THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA ENDOWED BY THE DIALECTIC AND PHILANTHROPIC SOCIETIES UNIVERSITY OF N.C. AT CHAPEL HILL NON tH 9000005209 This book is due at the LOUIS R. WILSON LIBRARY on the last date stamped under “Date Due.” If not on hold it may be renewed by bringing it to the library. ~) > — a) DUE RET. . hed Oo~ To) c4 . , f » &F > |= i | Joe ye » me mip ESS GES GE WE EEE ORE BEEN O O i aaa Lp ° Ed & CEES SO & we BESSON meee Sr eas ae S&S ee Cw : | Form Mo. 573 a % r 7 7 * ae te ee ECLECTIC EDUCATIONAL SERIES. = * Tax design in the publication of the Eclectic Series is not merely to produce Class Books of sterling merit, for the purposes of instruction, but also to furnish them at much dower prices than are usually charged for similar text books. In the department of authorship, the services of the best educational talent of the country have been secured. McGUFFEY’S ECLECTIC PRIMER: For Little Children. McGUFFEY’S ECLECTIC SPELLING BOOK: For Primary Schools. McGUFFEY’S ECLECTIC FIRST READER: For the Youngest Pupils in Reading. McGUFFEY’S ECLECTIC SECOND READER: For Young Pupils in Reading. McGUFFEY’S ECLECTIC THIRD READER: For the Middle Classes. McGUFFEY’S ECLECTIC FOURTH READER: For the more advanced Classes. McGURFEW’S RHETORICAL GUIDE, or FIFTH READER. A Rhetorical Reading Book for the highest Classes. oc? Professor McGorrery has furnished, in the above books, unsurpassed aids for the thorough instruction of youth in Spelling and Reading. They combine, in an eminent degree, the varied excellencies of nearly all other similar school books. ARITHMETICAL COURSE: Compiled for the Eclectic Educational Series by Dr. Josera Ray, Professor of Mathematics in Woodward College. RAY’S ARITHMETIC, PART FIRST. Simple Lessons for Little Learners. RAY’S ARITHMETIC, PART SECOND. A Complete Text Book in Mental Arithmetic. RAY’S ARITHMETIC, PART THIRD. The best work extant for Common Schools and Academies. ocp Notwithstanding the many admirable text books which undoubtedly exist in this department of Mathematics, Raxy’s Aniramertics are rapidly superceding all others, as standard Class Books, in many of the best schools in our country, (1) RAYS ALGEBRA, PART FIRST, 4 On the Amalytic and Inductive methods of Instruction : with numerous practical exercises. Designed for Common Schools and Academies, By Josren Ray, M. nm Professor of Mathematics in Woodward College. — - ~ Complete in one volume 12mo., 240 pages. Tuis work has been prepared expressly for the Eclectic Educational Sees ail is the result of much labor and investigation. It is hoped that it will be found as meri-— torious in its department, as the highly popular Arfthmietics by the same author, have — already been pronounced by the educational public. E 3 Grgtifying evidence of its adaptation to the wants of Teachers and Pupils is found in © the fact that the first edition is already entirely exhausted, though it is but a few weeks 1 since its issue. The following extract from the-Preface will explain the plan of the work: “ The object has been to furnish an elementary treatise, commencing with the first prin- ciples, and leading the pupil by gradual and easy steps, to a knowledge of the elements — of the ‘science. The design has been to present these in a brief, clear, and scientific manner, so that the pupil should not be taught merely to perform a certain routine of exercises mechanically, hut to understand the why and the wherefore of every step. For ~ this purpose every rule is demonstrated, and every principle analyzed, in order that the mind of the pupil may be disciplined and strengthened, so as to prepare him, either for pursuing the study of Mathematics intelligently, or more successfully attending to any pursuit in life. “ Some Teachers may object that this work is too simple, and too easily understood. A leading object has been to make the pupil feel that he is not operating on unmeaning sym. ; hols, by means of arbitrary rules; that Algebra is both a rational and a practical subject, and that he can rely upon his reasoning and the results of his operations, with the same confidence as in Arithmetic. For this purpose he is furnished, at almost every step, with the means of testing the accuracy of the principles on which the rules are founded, and of the results which they produce. “Throughout the work the aim has been to combine the clear, explanatory methods of the French mathematicians, with the practical exercises of the English and German, so that the pupil should acquire both a practical and theoretical knowledge of the subject.” The intention to render the works comprised in the Eclectic Series the cheapest School Books extant, has not been lost sight of in fixing the price of Ray’s Algebra. From D. 8. Burson, Principal of Waynesville Academy. Ray’s Auerpra, Part First, is a work ‘sui generis,’ and more than any treatise with which I am acquainted, is calculated to make the study of Algebra popular, and will, I hope, by rendering the subject plain and intelligible, be the means of introducing this beautiful branch of mathematics into our common schools. Some may object to its sim- plicity ; but, in my opinion, this is a most desirable feature. In most treatises on Algebra there is a lamentable want of clearness—in many, even a mystifying of the subiect, the authors seeming- to think that students generally have judgments as ripe as their own. Hence a distaste on the part of pupils for this study. Prolixity on the one hand, anda dimly shadowing Sorth of principles, on the other, should be carefully guarded against by authors. This golden medium is, in my opinion, more nearly attained, both in Ray's — Arithmetics, and in this treatise on Algebra, than in any works of similar design with which I am acquainted. I give the book my unreserved commendation, and shall intro- duce it into our Academy. “ D..S.BURSONABE , ECLECTIC SERIES “NE WL Y.EMPROVED M°GUR FRY’S C.G2 RHETORICAL GUIDE; OR, FIFTH READER /£#4, THE ECLECTIC SERIES: CONTAINING ELEGANT EXTRACTS IN PROSE AND POETRY, % WITH COPIOUS RULES AND RHETORICAL EXERCISES, * St at ial ROLL LOLLY PPLE IFLR LOLI NRIOL NINE Compiled bo A. 3. PAcGiutler, 4. HA. DDLLPLPPRI PPPOE LILES LI SIO L SL LOI LOLI ILL LLL NPIL OL OL I PUBLISHERS, WINTHROP B. SMITH & CO., CINCINNATI, eoceseseostoose eeeerveetecewet ue a RIES lee i « "eal 4 - > * Me! ze, z ‘ * w = “St | a . z * i » aor. + - & it F al » Sf ~ [Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year eighteen hundred and forty-four, by Winraror B. Smrru, in the Clerk’s Office of the District ‘Court of the United States, for the District of Ohio.] Stereotyped by J. A. James, Cincinnati, Ohio. MORGAN & OVEREND Printers + . ‘SPREPACE — 2 - In the preparation of the following work, the compiler has not aimed at originality, but has endeavored to combine and present, as far as could be done in a single volume, the most val- -uable features of many popular books on the subjects of Elocu- tion and Rhetorical reading. Free use has been made, there- fore, of the works of Bell, Graham, Ewing, Pinnock, Scott, Wood, McCulloch, Enfield, Mylius, Sheridan Knowles, and others, and particularly of those of Mr. Walker, whose ‘ Elocution,’ and ‘ Rhetorical Grammar,’ constitute the foundihon on which all subsequent writers have built. And while the compiler has no the vanity to compare the present work with the freatises of sev- eral of the authors above named, he trusts he will be found to have culled from their pages everything that could be made avail- able for a school manual. The compiler has also received much valuable assistance, in the revision and preparation of the manuscript for the press, from an able and experienced teacher, who has devoted much | time and study to the subject of Elocution.* He is not with- out the hope, therefore, that his labors may prove serviceable to those engaged in the business of education. eg T. S. Prnweo, A. M., M. D., a graduate of Yale College, late Professor in the Charlotte Hall Institute, Maryland; and more recently, Professor in Mari-. etta College. : y a ; a : t ~ ' i 4 rm % y 3 3 CONTENTS. i PART I. ANALYSIS OF THE PRINCIPLES OF ELocurion. ER CCODUCTORY REMARTR ° «wade eats tie ok ue Gis yam ee, ARTICULATION 15h. SES ea ag, Te tenes pe ats eee, Slay Bailie and Remedies ore px. je “sue 0 cadet .4.ats Gee. ould Dropping or sounding too slightly, vowels. ..... 15 Sounding vowels incorrectly . . 1.0. ss 0 ww se 6 15 Suppressing or clipping final consonants. . . ....» 16 Omitting or mispronouncing whole syllables. . ... 17 Blending serimitations ys cae o's ss. ©) outs op uercnaa ede Directions and EXercis€s | Bong Us th aes ee RSIS EAI PUBSIS wie are res 0).a lc a bs Vane aac ae Emphasis and Accent Finphasis:and Inflection... @) ss ¢y te sues peed? = Etapmatic: Phrase... + sce cui» 2:97 bt wy 6 aye ie cee Serie E OUSC 76) 5 (6 le” wie. swe le <6) eee een [ysTRucTIoNs SORT PADING VEVSE cs 6 5. 0s’ SoA. a6 fee) 6 4 oe ate Ae PAE VEVETUCCILON Wig he one “sd .9- Ale ok 8 bec. wee Poetie Accent and Emphasis... 6 . ee se we ee 45 e e 2 ° e e e e e e e s e 2 e ny n 6 . 4 CONTENTS, 7 *, Pack. Pigmticg Paseo. 4 ge “aap h ase) ste Ps ae a7 EIS ji 5 te A -< paicleMO « <4) Ue aBnideat Loevaame . G49 CULTIVATION ANDHMANAGEMENT OF THE- VOICE. ., . 62.2. « Sl Strength and Compass of the Voice. . 2.0.0 % 51 Fullness or Rotundity of the Voice... 2. 2. 55 Management, of the Voices: ois 00s es «an: ts 96 Poo ua = meets t tome) bo Saye Blend tegen ee Biicemerrenereo TEACHERS, ¢ £\ 5 ope ee Foe 5 0) © score en moO és PARTS II. AND JIL. READING LESSONS IN PROSE. Lesson. Pace, ip eocmmminr OF A MOLT oc. ke ss em we ee hg See. Gh 4. Industry Necessary to form the Orator. ......H. Ware, Jr. 66 TRIE UOT on g's Os oe 4-2, 4 © ose 0 3 ore, « ANGRYMOUS. OS SeteeeOM POU. 5 5 4-0 0-6 + a ene if ne ss se cRonymous. 69 eee PCL. oi tc a 4 ts a 8 eas ee P ETEROUL. TE Dee mmeeeaee CTC... es 8 ee ew es ts LSS TOWELS. LO Dae Ome MIMBIC eg ow oe se sie ie te WB. 76 MRE AEE 5) cy cs. 6 oe tue 8s hk ce ene 8 8 EO. IG ka. Proppects o1 the:Cherokees, . °° 5 wen es prague Bh ta) Wapeces at Uiliversal Benevolence”. 07... 8 ee tee 8 Dick.” BF 18. Select Paragraphs. . .. .. 6. 6 « « © » « Johnson, Sheridan. 85 20. Character of Napoleon Bonaparte .. . ....-+.. Lhillips. 88 23. Speech before the Virginia Convention. . .. . Patrick Henry. 92 25. Speech in reproof of Mr. Pitt ....... Sir Robert Walpole. 96 See eee eo eet VV aipgle: .* oo a. See ee ee otek ths ae ee CeO IC OIE El 6... tgs ow LODETESON, "OS 39. Paul’s Defense before King Agrippa .....e..+.-..- Bible. 115 a, ie womarme. Leiler® ..* 6... eons ec ge es dackenzte, 119 a2, seep pieesteememiner ; . ff ce kl £8 PT Le ee ralasmith, V2) 44, La Fayette and Robert Raikes .’.°.°.°. 6. 6 ee ee Grimke 123 i tromen Pitlogy on Debt . * 2° 8 ee a to eo oo Anonymous. 129 “48. The Miseries of Imprisonment . . .. « « « os « © « © Sterne. 131 femme omriuament” 5 6 et 2 8S PE Walter Stott. 136 eI ee gS ST Te ote ete e ee ere ese ieen TAO 54, Massachusetts and South Carolina. . .... 2 2 « « Webster. 141 I a VES See SST Scere Oe. ee ee UT. "tee 59. Influence of Natural Scenery. . . 2... 2 2 6s « « Anonymous. 147 Pe WIEN OF TG COlseUmT Seo. ee Te eee” 8 SS a ee ewmeyA TAO 61. The Ruins of Herculaneum. . . . 2-0 0 + + + - « + Kotzebue. 151 TEE ates LL. ae eee’ eae? Bee er erally AP wleimor 66. Elijah at Mount:Horeb . . . 6 6 0 e's 0s © © © ~Krummacher. 158 67. Discontent.—An Allegory . 6 6.6 6 6 « 6 © 0 «© 0 « Addison. 159 ae CONTENTS Lesson. PaGeE, 68. ‘The Knave Unmaskels . 2. 2 2:5... 2. 6s » Shakspeare. 163 69. Colloquial Powers of Dr. Franklin. +. 4.4.0... . Wirt. 171 70. The: Sick:Scholar. =~. .°. . amr ea Ri RE i 74. The Moon and Stars.—A Fable... ... =... Montgomery. 178 Zo. Ie Sante MSs tee ee eee ee eC See 78. Impeachment of Warren Hastings. . .. . . Edinburg Review. 186 79. Speech on the Trial of Warren Hastings. ...... « Burke. 188 G2. The Veyage s 53 sos Ss ways Lt, Oe 63.70 We Same ica. cas Meenas ek Sg ge Me akg ta ge 86. An Evening Adventure... . 2... 4+ 64 « « Anonymous. 203 87. Objests of sducations foo. es ee ws 8 e> se »-Laylor. 205 88. ‘The Ambitious Youth 0). eo. ee 0 8 es ses . Burritt, 206 89. Incentives to Youthful Devotion. .......... . Taylor. 209 92. A Bee Hunt fi yt Se rae ae ate ol gos. WW. drving 208 93. ‘The Mechanical Wonders of a Feather. . ... .. . . Paley. 216 97. On the American War. . . 1... 2». « « Lord Chatham. 220 98. Supposed Speech of John Adams... . ...... - Webster. 222 99. Death and Character of Queen Elizabeth. . .. . .. . Hume. 225 102. Character of Louis Fourteenth. ........ « « Macaulay. 232 £03. A Petition stage sc 's' cs cee oa ve eres e Mep EN ok Pr GRE fe nee 106. Anecdote of the Duke of Neweastle. .. .... . Anonymous. 238 107. A Passage:in Human LMC foe ale ss es ete ong pioNa. aan ELT. RO eOTAg eg soe fog te ois > 41S es SW tebe s POIRe, aes 412. Charactefof Columbus... 2 0.00.6 ae eats W. Irving. C47 113. Reception of Columbus in Spain. . ....... . W. Irving. 250 116. Surrender of Grenada to the Spaniards. . . .... . . Bulwer. 255 119," Character of Blannerhassett <5. 5 ke 8 duwue sco ie Wirt. 261 120. Speech on the Trial of a Murderer... .. .... . . Webster. 263 125. The Little Brook and the Star ......... Lit. Souvenir. 270 BAG Uti: Sale 6 eae! o's Ye he Th Ue ‘altabihe Sarde Wu ata Wie Se «oe soles eae 129. Eulogy on Candle Light. . .......... « Charles: Lambe. 282 Rae LIAM Or GL AONE 40513 ns. ae ie el ahs oc ee mo els Lea eee 133. Character of the Puritans. ...... .. . Edinburg Review. 289 134. The Memory of Our Fathers. ......... . Dr. Beecher. 292 137. Poetry of the Bible. . . 1 6 1 6 6 6 0 0 ow eo « Dr. Spring. 295 139. The Mysterious Stranger. ........... Jane Taylor. 299 BAG. GUDG PadtNG oo. ek nse ca’ a's LR ik RE cee ae PAL eater OF Kivatiod: (i... Gop” +i ce gap eeeistin 8h Oe anak ARG ane bes. Sao Poe less IN CSL. 6 ke 6’ 0, 8 wi eh woe, <- eae Riaecaee OLE HAG SM ATIEG 5° on a he a ae: wise) al Re ha wk oy ghee Gah in amr BENE OTC. se 6 ys tis hd oe ow 6 bai hen Ge uuiaitle Ka Le cea sapien ie BOP MieeeTipion Of a OPE ss 6 tec a. ow tee a 8 ete Walter Scott. 320 151. Invasion of Switzerland. . ......... . Sydney Smith. 323 154. Evilsiof War... 2 0 ee 0.0 0 6 0 0 «0 ite -« «: Anonymous. 326 155. On the Removal of the British Troops from Boston . . Chatham. 228 157. Eulogy on La Fayette. . 1... 2 0 25 6 wo we ss Sprague, 333 158. (Gharacter of La Fayette... .\. 0 + © sts bilesie,«/« Lverdi,. aa AGB. Ge RPAPIBUE ae ois 5 ss a eee De. veces hte cps me. Velen ee CONTENTS. 9 Lesson. Page. $4 uservance of the Sabbath ...—-....06- sper ie eles Dr. Spring, 348 Pe ey OPetIMGRICANION'..) ks. Lee ee Me o OLS R ehakepeare: 351 169. Choice of Hercules... . ah oi att, Min Sy igo iy atin ke Gaby apo. 171. Speech on the Catholic (Gucauea’ wa ol ah bate Matiomlahy Wate Meare hae. Goo ie vomaaranding Army. 6 Ye bee ee a Puliexey./360 BPO OT WIENS eee! i PPT Sales sh a0 5c olhanh «te Cee ipower at Soe es es ai oy ah de ace. a eae ame Meek 180, Shakspeare. ....... Sse on ot SUD TE Res Sie Dele ORTIL OTe 181. Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress ......-. othe er acaalay.. 376 184. The Natural inferior to the Moral World. ..... . . Grimke. 381 185. Advantages of a well Educated Mind. ....... . Bigland. 382 PENI VISITS oo es wie) 0) oes ov on os apn 0) 04. 0b 8 ape AMORYMOUS.HOO4 BO seer OEE POPOTty 0) a. ac ee oy 0s on oversevas ele, elaine Diatkstone.): 388 190-sorn American. Indians. + 20°. 6 eee ip wie J Sprague. 392 192. Character of Lord browshiegitek ndneutens dias) oe Anonymous... 396 % 194. British Refugees .. 2. 0. 6 6 0 ee wee Patrick Henry. 402 195. The Fourteenth Congress. . .....-.....K. HH. Wilde. 404 198: Seale of (Animal Existence. . . ssese[s wes. se «6 Spectator. 411 Perce cmaet ar (ae DCA oa 26 oie fe de un ie se cetiele Ve cravat Oseian... 446 202. A Republic of Prairie Dogs. . . 2... 2 «+ © 3 « W. Irving. 417 205. Trimemaienry and Falstaff...) «, 6) «5 eile se). Meuhakspeare. :419 204. Combat between a Crusader and a Saracen .. . . Walter Scott. 422 Ue gg si ag 6 0 ew ee 8 4 eae Bishop teter..428 BOP AM MCPRIPIDWIECK 5 5 os aya 8 ws 0.8 scele ie 0, « Anonymous. 429 PROT EMER IMIOTySCIONCE -, ¢ 4 oF 6. 829.6 $5 be bp lve da Aten 430 215. The Discontented Pendulum .......... .dane Taylor. 438 217. Scene from the Poor Gentleman ...... «+++ Colman. 442 Be esmtIOr OPE CAPANNON 6 5. a 3c te 6 0g mitiaetey sje, Dubwere 449 221. The Family of Marco Bozzaris . . . . . « «+ « «© « » Stevens. 453 223. Duties of American Citizens . . . « « « © + + + © «© «© Webster. 458 224. Importance of the Union. .:. . . «+ « w+ © © © « « Webster. 460 228. Westminster Abbey. .... gis ee Win le ney of auaddison. 466 230. Grateful Old Age.—Soliloquy of Pateteon : «wipes jap go (reaner: 469 231. New Year’s Night-of an Unhappy Man. ..... . . Richter. 471 234. God Blesses the Industrious. . . 1.6 eo ee 0 es © Laylor. 476 POETICAL LESSONS Lesson. Page. meiynin vo tue Night Wind » 2 ote at oe ae Oe oe a Wilson, 62 meena Cratarget Of Dodere .°.°- 5°52 6 go Coe ekg eas "Southey, 68 8. Tothe Dead... . Se a eS ee ate | ee ee Ore eee Terra Tt 9. The Village Pivetontir«; et et a at eto. ew Sed We Longe. a3 Por eon or Lhe Stars. 2's ES ee ee A , Bepante 79 14. Sorrow and Hope. . ... +... » Herder’s Hebrew Poetry. 80 10 CONTEN'IS LEsson. 5 PAGE. boa hes ott of: Prayers ser.) 20 ee op H.W. Longfellow. 211 91. The Justice and Power of God . +» » Noyes’ Translation of Job. 212 94 "The Nose.and the Eyes; sneintotestiny &. . . .. Cowper. 217 95. The Well of St. Keyne .. 1... 502+ oe 0 « « Southey, 218 OG. eLeny on Madam Blaze oie’ le 0 we, tts e . » Goldsmith. 219 100. Fall of Cardinal Wolsey... . oe 6 + «© « Shakspeare. 228 101. Death and Character of Gi dthal se eel s+ ee « « Shakspeare. 230 104. Address toa Mummy ... 2.65 6s «2 0 6 « Anonymous. 235 105. Paper.—A Conversational Pleasantry . .... . Franklin, 236 LOR. AMM IODATLCTLIN Neos 50's 6 te ie ip ® wo ce “fae Benjamin. 242 CONTENTS. 11 LESSON. PAGE. TOD NITRO StS 60 0c ba oe cee oe, Loe oe ee oe cs ote oe an (MOR Bryant, 243 Simro Durel- Yard... ke nw on te See to o te MP amisin. 245 Wiigemattic.of Lyry. se ek ee ee ee OE OM aceilays 252 195.clord Ulin Daughter. ... . 2. a. SOT Campbell. ‘254 117. The Last Sigh of the Moor..-. 2... .. .. Diss Jewsbury. 258 118. The Approach of a Devastating Army .......-+ ss Bible, 260 P97 ihe’ Dreain of Clarence... -o.. +... dl Oar PES Shakspeare. 265 RR pre ee as ek kk ea te IL RS DN BW alls. 207 123.,.Adam's*Morning Hymn. « «6 6 0 ee ee ele 8) 6 § Milton. 267 Wat ger pet Ol Arprily ., osc lies ove ot ST ROR” OY) Warton..269 127 .ohliynm. onthe Seasons . . . 1 6 oe oe wo a 8 SSL hompson. 278 128. ofhél Qiack:....5...5% sk ch toe oi eh rete o WS Adonymous. 280 Eipaeepeeopne to ihe Sun’... 1... we ie fase te He ots 6 ee SMP eretialZS0 Pacoeaririess’ 4 wm. sw oP teh Om wn ete Byes eDyrons 288 135. The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers. ..... . . Mrs. Hemans. 293 TAS WADOM OE AtMerTation .*. ee 9 oe te BLS . Mrs. Hemans. 294 138. Song of Moses after the nel a of the Red Sea. . . Exodus xv. 298 142. Apostrophe to Niagara ...... 2.2...» Mrs. Sigourney. 305 143. God,the Author of All hina: el #3: elaine @ is: 0 Leomigamery. SUF Pee eee ne la ack see were se) duet, Souvenir. 313 146eq ‘The Philosopher’s;Scalea’...0.°5 woe 8 ee Vane Taylors 317 1497 hepBattle of Blenheim “0... 006. (ef e) 6 6) esa ws Southey. 318 Beer aeeron, Talayeres s: ho, os eje s,s oy 0 wee etree eo Byrom’ 325 Posy mee Wy Eriol Ss Wreatlt .. 6. 6 F053) 0 8s ee ie ele Anonymous. 326 156. Edward and Warwick . .... .. Translated from the French. 330 1597 eV Ce OF MPMI... 0) oi ae ah Sas ote) ec Mtg. Hemans: 338 ee re a oad 6. 0 ey eg iacy wind altagews pe yan Dhepers S40 DGTegisare TE POPLINE se) «o's Yo iw el mts. 6) wo. ao JU rs, Sigourney. (341 te NE ele ks once 5: mith enuedigns 0) uae Cowper. 343 Bee Boevermeirc eimenenineg.. 2... se ste ee A. Ke White. 350 166. What is Time?..... ton eas 6k 5e ehed Jo's. sie «, AUT ORCH 4g cnO 168% Death and the Drunkard . .......-+.«.++.+. Anonymous. 352 Beene PACT GMs sg 8 hele ee st 8 ew we Dryden. 356 BVO Pere OR TUE og oe ve oes Sh ee Shakspeare. 362 I7te Remorse or Hing wont . . wk 1 + kee ww + oe SHOKSpeare. 363 MMI WTO ee ec, ee ye ek wo ee 8 oe + LwaTdS. 31h PuarmyonnOUier s\EMMTO l,m tee Cowper. 372 ioe eevenmne Wind, J e.g ee 8 WC. Bryant. 373 poe me rooaness Of God: . a a Re ee Psalm citi. 378 183. God seen in the Phenomena of Nature. ..... W. G. Clark. 379 187. The Traveler at the Source of the Nile. . ... . Drs. Hemans. 386 188. What Coristitutes a State. .... oo « « « Sir William Jones. 387 frioattlo. oF Beal’ an-Duine. 6.0. wee Se ee . Walter Scott. 393 i93. The Quarrel of Brutus and Gnome Per ati eee . « « « Shakspeare. 399 196. Antony’s Oration over the Dead Body of Cesar . . . Shakspeare. 406 Poeun at Sed win. 5 ss, stat Maadien vie) a)» (6 Carrington. 409 199. Godiseen.in All Things. . . 2 20 5 eis 6 6 «6 « Anonymous. 413 200. Resolution of Ruth, . 2. 6 se e+ 6 « « Christian Examiner. 414 12 CONTENTS. Lesson. Pace. 205. ‘Liochiyar oes. 6 swe leo. bi oy vie eeu enebes st. Rte ae 200. PET NWOCALON 3.6 ian pe pce oe rrr ne reo 207. The Coral Grove. ... artes a) o> . . « Percival. 427 211. The Victorious March of God hig. ects Fender’ tian Poetry. 432 212. God the Defense of his People. ........ . .« Isaiah aliii. 433 213. Apostrophe to Mont Blanc... .. 2... Coleridge. 435 214. Thunder-Storm on the Alps. ..... Shas ; SBE: 436 216. 218. 220. 222. 225. 226. 227. 229. 232. 233. 235. Address t6.a Shred of Linen ........6..:... Mrs, Sinaia Star-Light on Marathon. .......... . R. Montgomery. Songiol ‘the Greek Bard..: 6.500). tej sis ceo! dlvns te Mele eee IMERRCOSBOZZATIS.) 6a 0 a Sale! te eis, “0: » GusMeMle SB Gaieieaens Men eticaAd lag eset ea ws dolls be ck be ue J. R. Drake. RNC re NWI,” 41sec ue Teel de tues hile ay joe ae et So eeeretoms Rome - - - - ee a ee The Three Be aici co see (ee =) 2 © Mrs. Thrale. The Closing Year - - - - - - - - + += G.D. Prentice. The Last Man -- - ~ = + = - = = = + + = Campbell. God’s Goodness to Such as Fear Him - - - - - Psalm xazvii. 440 447 451 457 461 463 464 467 472 474 . 479 M°GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE. PART FIRST. ANALYSIS OF THE PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. Tue first step to be taken by one who desires to become a good reader or speaker, is to acquire a habit of distinct articula- tion. Without this, the finest voice, the utmost propriety of inflection, and all the graces of articulation, fail to please. The habit of defective articulation is generally contracted in the first stages of the learner’s progress, and arises either from indolence, which produces an indistinct and drawling utterance, or from too great haste, which leads to running words together, and to clipping them by dropping unaccented words and final consonants. Habits of this kind, frequently—indeed, generally, become so inveterate by the time the pupil is sufficiently advanced to use a work on rhetorical reading, or any treatise on elocution, that the most constant and unremitting attention is necessary on the part of both teacher and pupil, in order to correct them. Nothing but a resolute determination to succeed, and faithful practice upox exercises selected with especial reference to the end in view, can accomplish this object. ‘There must be added to this, a constant watchfulness against relapse, when the learner comes to lessons of a more general character. ; A monotonous style of reading and speaking, is often formed at the same early age. ‘The little reader is apt to prolong the sound of the word he has just deciphered, until he can “spell : out’? the one which follows;—and if he is hurried from one lesson to another, without having time given him to practice upon that with which he is already familiar, his progress may seem rapid ;—-but he is not learning to read, in the proper sense 13 cy i: Rae M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL “UIDE : of the word, that is, to give utterance to words with that modifi- cation of voice which their-relation to each other demands ;—he is only becoming familiar with the appearance of words, so as to call their names readily. A child should first be exercised on a single lesson, until he can name all the words at sight, care being taken that he shall wnderstand what he reads, and then he should be instructed to give the proper inflection and emphasis, (which, before bad habits are formed, he will readily do,)—and when this is accomplished, and notbefore, he may be permitted to pass on to another lesson. ; But if a heavy and monotonous manner has become habitual, it can only be remedied by going somewhat to the other extreme, and reducing every thing to the standard of inflection and emphasis furnished by animated conversation. ‘This must be patiently persevered in. Neither teacher nor pupil should be discouraged, if, at first, the attempt at increased propriety of arti- culation and inflection should result in a style of reading only a little less artificial than the one they are endeavoring to break up. Let them peRsEvERE, until a correct habit has been formed, and nature. will show herself, and all stiffness and formality will ultimately disappear. All that can be accomplished within the limits of a work like this, is to. point out the errors and improprieties into -which the’ pupil is most likely to fall, and furnish the most important rules for his guidance, with illustrations and copious examples for his practice. ‘The intelligent teacher will find new examples in every lesson, and by constantly referring his pupils to the princi- ples here laid down, and illustrating them in new and attractive ways, may render their application easy and habitual. The subject of Elocution, so far as it is deemed applicable to a work of this kind, will be considered under the following heads, VIZ; ARTICULATION, INFLECTION, . ACCENT AND Empuasis, . INSTRUCTIONS FOR READING VERSE, . DirecTIONS FOR THE CULTIVATION AND MANAGEMENT OF THE VOICE, 6. GESTURE. Questions. 1. What is the first step to be taken in forming the habit of correct reading? 2. How are faults in articulation generally contracted ? 3. How are these to be corrected? 4. How is a monotonous style often formed? 5. How is it to beavoided? 6. After it has become habitual, how is it to be remedied? 7. What is it designed to accomplish in the present work? 8. Name the different heads under which the subject of Elocution is to be considered. ; OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 3g 15 -, SECTION I. ARTICULATION. I. Faults to be Remedied, and Exercises. oe Bsrore passing on to the rules and exercises, by meaus of which it is hoped the pupil will be able to acquire a good articu- lation, it will be proper to point out a few of those improptieties, into»which a careless or badly taught reader or speaker is mest likely to fall. The most common and objectionable are the following, Viz: 1. Dropping or sounding too slightly the unaccented vowels, and such as have only the secondary accent ;——thus, Com-pa-ny is incorrectly pronownc- | col-o-ny col’ny. ed comp’ny. har-mo-ny ~harm’ny. gran-a-ry gran’ry. a-ban-don + a-ban-d’n. 1m-mor-tal im-mor-t’l, reg-u-lar reg’ lar. mock-e-ry_ - mock’ry. par-tic-u-lar “.__ par-tie’ lar. lam-ent-a-tion lam’n-ta-tion. | sin-gu-lar sin-g’ lar. in-clem-ent in-clem’nt. cal-cu-la-tion cal-el’a-sh’n. des-ti-ny des-t’ny. cir-cu-la-tion “-eir-c’la-sh’n u-ni-vers-i-ty u-ni-vers’ty. na-tion “-na-sh’n. un-cer-tain un-cer-t’n. - oc-ca+sion is oe: *€a- sh’n. 2. Similar to the preceding fault is that of ineorrecth y sound- ing the unaccented vowel; as in the following examples. Par-tic-u-lar is incorrectly pronoune- | ef-fort uf-fort. ed per-tik-e-lwr. ter-ri-ble twr-rub-ble. lam-ent-a-tion lum-wn-ta-tion. | sen-si-ble sen-sub-ble. e-tern-al e-tern-wl. fel-o-ny _ fel-er-ny. ob-sti-nate ob-stun-it. mel-o-dy : mel-er-dy. de-cent de-sunt. > fel-low-ship fel-ler-ship. sys-tem sys-tuwm, or cal-cu-late cal-ker-late, sys-tim. cir-cu-lar cir-ky-ler. e-vent uv-ent. reg-u-lar reg-gy-lur EXERCISES. 8 SR x: In the following sentences, the vowels most likely to be drop- ped or incorrectly sounded are put in 2¢falics. He attended divine service regularly. This is my particular request. He gradwated at one of the Eastern Unzversities. She zs unzversally esteemed. George is sensible of his fault. This calculation zs incorrect. His fears were justified by the event. What a terrible calamity. I will swpport the Constztution of thé United States. The whole natzon lamented him. 16 M'GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE His eye through vast zmmensity can pierce. Observe these nice dependencies. He is a formidable adversary. Away! presumptuous man. I wil! go and be reconciled to my brother. He zs generous to his friends. A tempest desolated the land. His reputation is ruzned. He preferred death to servitude. God 7s the author of all things viszble and invisible. He is a man of eminent merit. ixpect not my commendation. Caius’ countenance fell. He has contracted a bad habit. Tell me the difference between articulatéon and utterance. He was delighted with the exhzbition. 3. Another very common fault is that of suppressing the Jinal consonants, or failing to give them sufficient distinctness. EXAMPLES. John an’ James are frien’s 0’ my father. Boun’ han’ an’ foot. Gi’ me some bread. Tuf’s 0’ grass. The want 0’ men is occasioned by the want 0’ money. We seldom fin’ men o’ principle to ac’ thus. Beas’ an’ creepin’ things were foun’ there. Thrus’ thy'sickle into the harves’. Thou has’ thousan’ frien’s on thy side. Evenin’ an’ mornin’, an’ at noon o’ night. - EXERCISES. He learned to write. Did you find any birds’ nests? He made his meal of an apple and an egg. The masts of the ship were cast down. He entered the lisfs at the head of his troops. Be ye wise as serpenés, and harmless as doves. He is the merriest fellow in existence. I regard not the world’s opinion. Such were his commands. He has three assistanés. Thou thoughtesf that I was suen a one as thyself, OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. © 17 The deptis of the sea. She trus¢s too much to servanis. He halts between two opinions. His attemp¢s were fruitless. That race of animals is extinef. He chanced to see a bee hovering over a flower. 4; A fourth impropriety consists in omitting or mispro- nouncing whole syllables. ‘This generally occurs in long words, and in those syllables which are not under the accent. EXAMPLES. Lit-er-a-ry is ¢mproperly pronounced ne-ces-sa-ry i co-tem-po-ra-ry ‘° ex-tem-po-ra-ry ‘ het-e-ro-ge-ne-ous ** in-quis-it-o-ri-al ¢ mis-er-a-ble v3 tol-er-a-ble + con-fed-e-ra-cy ac-com-pa-ni-ment 66 66 EXERCISES. lit-ry. nes-ces-ry or nes-ry. co-tem-po-ry. ex-tem-po-ry. het-ro-ge-nous. in-quis-it-o-ral. mis-rer-ble. tol-rer-ble. con-fed-rer-cy. ac-comp-ner-ment. He devoted his attention chiefly to literary pursuits. He is a miserable creature. He is a venerable man. His faults were owing to the degeneracy of the times. The manuscript was undecipherable. The confederacy continued for many years. His spirit was unconguerable. It was a grand accompaniment. Luther and Melancthon were cotemporaries. Great industry was necessary for the performance of the task. 5. Another very great fault in articulation, is that of blending the end of one word with the beginning of the next. 1 court thy gif sno more. “Bag sof gold. Han d’me the slate. EXAMPLES. The grove swere God sfir stemples. This worl dis all a fleeting show, For man sillusion given. % 18 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE My hear ¢was-a mirror, that show’ devery treasure, It reflecte deach beautiful blosso mof pleasure. EXERCISES. The magistrates ought to arrest the rogues speedily Life flutters convulsed in his quivering limbs. The whirlwinds sweep the plain. He went over the mountain. Linked to thy side, through every chance I go. But had he seen an actor in our days enacting Shakspeare. Which is the way ? What awful sounds assail my ears? We caught a glimpse of her. Into the woods he takes a stroll. Crowded houses and new pieces. Old age has on their temples shed her silver frost. Our eagle shall rise ’mid the whirlwinds of war, And dart through the dun cloud of battle his eye. Then honor shall weave of the laurel a crown, That beauty shall bind on the brow of the brave. QuESTIONS.—1. What is the first source of defective articulation that isnamed? 2. Giveexamples. 3. What is the second? 4. Give examples. 5. Name the third, and give examples. 6. What is the fourth? 7. Give examples. 8. Describe the fifth fault, and illustrate by examples. Il. Directions for acquiring a good Articulation, and Exercises. We now pass to the consideration of those methods by which improprieties, like those already pointed out, may be avoided, and a distinct and forcible articulation acquired. Articulation is defined by Webster to be, “The forming of words by the human voice.”” Words being made up of one or more sounds, represented in written language by letters, the first object of the student of elocution should be, to acquire the power of uttering all those elements with distinctness and force; for if the elementary sounds are but imperfectly formed, the entire word must be indistinct. Practice upon these elementary sounds should be persevered in, until the learner has acquired a perfect control of his organs of speech. ‘This exercise is one of great importance, especially to those who design becoming public speakers, as, in addition to the -habit of correct articulation thus formed, it imparts a strength and efficiency to the voice, which cannot be acquired in any other way. As the vowels are the most prominent elements of all words, OF THE ELECTIC*SERIES. 19 as well as the most easily uttered, it is proper that they should constitute the first lesson. Vowel Hlements. a as heard in fate, muin, say, they, fecnt, weigh, break, &c. a : 4. Emphasis. See Rule II., and Article on Emphasis and In- flection, page 42. Rute II. The language of emphasis inclines to the use of the falling inflection. EXAMPLES. 1. Imperative Mood. The combat deepens: On‘, ye brave, Who rush to glory or the grave! Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave’! And charge‘ with all thy chivalry. Did ye not hear it?—No ; ’t was but the wind, Or the car rattling o’er the stony street; On‘ with the dance! let joy be unconfined. Charge’, Chester, charge’, On‘, Stanley, on*, Were the last words of Marmion. Now set’ the teeth, and stretch‘ the nostril wide; Hold hard’ the breath, and bend‘ up every spirit To its full’height! Qn‘, on‘, you noble English, Whose blood is fetched from fathers of war-proof ! Remark. When the imperative mood is used to express gentle entreaty, the rising inflection is sometimes used ; as, Let him come back’; Leave me not' in this extremity. So also, desire is often expressed by the rising inflec- tion; as, O that they understood this', that they would consider their danger", 2. Emphatie Exclamation. * Fierce they fought : The stranger fell; and with his dying breath Declared his name and lineage. Mighty God"! The soldier cried, my brother! oh‘, my brother‘! * Thou slave’! thou wretch’! thou toward! Thou little valiant, great in villainy! Ah me’! how weak a thing The heart of woman is! 28 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 3. Emphatic repetition. And the king was much moved, and went up to the chamber over the gate, and wept; and as he went, thus he said; O my son Absa- lom’! my son’, my son Absalom"! would to God I had died for thee, O Absalom’, my son’, my son"! 4, Simple emphasis. Deem our nation brutes no longer, Till some reason ye shall find Worthier of regard and stronger, Than the color‘ of our kind. Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side? Been sworn my soldier’? bidding me depend Upon thy* stars, thy‘ fortune, and thy strength’? Remark. Emphasis, in some few cases, reverses the principle of this rule, and requires the rising tnflection, apparently for the purpose of calling atten- tion to the idea, by an unusual manner of expressing it. See Art. on Em- phasis, pages 39, 42. Rute Ill. Interrogative sentences, and members of sentences which cannot be answered by “ yes’’ or *‘ no,”’ terminate with the falling inflection. EXAMPLES. How many books did he purchase"? What see‘ you, that you frown so heavily‘? Why shares he not our hunter’s fare"? They tell thee that thou art wise; but what does wisdom avail with the poor‘? None flatter the poor. What is the usual consequence of this foolish regard to the opin- ions of others‘? What the end of thus acting in compliance with cus- tom, in opposition to one’s own convictions of duty"? But how long’ will’it be, ere you surmount every difficulty, and draw around you patrons and friends, and rise in the confidence and support of all who know‘ you? My fault is past.—But oh! what form of prayer Can serve my tur"? EXCEPTION. , When questions which would naturally take the falling in. flection, become emphatic, or are repeated, they often receive the rising in- flection ; as, ‘‘ Where’ did you say he has gone’?”’ ‘‘T’o whom' do you im- pute the blame ?’’ ; - valet OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 29 RISING INFLECTION. Rute IV. ‘The introductory part of a sentence, where the sense is left incomplete, generally has the rising inflection. EXAMPLES. A chieftain to the Highlands bound’, Cries’, ‘‘ Boatman, do not tarry.” If you will now be persuaded to entertain the like sentiments , you may yet recall those epportunitics which your supineness has ne- glected. If, then, his Providence’, Out of our evil seek to bring forth good’, Our labor must be to prevent that end. As he spoke without fear of consequences’, so his actions were marked with the most unbending resolution. He’, born for the universe’, narrowed his mind, And to party gave up what was meant for mankind. - I’, from the orient to the drooping west’, Making the wind my post-horse’, still unfold The acts commenced on this ball of earth. Nature being exhausted’, he quietly resigned himself to his fate. As the whirlwind passeth’, so is the wicked no more. The nominative addressed, is included under this head. _O Warwick’, I do bend my knee with thine, And, in this vow’, do chain my soul to thine. Brother’, give me thy hand; and, gentle Warwick’, Let me en:brace thee in my weary arms. O Lancaster’, I fear thy overthrow. * Exceptions. 1. When the antithesis, or relative emphasis requires that the introductory clause should receive the failing inflection. See Rule IX. 2. Where the nominative addressed i is emphatic or commences a speech. 30 M’GUFFEY’S RHETCRICAL GUIDE EXAMPLES OF EXCEPTION. If you care not for your property‘, you surely love your life’. If you will not labor for your own bh a a you should regard that of your children’. It is your place to obey’, not to command’. Though by such a course, he should not destroy his reputation’, he will lose all self-respect’. O Hubert’, Hubert‘, save me from these men. Romans, countrymen, and lovers‘, hear me for my cause, &c. Rute V. Negative sentences, or members of sentences, gen erally end with the rising inflection. EXAMPLES. My Lord, we could not have had such designs’; they would have been unworthy both of us and you. It shields not only the dust of the humble’; but the titled and the great are beneath its spreading branches. It is not sufficient that you wish’ to be useful; you must nurse those wishes into action. — It is not for your silver bright’; But for your winsome lady. ‘ I did not mean to*complain’, I believe I am contented with my lot. You need not be alarmed’, or offended’. You are not left alone’, to climb the steep ascent’;—God is with you, who never suffers the spirit which rests on him to fail’, nor th man who seeks his favor, to seek in vain". Not such wert thou of yore’, ere yet the ax Had smitten the old woods. Do not slight him because of his humility’, but cherish him for his many virtues. Ex2erticns. 1. Emphasis; as, ‘‘ We repeat it, we do not‘ desire to produce discord ; we do not‘ wish to kindle the flames of a civil war.’ OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 81 =) 2. General propositions ; as, ‘‘ God is not the author of sin'.’’ ‘«'Thou shalt not kill’.’”’ * Rutz VI. When a sentence closes with the falling inflection, the rising inflection should generally be used, for the sake of harmony, at the last pause before the close. EXAMPLES. Charles was extravagant’, and by this means’ became poor’. He was a great statesman’, and he was an amiable man’. The mountains will be dissolved‘, and the earth will vanish’, but God will never cease to exist’. Illustrations of this principle may also be found under rule XI. Remark. Emphasis may reverse this rule. See examples of exception to Rule IV. . Rute Vil. Interrogative sentences ana members of senten- ces, which can be answered by * yes’’ or ‘*no,”? must generally close with the rising inflection. EXAMPLES. Can you repeat the seventh rule’? Has John returned’? Will no one help or save’? What! canst thou not spare me half an hour’? ‘‘Ts he in the army, then’?”’ said my uncle Toby. If it be admitted, that strict integrity is not always the shortest way to success, is it not the surest’, the happiest’, the best’? Will not a fair character’, an approving conscience’, and an ap- .oving God, be an abundant compensation for a little delay’? Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens, To wash this crimson hand as white as snow’? Exception. When questions, which require the rising inflection, become garticularly emphatic, by repetition or otherwise, the falling inflection is often used; as, ‘‘ Can‘ you be so blind to your interest ? will‘ you rush headlong to destruction ?’’ ‘‘ I ask again, is‘ there no hope of reconciliation? must‘ we abandon all our fond anticipations ?’’ 32 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE Remark. The answers to all questions, though they generally have the fall- ‘ ing inflection, are governed, with regard to their inflections, by the principles applicable to other sentences. Rous VIII. Teta exclamations, and words repeated as a kind of echo to the thought, require the rising inflection. - EXAMPLES. Ha’! laughest thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn 2 g : » my And this fellow calls himself a painter. A painter’! He is not fit to daub the sign of a paltry ale-house. And this man is called a statesman. “* ai OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. Breathes forth: meanwhile, the boldest sailor’s cheek Blanches; stout courage fails; young childhood’s shriek, Awfully piercing, bursts; and woman’s fears Are speechless. With a low, insidious moan, Rush past the gales that harbinger thy way, And hail thy advent; gloom the murky clouds Darker around ; and heave the maddening waves Higher their crested summits. With a glare, Unvailing but the clouds and foaming sea, Flashes the lightning; then, with doubling peal, Reverberating to the gates of heaven, Rolls the deep thunder, with tremendous crash, Sublime as if the firmament were rent Amid the severing clouds that pour their storms, Commingling sea and sky. Disturbed, arise The monsters of the deep, and wheel around Their mountainous bulk unwieldy, while aloft, Poised on the feathery summit of the wave, Hangs the frail bark, its howlings of despair Lost on the mocking storm. ‘Then frantic, thou Dost rise, tremendous Power, thy wings unfurled ; Unfurled, but not to succor nor to save: Then is thine hour of triumph; with a yell Thou rushest on; and with a maniac tone Sing’st in the rifted shroud; the straining mast Yields, and the cordage cracks. Thou chumest the deep To madness, tearing up the yellow sands From their profound recesses, and dost strew The clouds around thee, and within thy hand Tak’st up the billowy tide, and dashest down ‘The vessel to destruction ! She ts not !— But when the morning lifts her dewy eye, And to a quiet calm the elements, Subsiding from their fury, have dispersed, There art thou, like a satiate conqueror, Recumbent on the murmuring deep, thy smiles All unrepentant of the savage wreck.—WILSon. LESSON ITI. THE CATARACT OF LODORE How does the water Come down at Lodoret? From its sources which well In the tarn on the fell; From its fountains In the mountains, Its rills and its gills; 63 “ * * M'GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE >. Through moss and through brake, It runs and it creeps, For awhile, 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; Rising and leaping, Sinking and creeping, ; Swelling and sweeping, Showering and springing, Flying and flinging, Writhing and ringing, Eddying and whisking, Spouting and frisking, Turning and twisting, Around and around With endless rebound: Smiting and fichting, A sight to delight in, Confounding, astounding, Dizzying and deafening the ear with its sound: Collecting, projecting, Receding and speeding, And shocking and rocking, And darting and parting, And threading and spreading, And whizzing and hissine, And dripping and skipping, And hitting and splitting, And shthing and twining, And ratiling and battling, OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 65 And shaking and quaking, And pouring and roaring, And waving and raving, And tossing and crossing, And flowing and going, And running and stunning, And foaming and roaming, And dinning and spinning, And dropping and hopping, And working and jerking, And gugeling and struggling, And heaving and cleaving, And modning and groaning; And glittering and frittering, And gathering and feathering, And whitening and brightening, And quivering and shivering, And hurrying and skurrying, And thundering and floundering; Dividing and gliding and sliding, And falling and brawling and sprawling, - And driving and riving and striving, And sprinkling and twinkling and wrinkling, And sounding and bounding and rounding, And bubbling and troubling and doubling, And grumbling and rumbling and tumbling, And clattering and battering and shattering; Retreating and beating and meeting and sheeting, Delaying and straying and playing and spraying, Advancing and prancing and glancing and dancing, Recoiling, turmotling and toiling and boiling, And gleaming and Streaming and steaming and beaming, And rushing and flushing and brushing and gushing, And flapping and rapping and clapping and slapping, And curling and whirling and purling and twirling, And thumping and plumping and bumping and jumping, 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.—Souruey. ~~ 66 . MGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE EXERCISES ON INFLECTION The rising inflection is used, 4 When the sense is incomplete. Rule IV. . At the last pause but one in a sentence. Rule VI. The falline enfleciton 1 is used, . 1. Where the sense is complete. Rule I. The above principles are Ulustrated in the iolleyiaaanons. ‘They are of nee extensive application. Scarcely a sentence oc- curs, in which they do not govern some of the inflections. Whatever cther inflections may be proper, they are mostly passed over unmarked, until we come to the proper place for noting them. Yn. these exercises, the inflection is generally placed on the most important word in the clause, and thus, to a considerable extent, in- dicates also the proper emphasis. LESSON IV. INDUSTRY. NECESSARY TO FORM TILE ORATOR. ‘Tue history of the world is full of testimony’ to prove how much depends upon industry’; not an eminent orator has lived’ but is an example’ of it.. Yet, in contradiction to all this’, the almost universal feeling’ appears to be, that industry can effect nothing’, that eminence is the result of accident, and that.every one must be content to remain‘ just ot -he may happen to be. Thus multitudes’, who come forward as teachers and guides’, suffer themselves to be satisfied with the most indifferent attainments, _and a miserable mediocrity’, without so much as inquiring how they might rise higher’, much less making any attempt’ to rise. Por any other art’ they would serve an apprenticeship’, and would be ashamed to practice it in public’, before. they have learn- edit. If any one would sing’, he attends a master’, and is drill- ed’ in the very See. principles’; and, only after the most laborious process’, dares to exercise his voice in public. ‘This he does’, though he “he scarce any thing to learn but the mechan- _ ‘ical -exect ation of what lies’, in sensible forms’, before his eye: Bat the aieed ne speaker’, who is to invent as well as to uiter’, to carry on an operation of the mind as well as to preduce sound’, enters: upon the Her without preparatory d discipline’, and then wonders that he ae ly.he were learning to play on the flute for public exhibaaane what hours and Rey would he spend in giving facility to his fingers’, and aatede the power of the sweetest and most pressive execution’. If he were devoting himself to the or what months and years would he labor’,that he might kno compass\,: md be master of its keys’, ath be able to draw out OF THE ELECTIC SERIES. 67 will’, all its various combinations of harmonious sounds’, and its full richness and delicacy of expression’. And yet,he will fancy’, that the grandest, the most various, the most expressive of all iustruments’, which the infinite Creator has fashioned’ by the union of an intellectual soul with the powers of speech’, may be played upon without study or practice’. He comes’ to it a mere uninstructed tyro‘, and thinks to manage all its stops’, and to eommand the whole compass of its varied and comprehensive power. fe finds himself a bungler in the attempt’, is mortified at lis failure’, and settles in his mind forever’,that the attempt is vain’. Success in every art’, whatever may be the natural talent’, is always the reward of industry and pains’. But the instances are many, of men of the finest natural genius’, whose beginning has promised mueh’, but who have degenerated wretchedly as they advanced’, because they trusted to their gifts’, and made no effort to improve’. ‘That there have never been other men of equal endowments with Cicero and Demosthenes’, none would venture to suppose’. If those great men had been content, like others’, to continue as they began’, and had never made their persevering efforts for improvement’, their countries would have been little benefited by their genius‘, and the world’ would never have known their fame’, ‘hey would have been lost: in the undistinguished crowd’ that sank to oblivion around’ them. Of how many more’ will the same remark prove true! What encouragement is thus given’ to the industrious‘! With such en- couragement’, how inexcusable is the negligence which suffers the most interesting and important truths “to seem heavy and aul and fall ineffectual to the ground’, through mere sluegishness in the delivery’! How unworthy of one who pe erforis the high function of a religious instructor’, upon whom depends’, in a great measure’, the religious ubwieice® and devotional senti- ment’, and final character’ of many fellow beings, to imagine that he can worthily discharge this great concern by occasionally talk-) ing for an hour’, he ows not Tow. and in a manner he has tak- en no pains to render correct’, or attractive’;, and which, simply — through that want of command over himself, which study’ would give, is immethodical’, verbose’, inaccurate’, feeble’, trifling * rr has been said of a great preacher, att 4 That truths divine’ come mended from his tongue’. Alas! they come ruined and worthless from such a man as this". They lose that holy energy, by which they are to convert the soul’, and purify man for heaven’, and sink, in interest’ and ‘effi- eaey’, below the level of those.principles’, which govern the or- dinary affairs of this lower world’..