder blast, and gave a louder cheer ; "Come, Gelert! why art thou the last Llewellyn's horn to hear? 0! where does faithful Gelert roam, the flower of all his race? So true, so brave, — a lamb at home, a lion in the chase I" That day Llewellyn little loved the chase of hart or hare ; And scant and small the booty proved, for Gelert was not there. 2. Unpleased Llewellyn homeward hied, when, near the portal seat, His truant Gelert he espied, bounding his lord to greet, But when he gained the castle-door, aghast the chieftain stood; The hound was smeared with gouts • of gore ; his lips and fangs ran blood! Llewellyn gazed with wild surprise ; unused such looks to meet, His favorite checked his joyful guise, and crouched, and licked his feet. Onward in haste, Llewellyn passed (and on went Gelert, too), And still, where e'er his eyes were cast, fresh blood-gouts shocked his view! 3. O'erturned his infant's bed he found, the blood-stained cover rent; And all around the walls and ground with recent blood besprent He called his child ; no voice replied ; he searched with terror wild ; Blood ! blood ! he found on every side, but no where found his child , MISCELLANEOUS. 467 "■ Death-hound 1 by thee my child 's devoured V the frantic father cried ; And to the hilt his vengeful sword he plunged in Gelert's side. His suppliant, as to earth he fell, no pity could impart ; But still his Gelert's dying yell passed heavy o'er his heart. 4. Aroused by Gelert's dying yell, some slumberer wakened nigh What words the parent's joy can tell, to hear his infant cry ! Concealed beneath a mangled heap, his hurried search had missed, All glowing from his rosy sleep, his cherub boy he kissed ! Nor scratch, had he, nor harm, nor dread ; but the same couch beneath Lay a great wolf, all torn and dead, tremendous still in death ! Ah ! what was then Llewellyn's pain ! for now the truth was clear ; The gallant hound the wolf had slain, to save Llewellyn's heir. 5. Vain, vain was all Llewellyn's woe ! " Best of thy kind, adieu ! The frantic deed that laid thee low, this heart shall ever rue !" And now a noble tomb they raise, with costly sculpture decked : Aud marbles, storied with his praise, poor Gelert's bones protect. Here never could the spearmen pass, or forester, unmoved; Here oft the tear-besprinkled grass Llewellyn's sorrow proved. And here he hung his horn and spear, and oft, as evening fell, In fancy's piercing sounds would hear poor Gelert's dying yell. W. R. SPENCER. CCLXIV.— THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS. The chambered nautilus lives in a series of enlarging compartments, arranged in a widening spiral. It forsakes, after a time, one com- partment, makes a new one and dwells there, and so on till it dies. 1 . Tnis is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, Sails the unshadowed main — The venturous bark that flings On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings In gulfs enchanted, where the siren sings, And coral reefs lie bare, Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair 2. Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl ; Wrecked is the ship of pearl ! And everv chambered cell, 468 ELOCUTION. Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell, As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell, Before thee lies revealed — Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed ! 3. Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread his lustrous coil; Still, as the spiral grew, lie left the past year's dwelling for the new, Stole with soft step its shining archway through, Built up its idle door, Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more 4. Thanks for the heavenly message brought to thee, Child of the wandering sea, Cast from her lap, forlorn ! From thy dead lips a clearer note is born Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn ! While on mine ear it rings, Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that singa : 5. Build thee more stately mansions, my soul, As the swift seasons roll ! Leave thy low-vaulted past! Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, Till thou at length art free, Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea! DR. HOLMES. CCLXV.— THE POWER OF HABIT. 