\—H. Warm, Jr. . 97 66 * Remark. In the last paragraph, the words ‘‘knowledge,’’ ‘‘ sentiment,” ‘¢ character,’’ ‘ being,”’ and ‘“immethodical,’’ ‘‘ verbose,’ &c., are embraced Ee yt under the re for series. See Rule XI. eo eh 68 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE LESSON V. ROMANTIC STORY ‘THERE is a cavern in the island of Hoonga’, one of the Tonga islands’, in the South Pacific Ocean’; which can only be entered by diving into the sea‘, and which has no other light’, than that which is reflected from the bottom of the water. A young chief discovered it accidentally’, while diving after a turtle’, and the use which he made of his discovery’, will probably be sung in more than one European language‘, so beautifully is it adapt- ed’for a tale in verse’. ee There was a tyrannical governor at Vavaoo’, against whom one of the chiefs formed a plan of insurrection’. It was betray- ed‘, and the chief’, with all his family and kin’, was ordered to be destroyed’. He had a beautiful daughter,’ betrothed to a chief of high rank‘, and she’ also was included’ in the sentence. The youth who had found the cavern’, and had kept the secret to him- self, loved’ this damsel. He told her the danger in time’, and per- suaded her to trust herself to him’. They got into a canoe’; the place of her retreat! was described to her on the way’ to it,—these women swim like mermaids‘,—she dived after him’, and rose in the cavern’. In the widest part’ it is about fifty feet’; its medium height being about the same’, and it is hung with stalactites. Here’, he brought her the choicest food’, the finest clothing’, mats for her bed’, and sandal oil to perfume’ herself with. Here’, _ he visited her’ as often as was consistent with prudence’, and here, as may be imagined’, this Tonga Leander’, wooed and won the maid’, whom’, to make the interest complete’, he had long loved in secret’, when he had no hope. Meantime’ he prepared’, with all his dependants’, male and female’, to emigrate in sceret to the Fiji * islands’, The intention was so well concealed’, that they embarked in - safety‘, and his people asked’ him, at the point of their departure, if he would not take with him a Tonga wife’; and, accordingly’, to their great astonishment’, having steered close to the rock’, he desired them to wait while he went into the sea to fetch’ her, jumped overboard’, and just as they were beginning to be seri- ously alarmed at his long disappearance’, he rose with his mis- tress from the water’. ‘This story is not deficient in that which _all such stories should have’, to be perfectly delightful—~a fortun- ate conclusion’. ‘The party remained at the Fijis’ till the op- pressor died‘, and then returned to Vavaoo’, where they enjoyed a long and happy life'.—Anonymovs. * —. es ee * Pro. Fee-jee. OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 69 LESSON VI. A HIGHLAND FEUD. A pEaDLy feud subsisted’, almost from time immemorial’, be- tween the families. of Macpherson of Bendearg’, and Grant of Cairn‘, and was handed down unimpaired’ even to the close of the last century’. In the earlier times’, the warlike chiefs of these names’ found frequent opportunities of testifying their mu- tual animosity’; and few inheritors of the fatal quarrel left the world’, without having moistened it with the blood of some of their hereditary enemies‘. But, in our own day’, the progress of civilization’, which had reached even these wild countries’, the heart of the North Highlands’, although it could not extinguish entirely the transmitted spirit of revenge’, at least kept it within _ Safe bounds‘; and the feud of Macpherson and Grant threaten- ed’, in the course of another generation’, to die entirely away’. It was not, however, without some ebullitions of ancient fierce-;. ness’, that the flame, which had burned’ for so many centuries’, seemed about tolexpire’. Once’, at a meeting of country gentle- men’, on a question of privilege arising’, Bendearg took occa- sion to throw out some taunts’, aimed at his hereditary foe', which the fiery Grant immediately received as a signal of defiance’, and a challenge’ was the consequence. ‘The sheriff of the county’, however’, having got intimation of the affair’, put both parties __ under arrest’; till at length, by the persuasion of their friends’,— not friends by blood’,—and the representations of the magistrate’, they shook hands‘, and each pledged’ himself to forget’ the an- cient feud of his family’. This occurrence’, at the time’, was the object of much interest in the country-side’; the rather, that it seemed to give the lie to the prophecies, of which every Highland family has an ample stock in its traditionary chronicles’, and which expressly predic- ted, that the enmity of Cairn and Bendearg should not be quench- ed but in blood’. On the seemingly cross-grained circumstance of their reconciliation’, some of the young men were seen to shake their heads’, as they reflected on the faith and tales of their ancestors; but the gray-headed seers shook theirs still more wisely’, and answered with the motto of a noble house’,-—«I bide my time’.”’ There is a narrow pass between the mountains’, in the neigh- borhood of Bendearg’, well. known to the traveler who adven. tures into these wilds’, in quest of the savage sublimities of na- ture’. Ata little distance’, it has the appearance of an immense artificial bridge thrown over a tremendous chasm‘, but, on nearer approach’, is seen to be a wall of nature’s own masonry’, formed 70 MGUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE ag? of vast and rugged bodies of solid rock’, piled on each other’ as if in the giant sport of the architect’. Its sides are’, im some places’, covered with trees of a considerable size‘; and the passen- ger,’ who has a head steady enough to look down the precipice,’ may see the aeries of birds of prey beneath his feet’... The path across is so narrow’, that it cannot admit of two persons passing along-side’; and, indeed, none but-natives’, accustomed to the scene from infancy’, would attempt the dangerous route at all, though it saves a circuit of three miles‘. Yet it sometimes hap- pens’, that two travelers meet in the middle‘, owing to the curve formed by the pass’ preventing a view from either side‘, and, when this is the case’, one is obliyed to lie down’, while the oth- er crawls over his body’. ts One day’, shortly after the incident we have mentioned’, a highlander was walking fearlessly along the pass‘; sometimes bending over to watch the flight of wild birds that built below’, and sometimes pushing a fragment from the top’, to see it dashed against the uneven sides, and bounding from rock to rock’, until the echo'of its rebowtid died in faint and hollow murmurs at the bottom’. When he had gained the highest part of the arch’, he observed another coming leisurely up on the epposite’ side, and’ being himself on the patrician order, called out to him to halt’ and lie down’. The person’, however’, disregarded the com- mand‘, and the highlanders met’, face to face’, on the summit. They were Grant and Macpherson’; the two hereditary ene- mies’, who pons have gloried’ and rejoiced’ in mortal strife with each other’, on a hill-side’.. They turned deadly pale at this: fatal rencounter’ *‘ ] was first at the top’,”’ said Maepherson’, ‘and called out first’. Lie down,‘ that I may pass over in peace.” ‘ When the Grant prostrates himself before Magbherton ”” answered the oth- _ er’, it must be with the sword driven through his body’.”’ “ ‘Turn ele then,’ said Macpherson‘, ‘and repass as you eame..” ‘Go baek you urself’, if you like it’,”’ replied Grant; «1 will not be the first of my name to turn before the Macphersen’.”’ This was their short conference’, and the result’ exactly as each had anticipated’. They then threw their bonnets over the precipice’, and advanced’, with a slow and cautious pace’, closer. to eacn other’, They were both unarmed’; and, stretching their limbs like men preparing for a desperate struggle’, they planted their feet firmly on the ground’, compressed their lips’, knit their dark brows’, and, fixing fierce and watchful eyes on each other’, stood there prepared for the onset’. They both grappled at the same moment’; but being of equal strength’, were unable for some time to shift each other’s posi- | tion’, and remained standing fixed on a rock with suppressed — breath’, and muscles strained the ‘top of their bent’,’’ like ae ale s : ems Fray wedi : WS xf ant ‘ 1 Eg ¥ OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 71 statues carved out of the solid stone’. At length’, Macpherson’, suddenly removing his right foot’, so as to give him a greater purchase’, stooped his body’, and bent his enemy down with him by main strength’, till they both leaned over the precipice’, look- ing downward into the terrible abyss’. The contest was as yet doubtful’, for Grant had placed his foot firmly on an elevation at the brink’, and had equal command of his enemy‘,—but’, at this moment Maepherson sunk slowly and firmly on his knee’, and while Grant suddenly started back’, stooping to take the suppos- ed advantage’, he whirled him over his head into the gulf below’. Macpherson himself fell backwards’, his body hanging partly over the rock’; a fragment gave way beneath’ him, and he sank farther’, till, catching with a desperate effort at the solid stone above’, he regained his footing’. ‘There was a pause of death-like stillness‘, and the bold heart of Macpherson’ felt sick and faint’. At length’, as if compelled unwillingly by some mysterious feeling’, he looked down over the precipice’. Grant had caught’, with a death-gripe’, by the rugged point of a rock\—his enemy was almost within his reach!—his face was turned upward‘, and there was init’ horror and despair’, — . but he uttered no word or cry‘. The next moment’, he loosed his Peninsula’.—ANonymovus. hold‘; and the next’, his brains were dashed out before the eyes of his hereditary foe’. The mangled body disappeared among the trees‘, and its last heavy and hollow sound’ arose from the bottom’. Macpherson returned home’ an altered man‘. He purchased a commission in th2 army’, and fell in the wars of the ~ Remarx. In the sixth paragraph, the phrase ‘‘ Go back yourself, if you like it,’’ is placed in an inverted order. he natural order evidently would be, ‘‘ If you like it, go back yourself... The sense is incomplete at the word **it,’” which therefore requires the rising inflection; but it is complete at.the word “* yourself,”’ and here accordingly the falling inflection is given, although these two clauses have changed their natural order. ‘This explanation will apply to many cases of a similar character. LESSON VIL. THE CHINESE PRISONER. A cerrsin emperor of China’, on his accession to the throne of his ancestors’, commanded a general release of all those who were confined in prison for debt’. Among that number was an oldeman’, who had fallen an early victim to adversity‘, and whose days of imprisonment’, reckoned by the notches he had = eut on the door of his gloomy cell’, expressed the annual cir- euit Of more than fifty suns‘. 72 MWGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE » With trembling hands and faltering steps’, he departed from his mansion of sorrow’; his eyes were dazzled with the splendor of light‘, and the face of nature presented to his view’ a perfect paradise’. The jail in which he had been imprisoned’, stood at some distance from Pekin’, and to that city he directed his course’, impatient to enjoy the caresses of his wife’, his children’, and his friends’. Having with difficulty found his way to the street in which his decent mansion had formerly stood’, his heart became more and more elated at every step he advanced’. With joy he pro- ceeded’, looking eagerly around’; but he observed few of the ob- jects’ with which he had been formerly conversant’. A magnifi- cent edifice’ was erected on the sité of the house which he had inhabited’; the dwellings of his neighbors had assumed a new form’; and he beheld not a single face’ of which he had the least remembrance’. An aged beggar’, who, with trembling limbs’, stood at the gate of an ancient portico’, from which he had been thrust by the in- solent domestic who guarded it’, struck his attention’. He stop- ped, therefore’, to give him a small pittance out of the amount of the bounty with which he had been supplied by the emperor’, and received, in return, the sad tidings’, that his wife had fallen _a lingering sacrifice’ to penury and sorrow’; that his children were gone to seek their fortunes’ in distant or unknown climes’; and that the grave’ contained his nearest and most valued friends’. Overwhelmed with anguish’, he hastened to the palace of his sovereign’, into whose presence his hoary locks’ and mournful visage’ soon obtained admission’; and’, casting himself at the feet of the emperor’, ‘‘ Great Prince’,”’ he cried’, “send me back to that prison’ from which mistaken mercy has delivered‘ me! I have survived my family and friends‘, and even in the midst of this populous city’, I find myself in a dreary solitude’. ‘The cell of my dungeon’ protected me from the gazers at my wretch- edness‘; and whilst secluded from society’, I was the less sensi- ble of the loss of its enjoyments’. J am now tortured with the view of pleasure in which I cannot participate‘; and die with thirst’, though streams of delight surround’ me.”’—Prrcivar OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. LESSON VIII. TO THE DEAD, How many now are dead to me’ That live to others yet'! How many are alive to me’ r wY . . , Who crumble in their graves’, nor see That sickening, sinking look’, which we, Till dead, can ne’er forget". Beyond the blue seas’, far away’, Most wretthedly alone’, One died in prison’, far away’, Where stone on stone shut out the day’, And never hope or comfort’s ray’ In his loné dungeon shone’. Dead to the world‘, alive to me’, Though months and years have pass’d'; In a lone hour, hig sigh to me’ Comes Jike the hum of some wild bee’, And then his form and face I see’, As when I saw him last’. And one, with a bright lip, and cheek’, And eye, is dead to me’. How pale the bloom of his smooth cheek’ His \ip was cold‘—it would not speak’: His heart was dead'—for it did not break’: And his eye’, for it did not see’. Then for the diving’ * be the tomb’, And for the_dead,’ the smile’; Engrave, oblivion on the tomb’ Of pulseless life and deadly bloom , Dim is such glare‘, but bright the gloom Around the funeral pile’.—J. G. C. Bratnarp. LESSON IX. THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. Unper a spreading chestnut tree The village smithy stands‘, The smith’, a mighty man is he’, With large and sinewy hands’; And the muscles of his brawny arms’ Are strong as iron bands’. —— 4 * See Rule IT., 4. 74 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE His hair is crisp’, and black’, and long"; His face’ is like the tan‘; His brow is wet’ with honest sweat’; He earns whate’er he can’, And looks the whole world in the face’, For he owes not any man‘. Week in’, week. out’, from morn’ till night’, You can hear his bellows blow’; You can hear him swing his heavy sledge With measured beat and slow’, Like a seXton ringing the village bell’, When the evening sun is low’. And children coming home from school’ Look in at the open door’; They love to see the flaming forge’, And hear the bellows roar’, And catch the burning sparks that fly Like chaff from a threshing-floor’. He goes, on Sunday, to the church’, And sits’ among his boys’: . He hears the parson’ pray and preach’, He hears his daughter’s voice’, Singing in the village choir’, And it makes his heart rejoice’. ft sounds to him like her mother’s voice , Singing in Paradise! He needs must think of her once more’, How in the grave she lies’; And with his hard’, rough hand he wipes’ A tear out of his eyes’. Toiling’—rejoicing’—sorrowing’— Onward through life he goes’; Hach morning sees some task begin’, Each evening sees it close’; Something attempted’—something done’, Has earn’d a night’s repose’. Thanks’, thanks‘ to thee’, my worthy friend’, For the lesson thou hast taught’! Thus, at the flaming forge of life’, Our fortunes must be wrought’, Thus, on its sounding anvil, shaped’ Each burning deed and thought'’.\—H. W. Lonerrinow, > \ ne | OF. THE ELECTIC SERIES. a LES SON X THE LONE INDIAN. For many a returning autumn’, a lone Indian was seen stand- ing at the consecrated spot we have mentioned’; but, just thirty years after the death of Soonseetah’, he was noticed for the last time’. His step was then firm’, and his figure erect’, though he seemed old’ and way-worn’. Age had not dimmed the fire of his eye’, but an expression of deep melancholy’ had settled on his wrinkled brow’. It was Powontonamo'—he who had once’ been the eagle of the Mohawks‘. He came to lie down and die beneath the broad oak’, which shadowed the grave’ of Sunny- eye.’ ibe the white man’s ax‘ had been there.. The tree that he had planted was dead‘; and the vine’, which had leaped SO vigor ously from branch to branch’, now yellow and with€ring’, was falling to the ground’. A deep groan burst from the soul “of the savage’. lor thirty wearisome years’, he had watched that oak’, with its twining tendrils‘. ‘They were the only things left in the wide world for him to love’, and they’ were gone’. He looked abroad’. ‘The hunting-land of his tribe was changed’, like its chieftain’. No light canoe now shot down the river’, like a bird upon the wing’. ‘The laden boat’ of the white man alone broke its smooth surface’. ‘The Englishman’s road wound like a ser- pent around the banks of the Mohawk’; and iron hoofs had so beaten down the war-path’, that a hawk’s eye could not dis- cover an Indian track. ‘The last wigwam was destroyed’; and the sun looked boldly down upon spots he had sa visited by stealth’, during thousands and thousands of moons’. The few remaining trees’, clothed in the fantastic mourning of | autumn’; the long line of heavy clouds’, melting away before the coming sun’; and the distant mountain, seen through the blue mist of departing twilight’, alone remained as he had seen them in his boyhood’. All things spoke a sad language to the heart of the desolate Indian’. ‘ Yes‘,” said he, “the young oak’ and the vine’ are like the Eagle and the Sunny-eye’.. They are cut down’, torn’,and trampled’ on. ‘The leaves are falling’, and: the clouds are scattering’ like my people’. I wish I could once more see the trees standing thick’, as they did when my mother held me to her bosom’, and sung the warlike deeds of the Mohawks'‘.”’ A mingled expression of grief and anger passed over his face’, as he watched a Joaded beat in its passage across the stream. 6 a white man carries focd to his wife and children’, and he finds them in his home’,”’ said he‘; “‘ where is the squaw and pap- poose of the red‘ man? They are here'!”’. As he spokes he — ‘fixed his eye thoughtfully on the grave’. After a gloomy silence’, by 2 : 76 M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE he again looked round upon the fair scene’, with a wandering and troubled gaze‘. “The pale‘ face may like it,’? murmured’ he’; “but an Indian’ cannot die here in peace‘.’”? So saying’, he broke his bow-string’, snapped his arrows’, threw them on the burial-place of his fathers’, and departed forever‘.—Muss Fran- Cis. Remark. The words ‘‘down,’”’ ‘‘torn,’? and ‘‘trampled,’”’ in the last paragraph but one, and ‘‘string,’’ ‘‘arrows,’’ ‘“‘fathers,’’ and ‘‘ forever,’’ in the last paragraph, are examples of inflection which may, perhaps, more ap- propriately come under the head of ‘‘ series;’’ but, by examining them, it will be found, that the rule which gives the falling inflection wherever the sense is complete, and that which requires the last but one to be the rising inflec- tion, are applicable in these cases. Indeed, the rule for series is substantially the combination of these two principles with that of emphasis, as laid down in Rule IT, LESSON XI. UNWRITTEN MUSIC. THERE is a melancholy music’ in autumn’. The leaves float sadly about’ with a look of peculiar desdlation’, waving capri- ciously in the wind’, and falling with a just audible sound’, that is a very sigh for its sadness’. And then’, when the breéze is fresher’, though the early autumn months are mosily still’, they are swept on with a cheerful rustle over the naked harvest fields’, and about in the eddies of the blast’; and though I have’, some- times, in the glow of exercise’, felt my life securer in the triumph of the brave contest’, yet, in the chill of the evening’, or when any sickness of the mind or body was on me’, the moaning of those withered leaves’ has pressed down my heart like a sorrow’, and the cheerful fire’, and the:voices of my many sisters’, might scarce remove’ it. | Then for the music’ of winter’. I love to listen’ to the falling of snow’. It is an unobtrusive’ and sweet’ music. You may temper your heart to the serénest mood’, by its low murmur’. It-is that kind of music’, that only obtrudes upon your ear when your thoughts come languidly’. You need not hear’ it, if your mind is not idle’. It realizes my dream of another world’, where music is intuitive’ like a thought’, and comes’, only when it is re- membered*. is Sar And the frost‘ too has a melodious “ministry’.” You will hear its crystals shoot in the dead of a clear night’, as if the. moon-beams were splintering like arrows on the ground; and you would listen to it the more earnestly’, that it is the going on of one of the most cunning and beautiful of nature’s deep myste- : ries‘ I know nothing so wonderful’ as the shooting of a eryse toe a ae a > OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. age by: tal‘. God has hidden its principle as yet from the inquisitive eye of the philosopher’, and we must be content to gaze on its exquisite beauty’, and listen, in mute wonder’, to the noise of its > invisible wor kmanship’. It is too fine a knowledge forus.. We shall comprehend’ it, when we know how the morning stars sang together’. You would hardly look for music in the dreariness of early* _ winter. But, before the keener frosts set in’, and while the warm winds are yet stealing back occasionally, like regrets of the departed summer’, there will come a soft rain or a heavy mist’, and when the north wind returns’, there will be drops sus- pended like ear-ring jewels’, between the filaments of the cedar tassels’, and in the feathery edges of the dark green hemlocks', and, if the clearing up is not followed by the heavy wind’, they will all be frozen in their places like well set gems‘. The next morning’, the warm sun comes out’, and by the middle of the warm dazzling forenoon’, they are all loosened from the close touch which sustained’ them, and they will drop at the lightest motion’. If you go along upon the south side of the wood at that’ hour, you will hear music‘.s ‘The dry foliage of the summer’s shedding’ is scattered over the ground’, and the round, hard drops sing out clearly and distinctly’, as they are shaken down with the stirring of the breeze’. It is something like the running of deep and rapid water‘, only more fitful’ and merrier’; but to one who goes out in nature with his heart open’, it is a pleasant music‘, and, in contrast with the stern character of the season’, delightful’. Winter has many other sounds that give pleasure to the seeker for hidden sweetness’; but they are too rare and accidental to be described distinctly’. ‘The brooks have a sullen and muffled murmur’ under their frozen surface; the ice in the distant river heaves up with the swell of the current’, and falls again to the bank with a prolonged echo’; and the woodsman’s ax rings cheer- fully out’ from the bosom of the unrobed forest’. ‘These are’, at best, however, but melancholy’ sounds, and, like all that meets the eye in that cheerless season’, they but drive in the heart upon — itself. I believe it is ordered’ in God’s wisdom’. We forget’ ourselves in the enticement’ of the sweet summer‘. Its musi¢ and its loveliness’ win away the senses that link up the affec- tions’, and we need a hand to turn us back tenderly‘, and hide | from us the outward idols’, in whose worship we are forgetting the pigh and more spiritual altars.—N. P. Winuis. oe. The words ‘‘ frost” in the third paragraph, and “forget”? in the last, have the falling inflection, because emphatic, according to Rule 1. <2 pr 2 78° * WGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE EXERCISES ON INFLECTION—Continvurp er | a © rising inflection is used, When the sense is incomplete. Rule 1V. At the last pause but one in a sentence. Rule VI. After the nominative addressed. Rule IV. In negative sentences, Rule V. . in interrogative sentences, which can be answered by ‘yes’ or “no.”” Rule VII. The falling inflection is used, 1. Where the sense is complete. Rule . ~ 2. In emphatic expressions, such as imperative mood, exclama- tions, apostrophe, the language of passion, &c. Rule II. 3. In interrogative sentences, which cannot be answered by * yes”’ or no.” Rule III. oo eae aaa: LESSON XII. A POLITICAL PAUSE. In this lesson, the influence of a negative in determining to the rising in- flection, is particularly noticeable. ‘Bur we must pause’,” says the honorable gentleman’. What"! must the bowels of Great Britain be torn out’,—her best blood 7 spilt’,—her treasures wasted’,—that you may make an experi-~ ment’? Put yourselves‘,—O! that you would put yourselves on the field of battle’, and learn to judge of the sort.of horrors ee ‘you excite’. In former’ wars, a man might’, at least, have some’ — feeling, some‘ interest, that served to balance in his mind’ the im- pressions which a scene of carnage and death must inflict’, But if a man were present now’ at the field of slaughter, and were to inquire for what they were fighting’,—*“ Fight- ing’!’’* would be the answer’; “they are not fighting’; they are pausing’. ‘ Why is that man expirmg’ Why is that other writhing with agony’? What means this implacable fury’?”’ ‘The answer must be’, “ You are quite wrong", sir’, you deceive yourself,—they are not fighting’,—do not disturb’ them,—they are merely pausing’! ‘This man is not expiring with agony’,— that man is not dead ,—he is only pausing’! Bless you’, sir’, they are not angry’ with one another; they have now no cause of quarrel’; but their country thinks that there should be a pause’. All that you see is nothing like fighting’,—there is no harm’, ‘nor cruelty’, nor bloodshed’ in it; ; it is nothing more than a po- litical pause’! It is merely to try an experiment\—to see whe- ther Bonaparte will not behave himself better’ than heretofore; * Rule VIIL OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES 79 and in the mean time’, we have agreed to a pause, in pure friend- ship!’ . And is this the way that you are to show yourselves the ad- vocates of order’? You take up a system calculated to uncivil- ize the world’, to destroy order‘, to trample on religion’, to sti- fle in the heart, not merely the generosity of noble sentiment’, but the affections of social nature’; and in the prosecution of this system’, you spread terror’ and devastation all around’ you.—Fox. Remark. The words ‘‘ pause’’ and “‘ pausing’? may, perhaps, with equal propriety, receive the falling circumflex. “Sy LESSON, XIU. ae SONG OF THE STARS. In the following lesson, the inflections characteristic of the imperative mood — and of exclamations are exemplified. Wuen the radiant morn of creation broke , And the world in the smile of God awoke, And the empty realms of darkness and death Were moved through their depths by his mighty breath , And orbs of beauty’, and spheres of flame’, From the void abyss, by myriads came’, - In the joy of youth as they darted away’, Through the widening waste of space to play’, Their silver voices, in chorus rung"; And this was the song’ the bright ones sung :-— “Away, away! through the wide, wide sky‘,— The fair. blue fields that before us lie‘,— Each sun‘ with the worlds that round us roll, Hach planet’ poised on her turning pole, With her isles of green‘, and her clouds of white’, And her waters that lie, like fluid light". “Mor the source of glory uncovers his face , And the brightness o’erflows unbounded space , And we drink’, as we go’, the luminous tides’, In our ruddy air’ and our blooming sides‘. Lo‘! yonder the living splendors play’; Away’, on our joyous path’, away! * Look’, look‘, through our glittering ranks afar’, Jn the infinite azure’, star after star’, How they brighten and bloom as they swiftly pass‘! _ How the verdure runs o’er each rolling mass'! And the path of the gentle winds is seen’, Where the small waves dance’, and the young woods lean’. eet 80 In the two succeedin MGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE And see‘! where the brighter day-beams pour’, How the rainbows hang in the sunny shower’; And the morn and the eve with their pomp of hues’, Shift o’er the bright planets, and shed their dews'; And ’twixt them both on the teeming ground’, With her shadowy course’, the night goes round"! Away‘! away’! in our blossoming bowers’, In the soft air, wrapping these spheres of ours’ ’ In the seas and fountains that shine with morn’, See‘, love is brooding’, and life is born’, And ‘breathing myriads are breaking from night’, ‘To rejoice , like us’, in motion and light’. ‘‘ Glide on‘, in your beauty‘, ye youthful spheres’, To weave the dance that measures the years’. Glide on’, in glory and gladness sent’ To the farthest wall of the firmament’, The boundless visible smile of Him’, To the vail of whose brow’ our lamps are dim*.’”’—Brvyanrt. LESSON XIV. SORROW AND HOPE the nominative case addressed, and in the imperative mood. O Lorn’! rebuke me not in thy wrath’, Nor chasten me in thy fierce anger’. Be merciful’ unto me, O Jehovah” for I am weak . Heal‘ me, O Jehovah’! for my bones tremble’; My whole soul is in terrors’. And thou’, Jehovah’! O how long*? Return’, 0 Jehovah’, deliver my soul’. O save’ me for thy mercies” sake, For in death’, there is no remembrance of thee’, In the grave’, who shall give thee thanks"? I am wearied with my groaning" . All night’ my bed is wet with tears’. With tears’ I make my couch to swim’ , Mine eye is consumed’ with sorrow’, It looks but feebly’ upon all mine enemies’ > Depart’ from me, ye workers of iniquity’! For God hath heard the voice of my weeping”. Jehovah hath heard my supplication’ : Jehovah hath accepted my prayer’. Ashamed, confounded shall be mine enemies’, They shall fall back’, and be ashamed suddenly’. [ Ps. vi., Herper’s Hessew Poetry. lessons, observe particularly the intlections used in y a es | OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 81 LESSON XV. p -THE HOUR OF PRAYER. — Cuixp’, amidst the flowers at play’ : While ‘the red light fades away’; : Mother’, with thine earnest eye’, Ever following silently’; Father’, by the breeze at eve’ Call’d thy harvest-work to leave’;— Pray‘!—-Ere yet the dark hours be’, Lift the heart, and bend the knee’. Traveler’, in the stranger’s land’, Far from thine own household band’; Mourner’, haunted by the tone Of a voice from this world gone’; Captive’, in whose narrow cell Sunshine hath not leave to dwell’; Sailor,’ on the darkening” sea’ ;— Lift the heart, and bend the knee.” Warrior’, that from battle won’, Breathest now at set of sun’; Woman’, o’er the lowly slain’, Weeping on his burial plain’; Ye that triumph’, ye that sigh’, Kindred by one holy tie’; Heaven’s first star alike ye see’, Lift the heart’, and bend the knee‘’.—Mrs. Hemans. +. LESSON XVI. PROSPECTS OF THE CHEROKEES. In this lesson, the inflections belonging to interrogative sentences may be noticed. Wurruer are the Cherokees to go‘? What are the benefits’ of the change? What system has been matured for thgir se- eurity? What laws for their government? ‘These questions are answered’ only by gilded promises in general terms; sas are to become enlightened and civilized husbandmen’. They now live by: the cultivation of the soil’ and the mechanical arts’. It is proposed to send them from their cotton fields’, their farms and their gardens’, to a distant and unsubdued wilderness’; to make fhem ante of the earth’; to remove —— from their - chureh 168", near ma wile. settlements’, to frowning incestat , sur- Lie al yah naked savages‘, that they may become: enlightened’ Se - % ie 82 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUID We have pledged to them our protection’; and, instead of shield- ing them where they now are’, within our reach’, under our own arm’, we send these natives of a southern clime’ to northern’ re- gions, amongst fierce and warlike barbarians. And what securi- ty do we propose‘ to them? A new guaranty! Who can look an Indian in the face’, and say‘ to him, We and our fathers’, for more than forty years’, have made to you the most solemn pro- mises‘; we now violate and trample upon them all‘; but offer you in their stead’—another’ guaranty ! z Will they be in no danger of attack from the primitive inhabi- tants of the regions to which they emigrate’? How can it be otherwise’? ‘The official documents show us the fact’, that some of the few who have already gone’, were involved in conflict with the native tribes , and compelled to a second'removal. — How are they to subsist’? Has not that country now as great an Indian population as it can sustain’? What has become of the original’ occupants? Have we not already caused accession to their numbers’, and been compressing them more and more”? Is not the consequence inevitable’, that some must be stinted in the means of subsistence’? Here too we have the light of expe- rience’... By an official communication from Governor Clark’, the superintendent of Indian affairs’, we learn that the most powerful tribes’, west of the Mississippi’, are, every year, so dis- tressed by famine’, that many die for want of food’. The scenes of their suffering’ are hardly exceeded by the sieges of Jerusa- lem and Samaria’. ‘There’, might be seen the miserable mother’, in all the tortures which hunger could inflict’, giving her last morsel for the sustenance of her child’, and then fainting’, sink- ing’, and actually dying‘ of starvation! And the orphan’! no one can spare 2é. food’—it is put alive‘ into the grave of the pa- ‘rent, which thus closes over the quick’ and the dead’. And this is not a solitary‘instance only’, ‘The living child’ is often‘ buried with the dead mother.’’ I know, sir’, to what I expose‘ myself. ‘T'o feel any solicitude for the fate of the Indians’, may be ridiculed as false philanthro- py’ and morbid sensibility‘. Others may boldly say’, “ Their blood be upon us';”’ and sneer at scruples’, as weakness unbecom- ing the stern character of a politician’. If, sir’, in order to hecome a politician’, it be necessary to divest the mind of the principles of good faith and moral obligation’, and harden the heart against every touch of humanity’, I confess that I am not —and by the blessing of heaven’, will never\ be—a politician. Sir’, we cannot wholly silence the monitor within’. It may not be heard amidst the clashing of the arena’, in the tempest and convulsions of political contentions’; but its still small voice will speak’ to us—when we meditate alone at even-tide’; in the silent SY ; ; ot OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 83 watches of the night‘; when we lie down’ and when we rise up* from a solitary pillow; and in that dread hour’, when,—‘* not what we have done for ourselves’, but what we Lave done for ofhers*‘,”’ will be our joy and strength’; when’, to have secured, even to a poor and despised Jndian‘, a spot of earth upon which to rest his aching head’; to have given him but a cup of cold water‘ in charity’, will be a greater treasure’, than to have been the conquer- ors of kingdoms’, and lived in luxury upon the spoils.\—Spracue. 99 Remark. It will be observed that the words ‘‘ Indian’’ and ‘‘ water’’ in the last paragraph, receive the falling inflection ag a mark of emphasis, since there is no other reason why they should not have the rising inflection. There is also, in the same paragraph, an example of the inflections belonging to a series of members, and also to antithesis, which subjects will be more partic- ularly noticed hereafter. EXERCISES ON INFLECTION—Convinvuep. THe rising inflection is generally used, 1. Where the sense is incomplete. Rule IV. 2. At the last pause but one ina sentence. Rule VI. 3. After the nominative addressed. Rule IV. 4. In negative sentences. Rule V. 5. In interrogative sentences which can be answered by ‘ yes”? or “no.” Rule VII. . 6. After an exclamation, when used interrogatively, or as an echo of the thought. Rule VIII. 7. At one of the members of an antithesis. Rule 1X. 8. At the first member of a sentence, the parts of which are unit- ed by a disjunctive conjunction. Rule X. 9. At the last member of a commencing series. Rule XT. 10. At the last member but one of a concluding series. Rule XI. 11. At the close of a parenthesis, when it is preceded by the ris- ing inflection. Rule XII. The falling inflection is generally used, 1. Where the sense is complete. Rule I. 2. In emphatic expressions, such as imperative mood, passionate exclamations, emphatic repetition, &c. Rule II. 3. In interrogative sentences, which cannot be answered by “‘ yes”’ or “mo.’’ Rule III. 4. At one of the members of an antithesis (generally the last.) Rule IX. . 5. At the last member of a sentence, the parts of which are unit- ed disjunctively. Rule X. G. At all the members of a commencing series, except the last. ~ Rule XT, 7. At all the members of a concluding series, except the last but- one. Rule XI. , &4 M GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 8. At the close of a parenthesis, where the next preceding it is the falling inflection. Rule XII. . Remark. Where the clause included in the parenthesis is complicated, or a part.of it emphatic, or where it is disconnected with the main subject, the inflections must be governed by the sense, as in other cases. LESSON XVIL EFFECTS OF UNIVERSAL BENEVOLENCE. _In this example, observe the influence of series in determining the inflec- tion. Were the divine principle of benevolence in full operation among the intelligences that people our globe’, this world would be transformed into a paradise’, the moral desert would be chang- ed into a fruitful field’, and “blossom as the rose‘,’’ and Eden would again appear’ in all its beauty and delight’. Fraud’, deceit’, and artifice’, with all their concomitant train of evils’, would no longer walk rampant in every land‘. Prosecutions‘, lawsuits‘, and all the innumerable, vexatious litigations which now disturb the peace of society,’ would cease from among men’. Every debt would be punctually paid‘; every commodity sold at its just val- ue’; every article of merchandise exhibited in its true character’; every promise faithfully performed’; every dispute amicably ad- justed’; every man’s character held in estimation’; every rogue and cheat banished from society’; and the whole world trans- formed into the abode of honesty and peace’. Injustice and oppression would no longer walk triumphant through the world’, while the poor, the widow, and the father- less’ were groaning under the iron rod of those who had depriv- ed them of every comfort’. No longer should we see a hard- hearted creditor’ doom a poor,unfortunate man, for the sake of a few dollars’, to rot in a jail’, while his family were pining in wretchedness and want’. No longer should we hear the harsh creaking of iron doors’; the clanking of the chains of criminals’; the sighs and groans of the poor slave’; ; nor the Be ofa eruel master’. The tongue of the slanderer’, and the whisperings of the back- biter’, would no longer be heard in their malicious attempts to sow the seeds of discord among brethren‘. Falsehood’, in all its ramifications’, would be banished from the intercourse of socie- ty‘. No longer would the votaries of falsehood triumph over blasted hopes’, cruel disappointments’, ruined credit’, and black- ened reputation’. Ambition would no 0 longer wade through slaughter to a drone’ : OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 85 nor trample on the rights of an injured people’. All would re- gard as an eternal disgrace to the human character’, that scourge which has drenched the earth with human gore’; convulsed ev- ery nation under heaven‘; produced tenfold more misery than all the destructive elements of nature’; and swept from existence so many millions of mankind’. No longer should we behold the fire blazing on the mountain-tops, to spread the alarm of in- vading armies‘; nor the city which was once full of inhabitants’, “sitting solitary’. ” Nation would not lift up sword against na- tion’, nor would they learn war any more’. ‘The instruments of cruelty’, the stake‘, the rack’, the knout', and the lash’, would no longer lacerate and torture the wretched culprit‘; no more would be forged cannons‘, guns‘, swords’, and darts‘; but the in- fluence of reason and affection’,would preserve order and harmo- ny throughout every department of society‘.—Dicx. Remark. The phrase, ‘‘ the instruments of cruelty,’’ includes the whole of the succeeding series, viz. ‘‘stake,’’ ‘‘rack,”’ ‘‘ knout,”’ and ‘‘lash,’’ and does not form a part of it. LESSON XVIII. Select Paragraphs in Prose. In these paragraphs, notice the inflections proper to antithesis and serves. THE FINAL JUDGMENT. Berore that asssembly every man’s good’ deeds will be de- clared, and his most secret sins‘ disclosed. As no elevation of rank’ will then give a title to respect’, no obscurity of condition’ shall exclude the just from public honor,’ or screen the guilty from public shame‘. Opulence‘ will find itself no longer pow- erful’; poverty’ will be no longer weak’. Birth’ will no longer be distinguished’; meanness’ will no longer pass unnoticed’. The rich’ and the poor‘ will indeed strangely mingle together’; all the inequalities of the present life shall disappear’, and the conquer- or’ and his captive’; the monarch’ and his subject’; the lord’ and his.vassal'; the statesman’ and the peasant’; the philosopher’ and the Siipitered hind’; shall find their distinctions to have Peon mere illusions’. ANoNYMoUs. DRYDEN AND POPE. Dryden knew more of man in his general nature’, and Pope in his local manners’. ‘The notions of Dryden were ‘formed by comprehensive speculation’, those of Pope Dy minute attention‘. 86 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE There 1s more dignity‘ in the knowledge of Dryden’, more cer- tainty’ in that of Pope’. ‘he style of Dryden is capricious’ and varied’, that of Pope cautious’ and uniform’. Dryden obeys the motions of his own mind’; Pope constrains‘his mind to his own rules of composition’. Dryden’s page is a natural field’, rising into inequalities’, and diversified by the varied exuberance of abundant vegetation’; Pope’s is the velvet lawn‘, shaven by the sythe’, and leveled by the roller’. If the flights of Dryden are higher’, Pope continues longer on the wing’. If, of Dryden’s fire’, the blaze is brighter’, of Pope’s the heat is more regular‘ and con- stant’. Dryden often surpasses’ expectation, and Pope never falls below'it. Dryden is read with frequent astonishment’, and Pope with perpetual delight’.—Jounson. LAS CASAS DISSUADING FROM BATTLE. = 1s then the dreadful measure of your cruelty not yet complete’? Battle’! against whom’? Against a king, in whose mild bosom your atrocious injuries, even yet, have not excited hate‘, but who’, insulted‘ or victorious’, still sues for peace’. Against a people’, who never wronged the living being their Creator form- ed‘; a people’! who received you as cherished guests‘, with eager hospitality and confiding kindness’. Generously and freely did they share with you’, their comforts’, their treasures’, and their homes’; you repaid them by fraud’, oppression’, and dishonor‘, Pi- zarro’, hear‘ me! Hear‘ me, chieftains’! And thou’, All-powerful’! whose thunder can shiver into sand the adamantine rock’, whose lightnings can pierce the core of the riven and quaking earth’, O let thy power give effect to thy servant's words’, as thy spirit gives courage to his will! Do not‘, I implore you, chieftains’,— do not’, I amplore’ you, renew the foul barbarities your insatiate avarice has inflicted on this wretched’, unoffending race’. But hush‘, my sighs’!—fall not‘, ye drops of useless sorrow’!—heart- breaking anguish’, choke not my utterance’.—SHERIDAN. Remark. Inthe first of the above extracts, it will be observed that the clause ending with the words ‘‘the philosopher, and the unlettered hind,”’ consists of a series of members, each of which contains two antithetiec or “contrasted terms. In the last member, therefore, the inflections are used in the inverted order, that this member may close with the rising inflection, ac- _cording to the law ‘of the series, OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 87 LESSON XIX. Select Paragraphs. THE PULPIT. Tue pulpit, therefore’, (and I name it, filled With solemn awe, that bids me well beware With what intent I touch that holy thing’,)— The pulpit! (when the satirist has, at last, Strutting and vap’ring in an empty school, Spent all his force and made no proselyte’)— I'say the pulpit’ (in the sober use Of its legitimate, peculiar powers’) Must stand acknowledged, while the world shall stand’, The most important and effectual guard’, Support’, and ornament’ of virtue’s cause’. There, stands the messenger of truth’: there, stands The legate of the skies': His theme’, divine’; His office’, sacred’; his eredentials’,clear’, By him’,the violated law speaks out Its thunders’; and, by him’, in strains as sweet As angels’use, the Gospel whispers peace’.— Cowper. LIBERTY. Meanwhile’, we'll sacrifice to liberty’. Remember‘, O my friends’, the laws‘, the rights : The generous plan of power delivered down’, From. age to age’, by your renowned forefathers’, (So dearly bought, the price of so much blood’; :) O let it never perish in your hands’, But piously transmit it to your children . Do thou, great Liberty’ , inspire our souls’, And make our lives in thy possession happy’ ; Or our deaths glorious in thy just defense’.—Appison. TO-MORROW. To-morrow , didst thou say’? Methought I heard Horatio say,-—to-morrow Go to‘\—I will not hear‘ of it—to-morrow’! "Tis a sharper, who stakes his penury’ Against thy plenty’; who takes thy ready cash , And pays thee nought’, but wishes’,* hopes’,* ‘and promises , ‘The currency of idiots’ ;—injurious bankrupt ; ‘That gulls the easy creditor’.—To-morrow’! ftisa period nowhere to be found’ In all the hoary registers of ‘Time’, ~ Unless perchance in the fool’s‘ calendar. ~ Wisdom disclaims‘ the word, nor holds society With those who own’ it. No’ o’, my Horatio’, * Rule XJ, Note. 88 M'GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE *Tis Fancy’s' child, and Folly’ is its father’; Wrought of such stuff as dreams are, and as baseless As the fantastic visions of the evening‘.—Corron. HUMANITY. I would not enter on my list of friends , (Though graced with polished manners and fine sense’, Yet wanting sensibility’,) the man Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm’. An inadvertent’ step may crush the snail’, That crawls at evening in the public path’; But he that has humanity’, forewarned’, Will tread aside, and let the reptile live’. The sum is this‘: If man’s convenience’, health , Or safety’interfere, his’rights and claims Are paramount, and must extinguish theirs’. Klse they are ai/‘,the meanest things that are’, As free to live’, and to enjoy that life’, As God was free to form‘ them at the first, Who, in his sovereign wisdom’, made them all‘.—Cowrrr. LESSON XX. * CHARACTER OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. _ He is fallen‘! We may now pause before that splendid pro- digy’, which towered amongst us like some ancient ruin’, whose power terrified the glance its magnificence attracted’. Grand’, gloomy’, and peculiar’, he sat upon the throne a sceptered hermit’, wrapt in the solitude of his own originality. A mind’,bold’, in- dependent’, and decisive’; a will',despotic in its dictates‘; an ener- ey’ that distanced expedition’; and a conscience’, pliable to every touch of interest’, marked the outlines of this extraordinary char- acter'—the most extraordinary, perhaps, that in the annals of this world, ever rose’, or reigned’, or fell’.% Flung into life, in the midst of a revolution that quickened every energy of a peo- ple who acknowledged no superior’, he commenced his course, a stranger by birth’, and a scholar by charity’. With no friend but his sword’, and no fortune but his talents’, he rushed in the list where rank’, and wealth’, and genius’ had arrayed’. them- selves, and competition fled’ from him, as from the glance of — destiny’. He knew no motive’ but interest’; acknowledged no eriterion * This lessson is inserted in the Fourth Reader of this series, but a portion — of it is introduced again here, because it is so good a specimen of antithesis and series. , io ~ OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 89 but suceess’; he worshiped no God’ but ambition’, and with a eastern devotion,’ he knelt at the shrine of his idolatry’. Subsid. iary to this’, there was no creed’ that he did not profess‘, there was no opinion’ that he did not promulgate‘: in the hope of a dynasty’, he upheld the crescent’; for the sake of a divorce’, he bowed before the cross‘; the orphan of St. Louis’, he became the adopted child of the republic’; and with a parricidal ingratitude’, on the ruins both of the throne and the tribune’, he reared the throne of his despotism‘. A professed catholic’, he imprisoned the Pope‘; a pretended patriot’, he impoverished the country’; and in the name of Brutus’, he grappled without remorse’; and wore without shame’, the diadem of the Cesars’. The whole continent trembled at beho]ding the audacity of his designs’, and the miracle of their execution’. Scepticism’ bowed to the prodigies of his performance’; romance’ 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 Cor- sica’ waving his imperial flag over her most ancient capitals’. ‘All the visions of antiquity became common-place in his contem- plation’: kings were his people’; nations were his out-posts'; and he disposed of courts,‘ and crowns‘, and camps‘, and churches’, and cabinets’, as if they were the titular dignitaries of the chess- board’! Amid all these changes’, he stood immutable as adamant’. It mattered little whether in the field’,or in 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 defeat at the gallows of Leipsig’;* he was still the same military despot’. In this wonderful combination’, his affectations of literature must not be omitted’. The jailer of the press’, he affected the patronage of letters’; the proscriber of books’, he encouraged philosophy‘; the persecutor of authors’, and the murderer of printers’, he yet pretended to the protection of learning’; the as- sassin of Palm’, the silencer of De Stel’, and the denouncer of Kotzebue’; he was the friend of David‘, the benefactor of De Lille’, and sent his academic prize to the philosopher of England’. Such a medley of contradictions’, and, at the same time, such an individual consistency’, were never united in the same charac- a. or pe eatt and an Het ie ‘—a Moham- ais member of the series must close with fe rising madera, acon ing to th e rule for series ; therefore, in the antithesis, contrary to the general rule, the falling inflection is placed first, and the rising, last. ‘The same et is true of several other sentences in this lesson. Most of the mem- _bers of these series, it will be observed, are compound, containing antitheses. ‘ See remark at the close of Lesson XVIII. y eat : 8 90 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE and a sovereign'—a traitor and a tyrant'—a christian‘ and an in- fidel/—he was, through all his vicissitudes, the same stern’, im- patient’, inflexible’ original'—the same mysterious’, incomprehen- sible’ self'—the man‘ without a model’, and without a shadow’. ? - The foll [ PHILuirs. LESSON XXI. ODE TO AN INFANT SON. owing lesson presents an example, in which the matter mesded in parenthesis, is disconnected with the main subject, and-is, therefore sub- ject to the _ (Are these torn clothes his best'?) . eee : general principles of inflection. Tuou happy; happy elf’! (But, stop’, first let me kiss away that tear‘,) Thou tiny image of myself’! (My love’, he’s poking peas into his ear',) Thou merry’, laughing sprite’, With spirits feather light’, Untouched by sorrow , and unsoiled by sin’,— (My dear’, the child is swallowing a pin") Thou little tricksy Puck’! With antic toys so funnily bestruck , Light as the singing bird that wings the air ,— (The door’! the door’! he’ll tumble down the stair'!). Thou darling of thy sire’! (Why', Jane’, he’ll set his pin-afore afire !) Thou imp of mirth and joy’! In love’s dear chain so bright a link’, ‘. ‘Thou idol of thy parents’,—(Hang" the boy! There goes my ink’.) Thou cherub, but of earth’; ~ Fit play-fellow for fairies, by moonlight pale’, In harmless sport and mirth’,— (* That dog will bite’ him, if he pulls his tail’!) ‘Thou human humming-bee’, extracting honey From every blossom in the world that blows’, Singing in youth’s I:lysium ever sunny’,— (Another tumble’! That’s his precious nose‘!) Thy father’s pride and hope’! ‘3 (He'll break the mirror with that skipping rope'!) — With pure heart newly stampt from nature’s ming (Where did he learn that squint'?) Thou young domestic dove’! (*He’ll have that jug’ off with another shove’,) Dear nursling of the hymeneal nest’! 3 gee » ® * Sce Remark at the close of Lesson VI. a 3 ~ OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. ' Little epitome of man’! Pp (He’ll climb upon the table’, that’s’ his plan,) Touched with the hepisteous tints of dawning life’,— (He’s got a knife'!) Thou enviable being’! No storms, no clouds, i in thy blue-sky foreseeing’, Play on’, play on’, My elfin John’! Toss‘ the light ball, Hestias" the stick,— (1 knew‘ so many cakes would make him sick a With fancies buoyant as the thistle-down , Prompting the face grotesque’, and antic brisk’, With many a lamb-like frisk"! (He’s got the scissors’, snipping at your gown'!) Thou pretty opening rose’! (Go to your mother’, child’, and wipe your nose’!) x Balmy and breathing music like the south’, (He really brings my heart into my mouth'!) Bold as the hawk’ , yet centle_as the dove’,— — (I'll tell you what’, my love’, ; : I cannot write’, unless he’s sent above’.)—Hoop. : LESSON XXII. HAMLET’S SOLILOQUY. To be’, or not‘ tobe? ‘That is the question’. Whether ’tis nobler in the mind, to suffer’ The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune’, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And, by opposing’, end’ them? ‘To die’; to sleep’; N6 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‘. ‘To die’; to sleep’; To sleep’! perchance to dré am—A ye’, there’s the rub’; For in that sleep of death what dréams may come’, When we have shuffled off this mortal coil’. Must give us pause'.There’s’ the respect P 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 contumel y ; 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‘? yy Who would fardels bear, To eroan and sweat under a weary life’, But that the dread of something after’ death, That undiscovered country’, from whose bourn’ 92 MGUFFEY’S RETORICAL GUIDE No traveler returns’, puzzles the will’; And makes us rather bear the ills we have’, Than fly to others that we know not of"? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all’; And thus the native hue of resolution’ Is sicklied o’er with the pale‘ cast of thoughts And enterprises of great pith and moment’, With this regard, their currents turn awry’, And lose the name of action‘. —SHAKsPEARE. EXERCISES ON EMPHASIS. Some lessons will now be given, exemplifying, in addition to ihe inflections, the principles of emphasis, as follows, viz. 1. Absolute emphasis, or where a word is emphasized on account of its own independent importance. 2. Relative emphasis, or where ideas are contrasted with each oth- er; which contrast may be expressed or implied. 3. The emphatic phrase, or where several words are emphasized in succession. 4, Emphasis and accent, or where emphasis changes accent. 5. Emphasis and inflection, or where the inflection is changed by emphasis. 6. Emphatic pause, or the pause before or after an emphatic word or phrase. Nott. The emphatic words are denoted, as usual, by italics, or capitals; and the emphatic pause, by a dash, thus, (—),. LESSON XXTII. SPEECH BEFORE THE VIRGINIA CONVENTION. i Mr. Presment.—It is natural for man’ to indulge in the illu- sions of hope’. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth’, and listen to the song of that siren’ till she transforms us into beasts’. Is this'—the part of wise men’, engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty’? Are we disposed to be of the number of those’, “who, having eyes\,—see’ not, and having ears’, —/hear' not the things which so nearly concern their temporal salvation’? For my‘—part’, whatever anguish of spirit it may cosé', lam willing to know the whole truth‘; to know’ the worst, and to provide’ for it. TI 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’, | .OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 93 wish to know what there has been in the conduct of the British ministry for the last ten years’, to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and the house’? Is it that tnsidious smile’ with which our petition has been late- ly received’? Trust it not‘, sir: it will prove a snare‘ to your feet’. Suffer not yourself to be betrayed with a kiss‘. Ask* yourselves, how this gracious reception of our petition’, comports with those warlike preparations which cover our waters and darken our land’. Are fleets'—and armies'—necessary to a work of dove' and reconciliation’? Wave we shown ourselves so unwilling” to be reconciled, that force’—must be called in to win back our love’? Let us not deceive’ ourselves, sir. These are the implements of war\ and subjugation’; the last oe ments to which kings resort. I ask, gentlemen’, what means this martial array’, if its pur- pose be nof’ to force us into submission’? 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 accu- mulation of navies and armies’ No‘,sir’, she has none’. They are meant for ws’: they can‘ be meant’ for no other’. They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains’, which the Brit- ish ministry 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’. We have held the subject up in every light in which it was 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, deceive ourselves longer’. Sir’, we have done every thing’ that could be done‘, to avert the storm which is now coming on’. We have petitioned’; we have remon- strated’; we have supPLicATED'; we have PROSTRA'TED* our selves at the foot of the throne’, and implored its interposition’ to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and parliament’. Our petitions’ have been slighted’; our remonstrances' have produced additional violence and insult‘; our suppilications’ have been disregarded’; and we have been spurned‘, with contempt’, from the foot of the throne’. ,Tn vain, after these things’, may we HaALe the fond hope of peave and reconciliation’. TZhere is no longer any room’ for hope. If we wish to be free’; if we mean to preserve inviolate. those inestimable privileges for which we have been so long con- tending’; if we mean not basely to abandon’ the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledg- ed ourselves never’ to abandon, until the glorious object of our 94 NM’GUEFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE contest shall be obtained’; we must fight’! I repeat it sir’, WE mMusT FIGHT’ !! An appeal to arms‘ and the God of Hosts’, is all that is left’ us. (s They tell us, six’, 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 sta- tioned in every house’? Shall we gather strength by: irresolu- tion and inaction’? Shall we acquire the means of effectual re- sistance’ by lying supinely on 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 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 swch‘a country as that which we! possess, are invincible by any force’ which our enemy can send against’ us. Besides’, we shall not fight our battles—a/one’. 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, we have no election’. Ifwe were base enough to desire’ it, it is now too late to retire from the contest’.. ‘There is no re- treat’ but in submission and slavery‘! Our chains’ are forged’. ‘Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston‘! The war is inevitable’; and’—let it come! I repeat it, LETIT COME! It is in vain to extenuate the matter’. Gentlemen may cry peace’, peace’; but there is no‘ peace. ‘The war is actually be- gun’. ‘The next gale that sweeps from the north’, will bring to our ears 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's give tite liberty’, or GIVE ME DEATH.—P. Henry. Remarxk. In the above extract, may be found an illustration of most of the orinciples of emphasis. The most important emphatic words and pauses only are marked. On this pint there is always room for difference of opinion. Scarcely any two per- eons would pronounce a sentence with precisely the same emphasis. Observe, in the above lesson the all-contrelling power of emphasis in determining to the falling inflection. The words ‘‘eyes,’’ ‘‘ears,’’ and ‘‘my,’’ in the first para- graph, the word ‘‘that’’ in the second, and ‘‘spurned”’ and ‘‘ contempt’? in the fourth paragraph, are examples of this. - OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 95 LESSON XXIV. THE GOUTY MERCHANT AND THE STRANGER In Broadstreet building’,(on a winter night’,) Snug by his parlor-fire’, a gouty wight Sat all alone’, with one hand rubbing His feet’, rolled up in fleecy hose’, With ?other he’d beneath his nose The Public Ledger , in whose columns grubbing’ : ‘He noted all-thessales of hops’, ‘Ships' , Shops’, and wolsanet ; Gum’, galls’, and groceries’; ginger’, gin’, Tar‘, tallow‘, turmeric’, turpentine’, and tin’; When lo’! a decent personage in black’, Entered and most politely said’— “ Your footman’, sir’, has gone his nightly track’ To the King’s head’, And. left your door ajar‘, which Ae Observed in passing by‘ And thought it neighborly’ to give you notice .” “Ten thousand thanks‘; how very few’ do get, In time of danger’, | Such kind attentions from a stranger’! Assuredly, that fellow’s throat’ is Doomed to a final drop at Newgate’: He knows’, too, (the unconscionable elf’,) That there’s no sow! at home’ except myse/f*.” *¢ Indeed’,” replied the stranger’ (looking grave’,) ‘Then he’s a double‘ knave; . He knows that rogues’ and thieves’ by scores Nightly beset unguarded doors’: And see, how east/y‘ might one Of these domestic foes’, Even beneath your very nose‘, Perform his knavish tricks’; Inter your room, as J‘ have done, Blow out!’ your candles\—thus‘\—and thus\—, Pocket’ your silver candlesticks , And’—walk off thus’ — So said’—so done‘—he made no more remark’, Nor waited for replies', But marched off with his prize’, Leaving the gouty merchant in the dark.'\—Anonymous. 44 ao 96 MGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE LESSON XXV. SPEECH IN REPROOF OF MR. PITT. { was unwilling to interrupt the course of this debate’, while it was carried on with calmness and decency’, by men who do not suffer the ardor of opposition to cloud their reason’, or trans- port them to such expressions as the dignity of this assembly oes not admit. I have hitherto deferred answering the gentleman, who de- claimed against the bill with such fluency and rhetoric’, and such vehemence of gesture‘; who charged the advocates for the expe- dients now proposed’, with having no regard to any interests but their own‘, and with making laws’ only to consume paper’, and threatened them with the defection of their adherents’, and the loss of their influence’, upon this new discovery of their folly and ignorance’. Nor, do I now answer him for any other pur- pose’, than to remind him how little the clamor of rage‘ and pet- ulency of invective’, contribute to the end for which this assem- bly is called together‘; how little the discovery of truth is pro- moted’, and the security‘ of the nation established,’ by pompous diction’ and theatrical emotion’. ’ Formidable sounds and furious declamation’, confident as- sertions. and lofty periods’, may affect the young’ and inexpe- rienced’; and perhaps the gentleman may have contracted his habits of oratory’, by conversing more with those of his dwn age’, than with such as have more opportunities of acquiring knowledge’, and more successful methods of communicating their sentiments’. If the heat of temper would permit him to attend to those’, whose age and long acquaintance with business give them an indisputable right to deference and superiority’, he would learn in time to reason’,rather than declaim’; and to pre- fer justness of argument! and an accurate knowledge of facts’, to sounding epithets’ and splendid superlatives’, which may disturb the imagination’ for a moment, but leave no lasting im- pression upon the mind’, _He would learn’, that to accuse. and prove’ are very different’; and that reproaches‘, unsupported by evidence’, affect only the character of him’ that utters them. Excursions of fancy and flights of oratory’, are indeed pardona- ble in young’men, but in no other’; and it would surely contrib- ute more’, even to the purpose for which some gentlemen appear io speak’,(that of depreciating the conduct of the administration‘), to prove’ the inconveniences and injustice of this bill’, than bare- ly to assert’ them, with whatever magnificence of language’, or appearance of zeal’, honesty’, or compassion’.—Sir R. WaLpPoue. | ™. OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES 07 LESSON XXVI. REPLY TO SIR ROBERT WALPOLE. (Observe in this, examples of antithesis and relative emphasis.) THE atrocious crime of being a yoting man, which the honor- able gentleman has’, with such spirit’ and decency',charged’ upor me, I shall neither attempt to padliate' nor deny‘; but content my self with hoping, that I may be one of those’ whose follies cease with their youth,’ and not of that-number, who are ignorant’ in spite of experience’. Whether youth’ can be imputed to a man as a reproach’ { will not assume the province of determining’; but surely age may become justly contemptible’, if the opportunities which it brings have passed away without improvement’, and vice’ appears to prevail’, when the passions’ have subsided’. The wretch’, who, after having seen the consequences of a thou- sand errors, continues still to blunder’, and whose age has only added obstinacy‘ to stupidity’, is surely the object either of abhor- ence’ or contempt’, and deserves not that his gray hairs’ should secure him from insult’. Much more is he‘ to be abhorred’, who, as he has advanced'—in age’, has receded‘\—-from virtue’, and become more wicked’'—with less temptation‘; who prostitutes himself for money’ which he cannot. enjoy’, and spends the re- mains of his life’, in the ruin of his country’. But youth’ is not my only crime; I am accused of acting a theatrical’ part. A theatrical part' may either imply some pe- euliarity of gesture’, or a dissimulation’ of my real sentiments’, and an adoption’ of the opinions and language of another’ man. In the first’ sense, the charge is too trifling’ to be confagted’; and deserves only to be mentioned’, that it may be despised. Ji am at liberty, like every ofher\ man, to use my own‘ language ; and though, perhaps, | may have some ambition to please this gentle- man’, I shall not lay myself under any restraint’, nor very solici- tously copy is diction’ or his, mien‘, however matured by age’, or modeled by experience’. ; - But, if any man shall’, by charging me with theatrical behavior’, imply’, that I utter any sentiments’ but my own’, 1 shall treat him as a culumniator' and a villain’; ner shall any protection shelter - him from the treatment'he deserves’. I shail,on such an occasion’, without seruple, trample upon all those forms with which wealth and dignity intrench’ themselves, nor shall any thing but age! restrain my resentment’; dge,—which always brings one‘ priv- ilege, that of being insolent’ and supercilious’, without punish- ments : But, with regard to those whom I have offended, I am of opin- ion, that if I had’ acted a borrowed part’, I should have avoided 9 98 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE _ their censure: the heat that offended’ them, was the ardor of conviction’, and that zeal‘ for the service of my country’ which neither hope’ nor fear shall influence me to suppress‘. I will not sit unconcerned’ while my liberty is invaded’, nor look in silence’ upon public robbery’. 1 will exert my endeavors, at whatever hazard’, to repel’ the aggressor, and drag the thief to justice’, whoever’ may protect’ him in his villanies, and whoever’ may partake’ of his plunder‘.—Pirr. LESSON XXVII. CHARACTER OF MR. PITT TE secretary’ stood alone’. Modern degeneracy had not reached’ him. Original’ and unaccommodating’, the features of his character had the hardihood of antiquity’. His august mind’ overawed majesty itself, No state chicanery‘, no narrow sys- tem of vicious politics’, no idle contest for ministerial victories’, sunk him to the vulgar level of the great’; but overbearing", per- suasive’, and impracticable’, his object was England’, his ambi- tion was fame... Without dividing’, he destroyed’ party; with- out corrupting’, he made a venal age unanimous’. France sunk beneath‘ him. With one‘ hand he smote the house of Bourbon’, and wielded in the other’ the democracy of England’. The sight of his mind was infinite‘; and his schemes were to affect, not England’, not the present’ age only, but Hurope' and posterity. Wonderful were the means’ by which these schemes were ac- complished’; always seasonable’, always adequate’, the sugges- tions of an understanding animated by ardor’, and enlightened by prophecy’. : The ordinary feelings’ which make life amiable and indolent’ were unknown to him. No domestic difficulties’, no domestic - weakness‘ reached him; but aloof from the sordid occurrences of life’, and unsullied by its intercourse’, he came occasionally — into our system’, to counsel and decide’. A character so exalt- ed, so strenuous’, so various’, so authoritative’, astonished‘ a cor- rupt age, and the treasury trembled at the name of Pitt’, through all classes of venality’. Corruption. imagined’, indeed, that she had found defects‘ in this statesman, and talked much of the in- eonsistency of his glory‘, and much of the ruin of his victories’; but the history of his country’, and the calamities of the enemy’, — answered’ and refuted’ her. Nor were his political’ his only‘ talents. His eloquence’ was an era‘ in the senate; peculiar, and spontaneous’; familiarly ex- pressing gigantic sentiments and instructive wisdom’; not like the torrent of Demosthenes’, or the splendid conflagration of Tully’; >. ees 8 “OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 99 it resembied sometimes the thunder’, and sometimes the music of the spheres. He did not conduct the understanding through the painful subtilty of argumentation’, nor was he ever on the rack of exertion’; but rather lightened’ upon the subject, and reached the point by the flashings of the mind’, which, like those of the eye‘, were felt’, but could not be followed. Upon the whole’, there was in this man something that could create’, subvert’, or reform‘; an understanding‘, a spirit’, and. an eloquence’, to summon mankind to society’, or to break the bonds of slavery asunder, and to rule the wildness of free minds with unbounded authority’; something that could establish’, or overwhelm‘ empires, and strike a blow’ in the world that should. resound through the universe.‘—-RoBER SON. LESSON XXVIII. VANITY OF LIFE. Man’, born of woman’, Is of few days’, And full of trouble‘. He cometh forth as a flower’, and is cut down’; He fieeth also as a shadow’, And continueth not’. y- Upon sych' dost thou open thine eye, And bring me unto judgment with thee’? Among the impure is there one pure’? Wot one’. 9 Are his days so determined’? Hast thou numbered his months’, And set fast his bounds’ for him, Which he can never pass’? Turn’then from him that he may rest’, And enjoy’, as an hireling’, his day’. % The tree’ hath hope’, if it be cut down’; It becometh green‘ again, And new shoots‘ are put. forth. Jf even the root is o/d‘ in the earth, And its stock die‘ in the ground, From vapor of water’ it will bud’, And bring forth boughs’ as a young plant’. But mun’ dieth, and his power is gone’: He is taken away’, and where is he'? -. @ Till the waters waste from the sea’, ; ‘Till the river faileth and is dry land’, "2 Man lieth low’, and riseth not again’. ill the heavens are old’, he shall not awake’, Nor be aroused from his sleep’. ° as, @ Oh! that thou wouldst conceal’ me In the realm of departed souls’! M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE Hide me in secret’, till thy wrath be past’; Appoint me then a new term’, And remember me again’ : But alas‘! if a man die’, Shall he ive’ again ? % So long, then, as my toil ‘endureth’, will I wait’, till a change‘come to me. Thou wilt call’ me, and | shall answer’; Thou wilt pity the work of thy hands’. Though now‘ thou numberest my steps’ ‘ Thou shalt then’ not watch for my sin’, My. transgression will be sealed in a bag", Thou wilt bind up’ and remove my iniquity’ ay 2 @ Yet alas‘! the mountain falleth’ and is swallowed Up , The rock is removed out of its place’ . The waters hollow out the stones’, ‘he floods overflow the dust of the earth’, And thus’, thou destroyest the hope of man’, s @ Thou contendest’ with him, till he faileth’, Thou changest his countenance’, and sendest him away’ Though his sons become great’ and happy’, Vet je’ knoweth it not; If they come to shame’ and dishonor’, He’ perceiveth it not‘.—Herper’s Hesrew Porrry. OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 101 EXERCISES IN POETRY. Some lessons will now be given for the purpose of illustrating the principles applicable to the reading of poetry. It will be recollected that these have already been stated as follows, viz. 1, The rising inflection and monotene are used more frequently in poetry than in prose. 2. Avoid changing the accent or emphasis for the sake of accommo- dating the metre. 3. At the end of each line, there should generally be a slight pause, especially in rhyme. H 4. In most kinds of poetry, there should be, somewhere near the middle of each line, a slight pause, which is called a cesura, and . sometimes theré should be one or two additional pauses still slighter than the cesura.’ ‘These latter are called demié-cesuras. The ceswra is marked thus, ( |] ), and the demi-cesura thus, ( | ). 5. A simile in poetry should be read in a lower tone than the rest. of the passage. LESSON XXIX. POETIC STYLE. In this lesson, the cesural pauses are all marked. Let it be remembered that these should never be permitted to interfere, in any considerable degree, with the proper expression of the sense, however much the melody may be thereby increased. A word should never be divided by the cesura. It is ~ desirable also to avoid separating a noun from its preceding adjective or arti- cle, and a verb from its adverb. ‘These pauses must be very slight, espe- cially the demi-cesura, which indeed should be scarcely perceptible. For more particular directions upon this subject, see Kaimes’ Elements of Criti- cism. Bur most'| by numbers || judge | a poet’s song, And smooth | or rough, || with them | is right or wrong; In the bright | muse, || though thousand_| charms conspire, Her voice | is all || these tuneful | fools admire, Who haunt | Parnassus || but to please | the ear, ‘ Not mend | their minds; |] as some | to church repair, Not for the | doctrine, || but the | music there. “ These, | equal syllables || alone | require, hough oft | the ear || the open | vowels tire; While | expletives || their feeble aid | do join, And ten | low words || oft creep | in one dull line: While they | ring round || the same | unvaried chimes, With sure | returns || of still | expected rhymes ; Where’er | you find || ‘‘ the cooling | western breeze,” In the | next line |] it ‘‘ whispers | through the trees :” If crystal | streams |] “‘ with pleasing | murmurs creep,” The reader ’s | threatened || (not in vain) | with “sleep :” Then | at the last || and only | couplet fraught With some | unmeaning || thing they call | a thought, : 102 Sarr M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE A needless | Alexandrine || ends | the song, That, | like a wounded snake, || drags | its slow length along. ‘Leave such | to tune || their own dull rhymes,] and know. * What ’s roundly | smooth || or languishingly | slow; And praise | the easy |] vigor |. of a line, Where Denham’s strength, || and Waller’s | sweetness join True ease | in writing || comes from art, | not chance, ‘ As those | move easiest, || who have learned | to dance. °Tis not | enough || no harshness | gives offense, The sound | must seem |] an echo | to the sense: Soft | is the strain |] when Zephyr | gently blows, And | the smooth stream || in smoother | numbers flows ; But when | loud surges |} lash | the sounding shore, The hoarse | rough verse || should | like the torrent roar. When Ajax | strives || some rock’s | vast weight to throw, The line | too labors, |] and the words | move slow. Not so | when swift |} Camilla | scours the plain, Flies | o’er th’ unbending corn, || and skims | along the main. — Pops. ' Remarks. In the third line, the melody would require that the cesural * pause should be after ‘‘though,’’ but the sense is more fully expressed by _ placing it after ‘‘muse.’’ In the eighth line, the cesura would come after the first syllable in the word ‘‘ syllables;’’ but it is desirable to avoid dividing a word, and therefore it is removed to the end of the word. For the same reason, in the twentieth line, to avoid dividing the word ‘‘Alexandrine,’’ the cesura is removed three syllables beyond its natural place. LESSON XXX. BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE. In the two succeeding lessons, the cesuras are all marked, but the demi cesuras are but partially noted. * sift Nor a drum | was heard’, || not a funeral note’, oe As his corse |] to the rampart we hurried’; Not a soldier | discharged || his farewell | shot’ O’er the grave |] where our hero was buried’. We buried him | darkly’, |] at dead | of night’, The sods’ || with our bayonets | turning"; By the struggling moonbeam’s* || misty light’, Anél the lantern || dimly burning. No useless | coffin‘ || enclosed | his breast’, Not in sheet’ | nor in shrowd' || we wound him; But he lay like a warrior || taking his rest’, With his martial cloke‘ || around him. Few and short’ || were the prayers’ we said, st And we spoke || not a word of sorrow’; OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 103 But we steadfastly gazed |] on the face of the dead’, And we bitterly thought || of the morrow’. We thought’, || as we hollowed his narrow bed’, And smoothed down || his lonely pillow’, That the foe | and the stranger‘ || would tread | o’er his head, And we’ | far away || on the billow’. ‘ Lightly | they ‘ll talk || of the spirit tee ’s gone’, And o’er his cold ashes |] upbraid‘ him, But little he dl’ reck, || if they ’1] let him sleep on In the grave’ || where a Briton‘ has laid him. But half | of our heavy task |] was done’, When the clock || struck the hour for retiring’; And we heard || the distant random gun’ That the foe || was sullenly firing’. Slowly’ and sadly’ || we laid him down‘, From the field of his fame |] fresh and gory’; We carved not a dine’, || and we raised not a stoneé— But left him || alone with his glory.\—Wotrr. * LESSON XXXI. THE MARINER'S DREAM. \ 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‘, »He dreamed of his home’, || of his dear native bowers’, And pleasures’ that waited || on life’s merry morn‘; While Memory each scene || gayly covered with flowe's’, _ And restored every rose’, || but secreted the thorn’. “Then Fancy her magical pinions |] spread wide’, ___ And bade the young dreamer’ || in ecstasy rise’; Now, far, far behind him |] the green waters glide’, ® _And the cot of his forefathers || blesses his eyes’. 4 The jessamin 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", ) A father bends o’er him’ |] with looks of delight’; _ His cheek is impearled’ || with a mother’s warm tear; And the lips of the boy || in a love-kiss unite’ With the lips of the maid || whom his bosom holds dear’, 104 } Gi», M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE ©The heart of the sleeper’ || beats high in his-breast', Joy quickens his pulse’, || all his ‘hardships seem 0’er'; And a murmur of happiness’ || steals through his rest! — ‘©Q God’! thou hast blest me, |} I ask for no more.” ~ Ah! whence is that flame |] which now bursts on his eye"? Ah! what is that sound || that now larums his ear‘? *Tis the lightning’s red glare || painting hell on the sky"! Tis the crashing of thunders’, || the groan of the sphere ! ‘! He springs‘ from his hammock, '| he fies‘ to the deck’; Amazement confronts him’ J! with images dire‘;— Wild winds’ and mad waves’ || drive the vessel a wreck’ ’ The masts fly in splinters’, || the shrouds are on fire’! ‘Like mountains’ the billows || tumultuously swell’, Tn vain the lost wretch’ || calls on mercy to save‘; Unseen hands of spirits || are ringing his knell’, And the death-angel flaps || his broad wings o’er the wave’. » Oh, Sailor-boy’! |] woetothy dream of delight"! In darkness || dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss‘;— Where now is the picture || that Fancy touched bright; Thy parents’ fond pressure, || and love’s honeyed kiss"? Oh, Sailor-boy’! ! Sailor-boy’t ! || never again Shall home’, love’, or kindred’, || thy wishes repay’; rag Unblessed and unhonored’ , || down deep in the main’ Full many a score fathom,|| thy frame shall decay’. No tomb shall e’er plead || to remembrance for thee’, Or redeem form or fame || from the merciless surge’; But the white foam of waves‘ || shall thy winding-sheet be’, And winds, in the midnight || of winter, thy dirge’. On beds of green sea-flower’ |] 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‘. Days‘, months’, years‘, and ages’,|| shall circle away’, And still the vast waters || above thee shall roll’; Harth loses thy pattern || for ever and aye'— « Oh, Sailor-boy'! Sailor-boy’! || peace to thy soul’. —Dantoxo. : he * OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 105 LESSON XXXII. MARY, THE MAID OF THE INN. Wuerr is she‘, the poor maniac‘, whose wildly-fixed eyes’ Seem a heart overcharged to express‘? She weeps not’, yet often and deeply she sighs’; She never complains’; but her silence implies’ The composure of settled distress’. No aid’, no compassion’, the maniac will seek’; Cold and hunger’ awake not her ¢are’; Through the rags do the winds of the winter blow bleak’ On her poor withered bosom’, half bare‘; and her cheek’ Has the deadly pale hue of despair’. Yet cheerful and happy’, nor distant the day’, Poor Mary’, the maniac, has been’: The traveler remembers’, who journeyed this way’, No damsel so lovely’, no damsel so gay’, As Mary’, the Maid of the Inn’. Her cheerful address*filled the guests with delight’, As she welcomed them in with a smile’; Her heart was a stranger to childish affright’, And Mary would walk by the Abbey at night’, When the wind whistled down the dark aisle’. She loved‘; and young Richard had settled the day’, And she hoped’ to be happy for life’: But Richard was idle’ and worthless’; and they _ Who knew’ him would pity poor Mary’,and say’, That she was too good’ for his wife’. Twas in autumn’, and stormy and dark was the night , ® And fast were the windows and door’; Two guests sat enjoying the fire that burned bright’; - And, smoking in silence, with tranquil delight’, They listened’ to hear the wind’ roar. ‘“‘°’Tis pleasant’,” cried one’, “‘ seated by the fire-side’, To hear the wind whistle without’.”’ ‘A fine night for the Abbey‘!” his comrade replied’: ‘‘ Methinks a man’s courage’ would now well be tried’, Who would wander the ruins about’. “1 myself’, like a school-boy’, should tremble to hear’ The hoarse ivy shake overmy head’; And could fancy I saw’, half persuaded by fear’, Some ugly, old abbot’s white spirit’ appear, _For this wind’ might awaken the dead’.” “T’ll wager a dinner,” the other one cried’, “That Mary’ would venture there now'.” 106 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE “Then wager‘, and Jose‘,’” with a sneer he‘replied’; ‘‘1’ll warrant she’d fancy a ghost by her side’, And faint’ if she saw a white cow!” ‘Will Mary this charge on her courage allow’?” His companion exclaimed with a smile’; ‘‘T shall win‘, for I know’ she will venture there now’, And earn a new bonnet’, by bringing a bough’ From the alder that grows in the aisle‘.” With fearless good humor’ did Mary comply’, And her way’ to the Abbey she bent’; The night’ it was gloomy‘, the wind it was high’; And, as hollowly howling it swept throuch the sky , She shivered with cold’ as she went’. O’er the path so well known’, still proceeded the maid, ~ Where the Abbey rose dim on the sight’; Through the gateway’, she entered’; she felt not afraid’; Yet the ruins were lonely and wild’, and their shade’ Seemed to deepen’ the gloom of the night’. All around her was silent’, save when the rude blast Howled dismally round the old pile’; Over weed-covered fragments’ still fearless she passed’, ' And arrived at the innermost ruin at last’, Where the alder-tree’ grew in the aisle’. Well pleased did she reach‘ it, and quickly drew near, And hastily gathered the bough’; When the sound of a voice’ seemed to rise on her ear She paused’, and she listened’, all eager to hear’, And her heart panted fearfully now"! The wind blew’, the hoarse ivy shook over her head’: She listened’; nought else’ could she hear’. The wind ceased’, her heart sunk in her bosom with dread , For she heard in the ruins’—distinctly‘—the tread’ Of footsteps‘ approaching her near. Behind a wide column’, half breathless with fear’, She crept, to conceal herself there’; That instant’, the moon o’er a dark cloud shone clear’. And she saw in the moonlight two ruffians‘appear, And between them’, a,corpse‘ did they bear. Then Mary could feel’ her heart-blood eurdle cold" Again the rough wind hurried by’; It blew off the hat of the one, and behold’, Even close to the feet of poor Mary it rolled‘; She fell‘; and expected to die"! OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 107 ** Curse‘ the hat,”’ he exclaims’; ‘‘Nay‘, come on , and fast hide’ The dead body?” his comrade replied’, She beheld them in safety pass on by her side’, She seizes the hat‘, fear her courage supplied’, And fast through the Abbey she flies"! She ran with wild speed‘, she rushed in’ at the door’, She look’d horribly eager around’: Her limbs could support their faint burden no more’ But exhausted and breathless, she sunk oh the floor’, Unable to utter a sound’. . Ere net her pale lips could her story impart,’ For a moment, the Aat’ met her view :— Her eyes from that object convulsively start, For’, O Heaven‘! what cold horror thrilled through her heart’, When the name of her Richard‘ she knew! Where the old Abbey stands’, on the common hard by , His gibbet is now to be seen’; Not far from the inn’, it engages the eye’; The traveler beholds it, and thinks with a sigh’, Of poor Mary, fie Maid of the Inn‘.—SovuTHey. LESSON. XXXII. MIDNIGHT MASS FOR THE DYING YEAR. Yes’, the year is growing old’, And his eye is pale and bleared'; Death’, with frosty hand and cold’, Plucks the old man by the beard, Sorely', sorely"! The leaves are falling’, falline’, Solemnly’ and slow’; Caw’! caw"! the rooks are calling,’ It is a sound of woe’, A séund of woe! Through woods and mountain-passes’ The winds like anthems roll’; They are chanting solemn masses’, Singing’ Lai tmcnied for this pOdr soul! ! Pray! pray! The hooded clouds’, like friars’, Tell their beads in drops of rain ; And patter their doleful prayers ;— But their prayers’ are all in vain, “All in vain“! 108 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE ‘here he. stands’, in the foul weather’, The foolish, fond Old Year‘, Crown’d with wild flowers and with heather’, Like weak, despised Lear’, A king’,—a king"! Then comes’ the summer-like day’, Bids the old man rejoice’! His joy"! his last‘! O', the old man gray’ Loveth‘ her ever soft voice’, ‘ Gentle’ and low’. To the crimson woods he saith’, And the voice gentle and low Of the soft air,’ like a daughter’s breath’, Pray,do not mock me so"! Do not laugh at me’! And now’, the sweet day is dead’; Cold in his arms it lies, No stain from its breath is spread’ Over the glassy skies’, No mist or stain’! Then’, too’, the Old Year‘ dieth, And the forests’ utter a moan’, Like the voice of one who crieth In the wilderness alone’, Vex not his ghost"! Then comes’, with an awful roar’, Gathering’ and sounding on’, The storm-wind* from Labrador", The wind Euroelydon’, The storm-wind"! Howl"! howl"! and from the forest’ Sweep the red leaves away"! Would’, the sins that thou abhorrest’, O soul’, could thus decay’, ae And be swept away’!* For there shall come a mightier blast’, There shall be a darker day’; And the stars from heaven downeast , es Like red leaves be swept away’! i Kyrie Eléyson! Christe E}éyson!{—Lonere.iow. wind TERE a ig Me a ao Shhh colle gE cal Oe, * See Rule II—1. Remark. t These words mean, ‘‘ Lord, have mercy! Christ, have mercy !’’ - OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 109 LESSON XXXIV. THE SOLDIER’S REST. Soptier’, rest"! || thy warfare o’er’, Sleep the sleep’ || that knows not breaking’; Dream of battle-fields || no more’, Days of danger’, || nights of waking". In our isle’s enchanted hall’, Hands unseen || thy couch are strewing", Fairy strains of music’ || fall, Every sense’ || in slumber dewing". Soldier’, rest’! |] thy warfare o’er’, Sleep the sleep || that knows not breaking’; ; Dream of battle-fields || no more’, Morn of toil’, |] nor night of waking". No rude sound shall reach thine ear’, Armor’s clang’, or war steed champing’, Trump nor pibroch summon here’, Mustering clan’, or squadron‘ tramping. Yet the dark’s' shrill fife may come’, At the daybreak from the fallow’, And the bittern‘ sound his drum’, Booming from the sedgy shallow’. Ruder’ sounds shall none be near, Guards nor warders challenge here‘. Here ’s no war-steed’s neigh and champing’, Shouting clans’ or squadrons stamping’. Huntsman’, rest’! thy chase is done’; : While our slumbrous spells assail’ ye, Daan not with the rising sun’, Bugles here shall sound * reveille’. Sleep'! the deer is in his den’; Bicep! thy hounds’ are by thee lying"; Sleep"! nor dream in yonder glen’, How thy gallant steed lay dying". Huntsman’! rest! thy chase i is done’; Think not of the rising sun’, For at dawning to assail’ ye, Here no bugle “sounds reveille’.—Scorr, * Pronounced re-vel’-ya. 110— M’GUFFEY’S RETORICAL GUIDE LESSON XXXV. JEPHTUHAH’S DAUGHTER. Sue stood_before her father’s gorgeous tent’, To listen for his coming". : I have thought’, _ A. brother’s'and a sister’s’love was much’, ~ T know a brother’s’is, for IT have loved’ - A trusting sister‘; and I know how broke The heart may be’ with its own tenderness’. - But the affection of a delicate child‘ For a fond father’, gushing as it does ea With the sweet springs of life’, and living on Through all earth’s changes’, Must be holier"! The wind bore on’ The leaden tramp of thousands‘. Clarion notes Rang sharply on the ear at.intervals’; And the low, mingled din of mighty hosts’, Returning from the battle , poured from far’, Like the deep murmur of a restless sea‘. Jephthah led his warriors on’ Through Mizpeh’s streets’. His helm’ was proudly set’, And his stern lip curled slightly,’ as if praise Were for the hero’s scérn. - His step was firm, But free’ as India’s leopard’; and his mail’, Whose shekels none in Israel might bear’, Was lighter than a tassel‘ on his frame. His crest’ was Judah’s kingliest‘, and the look Of his dark’, lofty eye” Might quell a lion‘. He led on’; but thoughts’ Seemed gathering round which troubled‘ him. The veins Upon his forehead were distinctly seen’; And his proud lip’ was painfully compressed’. He trod less firmly’; and his restless eye’ Glanced forward frequently’, as if some ill He dared not meet, were there‘. His home was near; And men were thronging’, with that strange delight’ ‘They have in human passions’, to observe The struggle of his feelings with his pride’. He gazed intensely forward’. A moment more’, And he had reached his home’; when lo! there sprang One’ with a bounding footstep,’ and a brow Like light’, to meet’ him. Oh‘! how beautiful"! Her dark eye flashing’ like a sun-lit gem’, And her luxuriant hair’/— twas like the sweep Of a swift wing in visions’. He stood still’, As if the sight had withered’ him. She threw Her arms about his neck‘; he heeded not’. OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. Fe She called’ him “ Father',” but he answered not’. She stood and gazed upon him, Was he wroth/? There was no anger’ in “that blood-shot eye’. Had sickness’ seized him? She unclasped his helm’, And laid her white hand’ gently on his brow’. The touch aroused’ him. He raised up his hands’, And sp6ke the name of Géd in agony. She knew that he was str icken‘then, and rushed Again into his arms’, and with a flood Of tears she could not stay’, she sobbed a prayer That he would tell her of his wretchedness’. - He told’ her, and a momentary flush’ Shot o’er her countenance’: and then’, the soul Of Jephthah’s daughter wakened', and she stood Calmly and nobly up’, and said’, “Tis well\— And I will die!” And whén the sin had sét, Thén shé was déad—but nét by viclence.—WILuts, LESSON XXXVI. THE TREASURES OF THE DEEP. Wuar hidest thou in thy treasure-caves and oe Thou hollow- sounding and mysterious main’! Pale glistening pearls’, and rainbow-colored shells’ ; Bright things’, Keep’, keep’ thy riches, melancholy eon } Yet more, thy depths have more'!\—What wealth untold, We ask not such from thee’. Far down, and shining through their stillness, les‘? Thou hast the starry gems’, the burning gold’, Won from ten thousand royal argosies'. Sweep o’er thy spoils , thou wild and wrathful main’! Yet more, thy depths have more’! Barth claims not thése again! Above the cities of a world gone by’. Sand hath filled up the palaces of old’, Sea-weed o’ergrown the halls of revelry". Dash o’er them’, ocean , in thy scornful play"! Man yields thém to decay. Yet more’! thy billows and thy depths } have more’! High hearts’ and brave’ are gathered to thy breast’. They hear not now’ the booming waters roar’,— The battle-thunders will not “break their’ rest. Keep thy red gild and géms, thou stormy grave’! eh Give back the frue and brave’. which gleam unrecked’ of and in vain tl Thy waves have rolled’ 112 ¥. M'GUFEEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE : Give back the dost‘ and lovely'\—T hose’, for whom __ ‘The place was kept at board and hearth so long’, The prayer went up through midnight’s breathless gloom , And the vain yearning woke ’midst festal song"! Hold fast thy buried isles‘, thy towers oerthrown’, , But al/ is not thine own!—Mrs. Hemans. e EXERCISES FOR THE CULTIVATION OF THE VOICE. _ Those parts to be read in a low tone are marked(J,) and those requiring a high tone are marked (2.) This lesson also illustrates the manner in which simile should be read in poetry. LESSON XXXVII. HECTORS ATTACK ON THE GRECIAN WALLS. Tuen godlike Hector and his troops contend’ To force the ramparts and the gates to rend’; Nor Troy could conquer’, nor the Greeks would yield’, Till great Sarpedon tower’d amid the field’: In arms he shines, conspicuous from afar’, And bears aloft his ample shield in air’; And while two pointed javelins arm his hands , Majestic moves along, and leads his Lycian bands.* (1) So’, pressed with hunger’, from the mountain brow Decends a lion‘ on the flocks below ; So’, stalks the lordly savage o’er the plain’, In sullen majesty and stern disdain’: In vain loud mastiffs bay him from afar’, And shepherds gall him with an iron war’; Regardless,’ furious,’ he pursues his way’; -He foams’, he roars’, he rends the panting prey’. Unmoved, the embodied Greeks their fury dare’, And fixed, support the weight of all the war’; Nor could the Greeks repel the Lycian powers’, Nor the bold. Lycians force the Grecian towers* (7) As, on the confines of adjoining grounds’, Two stubborn swains' with blows dispute their hounds, They tug’, they sweat‘; but neither gain‘ nor yield’ One foot’, one inch’ ofthe contested field’: ‘Thus, obstinate to death, they fight’, they fall’; Nor these can keen’, nor those can win‘ the wall. Their manly breasts are pierced with many a wound , Loud strokes are heard’, and rattling arms resound’; The copious slaughter covers all the shore’, And the high ramparts drop with human gore’. (/) As when two scales are charged with doubtful loads‘, . From side to side’ the trembling balance nods’, (While some laborious matron, just and poor, With nice exactness weighs her wooly store’,) OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 113 Till’, poised aloft’, the resting beam suspends Each equal weight’; nor (his’, nor that‘ descends. °° So stood the war, till Hector’s matchless might With fates prevailing’, turned the scale of fight’. (h) Fierce as a whirlwind up the walls he flies’, And fires his hosts with loud repeated cries‘. Advance , ye Trojans’! lend your valiant hands’, Haste to the fleet’, and toss the blazing brands’! They hear’, they run‘; and gathering at his call’ Raise scaling engines’, and ascend the wall’: Around the works a wood of glittering spears Shoots up’, and all the rising host appears". A ponderous stone‘ bold Hector heaved to throw, Pointed above’, and rough and gross below’: Not two strong men the enormous weight could raise , Such men as live in ¢hese‘ degenerate days. Yet this’,as easy as a swain could bear The snowy fleece’, he tossed,’ and shook in air’: Thus armed’, before the folded gates he came’, Of massy substance’, and stupendous frame’; With iron bars’ and brazen hinges strong’, On lofty beams of solid timber hung": Then thundering through the planks with forceful sway, Drives the sharp rock’; the solid beams give way’; The folds are shattered’; from the crackling door’ Leap the resounding bars’, the flying hinges roar’. Now rushing in’, the furious chief appears, Gloomy as night’, and shakes two shining spears’: A dreadful gleam from his bright armor came’, And from his eyeballs flash’d the living flame’. He moves a god’, resistless’ in his course’, And seems a match for more than mortal force". Then pouring after’, through the gaping space’, A tide of Trojans flows’, and fills the place’; The Greeks behold‘, they tremble’, and they fly ; The shore is heaped with death’, and tumult rends the sky. Popr’s Homer. LESSON XXXVIII. (This lesson is adapted to the cultivation of a low tone.) BATTLE IN HEAVEN. To whom’, in brief’, thus Abdiel stern replied’: Reign thow in hell, thy‘ kingdom; let me serve, Tn heaven, God ever blest’, and 7s divine _ Behests’ obey‘, worthiest to be obeyed’; Yet chains‘ in hell, not realms’, expect’: meanwhile, From me’, (returned, as erst thou saidst, from flicht ,) This’ greeting on thy impious crest receive’, 10 114 _ Blazed opposite’, while expectation stood ‘es M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE So saying’, a noble stroke he lifted-high, Which hung not’, but so swift with tempest fell On the proud crest of Satan’, that no sight, Nor motion of swift thought’, less could his shield’, Such ruin intercept’. ‘Ten paces huge ° He back recoiled’; the tenth’,on bended knee His massy spear upstayed'; as if on earth ~ Winds under ground’, or waters forcing way’ Sidelong, had pushed a mountain‘ from his seat, Half sunk with all his pines. Now storming fury rose’, And clamor such as heard in heaven till now Was never’; arms on armor clashing’, bray’d Horrible discord‘, and the maddening wheels’ Of brazen chariots raged’; dire was the noise Of conflict’; over head the dismal hiss Of fiery darts in flaming volleys flew’, And flying,’ vaulted either host with fire’. So’, under fiery cope together rushed Both battles main’, with ruinous assault And inextinguishable rage’. All heaven Resounded’; and had earth been then’, all earth Had to her center shook’, What wonder‘? where Millions of fierce encountering angels fought - On either side’, the least of whom could wield These elements’, and arm him with the force Of all their regions’. ; Long time in even scale’, The battle hung"; till Satan’, who that day Prodigious power had shown, and met in arms No equal’, ranging through the dire attack Of fighting Seraphim confused’, at length, Saw where the sword of Michael smote, and felled Squadrons at once’; with huge two-handed sway’, Brandished aloft’, the horrid edge came down Wide wasting’; such destruction to withstand He hasted‘, and opposed the rocky orb Of tenfold adamant, his ample shield Of vast circumference’. At his approach’ The great Archangel from his warlike toil Surceased‘, and glad, as hoping here to end Intestine war in heaven’, th’ arch-foe subdued’. ‘Now waved their fiery swords‘, and in the air Made horrid circles‘; two broad suns their shields | " In horror’; from each hand with speed retired’, =~ Where erst was thickest fight’, the angelic throng, 2 ~~ And left large fields’, unsate within the wind’ Of such commotion’; such as, to set forth Great things by small’, if, nature’s concord broke’, whe « ame PY aces sf “o «3% at Pf “ ‘i OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 115 a Among the constellations war were sprung,’ Two planets‘ rushing from aspect® malign Of fiercest opposition’ , in mid-sky’ Should combat’, and their jarring spheres confound’. ay & LESSON XXXIX, (This should be read in a middle tone.) PAUL’S DEFENSE BEFORE KING AGRIPPA, ‘HEN said Agrippa unto Paul’: “Thou art permitted to speak for thyself’.”’