1 remember once riding from Buffalo to the Niagara Falls. I said to a gentleman, " What river is that, sir ?" " That/' he said, " is Niagara river." " Well, it is a beautiful stream," said I ; " bright and fair and glassy ; how far off are the rapids?" " Only a mile or two," was the reply. " Is it possible that only a mile from us we shall find the water in the turbulence which it must show near to the Falls?" " You will find it so, sir." And so I found it \ and the MISCELLANEOUS. h& Grst sight of Niagara I shall never forget. Now, launch your bark on that Niagara river ; it is bright, smooth, beau- tiful and glassy. There is a ripple at the bow; the silvei wake you leave behind adds to your enjoyment. Down the stream you glide, oars, sails and helm in proper trim, and you set out on your pleasure excursion. Suddenly some one cries out from the bank, "Young men, ahoy!" "What is it?" " The rapids are below you." " Ha ! hah ! we have heard of the rapids, but we are not such fools as to get there. If we go too fast, then we shall up with the helm and steer to the shore ; we will set the mast in the socket, hoist the sail, and speed to the land. Then on, boys ; do n't be alarmed — there is no danger." " Young men, ahoy there !" "What is it?" " The rapids are below you!" "Ha! hah! we will laugh and quaff; all things delight us. What care we for the future ! No man ever saw it. Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof. We will enjoy life while we may ; will catch pleasure as it flies. This is enjoyment; time enough to steer out of danger when we are sailing swiftly with the current." "Young men, ahoy!" "What is it?" "Beware! Beware! The rapids are below you!" Now you see the water foaming all around. See how fast you pass that point ! Up with the helm ! Now turn ! Pull hard ! quick ! quick ! quick ! pull for your lives ! pull till the blood starts from thy nostrils, and the veins stand like whip-cords upon thy brow! Set the mast in the socket! hoist the sail ! ah ! ah! it is too late ! " Shrieking, cursing, bowling, blaspheming; over they go." Thousands go over the rapids every year, through the power of habit, crying all the while, " when I find out that it is injuring me I will give it up!" J. B. GOUGH. '470 ELOCUTION. CCLXVL— E PLURTBUS UNUM 1. TnouGn many and bright are the stars that appear, In that flag by our country unfurled; And the stripes that are swelling in majesty there, Like a rainbow adorning the world, Their lights are unsullied as those in the sky, By a deed that our fathers have done ; And they 're leagued in as true and as holy a tie, In their motto of " Many in one." 2. From the hour when those patriots fearlessly flung That banner of starlight abroad, Ever true to themselves, to that motto they clung, As they clung to the promise of God : By the bayonet traced at the midnight of war, On the fields where our glory was won; Oh ! perish the heart or the hand that would mar Our motto of " Many in one." 3. Mid the smoke of the contest — the cannon's deep ,\mr Mow oft hath it gathered renown ! While those stars were reflected in rivers of gore, When the cross and the lion went down ; And though few were their lights in the gloom of thai" W.uir. Yet the hearts that were -striking below, Had God for their bulwark and truth for their power And they stopped not to number their foe. 4. From where our green mountain tops blend with the sk\ And the giant St. Lawrence is rolled, To the waves where the balmy Hesperides lie, Like the dream of some prophet of old ; They conquered — and dying, bequeathed to our care — Not this boundless dominion alone — But that banner, whose loveliness hallows the ail, And their motto of "Many in one/' 3. We are many in one, while there glitters a star In the blue of the heavens above ; And tyrants shall quail mid their dungeons afar, When they gaze on that motto of love. It shall gleam o'er the sea, mid the bolts of the storm, Over tempest, and battle, and wreck, And flame where our guns with their thunder grow warm 'Neath the blood on the slippery deck. MISCELLANEOUS. 471 6. The oppressed of the earth to that standard shall fly, Wherever its folds shall be spread ; And the exile shall feel 't is his own native sky Where it a stars shall float over his head. And those stars shall increase, till the fullness of time, Its millions of cycles has run — Till the world shall have welcomed its mission sublime. And the nations of earth shall be one. 7 Though the old Alleghany may tower to heaven, And the Father of waters divide, The links of our destiny can not be riven, While the truth of these words shall abide. Oh! then, let them glow on each helmet and brand, Though our blood like our rivers shall run; Divide as we may in our own native land, To the rest of the world we are one. S. Then, up with our flag — let it stream on the air, Though our fathers are cold in their graves ; They had hands that could strike, had souls tha<-