? ‘Then Paul stretched forth his hand’ and answer- ed for himself. I think myself happy’, king Agrippa’, because I shall answer for myself, this day, before thee, touching all the things whereof I am accused of the Jews’; especially’, because I know thee to - be expert in all customs and questions which are among the - Jews’: wherefore I beseech thee to hear me patiently‘. My manner of life from my youth’, which was at the first among mine own nation at Jerusalem,’ know all the Jews’; who knew me from the beginning’, if they would testify’, that, after the most straitest sect of our religion’, I lived a Die ew : And now’, I stand and am judged for the hope of the promise made of God unto our fathers‘; unto which promise our twelve tribes, instantly serving God day and night, hope to come’. For which hope’s sake, king Agrippa,’ | am accused of the Jews’. Why should it be thought a thing incredible with you, that God ie raise the dead‘? I verily thought with myself’, that I ught to do many things ei taty to the name of Jesus of Naza- en tt Which things I also did‘ in Jerusalem: and many of the saints did I shut up in prison, having received authority from the chief-priesis‘, and when they were put to death’, I gave my voice against’ them. And I punished them oft in every synagogue’, and compell led them to blaspheme’; and being exceedingly mad’ against them, I persecuted them, even unto strange cities’. Whereupon, as I went to Damascus’, with authority and commission from the chief-priests’, at mid-day, O king’, I saw in the way a light from heaven, above the brightness of the sun, shining round about me and them which journeyed with‘ me. And when we were all fallen to the earth’, I heard a voice speaking unto me, and say ing’ Jn th the Hebrew tongue’, Saul’, Saul’, why persecutest thou me’? rz cde oe oe Nd * Observe the improper pronunciation of the word ‘‘aspect,’’ required by the poetic accent. In this case an equal degree of force may be given to each syllable. t 116 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE itis hard for thee to kick against the goads‘. And I said,’ Who art’ thou, Lord’? . And he said’, 1 am Jesus‘, whom thou persecutest’. But rise and stand upon thy feet’: for I have appeared unto thee for this purpose’, to make thee a minister and a witness both of these things which thou hast seen’, and of those things in the which I will appear‘ unto thee; delivering thee from the people and from the Gentiles’, unto whom now I send thee, to open their eyes’, and to turn them from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan unto God'; that they may receive forgiveness of sins’, and inheritance among them which are sanctified’, by faith that is in me’. Whereupon, O king Agrippa’, I was not disobedient unto the heavenly vision; but showed first unto them of Damascus’, and at Jerusalem’, and throughout all the coasts of Judea’, and then © to theGentiles’, that thev should repent and turn to God’, and do works meet for repentance’. For these causes the Jews caught me in the temple’, and went about to kill‘ me. Having, there- fore, obtained help of God’, I continue unto this day, witnessing both to small’ and great‘, saying none other things than those - which the prophets and Moses did say should come’; that Christ should suffer‘, and that he should be the first that should rise from the dead’, and should show light unto the people’, and to the Gentiles’. And as he thus spake for himself’, Festus said with a loud: voice, ‘ Paul’, thou art beside’ thyself, much learning hath made thee mad.‘” But he said, “Iam not mad’, most noble Festus’, but speak forth the words of truth and soberness‘. For the king knoweth* of these things’, before whom I speak freely’; for I am persuaded that none of these things are hidden from him‘; for this thing was not done ina corner’. King Agrippa’, believest thou the prophets’? I know’‘that thou believest, ”’ . Then Agrippa said unto Paul’; «Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian.’’ And Paul said’, “I would to God that not only thou’, but also all that hear me this day’, were both almost’, and altogether’ such as Jram, except these bonds'.”? And when he had thus spoken’, the king rose up, and the governor and Bernice, and they that sat with them’. And when they were gone aside’, they talked between themselves, saying’; « 'This man doeth nothing worthy of death’ or of bonds'.’”’ ‘Then said Agrippa unto Festus’; ‘This man might have been set at liber- ty , if he had not appealed’ unto Cesar\.”’-—Bipie. w * OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 117 LESSON XL. SPEECH OF HENRY V. TO HIS TROOPS. (This lesson requires a high key.) Once more unto the breach‘, dear friends’, once more ; Or close the wall up with our English dead’. In peace’, there’s nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility’; But when the blast of war blows 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’; et it pry through the portage of the head’, Like the brass cannon’; let the brow o’erwhelm’ it, As fearfully as doth a galled rock O’erhang and jutty his confounded base, Swilled with the wild and wasteful ocean . Now set the teeth‘, and stretch the nostril wide , Hold hard the breath‘, and bend\up every spirit’ To its full height’! On‘, on‘, you noble English ! Whose blood is set from fathers of war-proof; Fathers’, that, like so many Alexanders’, Have, in these parts, from morn till even, fought , And sheath’d their swords for lack of argument’; Be copy now to men of grosser blood’, And teach them how to war! 7 And you’, good yeomen., Whose limbs were made in England’, show‘ us here The mettle of your pasture; let us swear. _ That you are worth your breeding’, which T doubt not; For there is none of you so mean and base’, That hath not noble luster in your eyes’. 1 see you start like grayhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start‘. The game’s afoot’; Follow your spirit’: and, upon this charge’, Cry’—God for Harry‘! England’! and St. George’! SHAKSPEARE. LESSON XLI. RIENZIS ADDRESS TO THE ROMANS. I come not here to fa/k‘. You know too well’ The story of our thralldom‘’. We are—slaves‘! The bright sun rises to his course’ and lights A race of—s/aves‘! He sets’, and his last beams’ Fall on a—s/ave'; not such’ as swept along By the full tide of power’, the conqueror led To crimson glory and‘undying fame’: 118 M GUFFEY'S RIZETORICAL GUIDE (7) But—base\—ignoble'—slaves; slaves’ to a horde » Of petty tyrants ', feudal despots’, lords, Rich! in some dozen’ paliry villages’; Strong’ in some hundred spearmen’ : only ly great In that str ange spell’ ;—a NAME’. Each hour, dark fraud’, Or open rapine’, or protected murder’, Cry out against! them. (2) But this very day’, An honest man’, my neighbor,—there he stands’,—- Was struck’ —strudh! like a—dog*, by one who wore The badge & Ursin‘; because, forsooth’, He tossed not high his ready cap in air’, Nor lifted up his voice’in servile shouts! ; At sight of that great ruffian'! (hh) Be we men’, And suffer such’ dishonor ? men’, and wash not The stain away in blood’? (2) Such shames are common, I have known deeper’ wrongs; J‘, that speak‘ to ye, (12) 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’. > Sad How I loved’ That gracious boy"! Younger by fifteen years’, Brother at once’, and son’! He left my side, A summer hipein’ on his fair cheek’; a smile’ Parting his innocent lips‘. In one short hour’, The pretty, harmless boy was slain‘! | saw The corse, the mangled corse, and then (A) T cried’ For vengeance’! (Ai) Rouse‘ ye, Romans’! rouss’ ye, sLaves, Have ye brave sons’? Took in the next fieree brawl 'To see them die... Have ye fair daughters’? Le jee ‘To see them live, torn from your arms’, distained’, Dishonored‘; and if ye dare call for, justice’, Be auswered by the dash’. (2) Yet this’—is Rome’, That sat on her seven hills‘, and, from her throne | Of beauty’, ruled the world’: i Yet we’ are Romans ! (4) Why’, in that-elder day, to be a Roman, Was greater than a king ! And ence again,— hh) Hear’ me, ye walls’, that echoed to the tread Of either Brutus! Onite again, I swear’, sa Lhe eternal city shall be free\.—Muss Mirrorp “if _ OFTHE ECLECTIC SERIES. *. 119 = ie MISCELLANEOUS EXERCISES WITH RHETT ORICAL NOTATION. ve The renting 6 exercises of Part II. are promiscuously arranged, and are: intended to illustrate all the principles which have been explained. S LESSON XLII. THE FORTUNE TELLER o Hartry sat down on a large stone, by the way-side, to. take a pebble from his shoe’, when he saw, at some distance’, a beg gar’ approaching him. He had on a loose sort of coat mended with different colored rags‘, amongst which the blue’ and russet’ were predominant’. He had a short, knotty stick in his hand‘; and on the top’ of it was stuck a ram’s horn’; he wore no shoes’, and his*stockings had entirely lost that partof them which would have ~ coverd his feet and ancles’; in his face, however,’ was the plump appearance of good humor’; he v Iked a good round pace’, and a crook-legged dog trotted at his he ‘Our delicacies” said Har oe himself, «are fantastic’; they are notin nature'! That beggar’ ae over the sharpest of these stones barefooted’, whilst J’ Re re lost the most delightful dream in the world’, from the simallest6P hem happening io get into my shoe.’”*—The beggar had by this time come up‘, and pulling off a piece of a hat’, asked charity’ of Harley.” ‘The dog began to beg too’. It was impossible to resist both; and, in truth, the want of shoes and stockings’ had made both unnecessary’, for » Harley had destined sixpence for him hefore\.4,'Phe beggar’, on receiving it, poured forth blessings without number’; and, with a__ sort of smile on his countenance’, said to Harley “ that if he wanted to have his fortunes to! ld”?—Harley turned his eye brisk- ly upon the beggar’; it was an unpromising look for the subject. of a prediction’, and silenced the prophet immediately’. . «I would muck rather learn’,’’ said Harley’, “what it is in your power’ to tell me. Your trade must be an entertaining’ one; sit down on this stone’, and let me know something of your pro- fession; 1 have often thought of turning fortune-teller’, for a week or two, myseltf*.”’ ; t “‘ Master’,”’ replied the beggar’, «T like your frankness much’; or I had the humor-of plain ‘dealing in me from a child’; but there is no some with it-in this world’; we must do as we can‘; and lying’ is, as you call it, my profession’ . But I was in somersort forced to the trade’, for I once dealt in telling the fruth’. I was a laborer’, sir’, and gained as muchas to make me live’. I Geant laid. by’, indeed ; for I was reckoned a piece of a wag‘, and your wags’, I take, it, are seldom rich‘, Mr. Harley’.”’ “So, Zc mig gua Harley’ ‘you seem to know‘ me.’ ‘Aye’, there are few 120 . MGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE folks-in the country’ that I don’t know something’ of: How should I tell fortunes‘ else ?”’ ‘True’; but go on with your sto- ry’; you were a laborer’, you say, and a wag’; your industry’, I suppose, you left with your old’ trade; but your humor’ you pre- Berved to be of use to you in your new’,”’ £~« What signifies sadness’, sir? a man grows lean‘ on’t. But I was brought { to my idleness by degrees‘; sickness’ first disabled’ me, and it went against my stomach to work ever after’. But in truth I was for a long time so weak’, that I spit blood when- ever attempted to work’. I had no relation’ living, and I never kept a friend above a week when I was able to joke’. ‘Thus I was forced to beg my bread’, and a sorry trade I have. found’ it, Mr. Harley’. I told all my misfortunes truly’,.but they were sel- dom believed‘; and the few who gave me a half-penny as they . passed’, did it with a shake of the head’, and an injunction not to- trouble them with along story’. In short’, I found that people don’t care to give alms without some security” for their money,— such as a wooden leg’, or a withered arm’, for example. So I changed my plan, and instead of telling my own’ misfortunes, _ began to prophesy happines to others’. (p This I found by much ee way’. Folks will always listen when the tale is their own’, and of many who say they do not believe in fortune-telling’, | have known few on whom it had not a very sensible effect’. I pick up the names of their ac- quaintance’; amours’ and little squabbles’ are easily gleaned among servants and neighbors’; and indeed’, people themselves‘ are the best intelligencers in the world for our purpose’. ‘They dare not puzzle’ us for their own‘ sakes, for every one is anxious to hear - what they wish to believe’; and they who repeat’ it, to laugh at it when they have done’, are generally more serious than their hearers are apt to imagine’. With a tolerably good memory’, and some share of cunning’, I succeed: reasonably well as a fortune- teller’, With this,’ and showing the tricks of that dog’, there, l make shift to pick up a livelihood’. yey My trade is none of the most honest’, yet people are not much cheated after all‘, who give a few half pence for a prospect’ of ; happiness, which I have heard some persons say, is all aman can arrive at, in this‘ world. But I must bid you good day’, sir; for I have three miles to walk before noon’, to inform some boarding- school young ladies’, whether their husbands are to be peers of the realm’, or captains in the army ; a question which I promised to answer them by that time’.”’ 0 Harley had drawn a shilling from his pocket’; but Virtue bade him consider on whom he was going to bestow’ it. Virtue held back his arm‘; but a milder form’, a younger sister’ of Virtue’s, not so severe as Virtue’, nor so serious as Pity’, smiled’ upon him; # OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 12] his fingers lost their compression’; nor did Virtue’ appear to catch the money as it fell’. It had no sooner reached the ground’, than the watchful cur’ (a trick he had been taught’) snapped it up‘; and, contrary to the most approved method of stewardship’, delivered it immediately into the hands of his master’.—MackEnzir. LESSON XLII. HAPPINESS OF TEMPER. Writers of every age’ have endeavored to show that pleasure 1s in ws‘, and not in the objects’ offered for our amusement’. If the soul’be happily disposed, every thing becomes capable of afford- ing entertainment’, and distress will almost wanta name. Every occurrence passes in review’, like the figures of a procession’; some’ may be awkward’, others’ ill-dressed'; but none but a fool’ is, on that account’, enraged with the master of ceremonies’. 1 remember to have once seen a slave, in a fortification in Flan- ders’, who appeared no way touched with his situation’. He was maimed’, deformed’, and chained’; obliged to toil from the appear- ance of day’ till night-fall‘, and condemned to this’ for life‘; yet with all these circumstances of apparent wretchedness’, he sung’, would have danced’, but that he wanted a leg’, and appeared the merriest, happiest man’ of all the garrison‘. What a practical philosopher was here‘! A happy constitution supplied philosophy’; and though seemingly destitute’of wisdom, he was really wise’. No reading or study’ had contributed to disenchant the fairy-land around’ him. Every thing furnished him with an opportunity of mirth’; and though some thought him, from his insensibility, a . fool’; he was szch‘ an idiot’, as philosophers should wish to imitate’. They who, like that slave’, can place themselves on that side of the world in which every thing appears in a pleasant light’, will find something in every occurrence, to excite their good humor’. ‘The most calamitous events’, either to themselves’ or others’, can bring no new affliction’; the world is to them a thea- ter’, on which only comedies’ are acted. All the bustle of hero- ism’ or the aspirations of ambition’, seem only to heighten the absurdity of the scene’, and make the humor more poignant’. They feel, in short, as little anguish at their own distress’, or the complaints of others’, as the undertaker’, though dressed in black’, feels sorrow at a funeral’, Of all the men I ever read’ of, the famous Cardinal de Retz possessed this happiness in the highest degree’. When fortune wore her angriest look’, and he fell into the power of Cardinal Mazarine’, his most deadly enemy’, (being confined a close pris- ” 122 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE oner in the castle of Valenciennes’,) he never attempted to support his distress by wisdom or philosophy’, for he pretented to neither’. He only laughed at himself’ and his persecutor’, and seemed in- finitely pleased at his new situation’. In this mansion of distress’, though denied all the amusements and even the conveniences of life’, and entirely cut off from all imtercourse with his friends’, he still retained his good humor’, laughed at the little spite of his enemies‘, and carried the jest so far’ as to write the life of his jailor’. All that the wisdom of the proud can teach is, to be stubborn or sullen under misfortunes’. ‘The ecardinal’s example will teach us to be good-humored in circumstances of the highest affliction’. It matters not whether our good humor be construed by others into insensibility’ or idiotism’; it is happiness to ourselves‘; and none but a fool could measure his satisfaction’ by what the world’ thinks of it. The happiest fellow I ever knew’, was of the number of those good-natured creatures’, that are said to do no harm to any body but themselves. Whenever he fell into any misery’, he called it ‘‘ seeing life.’ If his head was broken by a chairman’, or his pocket picked by a sharper’, he comforted himself by imitating the Hibernian dialect of the one’, or the more fashionable cant of the other’. Nothing came amiss’ to him. [His inattention to money matters had concerned his father to such a degree’, that all intercession of friends was fruitless’. ‘The old gentleman was on_his death-bed’. ‘The whole family’ (and Dick was among the number’) gathered around’ him. *‘] leave my second son’, Andrew,” said the expiring miser’, “my whole estate’; and desire him to be frugal’.”” Andrew, ina sorrowlul tone’, (as i is usual on such occasions’,) prayed heaven to prolong his life and health, to enjoy it himself. “I recommend Simon, my third son’, to the care of his elder brother’, and leave him, besides’, four thousand pounds’, “ie AOA Tag father’)? cried Si- mon’, (in great affliction, to be sure’,) “« may heaven give you life and health to enjoy it yourself!’ At last turning to poor Dick’; “Ag for you’, you have always been a sad dog’; you’ll never come io good’, you'll never be rich';—I leave you a shilling to buy a halter’.”’ “Ah father’!”’ cries Dick, without any emotion’, ‘May heaven give you life and health’ to enjoy it yourself” _ GoLpsmiru. 9 os _ es ae OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 123 LESSON XLIV. LAFAYETTE AND ROBERT RAIKES. (Extract from an address delivered at a Sunday-School Celebration.) | Iris but a few years, since we beheld the most singular and memorable pageant in the annals of time‘. It was a pageant more sublime and affecting than the progress of Elizabeth through England’ after the defeat of the armada’; than the return of fran- _cis J. from a Spanish prison’ to his own beautiful France’; than : the daring and rapid march of the conqueror at Austerlitz’ from Frejus to Paris’. It was a pageant, indeed, rivaled only in the elements of the grand and the pathetic’, by the journey of our own Washington, through the different states’, Need I say that I allude to the visit of La Fayette to America’? But LaFayette returned to the land of the dead’, rather than of he living’. How many who had fought with him in the war of ’76', had died in arms’, and lay buried’ in the grave of the sol- dier or the sailor‘! How many who had survived the perils of battle’, on the land and the ocean’, had expired on the death-bed of peace’, in the arms of mother’, sister’, daughter’, wife’! Those who survived to celebrate with him the jubilee of 1825’, were stricken in years’, and hoary-headed‘; many’ of them infirm in health’; many’ the victims of poverty’, or misfortune,’ or afflic- tion’. And, how venerable that patriotic company‘; how sublime their gathering through all the land’; how joyful their welcome’, how affecting their farewell’ to that beloved stranger! But the pageant has fled’, and the very materials’ that gave it such depth of interest’, are rapidly perishing’: and a humble, perhaps a name- less‘ grave’, shall hold the last soldier of the Revolution’. And shall they ever meet again’? Shall the patriots and soldiers of ’"76'—the Immortal Band’, as history styles them’,—meet again in the amarinthine bowers of spotless purity’, of perfect bliss’, of eternal glory’? Shall their’s be the Christian’s Heaven’, the kingdom of the Redeemer’? 'The heathen’ points to his fabu- lous Elysium, as the Paradise of the soldier and the sage’. But the Christian’ bows down with tears’, and sighs‘, for he knows that not many of the patriots’, and statesmen’, and warriors’ of Christian lands, are the disciples of Jesus’. +} But we turn from La Fayette’, the favorite of the old and the new. world’, to the peaceful benevolence’, the unambitious achieve- ments of Robert Raikes’. Letus imagine him to have been still alive’, and to have visited our land’ to celebrate this day with us’. No national ships would have been offered to bear Aim’, a nation’s guest’, in the pride of the star-spangled banner’, from the bright shores of the rising’, to the brighter shores of the sefiing’ sun. 124 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE No cannon would have hailed him’in the stern language of the battle-field’, the fortunate champion of Freedom’, in Europe and America’. No martial music would have welcomed him’in notes of rapture, as they rolled along the Atlantic’, and echoed through the valley of the Mississippi’. No military procession would have heralded Ais’ way through crowded streets, thick-set with the banner and the plume’,. the glittering saber and the polished Raeone No cities would have called forth beauty and fashion’, wealth and rank’, to honor him’ in the ball-room and theater’. No states would have escorted him’from boundary to boundary, nor have sent their chief-magistrate tq do him’ homage, No national liberality would have allotted to him’ a nobleman’s do- main, and princely treasure’, No national gratitude would have hailed him’ in the capitol itself, the nation’s guest, because the nation’s benefactor’; and have consecrated a battle-ship’, in mem- ory of his wounds and his gallantry’.* Not such would have been the reception of Robert Raikes’, in the land of the Pilgrims’ and of Penn‘, of the Catholic’, the Cavalier’, and the Huguenot’... And who does not rejoice’, that it would be impossible ‘hus to welcome this primitive Christian’, the founder of Sunday-schools.. Ais’ heralds would be the preachers of the Gospel’, and the eminent in piety’, benevolence’ and zeal’. fis’ procession would number in its ranks the mes- sengers of the Cross’ and the disciples of the Savior’, Sunday- school teachers’ and white-robed scholars’. ‘The temples of the Most High: would be the scenes of his’ triumph. Homage and gratitude to him’, would be anthems of praise’ and thanksgiving to God’. Parents would honor him as more than a brother‘; children would reverence him as more than a father. ‘The faltering words of age’, the firm and sober voice of manhood’, the silvery notes of youth’, would bless him as a Christian patron’. ‘The wise and the good would acknowledge him every where’, as a national benefactor’, as a patriot even to a land of strangers’. He would have come a messenger of peace to a land‘ of peace. No images of camps’, and sieves’, and battles’; no agonies of the dy- ing and the wounded’, no shouts of victory’, or processions of triumph’, would mingle with the recollections of the multitudes who welcomed him‘. They would mourn over no common dan- gers’, trials’, and calamities’; for the road of duty has been to them the path of pleasantness’, the way of peace’. Z'heir’mem- ory of the past would be rich in gratitude to God’, and love to * This oe eee may be considered as a series of sentences, and may re- ceive the corresponding inflections, or each clause may receive the Mey ee oh appropriate to negative sentences. ~ OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 125 man’; their’ enjoyment of the present would be a prelude to hea- venly®bliss’ ; their’ pervert oF ne deat sit ah and Bromus as faith and hope’. Such. was the reception of La pyutts, the warrior's such’ would be that of Robert Raikes‘, the Howard of the Christian church‘. And which is the nobler benefactor’, patriot’, and phi- Janthropist’? Mankind may admire and extol La Fayette’, more than the founder of the Sunday-schools‘; but religion‘, philan- thropy*, and enlightened common sense’, must ever esteem ob- ert faikes' the superior of La Fayette’. His. are the virtues’, the services’, the sacrifices’ of a more enduring and exalted order of being’. is counsels and triumphs’ belong less to f¢me' than to eternity’. ©The fame of La Fayette’ is of ¢his' world; the glory of Robert Raikes’ is of the Redeemer’s everlasting king- dom‘. La Fayette lived chiefly for his own’ age, and chiefly for his’ and our! country’. But Robert Raikes has lived for all‘ ages, and all‘ countries. Perhaps the historian and biographer may never interweave his name’ in the tapestry of national-or indi-_ vidual renown’. But the records of every single church’, honor him as a patron’; the records of the Universal Church’, on earth’ and in heaven’, bless him as a benefactor’. The time may come’ when the naine of La Fayette ‘il be forgotten’; or when the star of his fame’, no longer glittering in the zenith’, shall be seen, pale and glimmeri ing, on the verge of the horizon’. But the name of Robert Raikes’ shall never’ be forgot- ten; and the lambent flame of Ais’ glory is that eternal fire which rushed down from heaven to devour the sacrifice of Elijah’. Let mortals‘ then admire and imitate La Fayette’, more than Rob- ert Raikes’. But the just made perfect’, and the ministering spirits around the throne of God’, have welcomed him as a fel- low-servant of the same Lord’; as a fellow-laborer in the same glorious cause of man’s redemption’; as a co-heir of the same precious promises’ and eternal rewards’.—GrimKE. LESSON XLV. GOD IS EVERYWHERE. ! | On! show me where is He’, | The high and holy One’, To whom thou bend’st the knee, And pray’st’, “ Thy will be done’!”? I hear thy song of praise’, And lo! ne > form' is near: Thine eyes‘ [ see thee raise’, But where doth God appear’? 126 MGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE Oh! teach me who és’ God, and where his glories — ) That I may kneel and pray’, and call thy’ Father mine’ #y**Gaze on that arch above’; “The glittering vault admire’. Who taught those orbs to move"? Who Vit their ceaseless fire’? Who guides the moon to run’ In silence through the skies’? Who bids that. dawning sun’ In strength and beauty, rise’? There view immensity’! ! behold’! my God is there: The sun‘, the moon’, the stars’, his majesty declare’! “See where the mountains‘ rise ; ' Where thundering torrents’ foam 3 Where, vailed in towering skies’ The eagle‘ makes his home: Where | savage nature dwells’, My God is present too’; Through all. her wildest dells His footsteps I pursue’: He‘ reared those giant cliffs’, supplies that dashing stream , Provides the daily food’ which stills the wild bird’s scream‘. “Look on that world ot waves’ Where finny natiuns glide’; Within whose deep, dark caves The ocean-monsters hide’: His power is sovereign there, To raise’, to quell’ the storm 5 "The depths this bounty share’ . Where sport the scaly swarm’: Tempests and calms obey the same almighty voice’, Which rules the earth and skies’, and bids far worlds rejoice’, “* No human thoughts can soar’ Beyond his boundless might’; He swells the thunder’s roar’, He spreads the wings of night. Oh! praise his works divine’! Bow down thy soul in _ prayer’; ; Nor ask for other sign’, That God is every where’: The viewless spirit', He'—immortal’, holy’, blest'— Oh! worship him in faith’, and find eternal rest'!”—Hurron, OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 12? LESSON XLVI. = SATAN, SIN,AND DEATH. (The following lesson requires variety of tone.) / Meanwuite the aay of God and man,’ Satan’, with thoughts 1 inflamed of highest design’, Puts on swift wings’, and towards the gates of hell’, Explores his solitary flicht’: sometimes’ He scours the right’ hand coast, sometimes’ the Jef’; Now',shaves with level wing the deep’, then’, soars Up to the fiery concave towering high’. At last, appear , ) Hell bounds, high reaching to the horrid roof “And thrice three-fold the gates’; three folds were brass’ ; Three iron , three of adamantine rock Impenetrable, impaled with cireling fire’, Yet unconsumed‘. Before the gates there sat’, On either sidel, a formidable shape’: The one seemed woman to the waist, and fair’; But ended foul in many a sealy fold’ Voluminous and vast’, a serpent’, armed With mortal sting"; about her middle round’, A ery of hell-hounds never ceasing barked’, With wide Cerberian mouths full loud’, and rung A hideous peal’. The other shape’, A, If shape it might be called, that shape had none’ Distinguishable i in member, joint’, or limb’; Or substance‘ might be called that shadow!’ seemed, For each'seemed either’; black’ it stood as night’, Fierce’ as ten furies’, teirible’ as hell’, And shook a dreadful dart‘; what Bpeied his head’, The likeness of a kingly crown’ had on. j, Satan was now at hand, and from his seat The monster moving onward, came as fast With horrid strides’; hell trembled as he strode’. The undaunted fiend what this might be’, admired , Admired’, not feared’; God and his Son except’, Created thing nought valued he , nor shunned’; And with disdainful look thus first began’: ( i Whence and what art’ thou, execrable shape’? That dar’st, though erim and terrible’, advance Thy miscreated front athwart my way To yonder gates‘? through them I 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.’ * Milton uniformly pronounces this word in one syllable sp’ rit. 128 M’GUFFEY’S RETORICAL GUIDE (2) To whom the goblin’, full of wrath’, replied’: “Art thou that traitor-angel’/, art thou he Who first broke peace in heaven’, and faith, till then Unbroken’; and in proud rebellious arms Drew after him the third part of heaven’s sons, Conjured * against the highest’, for which,both thou’ And they’, out-cast from God’, are here condemned To waste eternal days in woe and pain’? And reckonest thou thyself with spirits of heaven’, Hell doomed’! and breath’st defiance here and scorn, Where J’ reign king; and to enrage thee more’, Thy king and lord’t 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.” So spake the grizly terror’, and in shap \e- So speaking and so threatening’, grew ten-fold More dreadful and deform’. On the other side’, Incensed with indignation , Satan stood Unterrified‘, and like a comet burned’, That fires the length of Ophiuchus huge In the arctic sky’, and from his horrid hair Shakes pestilence and war’. Each at the head Leveled his deadly aim‘; their fatal hands’ No second‘ stroke intend ; and such a frown Each cast at the other’, as when two black clouds, With heaven’s artillery fraught’, come rattling on™ . Over the Caspian’; they stand front to front’, Hovering a space’, till winds the signal blow. To join their dark encounter in mid air’. ~ So frowned the mighty combatants’, that hell Grew darker at the frown’: so matched’ they stood’: For never but once more was either like To meet so great a foe’. And now great deeds Had been achieved, whereof all hell had rung’, Had not the snaky sorceress, that sat Fast by hell gate’, and kept the fatal key’, Risen’, and with hideous outery rushed between'.—Mu.r0Nn a SE OE el he ho eeaae eee a: Seales * Con-jured’, conspired. OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 129 LESSON XLVI. IRONICAL EULOGY ON DEBT. Dest is of the very highest antiquity’. The first debt in the history of man’ is the debt of nature‘, and the first instinct is to put off the payment’ of it tc the last moment’. Many persons’, it will be observed’, following the natural procedure’, would die before they would pay their debts’. Society is composed of two classes‘, debtors’ and creditors’. The creditor class’ has been erroneously supposed the more en- viable‘. Never was there a greater misconception’; and the hold it yet. maintains upon opinion’, is a remarkable example of the obstinacy of error’, notwithstanding the plainest lessons of ex- perience’. ‘Ihe debtor’ has the sympathies of mankind’. He is seldom spoken of butwith expressions of tenderness and com- passion\—‘ the poor debtor'!’’—and “the unfortunate debtor'!”’ - On the other hand’, chepeh and “hard hearted’”’ are the epithets’ allotted to the creditor’. Who ever heard the “ poor creditor',”’ the ‘‘ unfortunate creditor’ spoken of? No’, the creditor never becomes the object of pity’, until he passes into the debtor’ class. A creditor may be ruined by the poor debtor’, but it is not until he becomes unable to pay his own debts’, that he begins to be __ compassionated'. A debtor is a man of mark’. Many eyes are fixed upon him’; many have interest in his well-being’: his movements are of con- cern’: he cannot disappear unheeded‘; his name is in many mouths'; his name is upon many books’; he is a man of note-— of promissory'note ; he fills the speculation of many minds’; men conjecture’ about him, wonder’ about him, wonder’ and conjecture’ whether he will pay‘. He is a man of consequence’, for many’ are running’afier him. His door is thronged with duns’. He is inquired’ after every hour of the day’. Judges hear Of him and know him. Every meal he swallows’, every coat he puts upon his back‘, every dollar he borrows’, appears before the country in some formal document’. Compare /is’notoriety with the ob- scure lot of the creditor’, of the man’ who has nothing but claims on the world—a landlord’, or fund-holder’, or some such‘ disa greeable, hard character. The man who pays’ his way is unknown un his neighborhood. You ask the milk-man at his door, and he cannot tell his name’. You ask the butcher where Mr. Payall lives’, and he tells you that he knows no such name’, for it is not in his books’. You shall ask the baker’, and he will tell you that’ there is no such person in the neighborhood’, People that have his money’ fast in their pockets, have no thought of his person’ or appellation’. 130 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE His house‘ only is known. No. 31’ is good pay’. No. 31’ is ready money’. Nota scrap of paper is ever made out for No. 31‘. It is an anonymous’ house ; its owner pays his way to ob- security’. No one knows anything about him’, or heeds his movements’. Ifa carriage be seen at his door’, the neighborhood is not full of concern lest he be going to run away‘. If a pack- age be moved from his house’, a score of boys are not employed to watch whether it be carried to the pawnbroker’. Mr. Payall fills no place in the public mind’; no one has any hopes’ or fears’ about’ him. The creditor always figures in the fancy as a sour, single man’, with grizzled hair’, a scowling countenance’, and a peremptory air’, who lives in a dark apartment’, with musty deeds’ about him, and an iron safe’, as impenetrable as his heart‘, grabbing together what he does not enjoy’, and what there.is no one about‘ him to enjoy. ‘Phe debtor’, on the other hand‘, is always pictured with a wife and six fair-haired daughters’, bound together in affection’ and misery’, full of sensibility’, and suffering without a fault’. The creditor’, it is never doubted, thrives without a merit’. He has no wife and children to pity’. No one ever thinks it desira- ble that he'should have the means of living’. He is a brute for insisting that he must receive’, in order to pay‘. It is not in the imagination of man to conceive that his creditor has demands upon him’ which must be satisfied‘, and that he must do to oth- ers’, as others’ must do to him’. A creditor is a personification of exaction’. He is supposed to be always’ taking in,’ and never’ giving out’. People idly fancy’, that the possession of riches is desirable’. What blindness'! Spend and regale’. Save a shilling’ and you lay it by for a thief‘. ‘The prudent men’ are the men that live beyond their means‘. Happen what may’, they are safe’. They’ have taken time by the forelock’. They’ have anticipated for- tune’. ‘The wealthy fool’, with gold in store’,” has only denied himself so much enjoyment’, which another will seize at his ex- pense’. Look at these people ina panic’. See who are the fools then’. You know them by their long faces. You may say, as one of them goes by’, in an agony of apprehension’, «There is a stupid fellow’ who fancied himself rich, because he had fifty thousand dollars in bank'.”” The history of the last ten years has taught the moral, ‘spend, and regale’.”” Whatever is laid up beyond the present hour',is put in jeopardy’. ‘There is no certainty but in instant enjoyment’. Look at school-boys sharing a plum-cake’. ‘The knowing ones’ eat, as for a race’; but a stupid fellow! saves his. portion,—just nibbles a bit’, and “keeps the rest for another time‘.”? Most provident blockhead! ‘The OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 131 others’, when they have gobbled up ‘heir’ shares, set upon him’, plunder’ him, and thresh him for crying out’. Before the terms “ depreciation’,”’ “ suspension’,”” and “ going into liquidation’,’’ were heard, there might have been some rea- son in the practice of “ laying up’;’’ but now’ it denotes the dark- est blindness’. ‘The prudent men of the present time’, are the men in debt‘. The tendency being to sacrifice creditors to debt- ors’, and the debtor party acquiring daily new strength’, every one is in haste to get into tre favored class’. In any case, the debtor’ is safe‘. He has put his enjoyments behind’ him—they are safe‘ -—no turns of fortune can disturb’ them. ‘Phe substance he has eaten up,is irrecoverable’. ‘I‘he future’ cannot trouble his past". He has nothing to apprehend’. He has anticipated’ more than fortune would ever have granted‘ him. He has tricked‘ fortune ; —and his creditors’'— who feels for creditors‘? What are’ creditors ? Landlor itiless and unpitiable tribe'—all grip- ing extortioners‘! ould become of the world of debtors’, if it did not steal a march upon this rapacious class\’?—ANon. LESSON XLVIII. THE MISERIES OF IMPRISONMENT. Brsurew the sombre pencil’! said I vauntingly‘\—I envy not its powers’, which paint the evils of life with so hard and deadly a coloring’. The mind herse/f® sits terrified at the objects’ which she herself has magnified and blackened’: reduce them to their proper light and hue’, she overlooks’ them. ’Tis true‘, said I’, correcting the proposition—the Bastile* is an evil’ not to be de- spised’; but strip it of its towers’; fill up the foss‘; unbarricade the doors’; call it simply a confinement’, and suppose it is some tyrant of a distemper'—not a man’—which holds‘ you in it; half’ the evil vanishes’, and you bear the other’ half, without complaint’. I was interrupted in the hey-day of this soliloquy’, with a voice, which I took to be that of a child‘, which complained’, * it could not get out’.”” I looked up’ and down’ the passage, and seeing neither man, woman, nor child’, I went out, without far- ther attention. In my return back through the passage’, I heard the same words repeated twice over‘; and, looking up’, I saw it was a starling’, hung in a little cage’: “J can’t get out'l—TZ can’t get out‘!’’ said the starling*. I stood looking at the bird’; and to every person who came * A strong castle in Paris, for a long time used as a place of confinement for state prisoners. Lae M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE through the passage’, it ran fluttering to the side towards which - they approached’ it, with the same lamentations of its captivity’; “I can't get out',” said the starling’. ‘God help’ thee!” said I’, “but I will det‘ thee out, cost what it may'.”? So I turned about the cage’, to get at the door’. It was twisted and double- twisted so fast with wire’, there was no getting it open without pulling the cage to pieces’. I took both hands‘ to it. The bird flew to the place where I was attempting his deliverance’, and thrusting his head through the trellis’, pressed his breast against it as impatient’. ‘I fear, poor creature’!” said I’, «that I cannot set thee at liberty’:” “ No',’”’ said the starling’, “ Z can’t get out’, I can’t get out” said the starling. I never had my affections more tenderly awakened; nor do I remember an incident in my life’, where the dissipated spirits to which my reason had been a bubblgjmvere so suddenly called home’. Mechanical as the notes vy et so true in tune to nature were they chanted’, that in cnt{ji™ment they overthrew all my systematic reasonings upon the Bastile; and I heavily walked up stairs’, unsaying every word I had said going down‘ them. ___ Disguise thyself as thou wilt, yet, still, oppression, thou arta bitter draught’! and though thousands in all ages have been made to drink’ of thee, thou art no less bitter on that’ account. ’Tis thou’, Liberty’! thrice sweet and gracious goddess’! whom all in public or private worship’, whose taste is grateful‘, and ever will’ be so, till nature herself shall change‘. No tint of words can spot thy snowy mantle’, or chimic power turn thy scepter into iron’. _ With thee, to smile upon him, as he eats his crust’, the swain is happier than his monarch, from whose courts thou art exiled... Gracious Heaven! Grant me but health’, thou Great Bestower’ of it, and give me but this fair goddess as my compan- ion’, and shower down thy honors’, if it seem good unto thy divine Providence’, upon those heads which are aching’ for them. The bird in his cage pursued me into my room’. I sat down close by my table‘, and leaning my head upon my hand’, I be- gan to figure to myself the miseries of confinement’. I was in a right frame* for it, so L gave full scope to my imagination’. I was going to begin with the millions of my fellow creatures’, born to no inheritance but misery’; but finding, however affecting the picture was’, that I could not bring it near’ me, and that the multitude of sad groups in it, did but distract’ me, I took a sin- gle captive’, and having first shut him up in his dungeon’, I then looked through the twilight of his grated door’,to take his picture’ I beheld his body half wasted away with long expectation and confinement’, and felt what kind of sickness of the heart it is’, which arises from hope deferred‘. Upon looking nearer’, I saw OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 133 him pale and feverish’; in thirty years’, the western breeze had not once fanned his blood‘; he had seen no sun’, no moon’, in all that time’; nor had the voice of friend or kinsman’ breathed through his lattice’; his children-—but here my heart began to bleed\—and I was forced to go on with another part of the por- trait’, , He was sitting upon the ground upon a little straw’, in the farthest corner of his dungeon’, which was alternately his chair and bed’. A little calendar of small sticks was laid at the head’, notched all over with the dismal days and nights he had passed’ there. He had one of these little sticks in his hand, and with a rusty nail’ he was etching another day of misery to add to the heap’. As I darkened the little light he had’, he lifted up a hope- less eye towards the door’, cast it down’, shook his head’, and went on with his workggf affliction’. I heard his chains upon his legs’, as he turned ody’, to lay his little stick upon the bundle‘; he gave a d Ph’; | saw the iron enter into his soul’; I burst into tears\—I could not sustain the picture of confine- ment’ which my fancy had drawn'.—STERNE. LESSON XULIX. THE PRISONER FOR DEBT. Loox‘ on him: through his dungeon-grate’, Feebly and cold, the morning light Comes stealing round’ him, dim and late’, As if it loathed the sight’. Reclining on his strawy bed’, — His hand upholds his drooping head’; His bloodless cheek’ is seam’d and hard’; Unshorn his gray, neglected beard’; And o’er his bony fingers flow’ His long, dishevel’d locks of snow’. No grateful fire before him glows’, | And yet the winter’s breath is chill : And o’er his half-clad person goes’ The frequent ague-thrill’. Silent’, save ever and anon’, A sound, half-murmur and half-groan’, Forces apart-the painful grip’ Of the old sufferer’s bearded lip’. O, sad and crushing is the fate’ Of old age chain’d and desolate’. Just Gop’! why lies that old man there"? A murderer shares his prison-bed*, 134 MWGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE Whose eyeballs, through his horrid fair’, Gleam on him fierce and red’; And the rude oath and heartless jeer’ Fall ever on his loathing ear’; And, or in wakefulness’ or sleep’, Nerve’, flesh’, and fiber’ thrill and creep, Nhene’er that ruffian’s tossing limb’, Crimsoned with murder, touches him What has the gray-hair’d prisoner done"? Has murder stain’d his hands with gore’? Not so’: his crime’s a fouler‘ one: God made the old man poér! For this’, he shares a felon’s’ cell, The fittest earthly type of hell’; For this’, the boon for which he pour’d His young blood on the invad vord', And ‘counted light the fearful | a His blood-gain’d liberty’—is lo And so, for such a place of rest’, Old prisoner’, pour’d thy blood as rain On Concord’s field’, and Bunker’s crest’, And Saratoga’s’ plain? 3 Look forth‘, thou man of many scars’, Through thy dim dungeon’s iron bars"! It must be joy’,.in sooth’, to see” Yon mSnument * uprear’d to thee’ Piled granite’ and a prison-cell'! The land repays thy service well ! Go‘, ring the bells‘, and fire the guns’, And fling the starry banner out’; Shout’ “Freedom !” till your lisping ones Give back their cradle-shout'; Let boasted eloquence declaim Of honor, liberty’, and fame’; Still let the poet’s strain be heard’, With “ glory” for each second word’, And every thing with breath agree’ To praise ‘our glorious liberty‘! And when the patriot cannon jars That prison’s cold and gloomy wall’, And through its grates the stripes and stars Rise on the wind, and fall’; Think ye that prisoner’s aged ear Rejoices in the general cheer’? Think ye Ais’ dim and failing eye Is kindled at your pageantry’? * Bunker’s Hill monument. OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 135 _. _ Sorrowing of soul‘, and chain’d of limb’, “What is your’ carnaval to him‘? Down with the law that binds him thus"! Unworthy freemen’, let it find No refuge from the withering curse’ Of Gop and human kind" ‘ Opensthe prisoner’s living tomb’, And usher from its brooding gloom The victims of your savage code’, To the free sun and air of Gon"! No longer dare as crime to brand’ The chastening of the Almighty’s hand’!—Wuirtier. ~ ) ee ESSON L. , OURNAMENT.® ¥ * * %* Tue music of the challengers breathed, from time to time, wild bursts, expressive of triumph or defiance; while the clowns grudged a holyday which seemed to pass away in in- activity ;, and old knights and nobles lamented the decay of mar- tial spirit, and spoke of the triumphs of their younger days. Prince John began to talk to his attendants about making ready the banquet, and the necessity of adjudging the prize to Brian de Bois-Guilbert, f who had, with a single spear, overthrown two knights, and foiled a third. At length, as the music of the challengers concluded one of those long and high flourishes with which they had broken the silence of the lists, [ it was answered by a solitary trumpet, which breathed a note of defiance, from the northern extremity. All eyes were turned to see the new champion which these sounds’ announced, and no sooner were the barriers opened than he paced into the lists. As far as could be judged of a man sheath- . ed in armor, the new adventurer did not greatly exceed the mid- dle size, and seemed to be rather slender than strongly made. His suit of armor was formed of steel, richly inlaid with gold; aud the device on his shield was a young oak-tree pulled up by the roots, with the single word “ Disinherited. ’’ He was mount ed on a gallant black horse, and as he passed through the lists, * Formerly, when the chief business of all mankind was fighting, it was customary for knights to try their courage and skill, by fighting with each other with their usual weapons, the lance and sword. ‘l‘his was the favorite amusement of the times, and was called a towrnament, (pronounced turn-a- ment.) ’ t Pronounced Bwah Guil-bare. t List, the enclosure within which tournaments were held. 136 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE he gracefully saluted the prince and the ladies, by lowering his lance. ‘The dexterity with which he managed his steed, and something of youthfal grace which he displayed in his manner, won him the favor of the multitude, which some of the lower ’ classes expressed by calling out, “’Touch Ralph de Vipont’s shield, touch the Hospitaller’s shield; he has the least sure seat ; he is your cheapest bargain.’’* re ‘The champion moving onward amid the well sedi hints, as- cended the platform by the sloping alley which led to it from the lists, and, to the astonishment of all present, riding straight up to the central pavilion, struck with the sharp end of his spear the shield of Brian de Bois-Guilbert,until it rang again. All stood astonished at his presumption, but none more so than the re- doubted knight whom he had thus defied to mortal combat, and who, little expecting so rude a challenge,.was standing carelessly at the door of his pavilion. i aa ‘*‘ Have you confessed yourself, bro > said the ‘Templar, Guilbert, “and have you heard mass this morning, that you peril your life so frankly?” “I am fitter to meet death than éhow art,”’ answered the Disinherited Knight; for by this name the stranger had recorded himself in the book of the tourney. “Then take your place in the lists,’’ said De Bois-Guilbert, “and look your last upon the sun; for this night thou shalt sleep in paradise.’’ “Gramercy fT for thy courtesy,” replied the Disinherited Knight, ‘and to requite it, | advise thee to take a fresh horse, and a new lance, for, by my honor, you will need both.” Having expressed himself thus confidently, he reined his horse backward down the slope which he had ascended, and compelled him in the same manner to move backward through the lists, till he reached the northern extremity, where he remain- ed stationary, in expectation of his antagonist. ‘This feat of horsemanship again attracted the applause of the multitude. However incensed at his adversary for the precaution which he recommended, the ‘Templar did not neglect his advice ; for his honor was too nearly concerned to permit his neglecting any means. which might insure victory over his presumptuous oppo- nent. He changed his horse for a proved and fresh one of great strength and spirit. He chose a new and tough spear, lest the wood of the former might have been strained in the previous en- counters he had sustained. Lastly, he laid aside his shield, which had received some little damage, and received another from his squires. * The challenge to combat was given, by touching the shield of the knight whom the challenger wished to encounte*. ‘The challenge to a contest with headless or blunt lances, was given by, touching the shield gently with the reversed spear, while a b/ow with the point denoted a challenge to mortal con- flict. + Many thanks. ¢ OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 137 When the two champions stood opposed to each other at the two exttemities of the lists, the public expectation was strained to the highest-pitch. Few augured the possibility that the en- counter could terminate well for the Disinherited Knight, yet his courage and gallantry secured the general good wishes of the spectators. ‘I'he trumpets had no sooner given the signal, than the champions vanished from their posts with the speed of light- ning, and closed in the center of the lists with the shock of a thunderbolt. ‘The lances burst into shivers up to the very grasp, and it seemed at the moment, that both knights had fallen, for the shock had made each horse recoil backwards upon its hanch- es. ‘The address of the riders recovered their steeds by the use of the bridle and spur; and having glared on each other, for an instant, with eyes that seemed to flash fire through the bars of their visors, each ggired, to the extremity of the lists, and receiv- ed a fresh lance fro the attendants. A loud shout from tHe spectators, waving of scarfs and hand- kerchiefs, and general acclamations, attested the interest taken in the encounter. But no sooner had the knights resumed their station, than the clamor of applause was hushed into a silence so deep and so dead, that it seemed the multitude were afraid to breathe. A few minutes’ pause having been allowed, that the combatants and their horses might recover breath, the trumpets again sounded the onset. ‘The champions a second time sprung from their stations, and met in the center of the lists, with the same speed, the same dexterity, the same violence, but not the same equal fortune as before. In the second encounter, the ‘Templar aimed at the center of his antagonist’s shield, and struck it so fairly and forcibly, that his spear went to shivers, and the Disinherited Knight reeled in his saddle. On the other hand, that champion had, in the beginning of his career, directed the point of his lance towards Bois-Guil- bert’s shield; but changing his aim almost in the moment of en- counter, he addressed to the helmet, a mark more difficult to hit, but which, if attained, rendered the shock more irresistible. Fair and true he hit the ‘Templar on the visor, where his lance’s point kept hold of the bars. Yet even at this disadvantage, Bois-Guilbert sustained his high reputation; and had not the girths of his saddle burst, he might not have been unhorsed. As it chanced, however, saddle, horse; and man, rolled on the ground under a cloud of dust. To extricate himself from the stirrups and fallen steed, was to the ‘Templar scarce the work of a moment; and stung with mad- ness, both at his disgrace, and the acclamations by which it was hailed by the spectators, he drew his sword, and waved it in de- fiance of his conqueror. ‘Ihe Disinherited Knight sprung from 12 » a) 25 ee o ye 5* a al i b E “J 138 M’GUFFEY’S RHRETORICA sie GUIDE * ‘his steed’, and also unsheathed his sword’. The marshals of thé field’, however, spurred their horses between‘ them, and reminded them, that the laws of the tournament! did not, en the present | © occasion, permit this y sobs: of encounter’, but that to the * Disin- - herited Knight’”’ the meed of victory was fairly and: honorably d awarded’.— W aLTer Scorr. EN SSS See 3S eS Se a ee 2 = LESSON LI. PULASKI’S BANNER. a * Pulaski fell at the taking of Savannah, during the American revolution. His standard of crimson silk was presented to him by the Moravian Nuns of Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. “ Wuen the dying flame of day’ Through the chancel shot its rar Far the glimmering tapers shed” Faint light on the cowled head’, And the censer burning swung’, Where, hefore the altar, hung That proud banner’, which, with prayer, Had been consecrated there® ; And the nun’s sweet hymn was heard the while’, Sung low in the dim mysterious isle’. a Proudly o’er the good and When the battle’s distant wail’ Breaks the sabbath of our vale’, When the clarion’s music thrills’ To the heart « of these lone hills’, When the spear in conflict shakes’, And the strong lance shivering breaks’. “Take thy banner‘!——may (irae Take thy banner !—and beneath The * war-cloud’s encircling wreath’ Guard’ it—till our homes are free’; Guard‘ it—God will prosper thee. In the dark and trying hour’, In the breaking forth of power’, In the rush of steeds and men’, His right hand will shield thee then’. 7 Take thy banner!’ But when night Closes round the ghastly fight’, * If the vanquished warrior bow’, * According to the metre, the word ‘‘the’’ would require a prominence which its proper relation to the other words forbids. It should, however, be passed over slightly, and the vowel in ‘‘war’’ should be prolonged. ‘That is to say, E the letter ‘‘e’’ in ‘‘the’’ is short, and ae continue 8O, while, to make up the quantity ioanres by the poetry, nee ’’ mm ‘twar’’ must be lengthened. “a Se | i i t ” oe Py * ss - <2 es ~ Sdn (*) _* Ld (2) (1) * Pandour, a Hungarian soldier. _ «tf Kosciusko. rie OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. Spare‘ him !—by our holy vow , By our prayers and many tears’, By the mercy that endears’, ' Spare’ him !—he our love hath shared’, Spare him !—as thou would’st be spared’. Take thy banner'!—and if e’er Thou should’st press the soldier’s bier’, And the muffled drum should beat * "To the tread of mournful feet’, ~ Then this crimson flag shall be ~~. Martial cloke and shroud for thee’.” And the warrior took that banner proud’, And it was his martial eloke’ and shroud‘.—LonereLLow. »»» LESSON LIL. DOWNFALL OF POLAND. Ou! sacred Truth’! thy triumph ceased awhile’, And.Hope, thy sister, ceased with thee to smile’, When leagued oppression poured to northern wars’ Her whisker’d pandours’* and her fierce huzzars‘,{ Waved her dread ess to the breeze of morn’, me ig mm‘: rum eats twanged her trumpet-horn’; Tumultuous horror ded o’er her van’, Presaging wrath to _ land’,——and to man’! Warsaw’s last champion,t from her heights surveyed’, Wide o’er the fields, a waste of ru laid’; ‘*Oh! heaven’!” he cried’, ‘‘ my: ble ‘‘Ts there no hand on high to shield the brave’? ‘“* Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains’, *‘ Rise’! fellow-men’! our cowntry‘ yet remains! ‘* By that dread: name we wave the sword on high’, “‘ And swear’ for her’—to live'—with her’—to die!” He said’, and on the rampart -heights arrayed! His trusty warriors’, few, but undismayed’; Firm-paced and slow’, a horrid front they form’, Still as the breeze’, but dreadful as the storm’; Low murmuring sounds along their banners fly’, Revenge’, or death‘,—the watch-word’ and reply’; Then pealed the notes, omnipotent to charm’, And the loud tocsin tolled their last alarm’. In vain’, alas‘! in vain’, ye gallant few’! From rank to rank, your volleyed thunder flew"! 4 + Huzzar, a Hungarian horseman. 140 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE Oh blocdiest picture in the book of time’ 5 Sarmatia fell‘, unwept’, without a crime’; Found not a generous friend’, a pitying foe’ % Strength in her arms’, nor mercy in her woe'! Dropped from her nerveless grasp the shattered spear, Closed her bright eye’, and curbed her high career’; Hope, for a season, bade the world.farewell’, And freedom shrieked'—as Kosciusko fell"! The sun went down‘, nor ceased the carnage there’, Tumultuous murder ahosk the midnight air’; “ On Prague’s proud arch the fires of ruin glow’, His blood-dyed waters murmuring far below’; ; The storm prevails‘, the rampart yields away’, Bursts the wild cry of horror and dismay"! Hark“! as the smoldering piles with thunder fall , A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call’! Earth shook , red meteors flashed along the a 3 And conscious Nature shuddered at the (h) Oh righteous heaven ! ere Freedom found a grave’, Why slept the sword, omnipotent to save‘? Where was thine‘ arm, O Vengeance’! where thy rod’, That smote the foes of Zion and of God"? That crushed proud Ammon, when his iron ear’ Was yoked in wrath, and thundered from afar‘? Where was the storm that slumbered till the host Of blood-stained Pharaoh left their trembling coast’; Then’, bade the deep in wild commotion flow’, And heaved an ocean on their mareh below“? Departed spirits of the mighty dead’ Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled’! Friends of the world’! restore your swords to man; Fight i in his sacred cause and lead the van! ‘! 2 Yet', for Sarmatia’s tears of blood’, atone’, And make her arm puissant as your own"! Oh! onee again to Freedom’s cause return’ The patriot Tent'—the Bruce or Bannocxpourn’!—CAaMPBELL. LESSON LIII. SOUTH CAROLINA. Ir there be one state in the Union, Mr. President’, that may challenge comparison with any other’, for a uniform’, zealous’, ardent’, and uncalculating’ devotion to the Union’, that sfate is South Carolina’. Sir', from the very commencement of the revolution’, up to this hove! , there is no sacrifice, however great’, she has not cheerfully made‘; no service’ she has ever hesitated . to perform’. os wt : OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 7 141 She has adhered to you in your prosperity’; but in your ad- versity’, she has clung to you with more than filial affection’. No matter what was the condition of her domestic’ affairs, though deprived of her resources’, divided by parties‘, or surrounded by difficulties’, the call of the country has been to her as the voice of God. Domestic discord ceased at the sound’; every man became at once reconciled to his brethren‘, and the sons of Carolina were all seen’, crowding together to the temple’, bringing their gifts to the altar of their common country’. ~ What, sir’, was the conduct of the South, during the revolution? Sir’, | honor New England for her conduct in that glorious strug- gle’. But great as is ‘the praise which belongs to her’, I think at least egual honor is due to the South*. Never’ was there exhibi- ted’,in the history of the world‘, higher examples of noble daring", dreadful suffering’, and heroic endurance’, than by the whigs of Carolina, during the revolution’. ‘The telote state’, from the mountains’ to the s was overrun by an overwhelming force of the enemy’. ,Jhe fruits of industry’ perished on the spot where they were produced’, or were consumed by the foe’. «The plains of Carolina”’ drank up the most precious blood © of her citizens’. Black,smoking ruins’ marked the places which ‘had been the habitation of her children‘. Driven from their homes into the gloomy and almost impenetrable swamps’, even there’, the spirit of liberty survived’, and South Carolina’, sustained -by the example of her Sumpters’ and her Marions’, proved, by her conduct, that though her soil’ might be overrun’, the spirit of her people! was invincible. —Havnz. “) ‘Dies . LESSON LIV. MASSACHUSETTS AND SOUTH CAROLINA. Tue eulogium pronounced on the character of the state of South Carolina’, by the honorable gentleman, for her revolution- ary and other merits, meets my hearty concurrence’. I shall not acknowledge that the honorable member goes before me,in regard for whatever of distinguished talent or distinguished character’, South Carolina has produced’. I claim part of the honor‘; I par- take in the pride of her great names’. I claim them for country- men‘, one’ and all‘'—the Laurenses‘, the Rutledges', the Pinck- neys’, the Sumpters’, the Marions\“—Americans’ a/l'—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 generation’, they served and honored the coun- try’, and the whole’ country, and their renown’ is of the treasures' of i ? 142 M'GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE © > | jhe the whole country. Him‘, whose honored name the gentleman himself. bears,—does he suppose me less capal ble of gratitude for his’ patriotism, or sympathy for his’ suffering, than if his eyes had first opened upon the light in Massachusetts, instead of South Carolina’! Sir’, does he suppose it in his power to exhibit in Carolina a name so bright as to produce envy in my bosom’? No‘, sir,—increased gratification’ and delight’ rathere Sir’, 1 thank God’, that, if. I am gifted with little of the spirit which 1s 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, because it happened to spring un beyond the little limits of my oun’ state or neighborhood’; w)xen I refuse for any such cause’, or for amy‘ cause, the homage due to American talent’, to elevated patriotism’, to sincere devo- tion to liberty and the country’; or if see an uncommon endow- ment of Heaven’; if l see extraordinary capaeity or virtue in any son of the South’; and if, moved by local prejudice’, or gangre- ned by state jealousy’, I get up here to abate a tithe of a hatr* from his just character and just fame’, may my tongue cleave to - the roof of my mouth. . co Mr. President’, I shall enter on no encominm upon Massadhue’ setts. She needs\none. ‘There she is‘; beheld’ her,and judge for yourselves’. ‘There is her histor ‘.- 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 leceven And, sir’, where American 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 origi- nal 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 uneasiness under salutary restraint’, shall succeed to Separate it from that Union’, by which alone its existence is made sure’, it will stand, m the end, by the side of that cradle in which its infancy was rocked’; wt will stretch forth its arm with whatever of vigor it may still retain’, over the friends who gathered around’ it; and it will fall at last, if fad/‘it must’, amid the proudest monuments of its glory’, and on the very spot of its origin’. . WEBSTER. Z 5 : ©"OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 143 * en is LESSON LV. | Eas .. MODULATION. ay : "Tis not enough the voice’ be sound and clear’, *Tis modulation’ that must charm the ear . a When desperate heroes grieve with tedious moan , : And whine their sorrows in a see-saw tone’, . , e same soft sounds of unimpassioned woes’, * ie: Can only make the yawning hearers doze‘. The voice’ all modés of passion can express’, That marks the proper word with proper stress’: But noné emphatic can that speaker call’, » Who lays an equal’ emphasis on all’. as Some’ Ray er the nz the labored measures roll’, ee ~ Slowsand deliberate as*the parting toll’; ~ . Point every stop’, mark every pause so strong’, “© Their words like: stage proceseigae stalk a 3 ep Pi: ue sal affectation am creates disgust’; wee d e’en in spea » we may seem too just’. ‘ ee rain for them" the pleasing measure flows’, —e “Whos ose recitation ruhs it all to prose’; he _ Repeating what the pect sets not down’, . ae ‘ ‘The verse disjoint rom its favorite noun‘, . While pause’, and ik, and repetition’ join ; ; To make a diceuat : each tuneful line’ : ¥: * Some’ placid nat Ul the alloted scene’ ae +8 With ifeless dray } While others’ thun¢ Ty couplet o’er, ' ~~ And almost crack your ears with rant and roar’, More nature oft, and finer strokes are shown In the low whisper’, than tempestuous tone’; 5 » And Hamlet’s Hollow voice and fixed amaze’ : More powerful terror. to the mind conveys’, Than he’, who,swollen with impetuous rage, Bullies the bulky phantom of the stage’. bl He who, in earnest’, studies o’ er his part’, ge Will find true nature cling about his heart*. The modes of crief are not included all ~ In the white handkerchief’ and mournful drawl’; A single /ook‘ more marks the internal woe’, . Than all the windings of the lengthened Ol! a _Up to the face the quick sensation flies’, eg And darts its meaning from the speaking eyes : Love’, transport’, madness’, anger’ ; scorn’ : despair’, Age ; “And all the passions’, all the soul is there'.—L1oyp. a Se. ay oe o> 144 ge es M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE LESSON LVI. OTHELLO’S APOLOGY. * (This should be read in a middle tone.) Most potent’, grave’, and reverendseigniors’, My very noble and approved good masters’, That I have ta’en away this old man’s daughter’, It is most true’; true’, | have married‘ her; The very head and front of my offending * Hath this extent‘, no more’. & Rude am Tin speech’, . ‘ And little blessed with the set phraseof peace’, For since these arms of mine had i" years pith, Till now some nine moons wasted’, they have us’d Their dearest action in the tented field’; And little of this great world can I speak’ ‘ More than pertains to feats of brodl’ and battle’; And therefore little shall I grace my cause’, In speaking of myse/f*. Yet,by Uo dezracions patie 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 proceeding I am charged withal’,) I won his daughter’ with. Ba a Her father loved‘ me; oft invited‘ me; Still questioned me the story of my life, , From year to year’; the battles sreges’, fortunes’, ~ - That I have passed‘. ee: a T ran it through’, even from my boyish days’, To the very moment that he bade me tell it. Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances‘, Of moving accidents, by flood and field’; Of hair-breadth ’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’. These things to hear’ 2 Would Desdemona seriously incline’: But still the house affairs would draw her thence’; Which ever as she could with haste dispatch’, 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 attentively’. Oe ra hogs # OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 145 ’ I-did consent’: And often did beguile her of her tears’, When I did speak of some distressful stroke’, That my youth suffered‘. My story being done’, She gave me for my pains a world of sighs’: She said’,—In faith’, twas strange’, twas passing strange; "Twas pitiful’, twas wondrous* pitiful ; She wished she had not heard" it; yet she wished’, That heaven had made her such’ a man, She thanked‘ me; And bade me, if I had a friend that lov’d’ her, ‘ I should but teach him how to tel] my story’, And that would woo’ her. Qn this hint’, I spake’: She lov’d’ me for the dangers I had pass’d ; And I lov’d her’, that she did pity’ them. This only is the witchcraft’ I have used‘\—Swaxspzare. LESSON LVII. FAITHLESS NELLY GRAY. ie Ben Barrie was a soldier bold’, And used to war’s alarms’; But a cannon-ball took off his legs’, So he laid down his arms’. Now’, as they bore him off the field’, Said he’, ** Let others‘ shoot, For here I leave my second leg And the Forty-second foot'.” The army surzeons made him limbs’; Said he’, ** They ’re only pegs’, But there ’s as wooden members quite As represent my legs'.” Now Ben’, he loved a pretty maid’, Her name’ was Nelly Gray‘; : So he went to pay her his devoirs’, , When he ’d devoured his pay’. But wnen he called on Nelly Gray’, She made him quite a scoff’, And when she saw his wooden legs’, Began to take them off’. : “O, Nelly Gray’! O, Nelly Gray’! Is thts your love so warm’? The love that loves a scarlet coat’, Should be more uniform.” 13 - > rr = sd i ee * % : A g's i Sa 146 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE : Je i” ~ "Said she’, **I loved a soldzer‘ once’, ps For he was blithe and brave’; But I will never have a man’ With both legs in the grave’. ‘Before you had these timber toes’, Your love I did allow’, But then’, you know’, you stand upon Another footing’ now.” ‘QO, false and fickle Nelly Gray’, , , 1 know why you refuse’: : Though I ’ve no feet’/—some other’ man Is standing in my shoes'. “T wish I ne’er had seen your face’; But, now, a long farewell’! — For you will be my death‘;—alas! You will not be my Neu!” Now when he went from Nelly Gray’, His heart so heavy got’, And life was such a burden grown’, It made him take a knot’. So, round his melancholy neck’ A rope he did entwine’, And for the second time in life’, Enlisted in the Line’. : One end he tied around a beam’, ¥ And then removed his pegs’, And, as his /exs were off’, of course, He'soon was off his legs’. And there he hung till he was dead As any nail in town'— For though distress had cut him up’, Tt could not cut him down‘.—Hoop. ~ LESSON LVIII. In this lesson, notice the relative emphasis and antithetic inflections. HOMER AND VIRGIL. Upon the whole’, as to the comparative’ merit of these two great princes of epic poetry’, Homer’ and Virgil’, the former must undoubtedly be admitted to be the greater genius’; the. latter’ to be the more correct writer. Homer was an original in his art, and discovers both the beauties’ and the defects’ which ey a ay JE ee " ieee an original author, compared with those who succeed’ him; more boldness, more nature’ and ease’, more sublimity’ and force’; but gre ter tr egularities’ and neg- igences’ in composition. at, Be bx: Virgil’ has, all along, kept his eye upon Homer’; in many places’, he has not so much imitaied’, as he has. literally trans- lated’ him. The*description of the storm‘, for instance, in the first Alneid, and Eneas’s speech’ upon that occasion, are transla- tions’ from the fifth book of the Odyssey’; not to mention almost all the similes' of Virgil, which are no other than copies’ of those of Homer’.. The pre-eminence in invention’, therefore, must, beyond doubt, be ascribed to Homer’. As to the pre-eminence in judgment’, though many critics are disposed to give it to Virgil’, yet, in my’ opinion, it hangs doubtful. In Homer’, we discern all the Greek vivacity’; in Virgzl’, all the Roman state- liness’. /Zomer’s imagination is by much the most rich and copious’; Virgil’s’ the most chaste and correct’. The strength of the former’ lies in his power of warming the fancy’; that of the laéier’, in his power of touching the heart. Homer’s' style is more simple and animated’; Virgil’s’ more elegant and uniform’. ‘The first’ has, on many occasions, a sub- limity’ to which. the latter never’ attains; but the dafter‘, in re- turn, never sinks below a certain degree of epic dignity’, which cannot be so clearly pronounced of the former’. Not, however, to detract from the admiration due to both’ these great poets, most of Homer’s defects may reasonably be imputed, not to his genius’, but to the manners_of the age’ in which he lived; and for the feeble passages of the Aineid, this‘ excuse ought to be admitted, that it was left’ an unfinished’ work.—Buarr. - _ LESSON LIX. INFLUENCE OF NATURAL SCENERY. rE _ ECLECTIC SERIES. 143. er) Wuarever leads the mind habitually to the Author of the © universe’; whatever mingles the voice of nature with the inspira tion of the Gospel’; whatever teaches us to see in all the changes of the world, the varied goodness of Him‘, in whom “we live, and move, and have our being’,”’ brings us nearer to the spirit of . the Savior of mankind’. But it is not only as encouraging a sin- cere devotion’, that these reflections are favorable to Christianity’; there is something’, moreover, peculiarly allied to its spirit in such observations of external nature’. When our Savior prepared himself for his temptation’, his agony’, and death’, he retired to the wilderness of Judea, to in- bg 4 ae es _ ee Pus. ies M'GUFFEY’S RE HETORICAL GUIDE * hale’, we may venture to buibve, a holier spirit amidst its s - seenes', and to approach to a nearer communion with his Father’, amid the sublimest of his works‘. It is with ‘similar feelings’, and to worship the same Father’, that the Christian’ is permitted to enter the temple of nature, and, by the spirit of his religion’, there is a language infused into the objects which she presents’ ; unknown to the worshiper of former times’. “To all, indeed, the same objects appear’, the same sun shines’, the same heavens are open’; but to the Christian alone’ it is permitted to know the Au- | thor’ of these things; to see his spirit ‘move in the breeze’, and blossom in the spring’; ” and to read, in the changes which oecur in the material world’, the varied expression of eternal love’. It is from the influence of Christianity’, accordingly, that the key has been given to the signs of nature’... It was only when the spirit of God’ moved on the face of the deep’, that order and beauty were seen in the world’. It is, accordingly, peculiarly well worthy of observation, that the beauty of nature‘, as felt in modern times’, seems to have been almost unknown to the writers of antiquity‘. ‘They des- cribed’, occasionally, the scenes in which they dwelt’; but,’'—if we except Virgil’, whose gentle mind seems to have anticipated, in this instance, the influence of the Gospel’, —never with any deep feeling of their beauty’. Then', as now’, the citadel of Athens looked upon the evening sun’jand her temples flamed in ; his setting beam‘; but what Athenian writer ever described the | matthless glories of the scene’? Zhen’, as now’, the silvery clouds of the fiigean sea rolled xound her verdant isles’, and sported in the azure vault of heave ‘but what Grecian poet has been inspired by the sight? The Italian lakes sprea ad their waves beneath a cloudless sky’, and all: that is lovely in nature°was gathered around them’; yet even Eustace' tells’ us, that a few detached lines is all that is left in regard to them by the Roman poets’. ‘The Alps themselves, Te he ce eee: ee ‘«' The palaces of nature’; whose vast walls Have pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps’, And throned eternity in icy halls Of cold sublimity’, where forms and falls (Whee The avalanche/—the thunderbolt of snow’, : even these’, the most glorious objects which the eye of man can behold’, were regarded by the ancients with sentiments only of * dismay or horror’; as a barrier from hostile nations’, or as the . dwelling of barbarous tribes‘. ‘The torch of religion had not then lightened the face of nature’; they knew not the language which she spoke’, nor felt that holy spirit, which, to the Christian’, gives the sublimity of these scenes’, There is something, therefore, in religious reflections on the Ge Pea 1 ena, ft ¥ ‘ ni We OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 149° objects’ or the changes’ of nature, which is peculiarly fitting in a Christian teacher’. No man will impress them on: his heart without becoming happier and better‘, without feeling warmer gratitude for the beneficence of nature’, and deeper thankfulness for the means of knowing the Author of this beneficence' which revelation has afforded’. “Behold the lilies of the field’,”’ says our Savior’; “they toil not’, neither do they spin’: yet, verily I say unto to you’, thateven Solomon‘, in all his glory’, was not arrayed like one of these’.”’ In these words’, we perceive the deep sense which he entertained of the beauty even of the minutest of the works of nature’. If the admiration of external objects is not directly made the object of his precepts’, it is not, on that ac- count, the less allied to the spirit of religion’; it springs from the revelation which he has made’, and grows with the spirit which he-inculcates'*. The cultivation of this feeling, we may suppose’, is purposely left to the human mind’, that man may be induced to follow it from the charms which novelty confers‘; and the sentiments which it awakens are not expressly enjoined’, that they may be enjoyed as the spontaneous growth,.of our own imagination’. While they seem, however, to spring up unbidden in the mind’, they are, in fact, produced by the spirit of religion’; and those who imagine that they are not the fit subject of Christian instruc- tion’, are ignorant of the secret workings’, and finer analogies’, of the faith which they protaes -— ANONYMOUS. 2 ma ‘- LESSON LX. VIEW OF THE COLISEUM.* On the eighth of November, from the highland near Baccano’, and about fourteen miles distant’, I first saw Rome’; and, although there is something very unfavorable to impression in the expecta tion that you are to be greatly impressed’, or that you ought’ to be, or that such is the fashion‘; yet Rome is too mighty a name to be withstood by such’, or any other’ influences. Let you@ come upon that hill in what mood you may , the scene will lay hold’ upon you, as with the hand of a giant’. I scarcely know how to describe’ the impression, but it seemed to me’, as if something strong and stately, like the slow and majestic march of a mighty whirlwind’, swept around those eternal towers’; the storms of time, that had prostrated the proudest monuments of the world’, seemed to have left their vibrations in the still and sol- * Pronounced Col-i-sé-um. -_— Oe eee 2 15 t - 50 MWGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE emn air’y ages of history passed before‘ me; the mighty procession of nations’, kings’, consuls‘, emperors‘, empires’, and generations,’ had passed over that sublime theater. ‘The fire’, the storm’, the earthquake’ had gone by‘; but there was yet left the stillesmall voice’ like that’, at which the prophet Ye pect gat his face in his mantle’.”’ I went to see the Coliseum’ by moonlight. “It is the monareh’ the majesty’ of all ruins‘; there is nothing like’ it. All the asso ciations of the place’, 100, give it the most impressive character’. When you enter within this stupendous circle of ruinous walls and arches’, and grand terraces of masonry’, rising one above another’, you stand upon the arena of the old gladiatorial com- bats and Christian martyrdoms'; and as you lift your eyes to the vast amphitheater’, you meet, in imagination, the eyes of a hun- dred thousand Romans’, assembled to witness these bloody spec- tacles’, What a multitude and mighty array of human beings’, and how little do we know in modern times of great assemblies‘! One, two, and three, and at its last enlargement by Constantine, more than three hundred thousand\-persons could be seated’ in the Circus Maximus‘! But to return to the Coliseum‘; we went up under the conduct . of a guide’, upon the walls and terraces, or embankments’, which supported the ranges of seats’. The seats’ have long since dis- appeared’; and grass overgrows the spots where the pride’, and power’, and wealth’, and beauty’ of Rome sat down to its barbar- ous entertainments’. What thronging life was here then! What voices‘, what greetings’, what hurrying footsteps up the stair- eases of the eighty arches of entrance‘! and now’, as we picked our way carefully through decayed passages’, or cautiously as- cended some moldering flight of steps’, or stood by the lonely walls'—ourselves silent’, and, for a wonder, the guide silent too’ —there was no sound here but of the bat‘, and none came from without’, but the roll of a distant carriage’ or the convent bell’, from the summit of the neighboring Esquiline’. It is scarcely possible to describe the effect of moonlight upon this ruin. ‘Through a hundred rents in the broken walls,’ through a hundred lonely arches’, and blackened passage-ways’, it stream- ed in’, pure’, bright‘, soft‘, lambent', and yet distinct and clear’, as if it came there at once to reveal’, and cheer’, and pity’ the mighty desolation’. But if the Coliseum is a mournful’ and desolate’ spectacle as seen from within'—without, and especially on the side which is in best. preservation’, it is glorious’. We passed around’ it; and, as we looked upward’, the moon shining through its arches’, from the opposite side’ it appeared as if it were the. coronet of the heavens’, so vast‘ was it—or like a pone crown’ upon the brow of night’ OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 151 I feel that I do not and cannoé‘describe this mighty ruin, I can only say that I came away paralyzed’, and as passive as a child’, A soldier stretched out his hand for ‘*an dono’',’’ as we passed the guard’; and when my companion said I did wrong to give’, I told him that I should have given my cloke’, if the man had asked" it. Would you break any spell that worldly feeling or selfish sorrow may have spread over’ your mind’, go and see the Coliseum by moonlight’..—Dewevy. LESSON LXI. THE RUINS OF HERCULANEUM. Aw inexhaustible mine of ancient curiosities exists in the ruins of Herculaneum, a city lying between Naples and Mount Vesu- vius, which in the first year of the reign of Titus was over- whelmed by a stream of lava from the neighboring volcano. This lava is now of a consistency which renders it extremely diffieult to be removed ; being composed of bituminous particles, mixed with cinders, minerals, and vitrified substances, which altogether form a close and ponderous mass. In the revolution of many ages, the spot it stood upon was en- tirely forgotten; but in the year 1713 it was accidentally discov- ered by some laborers, who, in digging a well, struck upon a statue on the benches of the theater. Several curiosities were dug out and sent to France, but the search was soon discontin- ued‘; and Herculaneum remained in obscurity till the year 1736, when the king of Naples employed some men to dig perpendicu- larly eighty feet deep ; whereupon not only the city made its ap- pearance, but also the bed of the river, which ran through’ it. Iirthe temple of Jupiter were found a statue of gold, and the inscription that decorated the great doors of the entrance. Ma- ny curious appendages of opulence and luxury have since been discovered in various parts of the city, and were arranged in a ' wing of the palace of Naples, among which are statues, busts, and altars; domestic, musical, and surgical instruments; tri- pods ; mirrors of polished metal ; silver kettles ; and a lady’s toi- let furnished with combs, thimbles, rings, ear-rings, etc. A large quantity of manuscripts was also found among the ruins ; and very sanguine hopes were entertained by the learned, that many works of the ancients would be restored to light, and that a new mine of science was on the point of being opened ; but the difficulties of unrolling the burnt parchments, and of de- ciphering the obscure letters, have proved such obstacles, that very little progress has been made i in the work. The streets of Herculaneum seem to have been perfectly 152 M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE Straight and regular; the houses well built, and generally uni- form ; and the rooms paved either with large Roman bricks, mo- saic work, or fine marble. It appears that the town was not filled up so unexpectedly with the melted lava, as to prevent the greater part of the inhabitants from escaping with their richest effects ; for there were not more than a dozen skeletons found, and but little gold or precious stones, ‘The town of Pompeii was involved in the same dreadful ca- tastrophe ; but was not discovered till near ferty years after the discovery of Herculaneum. Few skeletons were found in the streets of Pompen; but in the houses, there were many in situ- ations which plainly proved that they were endeavoring to es- cape, when the tremendous torrent of burning lava intercepted their retreat. Korzexus. ’ LESSON LAXIL. THE ROMAN SOLDIER;—LAST DAYS OF HERCULANEUM THERE was a man,’ A Roman soldier’, for some daring deed That trespassed on the laws’, in dungeon low Chained down’. His was a noble spirit‘, rough, But generous’, and brave’, and kind’. He had a son‘; it was a rosy boy’, A little copy of his faithful sire’, In face and gesture’. From infancy’, the child Had been his father’s solace and his care’. | Kivery sport’ The father shared and heightened‘. But, at length’, The rigorous law. had grasped’ him, and condemned To fetters and to darkness’. The captive’s lot’, He felt in all its bitterness‘:—the walls Of his deep dungeon answered many a sigh’ And heart-heaved groan‘. His tale was known, and touched His jailer with compassion‘; and the boy’, Seen Thenceforth a frequent visitor’, beguiled His father’s lingering hours’, and brought a balm With his loved presence, that in every wound Dropt healing’. But, in this terrific hour’, He was a poisoned arrow’ in the breast’ Where he hud.been a cure’. ; With earliest morn’ Of that first day of darkness and amaze’, He came‘. The iron door was closed‘,—for them’ Never to open more‘! The day’, the night Dragged slowly by’; nor did they know the fate’ 7” OF THE ECLECTIC SRRIES, 153 Impending o’er the city‘ aie they heard’ The pent-up thunders in the earth beneath’, And felt its giddy ree king ; ; and the air Grew hot',at length’, and thick’; but in his straw’ The boy was sle eeping’ : and the father hoped The earthquake might pass by’; nor would he wake From his sound rest the unfearing child’, nor tell The dangers cf their state : ‘* (i) On his low couch The fettered soldier sank’, and, with deep awe’, Listened the fearful scunds‘: with upturned eye’, To the gréat gGds he bréathed a prayer; then’, strove To calm’ himself, and lose in sleep’ awhile hh His useless terrcrs’. But he cou/d‘ not sleep: : His body burned’ w ith feverish heat’; his chains Clanked loud’, although he moved not's deep i in earth Groaned unimaginal ble thunders’; ; sounds’ ; Fearful and ominous’, arose’ and died’, Like the sad méanings of Novémber’s wind, In the blank midnight. (/1) Déépest horror chilled His blood that biumed before 5 ——cold, clammy swéats Came 6’er him j—then anon’, 2 fiery thrill Shot through his veins’. N ow’, at his couch he shrunk, And shivered as in fear‘;—now’, upright leaped, As though he heard: the battle trumpet sound’, And longed. to cope with death’. ~” He siept',at last,’ A ‘troubled, anny sleep’. Well had he slept Never to waken more’! His hours are few, But terrible his agony’. Soon the storm Burst’ forth ; ; the lightnings glanced’; the air’ Shook with the thunders, They awoke’; they sprung Amazed upon their feet’. The dungeon glowed A moment as in sunshine’—-and was dark’: Again, a flood of white flame fills the cell’, Dying away upon the dazzled eye In darkening, quivering tints’, as stunning sound . Dies throbbing’ , ringing’ in the ear’. With intensest awe, The soldier’s frame was filled‘; and many a thought Of strange foreboding hurried through his mind’, As underneath he felt the fevered earth J; larring’ and lifting’ s—and the massive walls’, Heard harshly erate’ and strain’: yet knew he not, While evils undefined and yet te eome , Glanced through his thoughts’, what deep and cureless wound Fate had already’ dy given.—W here’, man of woe’! Where , wretched father’! is thy boy’? Thou callest His name in vain':—he cannot answer" thee. “ee Loud ily the father called upon his child‘:— No voice replied.” 'Trembl ingly and anxiously’ He searched their couch of straw’; with headlong ent 154 M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE Trod round his stinted limits’, and, low bent’, Groped darkling on the earth’: —nod child was there’, (h) Again‘ he called —again’, at farthest stretch Of his accursed fetters’,—till the blood _ Seemed bursting from his ears’, and from his eyes Fire flashed’, he strained with arm extended far, And fingers widely spread’, greedy to touch Though but his idol’s garment’. Useless toil"! Yet still renewed':—still round and round he goes , And strains , and snaiches\,—and with dreadful cries Culls‘ on his: boy (Ah) Mad frenzy’ fires him now: ’ He plants against the wall his feet’; his chain Grasps ; tues’ with giant strenoth to force away’ * The deep-driven staple; yells‘ ‘and ha ‘with rage ° And, like a desert lion in the snare’, Raging to break his toils’,—to and fro bounds’. Oo But see! the ground is opening’ :—a blue light Mounts, gently waving’,—noiseless::—thin and cold It seems’, and like a rainbow" tint, not flame; But by its luster’, on the earth datstretehed” 5: Behold the lifeless child! his dress is singed’, And,o’er his face serene,a darkened line’ Points out the lightning’s track’. (il) The father saw’ — And all his fury fled‘:—a dead calm fell Piet: That instant on’ him :—speechless’—fixed’—he stood , And with a look that never wandered’, gazed Intensely on the corse’. Those laughing eyes! Were not yet closed‘,—and round those ruby lips’ The wonted smile returned’. Silent and pale’ The father stands':—no tear is in his eye’:— The thunders bellow‘ s—but he hears‘ them not’:— The ground lifts like a sea‘; he knows’ it not';— The strong walls grind and gape’:—the vaulted roof’ Takes shape like bubble tossing in the wind’: See! he looks up and smiles‘;—for death to him Is happiness’, Yet could one last embrace Be given’, ’twere still a sweeter’ thing to die. It will‘ be given. (h) Look’! how the rolling ground’, At every swell’, nearer and still more near’ Moves towards the father’s outstretched arm his boy’: Once he has touched his garment! :—how his eye Lightens with love’, and hope’, and anxious fears" Ha'! see’! he has’ him now !—he clasps‘ him round ; Kisses’ his face; puts back the curling locks’, That shaded his fine brow’; looks‘ in his eyes Grasps‘ in his own’ those little dimpled hands’; Yd) Then folds him to his breast’, as he was wont OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 155 To lie when sleeping’; and resigned’ awaits Undreaded death’. ) (i?) And déath came sddn, and swift, And pangless: The huge pile sink d6wn at 6nce Into the Opening éartn. Walls —arches’—roof/— And deep foundation stones’/—all—mingling—fell"! ATHERSTONE. “a LESSON LXUL. >, THE FAMILY MEETING. We are all here! Father’, mother , Sister’, brother’, All who hold each other dear’. Fach chair is filled‘—we ’re all at home’: To-night’, let no cold stranger come’: It is not often thus around Our old familiar hearth we ’re found’: Bless then the meeting and the spot* For once’,be every care forgot’; Let sentle Peace assert her power" , And kind Affection rule,the hour’; Hs x 4 MPWezre all—all’ here’. ay We’re not' all Rare-t Some re away'—the dead‘ ones dear, Who thironged with us this ancient hearth’, And gave the hour to guiltless mirth'. - Fate, with a stern relentless hand’, Look’d-in and thinn’d our little band’: Some’ ,lilke a night-flash, passed away’, And some’ sank lingering day by day’; ; The quiet grave-yard’ —some’ lie there'— And cruel Ocean’ has Azs‘ share: We’re not all here. - Weare‘allhere! ~ \ Even they’, thesdead'—though dead’, so dear’, Fond Memory, to her duty true’, Brings back their‘ faded forms to view. How life-like through the mist of years’, Each well-remembered face appears"! We see them as in times long past’, From each to each’ kind looks are cast’; We hear their words‘, their smiles‘ behold, They ’re round’ US, as they were of old‘— We are’ all here. We are all here’! Father’, mother’, ‘ Sister’, brother, 156 MGUFFEY’S REETORICAL GUIDE You that I love’ with love so dear’. This may not long of us be said’; Soon must we join the gathered dead’, “ee. And by the hearth we now sit round’, Some other’ circle will be found’. Oh! then’, that wisdom may we know’ ’ Which yields a life of peace below’; se So’, in the world to follow this’, — ® May each repeat, in words of bliss’, : ~ We're all’—all’—here'!—Cuaruns Sprague. 4 oe LESSON LXIV.. 1°M PLEASED AND YET I’M SAD Wuen twilight steals along the ground’, And all the bells are ringing round’, One’, two’, three’, four’ and five’, I at my study window sit’, And, wrapped in many a musing fit’, To bliss am all alive’. — But though impressions calm. hea weet * Thrill round my-heart a holy heat’, ‘ And I am inly’glad’, The tear-drop stands in either eyed, And yet I cannot tell thee why’, © I’m pleased’, and yet I’m sad‘. The silvery rack that flies away’ Like mortal life or pleasure’s ray’, 2% Does that’ disturb my breast ? Nay‘, what have J‘, a studious man’, To do with life’ s unstable plan’, z Or pleasure’s’ fading vest? Is it that here I must not stop’, = > But o’er yon blue hill’s woody top m7 Must bend my lonely way’? in No‘, surely no'! for give but me’ ; My. own fireside’, and I shall be z ee At home’, where’ er I stray”. = Then is it that yon steeple there’, ; hie < With music sweet shall fill the air’, ee When thow no more canst hear’? Oh, no‘! oh, no‘! for then forgiven’, I shall be with my God in heaven’, df gt Released from every fear’. Then whence it is’ I cannot tell’, But there zs‘ some mysterious spell’ OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 157 That holds me when I’m glad’; 3 ~ And so the tear-drop fills my eye’, sid When yet, in truth, I know not why’, Or wherefore’, I am sad‘.—H. K. Wnaire. = LESSON LXV. i. e ‘Ste bat ELIJAH. Anp Ahab told Jezebel all that Elijah-had done‘, and withal’, how he had slain all the prophets with the sword’. Then Jeze- bel sent a messenger unto Elijah’, saying, So let the gods do to me‘, and more. also’ , if I make not thy” life as the life of one of them’, by to-morrow about this time’. And when he saw that’, he arose and went for his /ife‘, and came’ and sat down under a juniper-tree‘, and he requested for himself that he might die’; and said’, It is enough’; now, O Lord’, take away my life’; for I am not better than my fathers’. _ And as he lay and slept under a juniper-tree’, behold, then an angel‘ touched him, and said unto him’, Arise’, and eat‘! And he looked’, and, behold, there was a cake baked on the coals’, and a cruse of water at his head‘. And he did’ eat! and drink‘, and laid him down‘ again. And the angel of the Lord came again the second’ time, and touched him, and said’, Arise’ and eat’; because the journey is too great' for thee. And he arose’, and did eat’ and drink’, and went in the strength of that meat, forty days’ and for ty nights’, unto Horeb’, the mount of God’. _. And he came thither unto a cave’, and lodged’ there; and be- hold, the word ofthe Lord came‘ to ita, and he said unto him’, What dost thou here‘, Elijah’? And he said’, I have been very - jealous for the Lord God of hosts’; for the children of Israel have forsaken thy covenant’, thrown down thine altars’, and slain thy “prophets with the sword’: and I’, even J‘ only, am left; and they ~ seek my’ life,to take it away. .\ “ae And -He said’, Go forth’, and stand upon the mount before the dard’. And, behold, the Lord passed by‘, and a great and strong od wind rentthe mountains’, and brake in pieces the rocks’, before ~ the Lord’; but the Lord was not in the wind’: and after the wind an-earthquake'; but the Lord was not in the earthquake’: and afier § the earthqu uake’, afire’; but the Lord was not in the fire’: and after ae eee fire’, a still; small voice’. And it was so’, when Elijah heard’ “it, that he wrapped his face in his mantle’, and went out, and stood in the entering in of the cave’. And behold there came a voice unto him’,and said’, What dest thou here‘, Elijah’? And he said’, I have been very jealous for % - Ie ee. SC FSCO Dl eee Ue eS Ta ea 5 ae Oe ee ee ee, ee ee en. 158 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE _the Lord God of hosts‘; because the children of Israel have for- » “saken thy covenant’, thrown down ‘thine altars’, and» slain thy ). prophets with the sword’; and J’, even J‘ only’, am left’; and ghey Ae seek my life, to take it away. Andthe Lord said unto him’, Go’, _ return on thy way to the wilderness of Damascus’: and when thou ~ comest’, anoint Hazael’ to be king over Syria’; and Jehu’ the son of N faghi shalt thou anoint to be king over Israel’; and E isha’ shalt thou anoint to be prophet in thy room’ And it shall come to pass’, that Him that escapeth. the sword of Hazael’, shal slay; and him that escapeth the sword of Jehu’, shall El slay. Yet I have left me seven thousand in Israel’, all the knees which have not bowed unto Baal’, and every mouth which hath not kissed’ him. So, he departed thence‘.—Biste. jaa Pes LESSON GXVI. 7 i ‘ _-«xELIJAH AT MOUNT HOREB. ‘Go forth’,”’ it had been said to Elijah’, « and stand upon the mount before the Lord’.’’ The prophet hears’ it, and leaves his eave’; and no sooner is he gone forth’, than signs occur which announce to, him the approach of the Almighty’. The sacred 7 historian here, indeed, depicts in simple language’, a-most sub- — lime scene’. ‘The first sign was a tremendous wind. Just be- fore’, probably, the deepest silence had prevailed throughout this _ dreary wilderness’. The mountain-tempest breaks forth, and the bursting rocks thunder, as if the four winds’, having been confined there, had in an instant broken from pie prisons to- fight’ together. The clouds are driven about in the sky’, like —— squadrons of combatants rushing to the conflict’. The sandy des- ~~ ert is like a raging sea’, tossing its curling billows to the sky’. Sinai is agitated’, as if the terrors of the law-giving were reneW-2 : ing a around’ it. ‘The prophet feels the majesty of Jehovah itis. awful and appalling’. It is not a feeling of peace’, and of the Lord’s blissful nearness’, whieh possesses Elijah’s soul in’ this. © tremendous scene’; it is rather a feeling of distressing distance’; in ‘6a strong wind. went before the Lord, ; but the Lord was nof*in — the wind'.”’ ble om, : The terrors of an earthquake’ next ensue. “The very, tion of ithe hills shake’ and’ are removed’. . The movntar the rocks which were rent by the mighty wind’, t threaten no v to fall upon one another’, Hills sink down’, and valleys ris jk chasms yawn’, and horrible depths unfold’, as if the earth were Sm remayge out of his place’. The prophet peice —-CONCLUDED. In the evening, the vanished constellations again gradually awoke; and,on opening their eyes, were so rejoiced at meeting together,——not one being wanting of last night’s levee,—that they were in the highest good humor with themselves and’ one anoth- -er. Decked in all their beams, and darting their benignest in- fluence, they exchanged smiles and endearments, and made vows of affection eternal and unchangeable ; while, from this nether orb, the song of the nightingale arose out of darkness, and charmed even the stars in their courses, being the first sound, except the roar of the ocean, that they had ever heard. ‘The music of the spheres’’ may be traced to the rapture of that hour. - a UP THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 181 The little, gleaming horn was again discerned, leaning back- ward over the western hills. ‘This companionless luminary, they thought—but they must be mistaken—it could not be—and yet they were afraid that it wasso—appeared somewhat _ larger than on the former occasion.- But the moon, still only venturing to glance at this scene of magnificence, escaped beneath the hori- zon, leaving the comet in proud possession of the sky. On the third evening, the moon wale obviously increased in size and splendor, and stood so much higher-in the firmament than at first, though she still hastened out of sight, that she was the sole subject of conversation on both sides of the galaxy, till the breeze that awakened newly-created man from his first slum- ber in paradise, warned the stars to retire; and the sun, with a pomp never witnessed in our degenerate days, ushered in the great Sabbath of creation, when “the heaven and the earth were finished, and all the hosts of them.’’ The following night, the moon took her station still higher, and looked brighter than before. Still, however, she preserved her humility and shame-facedness; till her crescent had exceeded the first quarter. -Hitherto she had only grown lovelier, but now she grew prouder at every step of her preferment. Her rays, too, became so intolerably dazzling, that fewer and fewer of the stars could endure her presence, but shrouded themselves in her light as behind avail. When she verged to maturity, the heavens: seemed too small for her ambition. She ‘rose in cloud- ed majesty,’’ but the clouds melted at her approach, or spread their rich and rainbow-tinted garments in her path. She had crossed the comet in her course, and left him as wan as a vapor behind her. On the night of her fullness, she tri- umphed gloriously in mid heaven, smiled on the earth, and ar- rayed it in a softer day; for she had repeatedly seen the sun, | and though she could not.rival him when he was above the hori- zon, she fondly hoped to make his absence forgotten. Over the ocean she hung, enamored of her own beauty reflected in the abyss. The few stars that still could stand amidst her over- powering effulgence, converged their rays, and shrunk into bluer depths of ether, to gaze at a safe distance upon her. “ What more can she be?” thought these scattered survivors of myriads of extinguished sparklers; ‘as hitherto she has increased every evening, to-morrow she will do the same; and we must be lost, like our brethren, in her all-conquering resplendence.”’ The moon herself was not-a little puzzled to imagine what might become of her; but vanity readily suggested, that although she had reached her full form, she had not reached her full size; consequently, by a regular nightly expansion of circumference she would finally cover the whole convexity of the sky, not only 182° M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE Ss - to the exclusion of stars, but. of the sun himself, since he occu- pied a ‘superior region of space, and certainly could not shine through her; till man, and his beautiful companion woman, look- ing upward from the bowers of Eden, would see all moon above them, and walk in the light of her countenance forever. In the midst of this pleasing self-illusion, a film crept upon her, which spread from her utmost verge, athwart her center, till it had completely eclipsed her visage, and made her a blot on the tablet of the heavens. In the progress of this disaster, the stars, - which were hid in her pomp, stole forth to witness her humilia- tion. But their transport and her shame, lasted not long; the shadow retired as gradually as it had advanced, leaving her fairer by contrast than before. “Soon afterwards, the day broke, and ’ she withdrew, marveling what would next befall her. Never had the stars been more impatient to resume their pla- ces, nor the moon more impatient to rise, than on the following evening. With tembling hope and fear, the planets that came out first after sunset, espied her disk, broad and dark red, emerg- ing from a gulf of clouds in the east. At the first glance, their keen, celestial sight discovered that her western limb was a little contracted, and her orb no longer perfect. She herself was too much elated to suspect any failing, and fondly imagined that she had continued to increase all round, till she had got above the Pacific; but even then, she was only chagrined to perceive, that her image was no larger than it had been last night. There was not a star in the horoscope—no, not the comet himself—durst tell her she was less. Another day went, and another night came. She rose as usu- al, a little later. Eiven while she traveled above the land, she was haunted with the idea, that her luster was rather feebler than it had been; but when she beheld her face in the sea, she could no longer overlook the unwelcome defect. The season was bois- terous; the wind rose suddenly, and the waves burst into foam; perhaps the tide, for the first time, was then affected by sympa- thy with the moon; and what had never happened before, an universal tempest, mingled heaven and earth in rain, and light- ning, and darkness. She plunged among the thickest of the thunder-clouds, and in the confusion that hid her disgrace, her exulting rivals were all likewise put out of countenance. On the next evening, and every evening afterwards, the moon came forth later, and less, and dimmer; while on each occasion, more and more of the minor stars, which had formerly vanished from her eye, re-appeared to witness her fading honors and dis- figured form. Prosperity had made her vain; adversity brought her to her mind again, and humility soon compensated the loss of glaring distinction, with softer charms, which won the regard a OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, —-183 which haughtiness had repelled; for when she had worn off her uncouth gibbous aspect, and, through the last quarter, her profile waned into a hollow shell, she appeared more graceful than ever in the eyes of all heaven. When she was originally seen among » them, the stars contemned her ; afterwards, as she grew in beau- ty, they envied, feared, hated, and finally fled from her. As she relapsed into insignificance, they first rejoiced in her decay, and then endured her superiority, because it could not last long; but when they marked how she had wasted away every time they met, compassion succeeded, and, on the last three nights, (like a human fair one, in the latest stages of decline, growing lovelier, .and dearer to her friends till the close,) she disarmed hostility, conciliated kindness, and secured affection; she was admired, beloved, and unenvied by all. At length,there came a night when there was no moon. ‘There was silence in heaven all that night. In serene meditation on the changes of the month, the stars pursued their journey from sunset to day-break. The comet had, likewise, departed into unknown regions. Lis fading lustre had been attributed, at first, to the bolder radiance of the moon in her meridian; but,during her wane, while inferior luminaries were brightening around her, he was growing fainter and smaller every evening, and now,he was no more. Of the rest, planets and stars, all were unimpaired in their light, and the former only slightly varied in their posi- tions. The whole multitude, wiser by experience, and better for their knowledge, were humble, contented, and grateful, each for his lot, whether splendid or obscure. Next evening, to the joy and astonishment of all, the moon, with a new crescent, was descried in the west; and instantly, from every quarter of the heavens, she was congratulated on her happy resurrection. Just as she went down, while her bow was - yet recumbent in the dark purple horizon, it is said that an an- . gel appeared, standing between her horns. ‘Turning his head, his eye glanced rapidly over the universe; the sun far sunk be- hind him, the moon under his feet, the earth spread in prospect before hit, and the firmament all glittering with constellations above. He paused a moment, and then in that tongue, wherein, at the accomplishment of creation, “the morning stars sang to- gether, and all the sons of God shouted for joy,’’ he thus brake forth: ‘*Great and marvelous are thy works, Lord God Al- mighty! In wisdom hast thou made them all. Who would not fear thee, O Lord, and glorify thy name, for thou only art holy!” fle ceased,—and from that hour there has been harmony in heaven.— MontTcomeEry. eee LS Oe {84 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE LESSON LXXVI. SUMMER EVENING. Tue summer day lras closed—the sun is set: Well have they done their office, those bright hours, The latest of whose train goes softly out In the red west. ‘The green blade of the ground Has risen, and herds have cropped it; the young twig Has spread its plaited tissues to the sun; Flowers of the garden and the waste have blown, And withered; seeds have fallen upon the soil From bursting eelis, and, in their graves,await ‘Their resurrection. Insects'from the pools Have filled the air awhile with humming wings, That now are still forever; painted moths Have wandered the blue sky, and died again; The mother-bird hath broken for her brood ‘Their prison-shells, or shoved them from their nest, Plumed for their earliest flight. In bright alcoves, In mootiand cottages with | earthy walls, In noisome cells of the tumultuous town, Mothers have clasped with joy the new-born babe. Graves by the lonely forest, by the shore Of rivers and of ocean, by the ways Of the thronged city, have been hollowed out, And filled, and closed. ‘This day hath parted friends, That ne’er before were parted; it hath knit New friendships; it hath seen the maiden plight Her faith, and trust her peace to him who long Hath wooed ; and it hath heard, from lips which late wa Were eloquent of love, the first ‘ard word, That told the wedded one her peace was flown. Farewell to the sweet sunshine! one glad day - Is added now to childhood’s merry days, And one calm day to those of quiet age ; Still the fleet hours run on; and,as I lean Arid the thickening darkness, lamps are lit By those who wateh the dead, and those who twine Flowers for the bride. The mother from the eyes Of her sick infant shades the painful light, And sadly listens to his quick-drawn breath.—W. C. Bryant * OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES IRA. - LESSON LXXVIL THE SNOW-FLAKE. “ Now if I fall, will it be my lot To be cast in some low and cruel spot? Tc melt or sink unseen or forgot ? ol " And then will my course be ended 1” "Twas thus a feathery Snow-Flake said, _As down through the measureless space it strayed, Or, as half by dalliance, half afraid, It seemed in mid air suspended. “Oh, no,” said the Harth, ‘*thou shalt not lie, Neglected and lone, on my lap to die, | Thou fine and delicate child of the sky: For thou wilt be safe in my keeping ;— | But then, I must give thee a lovlier form ; Thou’lt not be a part of the wintry storm, But revive when the sun-beams are yellow and warm, — And the flowers from my bosom are peeping ; Seok’ then thon shalt have thy choice to be Restored in the lily that decks the lea, In the je essamin bloom, the anemone, Oraught of thy spotless whiteness; ae * To melt and be cast in a littering bead, AEN 3 With the pearls that nicht scatters over ‘the mead, we » {nthe cup where the bee and the fire- -fly feed, _ ‘Regaining thy dazzling brightness; rr To wake, and be raised from th y transient sleep, Where Viola’g mild blue eye shail weep ; Th a tremulous tear or a diamond, leap - Ina drop from the unlocked fountain; Or-leaving the valley, the meadow, and heath, _ The streamlet, the flowers, and all bemeash. / ce “To go and be worn in the silvery wreath, ss Eneircling the brow of the mountain. + ee Dy wouldst thot: return toa homeri in the skies, _~ To shine in the Itis,* Ill lct thee arise, 5 And appear in the many and glorious dyes; “. A pencil of sun-beams is “blending. But true, fair thing, as my name is Earth, I *ll give thee a new and vernal birth, | When thow shalt recover thy primal worth, ; =" And never regret descending.” ae 3 _** Then I will drop, ? said the trusting Flake; ; ‘“¢ But bear it in mind, that the choice J rhakes Is not in the fowers nor the dew to awake, o> ; | * The rainbow. ee i 186 M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE Nor the mist that shall pass with the morning: For things of thyself, they expire with thee ; But those that are lent from on high, like me, They rise, and will live, from thy dust set free, To the regions above returning. ‘¢ And if ‘true to thy word, and just thou art, Like the spirit that dwells in the holiest heart, Unsullied by thee, thou. wilt let me depart, And return to my native heaven ; For I would be placed in the beautiful bow, From time to time in thy sight to glow, So thou may’st remember the Flake of Snow, By the promise that God hath given.”—Miss Goutp. LESSON LXX VIII. IMPEACHMENT OF WARREN HASTINGS. Tue place in which the impeachment of Warren Hastings was conducted, was worthy of such a trial.. It was the great hall of Williani Rufus; the hall,which had resounded with ac- clamations, at the inauguration of thirty kings; the hall,which had witnessed the just sentence of Bacon, and the just absolu- tion of Somers; the hall,where the eloquence of Stafford had for a moment awed and melted a victorious party inflamed with just resentment; the hall, where Charles had confronted the High Court of Justice, with the placid courize which half redeemed his fame. Neither military nor civil pomp was wanting. 'The avenues were lined with grenadiers. ‘lhe streets were kept clean by cav- -alry.. The peers, robed in gold and ermine, were marshaled by heralds. ‘The judges, in their vestments of state, attended to give _ advice on points of law. The long galleries were crowded by such an audience as has rarely excited the fears or emulation of an orator. ‘There,were gathered together, from all points of a great, free, enlightened, and prosperous realm, grace and female loveliness, wit,and learning, the representatives of every science and every art. There, were seated around the queen, the fair-haired, young daughters: of the house of Brunswick. There, the embassadors of great kings and commonwealths gazed with admiration on a spectacle which no other country in the world could present. There, Siddons,* in the pride of her majestic beauty, looked with emotion on a scene surpassing all the imitations of the *A celebrated actress. OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 187 stage. ‘There, the historian of the Roman Empire* thought of the days when Cicero pleaded the cause of Sicily against Ver- res; and when, before a senate which had some show of free- dom, Tacitus thundered against the oppressor of Africa; and there too, were seen, side by side, the greatest painter and the great- est scholar of the age; for the spectacle had allured Royriplds from his easel, and Parr from his study. * y ‘ Thesergeants made proclamation. Hastings advanced to the bar, and bent his knee. ‘The culprit was indeed not unworthy of that great presence.. He had ruled an extensive and popu- lous country ; had made laws and treaties; had sent forth armies ; had set up, and pulled down princes ; and in his high place he had so borne himself, that all had feared him, that most had lov- ed him, and that hatred itself could deny him no title to glory, except virtue. A person, small and emaciated, yet deriving dig- nity from a carriage which, while it indicated deference to the court, indicated, also, habitual self-possession and self-respect; a high and intellectual forehead ; a brow, pensive, but not gloomy ; "a mouth of inflexible decision; a face, pale and worn, but on which a great and well-balanced mind was legibly written: such was the aspect with which the great pro-consul presented himself to his judges. The charges, and the answers of Hastings, were first read. This ceremony occupied two whole days. On the third day, Burke rose. Four sittings of the court were occupied by his opening speech, which was intended to be a general introduc- tion to all the charges. With an exuberance of thought and ‘a splendor of diction, which more than satisfied the highly-rais- ed expectations of the audience, he described the character and institutions of the natives of India; recounted the circumstances in which the Asiatic empire of Britain had originated; and set forth the Constitution of the Ccmpany and of the English Pres- idencies. Having thus attempted to communicate to his hearers an idea of eastern society, as vivid as that which existed in his own mind, he proceeded to arraign the administration of Hastings, as systematically conducted in defiance of morality and public law. The energy and pathos of the great orator extorted expres- sions of unwonted admiration from all; and,for a moment,seem ed to pierce even the resolute heart of the defendant. ‘The la- dies in the galleries, unaccustomed to such displays of eloquence, excited by the solemnity of the occasion, and perhaps not un- willing to display their taste and sensibility—were in a state of incontrollable emotion. Handkerchiefs were pulled out; smel- * Gibbon. . 188 M'GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE. ling-bottles were handed round; hysterical sobs and screams were heard, and some were even carried out in fits. | At length, the orator concluded. Raising his voice, till the old arches of Irish oak resounded—«“ Therefore,” said he. “ hath it in all confidence been ordered by the Commons of Great Britain, that I impeach Warren Hastings of high crimes and misdemean- ors. JI impeach him in the name of the Commons House of Parliament, whose trust he has betrayed. I impeach- him in the name of the English nation, whose ancient honor he has sullied. t impeach him in the name of the people a ae whose rights he has trodden under foot, and whose country he has turned in- toa desert. Lastly, in the name of human: nature itself, in the name of both sexes, in the name of every age,’in the name of every rank, | impeach the common enemy and oppressor of all'’—EpinpurcH Review. LESSON LXXIX. be apes SPEECH ON THE TRIAL OF W. HASTINGS. _ This extract comprises the concluding part of Mr. Burke’s speech, onthe impeachment of Warren Hastings. ‘This trial was protracted through a eee of nearly eight years, and finally terminated in the acquittal of “Mr, astings. My Lorps:—What is it that we want here to a great act of national justice? Do we want a cause, my lords? You have the cause of oppressed princes, of desvlated provinces, and of . wasted kingdoms. Do you wantacriminal, my lords?) Where was there so much iniquity ever laid to the charge of any one? No, my lords, you must not look to punish any other delinquent from India. Warren Hastings has not left substance enough in India to nourish such another. delinquent. | - Is it a prosecutor you want? You have before you the Com- mons of Great Britain, as prosecutors; and I believe, my lords, (that the sun, in his beneficent progress round the world, does not behold a more glorious sight,than that of men separated from a remote people by the material bounds and barriers of nature, united by the bond of a social and moral community ;—all the. zommons of England resenting as their own, the indignities and eruelties that are offered to ali the people of India. Do we want a tribunal? No example of antiquity, nothing in the modern world, nothing in the range of human imagination, can supply us with a tribunal like this. Here,we see that sacred majesty of the crown, under whose authority you sit, and whose power you exercise. We see in that invisible authority what we oo se ' OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 189 all feel in ‘reality and life, the beneficent powers and protecting justice of his majesty. We have here the heir apparent to the crown, such as the fond wishes of the people would have the heir apparent of the crown to be. We have here ail the branch- es of the royal family, in-a situation between majesty and subjection,” between the sovereign and the subject; offering a pledge in"that situation, for the support of the rights of the crown and the liberties of the people, both which extremities they touch We have a great hereditary peerage here ; those who have their own honor, the honor of their ancestors, and of their pos- terity to guard ; and who will justify, as they have always justi- fied, that provision in the constitution by which justice is made an hereditary office. We have here a new nobility, who have arisen and exalted themselves by various meri{s, by great milita- ry services, which have extended the fame of this country from the rising to the setting sun: we have those who, by various civil merits and various civil talents, have been exalted to a situa- tion which they well deserve, and in which they will justify the favor of their sovereign and the good opinion of their fellow- subjects ; and make them rejoice to see those virtuous characters; that were, the other day, upon a level with them, now exalted above them in rank, but feeling with them in sympathy what they felt in common with them before. We rave persons exalted from the practice of the law, from a place in which they admin- istered high, though subordinate justice, to a seat here, to en- lighten with their knowledge, and to strengthen with their votes, these principles which have distinguished the courts, in which they have presided. My lords, you have here, also, the lights of our religion; you have the bishops of England. You have that true image of the primitive church in its ancient form, in its ancient ordinances, purified from the superstitions and vices, which.a long succes- sion of ages will bring upon the best institutions. You have the representatives of that religion which says, that their God i love, that the very vital spirit of their institutions is charity ; religion which so much hates oppression, that when the God whom we adore, appeared in human form, he did not appear in a form of greatness and majesty, but in sympathy with the low- est of the people, and thereby made it a firm and ruling princi- ple, that their welfare was the object of all government; since the person who was the Master of nature, chose to appear him- self in a subordinate situation. ‘These are the considerations which influence them, which animate them, and will animate them against all oppression; knowing that he who is called first among them, and first among us all, both of the flock that is fed, and of those that feed it, made himself the “servant of all.”’ eS RT | a ee Le NS Se 190 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE My lords, these are the securities which we have in all the. constituent parts of this house. We know them, we reckon, we rest upon them, and commit safely the interests of India and of humanity into your hands. Therefore, it is with confidence, that, ordered by the Commons, T impeach Warren Hastings, Esquire, of high crimes and mis- demeanors. ‘9 I impeach him, in the name of the Commons of Great Britain, in parliament assembled, whose parliamentary trust. he has be- trayed. I impeach him, in the name of all the Commons of Great Bri- iain, whose national character he has dishonored. I impeach him, in the name of the people of India, whose laws, rights, and liberties he has subverted; whose properties he has destroyed; whose country he has laid waste and deso- late. I impeach him, in the name, and by the virtue of those eternal laws of justice, which he has violated. I impeach him, in the name of human nature itself, which he has cruelly outraged, injured, and oppressed, in both sexes, in every age, rank, situation, and condition of life—Burxe. LESSON LXXX. THE PARTING OF MARMION AND DOUGLAS. Tn the poem, from which this extract is taken, Marmion is represented as an embassador, sent by Henry VIII., king of England, to James IV., king of Scotland, who were at war with each other. Having finished his mission to James, Marmion was intrusted to the protection and hospitality of Doug- las, one of the Scottish nobles. Douglas entertains him, guides him as far as necessary, and then dismisses him on the borders of England. ‘Though Douglas treats him with the respect due to his office, and to the honor of his sovereign, yet he despises his private character. Marmion perceives this, and takes umbrage at it, though he attempts to repress his resentment, and desires to part in peace. Under these circumstances, the scene, as described in this sketch, takes place. ‘Tantallon is the name of Douglas’ castle. Nor far advanced was morning day, When Marmion did his troop array, To Surrey’s camp to ride; He had safe conduct for his band, Beneath ‘ie royal seal and hand, And Douglas gave a guide. The train from out the castle drew, But Marmion stopped to bid adieu: ‘‘' Though something I might ’plain,” he said, ‘Of cold rerpect to stranger guest, OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. Sent hither by the king’s behest, While in Tantallon’s towers I staid, Part we in friendship‘ from your land, And, noble Earl’, receive my hand*.” But Douglas round him drew his cloke, Folded his arms, and thus he spoke :— “« My manors, halls, and towers 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.” Burmed Marmion’s swarthy cheek like fire, And shook his very frame for ire, And “ This to me’,’’ he said, ‘And ’twere 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, I tell thee’, thow ’rt defied’! And if thou said’st I am not peer’ To any lord in Scotland here’, Lowland’, or Highland’, far‘,or near’, Lord Angus,’ thou—hast—lied‘!”” On the Earl’s cheek, the flush of rage O’ercame the ashen hue of age: Fierce he broke forth; ‘‘And dar’st thou then To beard the kon’ in his den’, The Douglas’ in his hall’? And hop’st thou thence unscathed to go? No‘, by St. Bryde, of Bothwell, no’! Up drawbridge‘, grooms,/—what,‘ warder’, « . Let the porteullis‘fall, ”’ ; Lord Marmion turned,—well was his need,—~ And dashed the rowels in his steed, Like arrow through the arch-way sprung; The ponderous gate behind him rung: To pass there was such scanty room, The bars,descending, grazed his plume. The steed along the draw-bridge flies, Just as it trembled on the rise: 19 - 192 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE Not lighter does the swallow skim Along the smooth lake’s level brim: aa And when lord Marmion reached his. band F He halts, and turns with clinched hand, And shout of loud defiance pours, _ And shook his gauntlet at the towers. : *“ Horse’! horse\!”’ the Douglas cried‘, “and chase !”” A But soon he reined his fury’s pace: ‘A royal messenger he came, Though most unworthy of the name; Saint Mary mend my fiery mood! ‘ Old age ne’er cools the Douglas’ blood, f I thought to slay him where he stood. Tis pity of him too,” he cried ; : ‘* Bold he can speak, and fairly ride; I warrant him a warrior tried.”’ . With this, his mandate he recalls, And slowly seeks his castle walls.—Watrter Scorr. : =o, ae Fe LESSON LXXXI. , RED JACKET, THE INDIAN CHIEF it te ‘sou wert a monarch born. Tradition’s pages ae Tell not the planting of thy parent tree, * But that the forest tribes have bent for ages, To thee and to thy sires, the subject knee. ., ‘Thy name is princely, though no poet’s magic Could make Red Jacket grace an English rhyme, Unless he had a gamut for the tragic, And introduced it into pantomime ; Yet it is music in the language spoken Of thine own land; and on her herald-roll, As nobly fought for, and-as proud a token As Caur pe Lion’s,* of a warrior’s soul. Thy garb—though Austria’s bosom-stars would frighten ‘hat metal pale, as diamonds the dark mine, ; And George the Fourth wore in the dance at Brighton, A more becoming evening dress than thine; Yet *tis a brave one, scorning wind and weather, And fitted for thy couch on field and flood, As Rob Roy’s f tartan, for the Highland. heather; Or forest green, for England’s Robin Hood.t * Ceeur de Lion, (pro. Keur de Lee-on,) lion-hearted, aname given to Rich« ard I, of England. hk t These were celebrated outlaws, the one of Scotland, the other of Eng- OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 193 Is strength a monarch’s merit? (like a whaler’s) Thou art as tall, as sinewy, and as strong As earth’s first kines—the Argo’s gallant sailors, © Heroes in history, and gods in song. Is eloquence? Her spell is thine, that reaches ! The heart, and makes the wisest head its sport; And there’s one rare, strange virtue in thy speeches~- The secret of their mastery—they are short. {s beauty? Thine has with thy youth departed; But the love-legends of thy manhood’s years, And she who perished young and broken-hearted, Are—but I rhyme for smiles, and not for tears. The monarch-mind,—the mystery of commanding, The god-like power, the art Napoleon, Of winning, fettering, molding, wielding, bending, The hearts of millions till they move as one; Thou hast it. At thy bidding,men have crowded The road to death as to a festival ; And minstrel-minds, without a blush, have shrouded, With banner-folds of glory, their dark pall. Who will believe—not I—for in deceiving Lies the dear charm of life’s delightful dream ; I cannot spare the luxury of believing That all things beautiful are what they seem: Who would believe, that, with a smile whose blessing Would, like the patriarch’s, soothe a dying hour; With voice as low, as gentle, as caressing, As e’er won maiden’s lip in moonlight bower ; With look, like patient Job’s, eschewing evil; With motions graceful as a bijgl’s in air; Thou art, in sober truth, the veriest devil That e’er clinch’d fingers in a captive’s hair? That in thy veins there springs a poison fountain, Deadlier than that which bathes the Upas-tree: And,in thy wrath, a nursing cat o’ mountain Is calm as her babe’s sleep compared with thee? And,underneath that face, like summer’s ocean’s, Its lip as moveless, and its cheek as clear, Slumbers a whirlwind of the heart’s emotions, Love, hatred, pride, hope, sorrow,—all, save fear. Love—for thy land, as if she were thy daughter, Her pipes in peace, her tomahawk in wars ; 17 ope pe, ee 194 M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE Hatred—of missionaries and. cold water 5 Pride—in thy rifle-trophies and thy scars ; Hope—that thy wrongs will be,by the Great Spirit Remembered and revenged, when thou art gone ; Sorrow—that none are left thee to inherit Thy name, thy fame, thy passions, and thy throne. HALLECE. LESSON LXXXII. THE VOYAGE. To an American visiting Europe, the long voyage he has to make, is an excellent preparative. ‘The temporary absence of worldly scenes and employments, produces a state of mind pe- culiarly fitted to receive new and vivid impressions. ‘lhe vast space of waters that separates the hemispheres, is ‘like a blank page in existence. ‘There is no gradual transition by which, as in Europe, the features and population of one country blend almost imperceptibly with those of another. From the moment you lose sight of the land you have left, all is vacaney, until you step on the opposite shore, and are lanched, at once, into the bustle and novelties of another world. In traveling by land, there is a continuity of scene, and a con- nection of persons and incidents, that carry on the story of life, and lessen the effect of absence and separation. We drag, it is true, “a lengthened chain,”’ at each remove of our pilgrimage ; but the chain is unbroken. We can trace it back, link by link ; and we feel, that the last of them still grapples us to home. Buta wide sea-voyage severs us at once. It makes us conscious of being cast loose from the secure anchorage of settled life, and sent adrift upon a doubtful world. It interposes a gulf, not mere- ly imaginary, but real, between us and our homes ; suf gulf sub- ject to tempests, and fear, and uncertainty, that makes distance palpable, and return precarious. Such at least was the case with myself. As I saw the last blue line of my native land fade away like a cloud in the hori- zon, it seemed as if I had closed one volume of the world and its concerns, and I had time for meditation before I opened anoth- er. ‘That land, too, now vanishing from my view, which contain- ed all that was most dear to me in life, what vicissitudes might occur in it, what changes might take place in me before I should visit it again! Who can tell, when he sets forth to wander whither he may be driven by the uncertain current of existence, or when he may return, or whether it may be ever his lot to re- view the scenes of his childhood ? a o OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 195 I said, that at sea. all is vacancy. I should correct the expres- sion. To one given to day-dreaming, and fond of losing him self in reveries, a sea-voyage is full of subjects for meditation ; but then, they are the wonders of the deep and of the air, and rather tend to abstract the mind from worldly themes. — I delight- ed to loll over the quarter-railing, or to climb to the main-top, of a calm day, and muse for hours together, on the tranquil bo- som of a summer’s sea; to gaze upon the piles of golden clouds, just peering above the horizon, fancy them some fairy realms, and people them with a creation of my own; to watch the gentle undulating billows, rolling their silver volumes, as if to die away on those happy shores. | »! There was a delicious sensation of mingled security and awe, with which I looked down from my giddy height, at the mon- sters of the deep at their uncouth gambols; shoals of porpoises tumbling about the bow of the ship; the grampus slowly heav- ing his huge form above the surface, or the ravenous shark, darting like a specter, through the blue waters. My imagination would conjure up all that. I had heard or read of the watery world beneath me; of the finny herds that roam its fathomless valleys ; of the shapeless monsters that lurk among the very foundations of the earth, and of those wild phantasms that swell the tales-of fishermen and sailors. — Sometimes, a distant sail, gliding along the edge of the ocean, would be another theme of idle speculation... How. interesting this fragment of a world, hastening to rejoin the great mass of existence! What a glorious monument of human invention, that has thus triumphed over wind and wave; has brought the ends of the world into communion; has established an inter- change of blessings, pouring into the sterile regions of the north, all the luxuries of the south; has diffused the light of knowledge, and the charities of cultivated life ; and has thus bound together those scattered portions of the human race, between which na- ture seemed to have thrown an insurmountable barrier. We one day descried some shapeless object drifting at a dis- tance. At sea, every thing that breaks the monotony of the sur- rounding expanse, attracts attention. It proved to be the mast of a ship that must have been completely wrecked: for there were the remains of handkerchiefs by which some of the crew had fastened themselves to the spar, to prevent their being wash- ed off by the waves. There was no trace by which the name of the ship could be ascertained. ‘The wreck had evidently drifted about for many months; clusters of shell-fish had fasten- ed about it, and long sea-weeds flaunted at its sides. But where, thought I, is the crew? ‘Their struggle has long been over; they have gone down amidst the roar of the tempest; their rones lie CCS ae linia Pea “ —- . \ . * oS Se 196 _ M'GUFFEY’S “RHETORICAL GUIDE # whitening among the caverns of the deep. Silence and obliv- ion, like the waves, have closed over-them, and no one can tell the story of theirend. What sighs have been wafted after that ship! what prayers offered up at the deserted fireside of home! How often has the father, the wife, the mother, pored over the daily news, to catch some casual intelligence of this rover of the deep! How has expectation darkened into anxiety ; anxiety in- to dread; and dread into despair! Alas! not one memento shall ever return, for love to cherish. | All that shall ever be known, is, that she saulep Hon her port, “‘and was never heard of more.’ es W. Irvine. - LESSON LXXXIH. THE SAME.—CONCLUDED. Te sight of the wreck gave rise to many dismal anecdotes. This was particularly the case in the evening, when the weath- er, which had hitherto been fair, began to look wild and threat- ening, and gave indications of one of those sudden storms that will sometimes break in upon the serenity of a summer’s voy- age. As we sat around the dull light of a lamp, in the cabin, that made the gloom more ghasily, every one had his tale of shipwreck and disaster. _ Twas particularly struck by a not one related by th “As T was on ailing,’ said he, “in a fine, stout ship, across the banks of wfoundland, one of those heavy fogs that pre- vail in those parts, rendered it impossible for us to see far ahead, even in the day time ; put ‘at night, the weather was so thick, that we could not distinguish any object, at twice the length of the ship. I kept lights at the mast-head and a constant watch forward, to lonktart for fishing smacks, which are accustomed to lie at anchor on the banks. The wind was blowing a smack- ing breeze, and we were going at a great rate through the water. Suddenly, the watch gave the alarm of ‘a sail a-head!’ It was scarcely uttered before we were upon her. She was a small schooner at anchor, with her broadside towards us. ‘The crew were all asleep, and had neglected to hoist a light. ‘‘ We struck her just amidships. The force, the size, the weight of our vessel, bore her down below the waves ; we pass- ed over her, and were hurried on our course. As the crashing wreck was sinking beneath us, I had a glimpse of two or three half naked wretches, rushing from her cabin; they just star- ted from their beds, to be swallowed shrieking by the waves;I heard their drowning cry, mingling with the wind. The blast e that bore it to our ears, swept us out of all further hearing. I é oe & 4 % - OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 197 shall never forget that cry! It was some time, before we could put the ship about, she was under such headway. We returned as nearly as we could guess, to the place where the smack had anchored. We cruised about for several hours in the dense fog. We fired signal-guns, and listened if we might hear the halloo of any survivors ; but all was ae cede never saw or heard any thing of them more.’ I confess these stories, nen a tne. put an end to all my fine fancies. The storm increased with the night. ‘The sea was lashed into tremendous confusion. There was a fea rful sullen — sound of rushing waves and broken surges. At 8s, the black — volume of clouds overhead seemed rent asunder by flashes of lightning, that quivered along the foaming billows, and made the succeeding darkness doubly terrible. The thunders bellowed over the wild waste of waters, and were echoed and prolonged by the moaning waves. As I saw the ship staggering and plung- ing among these roaring caverns, it seemed miraculous that she regained her balance, or preserved her buoyancy. “Her yards would dip into the water; her bow was almost buried beneath the waves. Sometimes, an impending surge appeared ready to overwhelm her, and nothing but a dextrous movement of the helm preserved her from the shock. When I retired to my cabin, the awful scene still followed me. The whistling of the wind through the rigging, sounded like fu- neral wailings. ‘The creaking of the masts, the straining and groaning of bulk-heads, as the ship labored im the weltering sea, were - ebifal, _As I heard the waves rushing along the sides of the ship, and roaring in my very ear, it seemed as if death were raging round this floating prison, seeking for his prey: the mere - starting of a nail, the yawning of a seam, might give him en- trance,)-: ss? ad A fine day, hosberer, with a tranquil sea and favoring breeze, soon put all these dismal reflections to flight. -It is impossible to resist the gladdening influence of fine weather and fair wind at sea. When the ship is decked out in all her canvas, every sail swelled, and careering gayly over the curling waves, how lofty, how gallant she appears! how she seems to lord it’ over the deep !—But it is time to get ashore. It was a fine sunny morning, when the thrilling ery of “land !’’ was heard from the mast-head. None, but those who have ex- perienced it, can form an idea of the delicious throng of sensa- tions which rush into an American’s bosom, when he “first comes in sight of Europe. ‘There is a volume of associations with the very name. It is the land of promise, teeming with every thing ‘of which his childhood has heard, or on which his studious years have pondered. From that time, until the moment of ar- i98 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE rival, it was all feverish excitement. The ships of war, that prowled like guardian giants along the coast; the headlands of Ireland, stretching out into the channel; the Welsh mountains, towering into the clouds; all were objects of intense interest. As we sailed up the Mersey, my eye dwelt with delight on neat cottages, with their trim shrubberies and green grass-plats. I saw the moldering ruins of an abbey overrun with ivy, and the taper spire of the village church, rising from the brow of neighboring hill. All were characteristic of England. The tide-and,wind were so: favorable, that the ship was ena- bled to. come at once to the pier. It was thronged with people; .some, idle lookers-on, others, eager expectants of friends or rel- atives. I could distinguish the merchant to whom the ship was consigned. I knew him by his calculating brow and restless air. His hands were thrust into his pockets; he was whistling thoughtfully, and walking to and fro, a small space having been accorded to him by the crowd, in deference to his temporary importance. ‘There were repeated cheerings and salutations in- terchanged between the shore and the ship, as friends happened to recognize each other. I particularly noticed one young woman, of humble dress, but interesting demeanor. She was leaning forward from among the crowd; her eye hurried over the ship as it neared the shore, to catch some wished-for countenance. She seemed disappointed ~ and agitated, when I heard a faint voice call her name. It was from a poor sailor who had been ill all the voyage, and had exci- ted the sympathy of every one ‘on board. When the weather was fine, his mess-mates had spread a matress for him, on deck, in the shade; but of late, his illness had so increased, that he had taken to his hammock, and only breathed a wish, that he might see his wife before he died. He had been helped on deck, as we came up the river, and was now leaning against the _ shrouds, with.a countenance so wasted, so pale, so ghastly, that it was no wonder even the eye of affection did not recognize him. But atthe sound of his voice, her eye darted on his fea- _ tures; it read at once a whole volume of sorrow; she clasped her hands, uttered a faint shriek, and stood wringing them in silent agony. . All was now hurry and bustle; the meetings of acquaintan- ees; the greetings of friends; the consultations of men of busi« ness. I alone was solitary and idle. I had no friend to meet, no cheering to receive. I stepped upon the land of my forefath- ers—but felt that I was a stranger in the land.—W. Irvine. > oF OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. LESSON LXXXIV. THE PEARL-DIVER. Tou hast been where the rocks of coral grow, Thou hast fought with eddying waves; Thy cheek is pale, and thy heart beats low, Thou searcher of ocean’s caves! Thou hast looked on the gleaming wealth of old, And wrecks where the brave have striven;3. The deep is a strong and fearful hold, But thou its bar hast riven! A wild and weary life is thine, A wasting task and lone; Though treasure-grots for thee may shine, To all besides unknown. A weary life! but a swift decay Soon, soon shall set thee free !. Thou ’rt passing fast from thy toils away, Thou wrestler with the sea! In thy dim eye, on thy hollow cheek, Well are the death-signs read ; Go, for the pearl in its cavern seek, Ere hope and power be fled. - And bright in beauty’s coronal That glistening gem:shall be; A star to all the festive hall— But who shall think on thee ? None ;—as it gleams from the queen-like head, Not one, ’midst throngs, will say, ‘‘A life hath been like a rain-drop shed, For that pale and quivering ray.” Woeforthe wealth thus dearly bought !— And are not those like thee, Who win for earth, the gems of Bah oh O wrestler with the sea! Down to the gulfs of the soul they go, Where the passion-fountains burn, - Gathering the jewels far below, From many a buried urn: ) Wringing from lava-veins the fire That o’er bright words is poured ; Learning deep sounds, to make the lyre A spirit in each chord. 199 200 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE But oh! the price of bitter tears, Paid for the lonely power, That throws at last, o’er desert years, A darkly clorious dower! Like flower-seeds, by the wild wind spread, So radiant thoughts are strewed ; The soul whence those high gifts are shed, May faint in solitude. And who will think, when the strain is sung, Till a thousand hearts are stirred, What life-drops from the minstrel wrung, Have gushed with every word! None, none !—his treasures live like thine, He strives and dies like thee; Thou that hast been to the pearl’s dark shrine O wrestler with the sea!—Mrs. Hemans. LESSON LXXXV. ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH fARD, Tue curfew tolls‘; the knell of parting day"! The lowing herd winds slowly o’er the lea’; The plowman homeward plods his weary way . And leaves the world to darkness, and to me’. Now fades the glimm’ring landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds; Save, that from yonder ivy-mantled tower, The moping owl] does to the moon complain Of such as, wand’ring near her secret bower, Molest her ancient, solitary reign. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree’s shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mold’ring heap, Each in his narrow cell forever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow, twitt’ring from the straw-built shed, The cock’s shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. Ud ra OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 201 For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care; Nor children run to lisp their sire’s return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield; Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their team afield! How bow’d the woods beneath their sturdy stroke ! Let not ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, The short and simple annals of the poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e’er gave, Await, alike, the inevitable hour; The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, f mem’ry o’er their tomb no trophies raise, Vhere, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault, The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. Can storied urn or animated bust, Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can honor’s voice provoke the silent dust, Or flattery soothe the dull,cold ear of death? Perhaps, in this neglected spot, is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; Hands that the red of empire might have swayed, Or wak’d to ecstasy the living lyre. But knowledge to their eyes her ample page, Rich with the spoils of time, did ne’er unroll ; Chill penury repressed their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul. Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark, unfathom’d caves of ocean bear}; Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast, The little tyrant of his fields withstood ; Some mute, inglorious Milton here may rest; Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country’s blood. The applause of list’ning senates to command’, The threats of pain and ruin to despise’, 202 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE To scatter plenty o’er a smiling land’, And read their hist’ry in a nation’s eyes’, Their lot forbade‘; nor, cireumscrib’d alone Their glowing virtues’, but, their crimes‘ confin’d ; Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne’, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind’; The strugeling pangs of conscious truth to hide ; _ To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame’; Or heap the shrine of luxury, and pride’, With ineense kindled at the muse’s flame. Far from the madding crowd’s ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learn’d to stray : Along the cool, sequester’d vale of life, ‘They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. Yet e’en these bones, from insult to protect, Some frail memorial still, erected nigh, With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck’d, Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. Their names, their years, spell’d by the unletter’d muse, The place of fame and elegy supply; And many a holy text around she strews, Teaching the rustic moralist to die. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing, anxious being e’er resigned; Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing, ling’ring look behind ? On some fond breast the parting soul relies; Some pious drops the closing eye requires; E’en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, E’en in our ashes live their wonted fires. For thee, who, mindful of the unhonor’d dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate’, ff, chance, by lonely contemplation led’, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate’, Hapty some hoary-headed swain may say, ‘‘ Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn, Brushing, with hasty step, the dews away, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech, That wreathes its old, fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that bubbles by. OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 203 Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Mutt’ring his wayward fancies, he would rove; Now, drooping, woful, wan, like one forlorn, Or craz’d with care, or cross’d in hopeless love. One morn, I miss’d him on the accustom’d hill, Along the heath, and near his fav’rite tree ; Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the woods was he. The next, with dirges due, in sad array, Slow through the church-yard path, we saw him borne— Approack, and read (for thow canst read) the lay, ’Grav’d on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.” THE EPITAPH. Here rests his head upon the Jap of earth, A youth to Fortune, and to Fame, unknown: Fair Science frown’d not on his humble birth, And Melancholy mark’d him for her own. Large was his bounty, and his soul, sincere: Heaven did a recompense as largely send : He gave to Mis’ry all he had,—a tear ; He gain’d trom Heav’n—’twas all he wished—a friend. No farther seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose, ) The bosom of his Father, and his God.—Gray. LESSON LXXXVI. AN EVENING ADVENTURE. Not long since, a gentleman was traveling in one of the counties of Virginia, and about the close of the day stopped at a public house, to obtain refreshment and spend the night. He had been there but a short time, before an old man alighted from his gig, with the apparent intention of becoming his fellow guest at the same house. As the old man drove up, he observed that both the shafts of his gig were broken, and that they were held together by withes, formed from the bark of a hickory sapling. Our traveler observed further, that he was-plainly clad, that his knee-buck- les were loosened, and that something like negligence pervaded his dress. Conceiving him to be one of the honest yeomanry of our land, the courtesies of strangers passed between them, and they entered the tavern. It was about the same time, that - eS 204 MWiUUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE an addition of three or four young gentlemen, was made to ea number; most, .f not all of them, of the legal profession ; ~- As soon as they became conveniently accommodated, the con- versation was turned, by one of the latter, upon the eloquent har- angue which had that day been displayed at the bar. It was re- plied by the other, that he had witnessed, the same day, a degree of eloquence, no doubt equal, but it was from the pulpit. Somes thing like a sarcastic rejoinder was made as to the eloquence of the pulpit, and a warm and able altercation ensued, in which the merits of the Christian religion became the subject of discus- sion. From six o’clock until eleven, the yeung champions wielded the sword of argument, adducing with ingenuity and ability every thing that could be said pro and con. During this protracted period, the old gentleman listened with the meekness and modesty of a child, as-if he was adding new information to the stores of his own mind; or perhaps he was observing with a philosophic eye, the faculties of the youthful mind, and how new energies are evolved by repeated action; or perhaps, with patriotic emotion, he was reflecting upon the fu- ture destinies of his country, and on the rising generation, upon whom those future destinies must devolve; or, most probably, with a sentiment of moral and religious feeling, he was collect- ing an argument which no art would be “able to elude, and no force to resist.’’. Our traveler remained a spectator, and took no part in what was said. At last, one of the young men, remarking that it was impossi- ble to combat with long and established prejudices, wheeled around, and with some familiarity, exclaimed, ‘Well, my old gentleman, what think you of these things?’”’ If, said the trav- eler, a streak of vivid lightning had at that moment crossed the room, their amazement could not have been greater than it was from what followed. ‘The most eloquent and unanswerable ap- peal that he had ever heard or read was made for nearly an hour, by the old gentleman. So perfect was his recollection, that every argument urged against the Christian religion, was met in the order in which it was advanced. Hume’s sophistry _on the subject of miracles, was, if possible, more perfectly an- swered, than it had already been done by Campbell. And in the whole lecture there was so much simplicity and energy, pathos and sublimity, that not another word was uttered. ~ ‘An attempt to describe it, said the traveler, would be an at- tempt to paint the sunbeams. It was now a matter of curiosity and inquiry, who the old gentleman was. ‘The traveler con- cluded that it was the preacher from whom the pulpit eloquence was heard—but no—it was Joun Marsuatz, the Cur Justice or THE Unitep States.—ANoNnymMous. « ” * OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. » 205 LESSON LXXXVII. at OBJECTS OF EDUCATION. : To learn A,B,C, is felt to be extremely irksome by the infant, who cannot comprehend what it is for. ‘The boy, forced to school, cons over his dull lesson because he must, but feels no amusement or satisfaction in it. ‘The labor he is obliged to un- dergo is not small; the privations of pleasure and activity, he regrets still more ; and all for what ?—to learn what he does not like; to force into his mind words to which he attaches no ideas, or ideas which appear to him to be of no value ; he can- not put them to any present use. Youth is not aware, that not for present use is all this designed. The dull, laborious, but - necessary routine, like plowing and sowing the land, is in hopes of reaping abundance, at some not very distant season. Education is not the end, but only the means. . Let us see what is the object it has in view. A person grow- ing to a certain age must appear in the world; he can no longer hide himself at school, nor withdraw behind the routine of the trammels appointed for his minority. He must start forward and become something. What that something is to be, educa- tion only can surmise; even talents, genius, fortune, can give little guess. A man must act; whether he is necessitated to labor for his maintenance, or is freed by fortune from all ap- prehension, and all constrained exertion, yet he must act. It is the intent of education to enable him to act rightly, honorably, successfully. Without pretension to prophetic honors, one may safely say, that a man coming into life is doomed to suffer—and perhaps in various shapes of sorrow. Youth may fancy life ‘one scene of gayety; but reality and fancy differ widely. If education has been rightly conducted, it will teach the man to suffer with dignity, with honor, nay, with profit. , The man lanches into life, and will be exactly, or very near- ly, what his actual education purposed. It is well when, guard- ed, stored, and stimulated, the youth starts forward, and in man- hood prospers; answers his own wishes, his parents’ expec- tations, his tutor’s labors, by actual success in his station, what- ever it may be. ‘The dreary hours of learning will then be re- collected with pleasure, and the labor will be abundantly repaid. The end which education had in view will be attained, and its. importance, justly acknowledged. The alternative will show this importance in a still clearer light. ‘The man forced into action, obliged to take perhaps some prominent station, may fail to fill it properly ; may fail, notwith- sianding his best endeavors. and become unsuccessful in all his 206 ~ M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE a pursuits. . T o fail for want of knowing what education would have taught him, would be great disgrace; but to fail when con- scious of talents exerted, and carefulness ever active, will take away from the man’s own mind, and from the opinion of by- standers, all that is disgraceful. He may even gain honor, by the exertions made to prevent, or by the disposition shown du- ring the deep adversity. The lessons of education may be as useful to him in this case as in the other. All that he has learn- ed will help him in some shape, and the labor once endured, will, even in his sorrowing moments, yield him assistance, satis- faction, and perhaps tranquillity, peace,and joy. If the object of education is then so important, if the effects of it are so strong, so enduring, is it not worth all the labor and pri- vation which it can ever occasion ?—Tay.or. LESSON LXXXVIILI. THE AMBITIOUS YOUTH Tu incident described in this lesson is said to have occurred, some years since, at the Natural Bridge, in Virginia. This bridge is an immense mass of rock, thrown by the hand of nature over a considerable stream of water, thus forming a natural passage over the stream. ‘THERE are three or four lads standing in the channel below the natural bridge, looking up with awe to that vast arch of unhewn rocks, which the Almighty bridged over these everlasting abut- ments, ‘when the morning stars sang together.’ 'The little piece of sky spanning those measureless piers, is full of stars, although itis mid-day. It is almost five hundred feet fron. where they es stand, up those perpendicular bulwarks of limestone, to the key- rock of that vast arch, which appears to them only the size of a ~ man’s hand. The silence of death is rendered more impressive by the little stream that falls from rock to rock down the channel. The sun is darkened, and the boys have unconsciously uncover- ed their heads, as if standing in the presence-chamber of the Majesty of the whole earth. At.last, this feeling begins to wear away; they begin to look around them. They see the names of hundreds cut in the limestone abutments. A new feeling comes over their young hearts, and their knives are in their hands, in an instant. ‘What man has done, man can do,’ is their watchword, as they draw themselves up and carve their names a foot above those of a hundred full grown men who had been there before them. They are all satisfied with this feat of physical exertion ex- cept one, whose example illustrates perfectly the forgotten truth, that there is no royal road to intellectual eminence. ‘This ambi- OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES,. © 207 be » tious youth sees a name just above his reach, a name that will be green in the memory of the world, when those of Alexander, Cesar, and Bonaparte shall rot in oblivion. It was 't ame of Washington. Before he marched with Braddock to that fa- tal field, he had been there and left his name a foot above all his predecessors. It was a glorious thought of the boy, to write its name, side by side with that of the great father of his country. He grasps his knife with a firmer hand} and, clinging to a little jutting crag, he cuts again into the limestone, about a foot above where he stands; he then reaches up and cuts another place for his hands. It is a dangerous adventure; but as he puts his feet and hands into those notches, and draws himself up carefully to his full length, he finds himself a foot above every name chron- icled in that mighty wall. -While his companions are regard- ing him with concern and_admiration, he cuts his name in rude capitals, large and deep, into that flinty album. His knife is still in his hand, and strength in his sinews, and a new created aspiration in his heart. Again he cuts another niche, and again he carves his. name in large capitals. This is not enough. Heedless of the entreaties of his com- panions, he cuts and climbs again. ‘The graduations of his ascending scale grow wider apart. He measures his length at every gain he cuts. ‘lhe -voices of his friends wax weaker and weaker, till their words are finally lost on his ear. He now, for the first time, casts a luok beneath him. Had that glance lasted a moment, that moment would have been his last. He clings with a convulsive shudder to his little niche in the rock. An awful abyss awaits his almost certain fall. He is faint with _ severe exertion, and trembling from the sudden view of the dread- ~ ful destruction to which he is exposed. His knife is worn half- way to the haft. He can hear the voices, but not the words, of his terror-stricken companions below. Whata moment! What a meager chance to escape destruction! ‘There was no retracing his steps. It is impossible to put his hands into the same niche with his feet, and retain his slender hold a moment. Iiis companions instantly perceive this new and fearful dilem- ma, and await his fall with emotions that ‘ freeze their young blood.”” He is too high, too faint, to ask for his father and mo- ther, his brothers and sisters, to come and witness or avert his destruction. But one of his companions anticipates his desire. Swift as the wind, he bounds down the channel, and the situa- tion of the fated boy is told upon his father’s hearth-stone. Minutes of almost eternal length roll on; and there are hun-- dreds standing in that rocky channel, and hundreds on the bridge above, all holding their breath, and awaiting the fearful catastro- ® ro 208 M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE phe. The poor boy hears the hum of new and numerous voices both above and below. He can just distinguish the tones of his father, who is shouting with all the energy of despair, “William! Wilham! don't look down! Your mother, and Henry, and Harriet, are all here praying for you! Dont look down! Keep your eye towards the top!” ‘The boy cidn’t look down. His eye is fixed like a flint towards Heaven, and his young heart on him who reigns there. He grasps again his knife. He cuts another niche, and an- other foot is added to the hundreds-that remove him from, the reach of human help from>below. How carefully he uses his wasting blade! How anxiously he selects the softest places in that vast pier! How he avoids every flinty grain! How he economizes lis physical powers, resting a moment at each gain he cuts. How every motion is watched from below. There stand his father, mother, brother, and sister, on the very spot, where, if he falls, he will not fall alone. The sun is now half way down the west. ‘The lad has made fifty additional niches in that mighty wall, and now finds him- self directly under the middle of that vast arch of rocks, earth, and trees. He must cut his way in a new direction, to get from under this overhanging mountain. ‘The inspiration of hope is dying in his bosom; its vital heat is fed by the increased shouts of hundreds perched upon cliffs and trees, and others, who stand with ropes in their hands on the bridge above, or with ladders below. Fifty gains more must be cut, before the longest rope ean reach him. His wasting blade strikes again into the lime- stone. ‘The boy is emerging painfully, foot by foot, from under that lofty arch. Spliced ropes are ready in the hands of those who are leaning over the outer edge of-the bridge. ‘Two minutes more and all will be over. ‘That blade is worn to the last half inch. ‘The boy’s head reels; his eyes are starting from their sockets. His last hope is dying in his heart; his life must hang upon the next gain he cuts. ‘That niche is his last. At the last faint gash he makes, his knife, his faithful knife, falls from his nerveless hand, and ringing along the precipice, falls at his mother’s feet. An involuntary groan of despair runs like a death- knell through the channel below, and all is still as the grave. At the height of nearly three hundred feet, the devoted boy lifts his hopeless heart and closing eyes to commend his soul toGod. ’Tis but a moment—there !—one foot swings off !—he is reeling—trembling—toppling over into eternity! Hark! a shout falls on his ear from above! ‘The man who is lying with half his length over the bridge, has caught a glimpse of the boy’s head and shoulders. Quick as thought, the noosed rope is with- OF THE ECLECTIG#SERIES. ‘2 20D" «Ee in reach of the sinking youth. ‘No one breathes. With a faint, convulsive eflort, the swooning boy drops his arms into the noose. Darkness comes over him, and with the words, God ! and mother ! whispered on his lips just loud enough to be heard in heaven, the tightening rope lifts him out of his last shallow niche. _ Not a lip-moves while he is dangling over that fearful abyss : but when a sturdy Virginian reaches down and draws up the lad, and holds him up in his arms before the tearful, breath- less multitude, such shouting, such leaping and weeping for . joy, never greeted the ear of human being so recovered from the yawning gulf of eternity.—E. Burrirr. ‘ LESSON LXXXIX. INCENTIVES TO YOUTHFUL DEVOTION. I narNestiy wish that I could induce all young persons to divest religion of every gloomy and repulsive association; to feel that it does not consist,—as some would fain represent it,—in solemn looks and a sanctified demeanor, or in an affected fond- ness for long sermons or long prayers; but that, properly under- stood, it is—and especially for the young—a cheerful and light- * some spirit, reposing with affectionate confidence in an Almighty Father, unalloyed with fear, unshaken by distrust. Would you have within your bosoms, that peace which the world can neither give, nor take away?) Would you possess a source of the purest and sweetest pleasures? Would you have that highest of all blessings—a disposition to relish, in their highest perfection, all the innocent and rational enjoyments of life? ‘Then, let me conjure you to cherish a spirit of devotion; * asimple-hearted, fervent, and affectionate piety. Accustom your, ~ selves to conceive of God, as a merciful and gracious parent, continually looking-down upon you, with the tenderest concern, and inviting you to be good, only that you may become everlast- . ingly happy. Consider yourselves as placed upon earth, for the. express purpose of doing the will of God; and remember, if this — ‘be your constant object, whatever trials, disappointments, and sorrows, you may be doomed to experience, you will be sus- tained under them all, by the noblest consolations. With a view of keeping up a perpetual sense of your depend- euce upon God, never omit to seek him habitually in prayer, and to connect the thought of him with all that is affecting or impres- sive, in the events of your lives; with all that is stupendous, and vast, and beautiful, in the productions of his creative power and skill, Whatever excites you; whatever, in the world of nature, or the world of man, strikes you as new and’eXtraordinary ; 18 ‘ ’ Fe i - \ ‘- a “ 210 M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE refer it all to God; discover in it some token of his providence, some proof of his goodness; convert it into some fresh occasion of praising and blessing his holy and venerable name. Do not regard the exercises of devotion as ‘a bare duty, which has a merit in itself, however it is performed; but recur to them as a privilege and a happiness, which ennobles and purifies your na- ture, and binds you, by the holiest of ties, to the greatest and best of all beings. ~» When you consider what God is, and what he has done; when you cast your eyes over the broad field of creation, which he has replenished, with so many curious and beautiful objects; or raise them to the brilliant canopy of heaven, where other worlds, and systems of worlds, beam upon the wondering view ; when day and night, and summer and winter, and seed-time and harvest; when the things nearest and most familiar to you, the very struc- ture of your own bodily frame, and that principle of conscious life and intelligence which glows within you; all speak to you of God, and call up6n your awakened hearts to tremble and adore; when to a Being thus vast, thus awful, you are permitted to approach in prayer; when you are encouraged to address him by the endearing name of a Father in heaven, and with all the confidence and ingenuousness of affectionate children, to tell him. your wants and your fears, to implore his forgiveness, and earn- estly to beseech him for a continuance of his mercies: you can- not, my young friends, if you have any feeling, any seriousness about you, regard the exercises of devotion as a task; but must rejoice’ in it as an unspeakable privilege, to hold direct inter- course with that great and good Being, that unseen but universal Spirit, to whose presence all things in heaven.and on earth bear witness, and in whom we all live, and move; and have our being. Thus excite and cherish the spirit of devotion. - Whenever — any thing touches your hearts, or powerfully appeals to your moral feelings, give way to the religious impulse of the occasion, _and send up a silent prayer to the Power who heareth in secret. _And, in your daily addresses to God, do not confine yourselves to any stated form of words, which may be repeated mechanic-. "" s . > ally without any concurrence either of the heart or of the head; _ but after having reviewed the mercies of your particular condi- tion; after having collected your thoughts, and endeavored to ascertain the wants and weaknesses of your own character ; give utterance, in the simple and unstudied language which comes spontaneously to the lips, to all those emotions of gratitude and holy fear, of submission and trust, which cannot fail to arise in your hearts, when you have previously reflected what you are, and find yourselves alone, in the presence of an Almighty God. sit ae TAyLor. : : —— OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 2il “LESSON XC. A PSALM OF LIFE. 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. 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. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, _ Is our destined end and way, But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day. Art is long, and time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Binaral marches to the grave. In the world’s broad field of battle, In the bivouac of life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife! Trust not Future, howe’er pleasant! Let the dead Past bury its dead! Act !—act in the living Present! Heart within, and God o’er head. Lives of great men all remind us ; We can make our lives sublime, — And, departing, leave behind us Footsteps on the sands of time; Footsteps, that perhaps another, Sailing o’er life’s solemn main, A forlom and shipwreck’d brother, Seeing, shall take heart again. Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; *. Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait.—LonereLnow. ie a, 212 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE LESSON XCL* THE JUSTICE AND POWER OF GOD Brenoup, God is great; we cannot know him, Nor search out the number of his years. Lo, he draweth up the drops of water. Which form rain from his vapor; The clouds pour it down, And distill it upon man in abundance. Who can understand the spreading of his clouds, And the rattling of his pavilion? ; Behold, he spreadeth around himself his light; In both hands he holds the lightning; He commissions it against his enemies. At this my heart trembleth, And is moved out of its place. : Hear, O hear the sound of his voice, And the noise which issueth from his mouth. ; He sendeth it through the whole heavens, : And his lightning to the ends of the earth. After it a voice roareth; - He thundereth with the voice of his majesty, And restraineth not the tempest, when his voice is heard. __ God thundereth marvelously with his voice; Great things doeth he, which we cannot comprehend. For he saith to the snow, ‘“ Be thou on the earth ;” Likewise to the rain, even the rains of his might. He sealeth up the hand of every man, ; That all his laborers may acknowledge him. Then, the beasts go mab Hoag: And abide in their caverns. Out of the south cometh the whirlwind, — And cold out of the north.) — By the breath of God, ice is formed, And the broad waters are made solid. ~ He causeth the clouds to descend in rain, And his lightning seattereth the mists. He leadeth them about by his wisdom, That they may execute his commands throughout the world, Whether he cause them to come for punishment. Or for his earth, or for mercy. Give ear unto this, O Job! Stand still, and consider the wondrous works of God. Dost thou know when God ordained them, And caused the lightning of his cloud to Hash? Dost thou understand the balancing of the clouds, The wondrous works of him that is perfect in wisdom? © +? OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 213 How thy garments become warm When-he maketh the earth sultry by his south wind ? Canst thou, like him, spread out the sky, Firm, like a molten mirror? Teach us what we shall say to him, For we cannot address him by reason of darkness. If 1 speak, will it be told him? Verily, if a man speak to him, he will be consumed. Men cannot look upon the light When it is bright in the skies, When a wind hath passed over them, and made them clear, And a golden splendor cometh from the firmament; But with God is terrible majesty! The Almighty, we cannot find him out; He is excellent in power and justice, Perfect in righteousness, but he giveth-no account of his doings. Therefore let man fear him Whom none of the men of wisdom can behold. Noyes’ TRANSLATION oF Jos. LESSON XCII. ae os A BEE HUNT. a Tue beautiful forest in which we were encamped, abounded © in bee-trees ; that is to say, trees, in the decayed trunks of which, wild bees had established their hives. It is surprising in what countless swarms the bees have overspread the far west, within but a moderate number of years. ‘The Indians consider them but the harbinger of the white man, as the buffalo is of the red man; and say, that in proportion as the bee advances, the Indian | and buffalo retire. ‘They are always accustomed to associate the hum of the bee-hive with the farm-house and flower-garden, and to consider those industrious little insects as connected with the busy haunts of man; and I am told, that the wild bee is seldom to be met with, at any great distance from the frontier. They have been the heralds of civilization, steadfastly preceding it, as it ad- vaneed from the Atlantic borders, and some of the ancient set- tlers of the west pretend to give the very year when the honey- bee first crossed the Mississippi. ‘The Indians, with surprise, found the moldering trees of their forests suddenly teeming with ambrosial sweets, and nothing, I am told, can exceed the greedy relish with which they banquet, for the first time, upon this unbought luxury of the wilderness. At present, the honey-bee swarms in myriads in the noble groves and forests that skirt and tied. prairies, and extend along the alluvial bottoms of the rivers. It seems to me as if ae * oe fo, 214 MGUFFEYS RHETORICAL GUIDE these beautiful regions answer literally to the description of the land of promise, ‘a land flowing with milk and honey ;”’ for the _ rich pasturage of the prairies is caleulated to sustain herds of cattle, as countless as the sands on the sea-shore, while the flow- ers, with which they are enameled, render them a very paradise for the nectar-seeking bee. We had not been long in the camp, when a party set out in quest of a bee-tree; and being curious to witness the sport, I gladly accepted an invitation to accompany them. ‘The party was headed by a veteran bee-hunter, a tall, lank fellow, with a homespun garb, that hung loosely about his limbs, and with a straw-hat, shaped not unlike a bee-hive. A comrade, equally uncouth in garb, and without a hat, straddled along at his heels, with a long rifle on his shoulder. ‘To these succeeded half a dozen others, some with axes, and some with rifles; for no one stirs far from the camp without his fire-arms, so as to be ready either for wild deer or wild Indians. et After proceeding for some distance, we came to an open glade on the skirts of the forest. Here our leader halted, and then advanced quietly to a low bush, on the top of which he placed a piece of honey-comb. This, I found, was the bait or lure for the wild bees. Several were soon humming about it, and diving into the cells. When they had laden themselves with honey, they would rise into the air, and dart off ina straight line, almost with the velocity of a bullet. The hunters watched attentively the course they took, and then set off in the same direction, stumbling along over twisted roots and fallen trees, with their eyes turned up to the sky. In this way, they traced the honey- laden bees to their hive, in the hollow trunk of a blasted oak, where, after buzzing about for a moment, they entered a hole, about sixty feet from the ground. Two of the bee-hunters now plied their axes vigorously at the foot of the tree, to level it with the ground. The mere specta- tors and amateurs, in the meantime, drew off to a cautious dis- tance, to be out of the way of the falling of the tree, and the ven- geance of its inmates. ‘The jarring blows of the ax seemed to have no effect in alarming or disturbing this. most industrious community. ‘They continued to ply at their usual occupations ; some arriving, full freighted, into port, others sallying forth, on new expeditions, like so many merchantmen in a money-making metropolis, little suspicious of impending bankruptcy and down- fall. Even a loud crack, which announced the disrupture of the trunk, failed to divert their attention from the intense pursuit of gain. At length, down came the tree, with a tremendous crash, bursting open from end to end, and displaying all the hoarded treasures of the commonwealth. ’ eels aie aes as OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. "Dis ir One of the hunters immediately ran up with a wisp of lighted hay, as adefense against the bees. The latter, however, made no attack, and sought no revenge; they seemed stupified by the catastrophe, and unsuspicious of its cause, and remained crawl- ing and buzzing about the ruins, without offering us any molesta- tion. Every one of the party now fell to, with spoon and hunts ing-knife, to scoop out the flakes of honey-comb, with which the hollow trunk was stored. Some of them were of old date and a deep brown color; others were beautifully white, and the honey in their cells was almost limpid. Such of the combs as were entire were placed in camp-kettles, to be conveyed to the en- eampment; those which had been shivered in the fall were de- voured upon the spot.. Every stark bee-hunter was to be seen with a. rich morsel in his hand, dripping about his fingers, and disappearing as rapidly as a cream-tart before the holyday appe- tite of a school-boy. ‘was it the bee-hunters alone, that profited by the down- this industrious community. As if the bees would carry through the similitude of their habits with those of laborious and gainful man, I beheld numbers from rivalthives, arriving on eager wing, to enrich themselves with the ruin of their neighbors. These busied themselves as eagerly and cheerfully, as so many wreckers on an Indiaman that has been driven on shore; plung- ing into the cells of the broken honey-combs, banqueting greed- ily on the spoil, and then winging their way, full freighted, to their homes. As to the poor proprietors of the ruin, they seemed to have no heart to do any thing, not even to taste the nectar that flowed around them; but crawled backwards and forwards, in vacant desolation, 4s I have seen a poor fellow with his hands in his breeches’ pocket, whistling vacantly and despondingly, about the ruins of his house that had been burnt. It is difficult to describe the bewilderment and confusion of the bees of the bankrupt hive, who had been absent at the time of the catastrophe, and who arrived from time to time, with full cargoes from abroad. At first they wheeled about in th- air, in the place where their fallen tree had once reared its head, astonished at finding it all a vacuum. At length, as if comprehending their disaster, they pete down in ¢lusters, on a dry branch of a neighboring tree, from whence they seemed-to contemplste. the prostrate ruin, and to buzz forth doleful lamentations over the downfall of their republic. It was a scene, on which the “ mel-+ ancholy Jacques’? might have moralized by the hour. We now abandoned the place, leaving much honey in the hol- low of the tree. “Tt will all be cleared off by varmint,’’ said one of the rangers, “‘ What vermin?”’:asked J. «Qh, bears, and skunks;and raccoons, and ’possums,”’ said he :—‘* the bears * Wr * : 216 M’ GUBEEY’s RHETORICAL GUIDE ‘is the knowingest Hos for finding out a bee-tree in the world _ They ll gnaw for days together at the trunk, till they make a hole big enough to get in their paws, and then they Il haul out ieee bees, and all. ——W, IRVING. LESSON XCIII. ; “yy THE MECHANICAL WONDERS OF A FEATHER. Every single feather is a mechanical wonder. If we look at the quill, we find properties not easily brought together, strength _and lightness. I know few things more remarkable, than the * 2S strength and lightness of the very pen with which I am now writ-- ing. If we cast our eye toward the upper part of the stem, we see a material made for the purpose, used in no other class of animals, and in no other part of birds; tough, light, pliant, elastic. The pith, also, which feeds the fekihena: is neither bone, flesh, membrane, nor tendon. But the most artificial part of the feather is the beard, or, as it is sometimes called, the vane, which we usually strip off from one side, or both, when we make a pem.. ‘The separate pieces of which this is composed are called -threads, filaments, or rays. Now, the first thing which an attentive observer will remark is, how much stronger the beard of the feather shows itself to be when préssed in a direction perpendicular to its plane, than when rubbed either up or down in the line of the stem. He will soon discover, that the threads of which these beards are composed are flat, and placed with their flat sides towards each other; by ies means, while they easily bend for the approaching of ach other, as any one may perceive by drawing his finger ever_ so lightly upwards, they are much harder to ben d out of their plane, which is the direction in which they have to encounter the impulse and pressure of the air, and in which their strength is wanted. 23; It is also to be observed, that when two threads, separated by accident or force, are brought together again, they immediately reclasp. Draw your finger down the feather which is against the grain, and you break, probably, the junction of some of the contiguous threads; draw your finger up the feather, and you restore all things to. their former state. It is no common me- chanism by which this contrivance is effected. ‘The threads or laminz above mentioned are interlaced with one another} and the interlacing is performed by means of a vast number of fibres _or teeth, which the threads shoot forth on each side, and which heok and grapple together. | 3 OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 217 Fifty of these fibres have been counted in one-twentietl of an inch, ‘They are crooked, but curved after a different manner: for those which proceed from the thread on the side toward-the extremity, arelonger, more flexible, and bent downward ; whereas, those which proceed from the side toward the beginning or quill- end of the feather, are shorter, firmer, and turned upward. When two lamina, therefore, are pressed together, the crooked parts of the long fibres fall into the cavity made by the crooke parts of the others ; just as the latch, which is fastened to a door, euters into the cavity of the catch fixed to the door-post, and there hooking itself, fastens the door.—Patry. LESSON XCIV. THE NOSE AND THE EYES. Between Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose ; The spectacles set them, unhappily, wrong ; The point in dispute was, as all the world knows, ‘To whom the said spectacles ought to belong. So Tongue was the lawyer, and argued the cause, With a great deal of skill, and a wig full of learning, While chief baron Ear, sat to balance the laws, - So famed for his talent in nicely discerning. ‘‘In behalf of the Nose, it will quickly appear, And your lordship” he said ‘will undoubtedly find, That the Nose has the spectacles always to wear, -Which amounts to possession, time out of mind.” Then, holding the spectacles up to the court, ‘Your lordship observes, they are made with a straddle, As wide as the ridge of the Nose is; in short, Designed to sit close to it, just like a saddle. “Again, would your lordship a moment suppose, , (Tis a case that has happened, and may happen again,) That, the visage or countenance had not a Nose, Pray, who would, or who could wear spectacles then? “On the whole, it appears, and my argument shows, With a reasoning the court will never condemn, That the spectacles, plainly, were made for the Nose, And the Nose was, as plainly, intended for them.” Then shifting his side, (as a lawyer knows how,) He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes: But what were his arguments, few people know, For the cyurt did not think them equally wise. 19 218 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE ~ So his lordship decreed, with a grave, solemn tone, Decisive and clear, without one ¢f or bui— That whenever the Nose put his spectacles on, By day-light or candle-light,—Hyes should be shut. CowPper. —. LESSON XCV. THE WELL OF ST. KEYNE. St. Keyne was a Welch princess, who lived and died near the well which was named after her. It was popularly believed, that she laid upon this well the spell described in this ballad. A wELt there is in the West Country, And a clearer one never was seen; There is not a wife in the West Country But has heard of the well of St. Keyne. An oak and an elm tree stand beside, And behind does an ash tree grow, And a willow from the bank above, Droops to the water below. A traveler came to the well of St. Keyne; Joyfully he drew nigh, For trom cock-crow he had been traveling, And there was not a cloud in the sky. He drank of the water, so cool and clear, For thirsty and hot was he; And he sat down upon the bank, Under the willow tree. “There came a man from the neighboring town, At the well to fill his pail; On the weli-side he rested it, And he bade the stranger hail. ‘‘ Now art thou a bachelor, stranger?” quoth he ‘6 For an * if thou hast a wife, The happiest draught.thou hast drunk this day, ‘That ever thou didst in thy life. ‘Or has thy good woman—if one thou hast— Ever here, in Cornwall been? Wor an * if she have, Ill venture my life, She has drunk of the well of St Keyne.” **T have left a good woman, who never was here, The stranger he made reply ; *An is here an obsolete word signifying cf. OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 219 ‘But that my draught should be better for that, I pray you, answer me why.” “St. Keyne,’’ quoth the Cornish-man, ‘many a time Drank of this crystal well, And before the angel summoned her, She laid on the water a spell. “If the husband, of this gifted well od Shall drink before his wife, A happy man thenceforth is he, For he shall be master for life. ‘But if the wife should drink of it first,— God help the husband, then !”’ The stranger stooped to the well of St. Keyne, And drank of the water again. “You drank of the well, I warrant, betimes !”’ He to the Cornish-man said: But the Cornish-man smiled, as the stranger spake, And sheepishly shook his head. , ‘*T hastened, as soon as the wedding was done, And left my wife in the porch; But, i’ faith! she had been wiser than I, For she took a bottle to church.’’—Souruey. .7 LESSON XCVI. ELEGY ON MADAM BLAIZE. Goop people all, with one accord, Lament for Madam Blaize; Who never wanted a good word— From those who spoke her praise. The needy seldom passed her door, And always found her kind; She freely lent to all the poor— Who left a pledge behind. She strove the neighborhood to please, With manner wondrous winning; She never followed wicked ways— Unless when she was sinning. At church; in silks and satins new, With hoop. of monstrous size, She never slumbered in her pew— But when she shut her eyes. 220 MGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE Her love was sought, I do aver, By twenty beaux, or more ; The king himself has followed her— When she has walked before. But now, her wealth and finery fled, Her hangers-on cut short all, Her doctors found, when she was dead— me . Her last disorder mortal. Let us lament, in sorrow sore; For Kent-street well may say, That, had she lived a twelvemonth more— She had not died to-day.—GoLpsmiTH. B LESSON XCVILI. ON THE AMERICAN WAR. 1 cannot, my lords, I will not, join in congratulation on mis- fortune and disgrace. ‘This, my lords, is a perilous and tremen- dous moment. It is not a time for adulation: the smoothness of flattery cannot 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 to our doors. Can parliament be so dead to its true 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 con- tempt! ‘But yesterday, and Britain might have stood against the world; now, none so’ poor to do her reverence.’’ The -people, whom we at first despised as rebels, but whom we now acknowledge as enemies, are abetted against us, supplied with every military store, have their interest consulted, and their em- bassadors entertained by our inveterate enemy; and ministers do not, and dare not, interpose with dignity or effect. ‘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 and their valor. I know they can achieve any thing but impossibilities; and I know that the con- quest of British America is an impossibility. You cannot, my lords, you cannot conquer America. What is your present situ- ation there? We do not know the worst; but we know that in three campaigns we have done nothing, and suffered much. You may swell every expense, accumulate every assistance, and OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 221 extend your traffic to the shambles of every German despot: your attempts will be forever impotent; doubly so, indeed, from this mercenary aid on which you rely; for it irritates, to an in- urable 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 [ am an Englishman, while a foreign troop was landed in my country, I never would lay down my arms; never—NEVER—NEVER! But, my lords, who is the man, that, in addition to the dis- graces and mischief of the war, has daredto authorize and asso- ciate to our arms, the tomahawk and scalping-knife of the sav- age ? to call into civilized alliance, the wild and inhuman inhab- itant of the woods? to delegate to the merciless Indian the de- fense of disputed righis, and to wage the horrors of his barbar- ous war against our brethren? My lords, these enormities cry aloud for redress and punishment. But, my lords, this barbar- ous measure has been defended, not only on the principles of policy and necessity, but also on those of morality; “for it is perfectly allowable,’’ says Lord Suffolk, “to use all the means which God and nature have put into our hands.”’ I am aston- ished, | am shocked, to hear such principles confessed; to hear them avowed in this house, or in this country. My lords, I did not intend to encroach so much on your atten- tion, but I cannot repress my indignation—I feel myself impelled to speak. My lords, we are called upon, as members of this house, as men, as Christians, to protest against such horrible barbarity. ‘'That God and nature have put into our hands !” What ideas of God and nature that noble lord may entertain, I know not; but I know, that such detestable principles are equal- ly abhorrent to religion and humanity. What! to attribute the sacred sanction of God and nature to the massacres of the Indian scalping-knife ! to the cannibal savage, torturing, murdering, DE- vourinG, DRINKING the blood of his mangled victims! Such- notions shock every precept of morality, every feeling of hu- manity, every sentiment of honor. These abominable princi- ples, and this more abominable avowal of them, demand the most decisive indignation. I call upon that right reverend, and this most learned bench, to vindicate the religion of their God, to support the justice of their country. I call upon the bishops, to interpose their unsul- lied sanctity; upon the judges, to interpose the purity of their ermine, to save us from this pollution. I call upon the honor of your lordships, to reverence the dignity of your ancestors, and to maintain yourown. I call upon the spirit and humanity of my country, to vindicate the national character. I invoke the 22m M'’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE Genius of the Constitution. From the tapestry that adorns these walls, the immortal ancestor of this noble lord frowns with indignation, at the disgrace of his country. In vain did he de- fend the liberty, and establish the religion of Britain, aéainst the tyranny of Rome, if these worse than popish cruelties, and in- quisitorial practices, are endured among us. ‘T'o send forth the merciless cannibal, thirsting for blood! Against whom ?—your protestant brethren !—to lay waste their country, to desolate their dwellings, and extirpate their race and name, by the aid and instrumentality of these horrible hounds of war. ‘Spain can no longer boast pre-eminence in barbarity.. She armed herself with blood-hounds, to extirpate the wretched natives of Mexico; we, more ruthless, loose the dogs of war against our countrymen in Ameriea, endeared to us by every tie that can sanctify humanity. I solemnly call upon your lord- ships, and upon every order of men in the state, to stamp upon this infamous procedure, the indelible stigma of the public abhor- rence. More particularly, I call upon the holy prelates of our religion, to do away this iniquity; let them perform a lustration, to purify the country from this deep and deadly sin. My lords, I am old and weak, and at present unable to say more; but my feelings and indignation were too strong to have said less. I could not have slept this night in my bed, nor even reposed my head upan my pillow, without giving vent to my eternal ab- horrence of such enormous and preposterous principles.—Lorp CHATHAM. LESSON XCVIIL. SUPPOSED SPEECH OF JOHN ADAMS, UPON THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. Mr. Webster, in a speech upon the life and character of John Adams, im- agines some one opposed to the Declaration of Independence, to have stated his fears and objections before Congress, while deliberating on that subject, He then supposes Mr. Adams to have replied, in language like the follow- ing. Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my hand and my heart to this vote. It is true, indeed, that in the begin- ning, we aimed not at independence. But there is a Divinity which shapes our ends. ‘The injustice of England has driven us to arms; and blinded to her own interest, she has obstinately persisted, till independence is now within our grasp. We have but to reach forth to it, and itis ours. Why then should we de- fer the declaration? Is any man so weak, as now to hope for a reconciliation with England, which shall leave either safety to OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 223 the country and its liberties, or safety to his own life, and his own honor! Are not you, sir, who sit in that chair,* is not he, our venerable colleague, near you,t are you not both, already the proseribed and predestined objects of punishment and of ven- geance? Cut off from all hope of royal clemeney, what are you, what can you be, while the power of England remains, but ouilaws ? If we postpone independence, do we mean to carry on, or to give up the war? Do we mean to submit, and consent that we shall be ground to powder, and our country and its rights trodden down in the dust? I know we do not mean to submit... We NEVER Shall submit! Do we intend to violate that most solemn obligation ever entered into by men, that plighting, before God, of our sacred honor to Washington, when, putting him forth to in- cur the dangers of war, as weil as the political hazards of the times, we promised to adhere to him in every extremity, with our fortunes and our lives? I know there is not a man_ here, who would not rather see a general conflagration sweep over the land, or an earthquake sink it, than one jot or tittle of that plight- ed faith fall to the ground. For myself, having twelve months ago, in this place, moved you, that George Washington be ap- pointed commander of the forces raised, or to be raised for the defense of American liberty; may my right hand forget her cun- ning, and my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, if I hesitate or waver in the support I give him. The war, then, must go on. We must fightit through. And if the war must go on, why put off the Declaration of Indepen- dence? ‘That measure will strengthen us. It will give us character abroad. Nations will then treat with us, which they never can do, while we acknowledge ourselves subjects in arms against our sovereign. Nay, I maintain that England herself, will sooner treat for peace with us, on the footing of indepen- dence, than consent, by repealing her acts, to acknowledge that her whole conduct towards us has been a course of injustice and oppression. Her pride will be less wounded by submitting to that course of things, which now predestinates our indepen- dence, than by yielding the points in controversy to her rebel- lious subjects. The former, she would regard as the result of fortune ; the latter, she would feel as her own deep disgrace. Why, then, 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 vic- tory, if we gain the victory ? If we fail, it can be no worse for us. But we shall not fail. * John Hancock, t+ Samucl Adams. -224 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 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, gloriously through this struggle. I care not how fickle other people have been found. JI know the people of these colonies ; and I know that resistance to British aggression, is deep and settled in their hearts, and cannot be eradicated. Sir, the Declaration of Independence will inspire the people with increased courage. Instead of a long and bloody war for the restoration of privileges, for redress of erievances, for chartered immunities, held under a British king, set before them the glorious object of entire independence, and it will breathe into them anew the spirit of life. 3 Read this declaration at the head of the army ; every sword will be drawn from its seabbard, and the solemn vow uttered to main- tain it, or perish on the bed of honor. Publish it from the pulpit; religion will approve it, and the love of religious liberty will cling around it, resolved to stand with it, or fall with it. Send it to the public halls; proclaim it there ; let them see it, who saw their broth- ers 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. Sir, [ know the uncertainty of human affairs, but I 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 colonists; die slaves; die, it may be, ignominiously, and on the scaffold. Be itso. 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 appoint- ed 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 country, and that a FREE country. 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 compensate 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 glori- ous, an immortal day. When we are in our graves, our chil dren will honor it. ‘They will celebrate it with thanksgiving, with festivity, with bonfires, and illuminations. On its annual return, they will shed tears, copious, gushing tears; not of sub- jection and slavery, not of agony and distress, but of exultation, of gratitude, and of joy. Sir, before God, | believe the hour is come. My judgment approves the measure, and my whole heart isin 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, OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 225 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; independence now, and INDEPENDENCE FOREVER.—DanieEL WEBSTER. LESSON XCIX. DEATH AND CHARACTER OF QUEEN ELIZABETH. Tue Earl of Essex, after his return from the fortunate expe- dition against Cadiz, observing the increase of the queen’s fond attachment towards him, took occasion to regret that the neces- sity of her service required him often to be absent from her per- son, and exposed him to all those ill offices, which his enemies, more assiduous in their attendance, could employ against him. She was moved with this tender jealousy, and making him the present of a ring, desired him to keep that pledge of her affection, and assured him, that, into whatever disgrace he should fall, what- eyer prejudices she might be induced- to entertain against him, yet if he sent her that ring, she would immediately, upon sight of it, recall her former tenderness ; would afford. him a patient hearing, and would lend a favorable ear to his apology. Essex, notwithstanding all his misfortunes, reserved this precious gift to the last extremity; but after his trial and con- demnation, he resolved to try the experiment, and he committed ' the ring to the Countess of Nottingham, whom he desired to deliver it to the queen. ‘The countess was prevailed on by her husband, the mortal enemy of Essex, not to execute the commis- sion; and Elizabeth, who still expected that her favorite would make this last appeal to her tenderness, and who ascribed the neglect of it to his invincible obstinacy, was, after much delay, and many internal combats, pushed, by resentment and policy, to sign the warrant for his execution. The Countess of Nottingham falling into sickness, and affect- ed with the near approach of death, was seized with remorse for her conduct; and having obtained a visit from the queen, she craved her pardon, and revealed the fatal secret. The queen, astonished with this incident, burst into a furious passion: she shook the dying countess in her bed; and crying to her, 7'hat God might pardon her, but she never could,—she broke from her, and thenceforth resigned herself over to the deepest and most incurable melancholy. She resisted all consolation; she even refused food and sustenance; and throwing herself on the floor, she remained sullen and immovable, feeding her thoughts on her afflictions, and declaring life and existence an intolerable 226 M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE burden to her. Few words she uttered; and they were all ex- pressive of some inward grief which she cared not to reveal; but sighs and groans were the chief vent which she gave to her despondency, and which, though they discovered her sorrows, were never able to ease or assuage them. Ten days and nights, she lay upon the carpet, leaning on cushions which her maids brought her; and her physicians could not persuade her to allow herself to be put to bed, much less to make trial of any remedies which they prescribed to her. Her anxious mind, at last, had so long preyed upon her frail body, that her end was visibly approaching ; and the council being assembled, sent the keeper, admiral, and secretary, to know her will with regard to her successor. She answered with a faint voice, that as she had held a regal scepter, she desired no other than a royal successor. Cecil requesting her to explain herself more particularly, she subjoined, that she would have a king to sueceed her; and who should that be, but her nearest kinsman, the King of Scots! Being then advised by the Archbishop of Canterbury to fix her thoughts upon God, she replied, that she did so, nor did her mind, in the least, wan- der from Him. Her voice, soon after, left her; her senses failed; she fell into a lethargic slumber, which continued some. hours; and she expired gently, without farther struggle or con- vulsion, in the seventieth year of her age, and forty-fifth of her reign. So dark a cloud overcast the evening of that day, which had shone out with a mighty luster, in the eyes of all Europe! There are few great personages in history,who have been more exposed to the calumny of enemies, and the adulation of friends, than Queen Elizabeth; and yet, there is scarcely any whose reputation has been more certainly determined by the unanimous consent of posterity.. Tbe unusual length of her administration, and the strong features of her character, were able to overcome all prejudices; and, obliging her detractors to abate much of their invectives, and her admirers somewhat of their panegyrics, have at last, in spite of political factions, and (what is more) religious animosities, produced a uniform judg- . ment with regard to her conduct. Her vigor, her constancy, her magnanimity, her penetration vigilance, and address, are allowed to merit the highest praises, and appear not to have been surpassed by any person that ever filled the throne; a conduct less rigorous, less imperious, more sincere, more indulgent to her people, would have been requisite to form a perfect character. By the force of her mind, she con- trolled all her more active and stronger qualities, and prevented them from running into excess: her heroism was exempt from temerity, her frugality from avarice, her friendship from par- OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. Oe tiality, her active temper from turbulency and a vain ambition; she guarded not herself with equal care and equal success, from lesser infirmities; the rivalship of beauty, the desire of admira- tion, the jealousy of love, and the sallies of anger. Her singular talents for government, were founded equally on her temper, and on her capacity. Endowed with a great com- mand over herself, she soon obtained an uncontrolled ascendency over her people ; and while she merited all their esteem by her real virtues, she also engaged their aflections by her pretended ones. I'ew sovereigns of England succeeded to the throne in more difficult circumstances, and none ever conducted the govern- ment with such uniform success and felicity. ‘Though unacquaint- ed with the practice of toleration, the true secret for managing re- ligious factions, she preserved her people, by her superior pru- dence, from those confusions in which theological controversy had involved all the neighboring nations; and though her ene- mies were the most powerful princes of Europe, the most active, the most enterpising, the least scrupulous, she was able, by her vigor, to make deep impressions on their states ; her own great- ness, meanwhile, remaining untouched and unimpaired. The fame of this princess, though it has surmounted the preju- dices both of faction and bigotry, yet lies still exposed to a preju- dice, which is more durable, because more natural; and which, according to the different views in which-we survey her, is capa- ble, either of exalting beyond measure, or diminishing the luster of her chararacter. ‘This prejudice is founded on the considera- tion of her sex. When we contemplate her as a woman, we are apt to be struck with the highest admiration of her great qualities and extensive capacity; but we are also apt to require somewhat more softness of disposition, some greater lenity of temper, some of those amiable weaknesses, by which her sex is distinguished. But the true method of estimating her merit, is to lay aside all these considerations, and consider her merely as a rational being, placed in authority, and intrusted with the gov- ernment of mankind. We may find it difficult to reconcile our fancy to her as a wife or a mistress, but her qualities as a sov- ereign, though with some considerable exceptions, are the object of undisputed applause and approbation.—Hume. / 228 M'GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE LESSON C. THE FALL OF CARDINAL WOLSEY, FROM THE FAVOR OF HENRY VIII. Wolsey. Farewe., a long farewell to all my greatness ! This is the state of man: to-day, he puts forth The tender leaves of hope; to-morrow, blossoms, And bears his blushing honors thick upon him ; ‘The third day,comes a frost, a killing frost, And,—when he thinks, good, easy man, full surely me se RD ES OTTER DO His greatness is a ripening—nips his root, And then he falls, as Ido. 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. i ie 2 Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye; I feel my heart new opened. O, how wrete hed Ts that poor man, that hangs on princes’ favors! There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That aspect sweet of princes, and their ruin, More pangs and fears, than wars or women have, And when he falls, he falls like eg Never to hope again. hn Enter eer amazedly. Why, how now, Cromwell ? Crom. I nave no power to speak, sir. Wol. What! amazed At my misfortunes? Can thy spirit wonder, A great man should decline? Nay, if you weep, T am fallen indeed. Crom. How does your grace? Wol. Why, well; Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. I know myself now; and I feel within me A peace above all earthly dignities, A still and quiet conscience. ‘The king has cured me, I humbly thank his grace; and from these shoulders, These ruined pillars, out of pity, taken A load would sink a navy,—too much honor: O, ’tis a burden, Cromwell, ’tis a burden, Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven. Crom. Jam glad your grace has made that right use of it. Wol. UhopeLhave. Jam able now, methinks, Out of a fortitude of soul I feel, To endure more miseries, and greater far, Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer. What news abroad? " \ OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. rom. The heaviest, and the worst, Is your displeasure * with the king. Wol. God bless him ! Crom. The next is, that Sir Thomas More is chosen Lord Chancellor in your place. Wol. That ’s somewhat sudden: But he ’s a learned man. May he continue Long in his highness’ favor, and do justice For truth’s sake, and his conscience; that his bones, When he has run his course, and sleeps in blessings, May have a tomb of orphans’ tears wept on ’em! What more? Crom. ‘That Cranmer is returned with welcome, Install’d Lord Archbishop of Canterbury. Wol. 'That’s news indeed! Crom. Last, that the Lady Anne, Whom the king hath in secrecy long married, This day was viewed in public, as his queen, Going to chapel; and the voice is now Only about her coronation. 229 Wol. ‘There was the weight that pulled me down. O Cromwell, The king has gone beyond me: all my glories In that one woman I have lost for ever: No sun shall ever usher forth mine honors, Or gild again the noble troops that waited Upon my smiles. Go, get thee ‘from me, Cromwell; I am a poor, fallen man, unworthy now To be thy lord and master. Seck the king; That sun, I pray, may never set! I have told him What and how true thou art: he will advance thee; Some little memory of me will stir him (I know his noble nature) not to let Thy hopeful service perish too. Good Cromwell, Neglect him not; make use now, and provide For thine own future safety. Crom. O, my lord, Must I then leave you? Must I needs forego So good, so noble,and so true a master? _ Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron, With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord ; The king shail have my service, but my prayers For ever and for ever,shall be yours. Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me, Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. Let ’s dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, Cromwell; And—when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And sleep in dull, cold marble, where no mention Of me more must be heard of—say, I taught thee; Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory, * Here used for disgrace. 230 M'’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor, Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in; A sure and safe one, though thy master missed it. Mark but my fall, and that that ruined me. Cromwell, I charge thee fling away ambition; By that sin fell the angels; how can man, then, The image of his Maker, hope to win by ’t? Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that hate thee. Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not; Let all the ends thou aim’st at be thy country’s, Thy God’s, and truth’s; then,if thou fall’st, O Cromwell, Thou fall’st a blessed martyr. Serve the king;— And,—pr’ythee, lead me in. There, take an inventory of all I have, To the last penny; ’tis the king’s: my robe, And my integrity to Heaven, is all I dare now call my own. O Cromwell, Cromwell, Ifad I but served my God with half the zeal I served my king, he would not, in mine age, Have left me naked to mine enemies. | Crom. Good sir, have patience. Wol. So Tl have. Farewell The hopes of court! my hopes in heaven do dwell.—SHaksPrarg. LESSON CI. DEATH AND CHARACTER OF CARDINAL WOLSEY. Queen Catherine. Didst thou not tell me, Griffith, as thou led’st me, That the great child of honor, Cardinal Wolsey, Was dead ? Griffith. Yes, madam; but, I think, your grace, Out of the pain you suffered, gave no ear to ’t. Q. Cath. Pr’ythee, good Griffith, tell me how he died: If well, he stepped before me, happily, For my example. Grif. Well, the voice goes, madam: For, after the stout Earl Northumberland Arrested him at York, and brought him forward (As a man sorely tainted) to his answer, He fell sick suddenly, and grew so ill, IIe could not sit his mule. Q. Cath. Alas ! poor man! Grif. At last, with easy roads, he came to Leicester, Lodged in the Abbey; where the reverend abbot, With all his convent, honorably received him; To whom he gave these words,—* O, father abbot, An old man, broken with the storms of state, OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 231 Is come to lay his weary bones among ye; Give him a little earth for charity !” So went to bed ; where eagerly his sickness Pursued him still; and, three nights after this, About the hour of eight, (which he himself Foretold should be his last,) full of repentance, Continued meditations, tears, and sorrows, He gave his honors to the world again, His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace. Q. Cath. So may he rest; his faults lie gently on him! Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him, And yet with charity. He was a man Of an unbounded stomach, ever ranking Himself with princes; one, that by suggestion Tied all the kingdom; simony was fair play; His own opinion. was his law; in the presence,* He would say untruths, and be ever double, Both in his words and meaning. He was never, But where he meant to ruin, pitiful; His promises were, as he was, mighty ; But his performance, as he 7s, nothing. Grif. Noble Madam, Men’s evil manners live in brass; their virtues We write in water. May it please your highness To hear me speak his good, now ? Q. Cath. Yes, good Griffith; I were malicious else. ' Grif. This cardinal, Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly Was fashioned to much honor. [rom his cradle He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one; Exceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading ; Lofty and sour, to them that loved him not; But to those men that sought him, sweet as summer; And, though he were unsatisfied in getting, (Which was a sin,) yet, in bestowing, Madam, He was most princely. Ever witness for him Those twins of learning, that he raised in you, Ipswich and Oxford: one of which feil with him, Unwilling to outlive the good that did it; The other, though unfinished, yet so famous, So excellent in art, and still so rising, That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue. His overthrow heaped happiness upon him; For then, and not till then, he felt himself, And found the blessedness of being little; And, to add greater honors to his age Than man could give him, he died fearing God. @. Cath. After my death, I wish no other herald, No other speaker of my living actions, * In the presence of the king. “Sy at ee 232 M'GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE ‘lo keep mine honor from corruption, But such an honest chronicler as Griffith. Whom I most hated living, thou hast made me, With thy religious truth and modesty, Now in his ashes, honor. Peace be with him !—Suaxsprare. LESSON CII CHARACTER OF LOUIS FOURTEENTH. Concernine Louis the Fourteenth, the world seems, at last, to have formed a correct judgment. He was not a great gen- eral; he was not a great statesman; but he was, in one sense of the word, a great king. Never was there so consummate a master of what James the First of England called king-craft— of all those arts which most advantageously display the merits of a prince, and most completely hide his defects. Though his internal administration was bad; though the military triumphs which gave splendor to the early part of his reign, were not achieved by himself; though his later years were crowded with defects and humiliations; though he was so ignorant that he scarcely understcod the Latin of his mass-book ; though he fell under the control of a cunning Jesuit, and of a more cunning old woman; he sueceeded in passing himself off on his people as a being above humanity. And this is the more extraordinary, because he did not seclude himself from the pub- lic gaze, like those Oriental despots whose faces are never seen, and whose very names it is a crime to pronounce lightly. It has been said, that no man is a hero to his valet; and all the world saw as much of Louis the Fourteenth, as his valet could see. Five hundred people assembled to see him shave and put on his clothes in the morning. He then kneeled down at the side of his bed, and said his prayers, while the whole assembly awaited the end in solemn silence, the ecclesiastics on their knees, and the laymen with their hats before their faces. He walked about his gardens, with a train of two hundred cour- tiers at his heels. All Versailles came to see him dine and sup. He was put to bed at night, in the midst of a crowd as great as that which had met to see him rise in the morning. He took his very emetics in state, and vomited majestically in the pres- ence of all his nobles. Yet, though he constantly exposed himself to the public gaze, in situations in which it is scarcely possible for any man to preserve much personal dignity, he, to the last, impressed those who surrounded him, with the deepest awe and reverence. ‘The illusion which he produced on his worshipers, can be 2 OF THE®*ECLECTIC SERIES. =" 203 * ime in? > . . . me . compared only to those illusions, to which lovers are prover- bially subject, during the season of courtship. It was an illu- sion which affected even the senses.. ‘Vhe contemporaries of Louis thought him tall. Voltaire, who might have seen him, and who had lived with some of the most distinguished mem- bers,of his court, speaks repeatedly of his majestic stature. Yet, it is as certain as any fact can be, that he was rather ” below than above the middle size. He had, it seems, a way of holding himself, a way of walking, a way of swelling his chest and rearing his head, which deceived the eyes of the multitude. Eighty years after his death, the royal cemetery was violated by the revolutionists; his coffin was opened; his body was dragged out; and it appeared, that the prince whose majestic figure had been so long and loudly extolled, was in truth a little man. His person and government have had the same fate. He had the art of making both appear grand and august, in spite of the clearest evidence that both were below the ordinary standard. Death and time have exposed both the deceptions. The body of the great king has been measured more justly than it was measured by the courtiers, who were afraid to look above his shoe-tie. His public character has been scrutinized by men free from the hopes and fears of Boileau and Moliere.* In the grave, the most majestic of princes is only five feet eight. In history, the hero and the politician dwindle into a vain and feeble tyrant, the slave of priests and women, little in war, little in government, little in every thing but the art of simulating greatness, He left to his infant successor, a famished and miserable people, a beaten and humbled army, provinces turned into des- erts by misgovernment and persecution, factions dividing the army, a schism raging in. the court, an immense debt, an innu- merable’ household, inestimable jewels and furniture. All the sap and nutriment of the state seemed to have been drawn, to feed one bloated and unwholesome excrescence. ‘The nation” was withered. The court was morbidly. flourishing. Yet, it does not appear that the associations, which attached the people to the monarchy, had lost strength during his reign. He had neglected or sacrificed their dearest interests, but he had struck their imaginations. ‘The very things which ought to have made him unpopular,—the prodigies of luxury. and magnificence with -._ which his person was surrounded, while, beyond the inclosure of his parks, nothing was to be seen but starvation and despair,— seemed to increase the respectful attachment which his people felt for him.-—-Macavunay. ee * Pronounced Bwi-lo and Mo-le-air. 20 , aN EP ULE 6 Pee wre Oe ee ee , * Pin: se or ; _ ‘ i * it 4 ar hn, y } . v ~ a rm aii . ee tY a“ ” * Err 9 . 234 = -- M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE a | eo * ba % ae LESSON CL” * ea A PETITION TO THOSE-WHO HAVE THE CARE OF ~ YOUTH. e... I appress myself to all the friends of youth, and | conjure them ‘to direct their compassionate regards to my unhappy fate, in order to remove the prejudices of which I am the victim. There are twin sisters of us; and the eyes of man do not more closely ~~ resemble, nor are capable of being upon better terms with, each » other, than my sister and myself, were it not for the partiality of my parents, who make the most injurious distinctions be- tween us. i. From my infancy, | have been led to consider my sister as a being of a more elevated rank. I was suffered to grow up with- out the least instruction, while nothing was spared in her educa-_ tion. She had masters to teach her writing, drawing, music, and other accomplishments ; but if I, by chance, touched a pen= cil, a pen, or avneedle, I was bitterly rebuked: and more than once I have been beaten for being awkward, and wanting a graceful manner. It is true, my sister associated me with her, upon some occasions; but she always made a point of taking the lead, calling upon me only from necessity, or to figure by her side. é But conceive not, sirs, that my complaints are instigated mere ly by vanity. No;—my uneasiness is occasioned by an object much more serious. It is the practice in our family, that the whole business of providing for its subsistence falls upon my sister and myself. If any indisposition should attack my sister ; (and I mention it in confidence upon this occasion, that she is subject to the gout, the rheumatism, and cramp, without maki mention of other accidents ;) what would be the fate of otir poor family! Must not the regret of our parents be ext *> at having placed so great a difference between sisters who are per- fectly equal? Alas! we must perish from distress ; for it would not be in my power even to scrawl a suppliant petition, having. _ been obliged to.employ the hand of another in trafipersDingr tse: . request which I have now the honor to prefer you. Condescend, sirs, to make my parents sensible of thetic of an exclusive tenderness, and of the necessity of distributing their care and affection among all their children, equally. ~ I am, with profound respect, ee Sirs, your obedient servant, epee ms ge > ee a THE LEFT HAND (Paani, k, *<£ OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, S, 235 ” - %,. m , . me i ‘, LESSON CIV. oe ~ . * | ‘*pDRESS TO A MUMMY. Ir was the custom of the ancient Egyptians to embalm their dead; and to preserve the form and perfect appearance of each limb, even to the fingers | and toes, by winding around them narrow strips of linen, prepared in a man- ner which is not now known. Bodies have been preserved in this manner, for a period of more than two thousand years, and are, to this day, found in reat numbers in ancient sepulchers. Some of these have been brought to ngland and other parts of Europe, and to America. Bodies thus preserved - are called Zummies, and it was one of these, brought by the celebrated trav- eler Belzoni, and placed in a museum at London, which gave rise to this poca. . Axnp*thou hast walked about, (how strange a story!) In ‘Thebes’ streets, three thousand years ago, When the Memnonium was in allits glory, as And time had not begun to overthrow. Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous, Of which the very ruins are tremendous. Speak! for thou long enough hast acted Dummy, ~ Thou hast a tongzue—come, let us hear its tune; Thou ’rt standing on thy legs, above ground, Mummy! Revisiting the glimpses of the moon, “" Not like thin ghosts or disembodied creatures, But with thy bones,and flesh, and limbs, and features. Tell us—for doubtless thou canst recollect, To whom should we assign the sphynx’s fame? He Was Cheops or Cephrenes architect ee Of either pyramid that bears his name? rs pillar really a misnomer ? Had Thebes a hundred gates, as sung by Homer? ° - ae 3 . Perhaps thou wert. a Mason, and forbidden By oath to tell the mysteries of thy trade, Phen say, what secret melody was hidden * In Memnon’s statue that at sunrise played ? Perhaps thou wert a priest—if so, my struggles Are vain;—Hgyptian priests ne’er owned their juggles. at rs “a i Perehance that very hand, now pinioned flat, © _ Has hob-or-nobb’d with Pharach, glass to glass; Or dropped a halfpenny in Homer’s hat; . Or doffed thine own, to let Queen Dido pass, Or heid, by Solomon’s own invitation, A torch i, the great Temple’s dedication. . I need not ask thee if that hand, when armed, ___ Has any Roman soldier mauled and knuckled; ite For thou wert dead, and buried, and embalmed, Sap eure Homulus sae Renin had’been suckled :— ay * a 4 oy rg : ~ soe 5 : gg a x *, Bs : ¥ * Rie ai 7 ee de e SS ed : 49S dag Ye 236 Rs, ie, te ee ae M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE a>" ~ Antiquity appears to have begun, _ : Long after thy primeval race was run. Since first thy form was in this box extended, ~ +. We have, above ground, seen some strange mutations; | The Roman empire has begun and ended; New worlds have risen; we have lost old nations; And countless kings have into dust been humbled, While not a fragment of thy flesh has crumbled. % Didst thou not hear the pother o’er thy head, When the great Persian conqueror, Cambyses, March’d armies o’er thy tomb with thundering tread, O’erthrew Osiris,* Orus,* Apis,* Isis,* n And shook the pyramids with fear and wonder, © When the gigantic Memnon fell asunder? If the tomb’s secrets may not be confessed, The nature of thy private life unfold: A heart has throbb’d beneath that leathern breast, And tears adown that dusky cheek have rolled: Have children climb’d those knees, and kissed that face ? What was thy name and station, age and race? Statue of flesh! immortal of the dead! * Imperishable type of evanescence ! Posthumous man, who quitt’st thy narrow bed, And standest undecayed within our presence! Thou wilt hear nothing till the judgment morning, When the great trump shall thrill thee with its warning. Why should this worthless terument endure, If its undying guest be lost for ever? O let us keep the soul embalmed and pure *. In living virtue; that,when both must sever, Although corruption may our frame consume, Th’ immortal spirit in the skies may bloom.—ANonymous. ae LESSON CV. PAPER—A CONVERSATIONAL PLEASANTRY. Some wit of old—such wits of old there were, Whose hints show’d meaning, whose allusions, care,— By one brave stroke, to mark all human kind, Call’d clear, blank paper, ev’ry infant mind ; Where, still, as opening sense her dictates wrote, Fair virtue put a seal, or vice, a blot. * These were Egyptian deities. mF 7" ~*~ er te a : 2 ” “*.OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. The thought was happy, pertinent, and true; » Methinks a genius might the plan pursue. {, (can you pardon my presumption?) I, No wit, no genius, yet, for once, will try. Various the paper, various wants produce— The wants of fashion, elegance, and use. Men are as various; and, if right I scan, Each sort of paper represents some man. Pray, note the fop, half powder, and half lace; Nice, as a band-box were his dwelling place; He’s the gilt-paper, which, apart you store, And lock from vulgar hands in the scrutoir. Mechanics, servants, farmers, and so forth, Are copy-paper, of inferior worth; Less prized, more useful, for your : desk decreed ; Free to all pens, and prompt at ev’ry need. The wretch, whom avarice eae’ to pinch and spare, Starve, ee and pilfer, to enrich an heir, Is coarse brown paper, such as pedlars choose To wrap up wares, which better men will use. Take next the miser’s contrast—who destroys Health, fame, and fortune, in a round of joys; Will any paper match him? Yes, throughout; He’s a true sinking-paper, past all doubt. The retail politician’s anxious thought . Deems this side always right, and that,stark ueughteg He foams with censure; with applause he raves; A dupe to rumors, and a tool of knaves; He’ll want no type, his weakness to proclaim, While such a thing as foolscap has a name. The hasty gentleman, whose blood runs high, Who picks a quarrel, if you step awry, Who can’t a jest, a hint, or look endure; What is he? What? Towck-paper to be sure. _~ What are our poets, take’ them as they fall, *Good, bad, rich, poor, much read, not read at all They, aie their works, in the same class you'll find ; They are the mere waste-paper of mankind. Observe the maiden! innocently. sweet; She’s fair, white-paper, an unsullied sheet ; On which the happy man, whom fate ordains, “May write his name, and take her for his pains 237 Sie 238 M'GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE One instance more, and only one, Ill bring; *Tis the great man, who scorns a little thing; . Whose thoughts, whose deeds, whese maxims are his own, Form’d on the feelings of his heart alone. True, genuine, royal-paper, is his breast; Of all the kinds most precious, purest, best.—FRANKLIN. LESSON CVI. ANECDOTE OF THE DUKE OF NEWCASTLE. A laughable story was circulated during the administration of the old Duke of Newcastle, and retailed to the public in various forms. ‘This nobleman, with many good points, was remarkable for being profuse of his promises on all occasions, and valued himself particularly, on being able to anticipate the words, or the wants, of the various persons who attended his levees, be- fore they uttered a word. This sometimes led him into ridiculous embar- rassments ; and it was this proneness to lavish promises, which gave occa- sion for the anecdote I am going to relate. At the election of a certain borough in Cornwall, where the Opposite interests were almost equally poised, a single vote was of the highest importance. This object, the Duke, by wellap- plied argument and personal application, at length attained ; and the gentleman he recommended, gained the election. In the warmth of gratitude, his grace poured forth acknowledgments and promises without ceasing, on the fortunate possessor of the easting vote; called him his best and dearest friend; protested, that he should consider himself as for ever indebted to him; ‘that he would serve him by night or by day. The Cornish voter, who was an honest fellow, and would not have thought himself entitled to any reward, but for such a tor- rent of acknowledgments,—thanked the Duke for his kindness, and tuld him, “The supervisor of excise was old and infirm, and if he would have the goodness to recommend his-son-in- law to the commissioners, in case of the old man’s death, he should think himself and his family bound to render his grace every assistance in his power, on any future occasion.” “My dear friend, why do you ask for such a trifling employment?” exclaimed his grace, “ your relative shall have it, the moment the place is vacant, if you will but call my attention to it.’ But how shall I get admitted to you, my lord? for in London, I understand, it is a very difficult business to get a sight of you great folks, though you are so kind and complaisant to us, in the country.”’ ‘The instant the man dies,’’ replied the Duke, “‘set out, post-haste, for London; drive directly to my house, and be it by night or by day, thunder at the door; I will leave * OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 239 word with my porter, to show you up Stairs directly; and the employment shall be disposed of according to your wishes,” The parties separated ; the Duke drove to.a friend’s house in the neighborhood, without a wish or desire to see his new ac- quaintance till that day seven years ; but the memory of a Cor- nish elector, not being burdened with such a variety of objects, was more retentive. ‘Ihe supervisor died a few months after, and the Duke’s humble friend, relying on the word-of a peer, was conveyed to London post-haste, and ascended with peg the steps of that nobleman’s palace. The reader should be informed, that just at this time, no less a person than the King of Spain was expected hourly to depart ; an event in which the minister of Great Britain was particularly concerned; and the Duke of Newcastle, on the very night that the proprietor of the decisive vote arrived at his door, had sat up anxiously expecting dispatches from Madrid. Wearied by official business and agitated spirits, he retired to rest, having previously given particular instructions to his porter not to go to bed, as he expected, every minute, a messenger with advices of the greatest importance, and desired he might be shown up stairs, the moment of his arrival. His grace was sound asleep; and the porter, settled for the night, in his arm-chair, had already commenced a sonorous nap, when the vigorous arm of the Cornish voter roused him from: his slumbers. ‘To his first question, ‘Is the Duke at home 2” the porter replied, ‘‘ Yes, and in bed ; -but has left particular or- | ders, that come when you will, you are to go up to him direct-_ ly.” «Bless him, for a worthy and honest gentleman,”’ cried. our applicant for the vacant post, smiling and nodding with ap- — probation, at the prime minister’s kindness, ‘¢how punctual his grace is; | knew he would not deceive me; let me hear no more of lords and dukes not keeping their word; I verily be- lieve they are as honest, and mean as well.as any ‘other folks.” Having ascended the stairs as he was speaking, he was ushered into the Duke’s bed-chamber. ‘Ts he dead ?”’ exclaimed his grace, rubbing his eyes, and scarcely awakened from dreaming of the King of Spain, “Is he dead ?”? “ Yes, my lord,”’ replied the eager expectant, delighted to find the election promise, with all its circumstances, so fresh in the nobleman’s memory. ‘ When did he die?” «'The day before yesterday, exactly at half past one o’clock, after be- img confined three weeks to his bed, and taking a power of doc- tor’s stuf; and I hope your grace will be as good as your word, and let my son-in-law succeed him.” The Duke, by this time perfectly awake, was staggered at the impossibility of receiving intelligence from Madrid in so > " ” 249 M'GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE short a space of time; and perplexed at the absurdity of a king’s messenger applying for his son-in-law to succeed the King of Spain: “Is the man drunk, or mad? Where are your dispatches !’* exclaimed his grace, hastily drawing back his cur- tain; where,instead of a royal courier, his eager eye recognized at the bed-side, the well known countenance of his friend from Cornwall, making low bows, with hat in hand, and * hoping my lord would not forget the gracious promise he was so good as to make, in favor of his son-in-law, at the last election.” Vexed at so untimely a disturbance, and disappointed of news from Spain, the Duke frowned for a moment; but chagrin soon gave way to mirth, at so singular and ridiculous a combination of circumstances, and yielding to the impulse, he sunk upon the bed in a violent fit of laughter, which was communicated in a moment to the attendants. The relater of this little narrative, concludes, with observing, ‘«‘ Although the Duke of Newcastle could not place the relative of his eld acquaintance on the throne of His Catholic Majesty, he advanced him to a post not less honorable,—he made him an exciseman.’’—~ANONYMOUS. Galt, 2, LESSON CVII. A PASSAGE IN HUMAN LIFE. In my daily walks into the country, I was accustomed to pass a certain cottage. It had nothing particularly picturesque about it. It had its little garden, and its vine spreading over its front; but, beyond these, it possessed no feature likely to fix it in the mind of the poet or novel-writer, and which might induce him to people it with creatures of his own fancy. In fact, it appeared to be inhabited by persons as little extraordinary as itself. A ‘©good man of the house”’ it might possess,—but he was never visible. ‘The only inmates I ever saw, were a young woman, and another.female, in the wane of life, no doubt the mother. The damsel was a comely, fresh, mild-looking cottage girl, always seated in one spot, near the window, intent on her needle. The old dame was as regularly busied, to and fro, in household affairs. She appeared one of those good: housewives, who never dream of rest, except when in sleep. The cottage stood so near the road, that the fire at the farther end of the room, showed you, without your being rudely inquisitive, the whole interior, in a single moment of passing. A clean hearth and a cheerful fire, shining upon homely, but neat and orderly furniture, spoke. * OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. ; 24| * comfort; but whether the old dame enjoyed, or merely di fused that comfort, was a problem. I passed the house many successive days It was always alike,—the fire shining brightly and peacefully,—the girl seate« at her post by the window,—the housewife going to and fro, ~< tering and contriving, dusting and managing. One morning as ! went by, there was a change. ‘The dame was seated near he» daughter, her arms laid upon the table, and her head recline upon her arms. [ was sure that it was sickness which had com pelled her to that action of repose; nothing less could have done it. I felt that 1 knew exactly the poor woman’s feelings. She had felt a weariness stealing upon her; she had wondered at it, and struggled against it, and borne up, hoping it would pass by; til, loth as she was to yield, it had forced submission. The next day, when I passed, the room appeared as usual ; the fire burning pleasantly, the girl at her needle, but her mother was not to be seen; and, glancing my eye upwards, I perceived the blind close drawn, in the window above. It is so, said I to myself, disease is in progress. . Perhaps it occasions no gloomy fear of consequences, no extreme concern—and yet, who knows how it may end? It is thus, that begin those changes that draw out thecentral bolt that holds families together; which steal away our fire-side faces, and lay waste our affections. I passed by, day after day. ‘The scene was the same; the fire burning, the hearth beaming clear and cheerful; but the mo- ther was not to be seen; the blind was still drawn above. At length, | missed the girl, and in her place appeared another wo- man, bearing considerable resemblance to the mother, but of a more quiet habit. It was easy to interpret this change. Disease had assumed an alarming aspect; the daughter was occupied in intense watching and caring for the suffering mother, and the good woman’s sister had been summoned to her side, perhaps from a distant spot, and, perhaps, from her family cares, which no less important an event could have induced her to elude. Thus appearances continued some days. There was silence around the house, and an air of neglect within it, till, one morr: ing, | beheld the blind drawn,in the room below, and the window thrown open above. ‘I'he scene was over; the mother was re- moved from her family, and one of those great changes effected in human life, which commence With so little observation, but leave behind them such lasting effects. —ANonymovs. 21 242 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE LESSON CVIII. THE DEPARTED. Tue departed! the departed ! They visit us in dreams, And they glide above our memories Like shadows over streams; But where the cheerful lights of home In constant luster burn, The departed, the departed, Can never more return! The good, the brave, the beautiful, How dreamless is their sleep, Where rolls the dirge like music Of the ever-tossing deep ! Or where the surging night-winds Pale winter’s robes have spread Above the narrow pala In the cities of the de I look around, and feel the fre Of one who walks alone, Among the wrecks of former days, In mournful ruin strown ; I start to hear the stirring sounds Among the cypress trees, For the voice of the departed Is borne upon the breeze. That solemn voice! it mingles with Each free and careless strain 3 I scarce can think earth’s minstrelsy Will cheer my heart again. The melody of summer waves, The thrilling notes of birds, Can never be so dear to me, As their remembered words. I sometimes dream, their pleasant smiles Still on me sweetly fall, Their tones of love I faintly hear My name in sadness call. 1 know that they are happy, With their angel-plumage on, But my heart is very desolate, To think that they are gone.—Parx Bensamin, OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. — ra LESSON CIX. THANATOPS Is. To him, who, in the love of nature, holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile’ - And eloquence of beauty, and be clides Into his dark musings, with a mild And gentle sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness, ere he is aware. yA — When thoughts Of the last bitter hour, come like a blight Over thy spirit, and sad images Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, Make thee to shudder Ee. sick at heart; - Go forth into the ¢ nd list To nature’s teachi m all around, Comes a still voice ua ‘Yet a few days, and thee, The all-beholding sun shall see no more In all his course ; nor yet,in the cold ground, Where thy pale form was laid with many tears, Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist Thy image. arth, that nourished thee, shall claim Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again ; And, lost each human trace, surrendering up Thine individual being, shalt thou go To mix forever with cae elements, . To be a brother to th’ insensible rock And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain Turns with his ‘share and treads upon. The oak Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mold. Yet not to thy eternal resting place ~ Shalt thou retire alone—nor could’st thou wish Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down With patriarchs of the infant world, with kings, The powerful of the earth, the wise, the good, Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past All in one mighty sepulcher. The hills, Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun; the vales, Stretching in pensive quietness between; The venerable woods; rivers that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks 243 244 .. The globe, are but al Take note of thy departure M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE That make the meadows green; and, poured round all, Old ocean’s gray and melancholy waste, Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. ‘hésgolden sun, The seariets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes cf death, Through the still lapse of ages. ; i that tread - dful, to the tribes ‘That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings ~ Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or loge.thyself in the continuous woods _ Where rolls the Oregoh, andshears no sound Save its own dashings—y he dead are there; And millions in those soli since first laid them down n there alone. So shalt thou rest; and v ou shalt fall Unnoticed by the livine. d | that breathe Will share thy destiny. “Phe gay will laugh When thou art gone; the solemn brood of care Plod on; and each one, as before, will chase His favorite phantom ; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their enjoyments, and shall come, And make their bed with thee. As the long train Of ages glide away, the sens of men, ‘The youth in life’s green spring, and he who goes Tm the full strength of years, matron and maid, The bowed with age, the infant, in the smiles And beauty of its innocent age, cut off,— Shall, one by one, be gathered to thy side, By those, who, in their turn, shall follow them. So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan, that moves To the pale realms of shade, where each shal! take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but,sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, . Like cne who wraps the drapery of his couch About him. and lies down to pleasant dreams.’*—Bryanr. . (1454 YUN "" ? es First Voice. Second Voice First Voice. Second Voice. First Voice. ' Second Voice. First Voice. Second Voice. First Voice. Second Voice. OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 245 LESSON CX. THE CHURCH-YVARD. (Fwo Voices from the. Grave., How frightful the grave! how deserted and drear! With the howls of the storm-wind, the creaks of the bier, And the white bones all clattering together ! How peaceful the grave! its quiet how deep! Its zephyrs breathe calmly, and soft is its sleep, And flow’rets perfume it with ether. There, riots the blood-erested worm on the dead, And the yellow skull serves the foul toad for a bed, And snakes in the nettle-weeds hiss. How lovely, how sweet the-repose of the tomb! No tempests are there; butsthe nightingales come, And sing their sweety¢h of bliss. The ravens of night flap their wings o’er the grave ; "Tis the vulture’s abode; ’tis the wolf’s dreary cave, _ Where they tear up the dead with their fangs. There, the cony, at evening, disports with his love, Or rests on the sod; while the turtles above Repose on the bough that o’erhangs. There, darkness and dampness, with poisonous breath, And loathesome decay, fill the dwelling of death ; The trees are all barren and bare. O! soft are the breezes that play round the tomb, And sweet, with the violet’s wafted perfume, _. With lilies and jessamine fair. The pilgrim, who reaches this valley of tears, Would fain hurry by; and, with trembling and fears, He is lanched on the wreck-covered river. Here, the traveler, worn with life’s pilgrimage dreary, Lays down his rude staff, like one that is weary, And sweetly reposes for ever.—KaramisIn. Sr ee eae Pee eee ee ee eg 246 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE LESSON CXI. THE GRAVE. Tue sorrow for the dead is the only sorrow from which we 1efuse to be divorced. Eivery other wound we seek to heal; every other affliction,to forget; but this wound, we consider it a duty to keep open. ‘This affliction we cherish, and brood over in solitude. Where is the mother, who would willingly forget the infant that has perished like a blossom from her arms, though ~ every recollection is a pang? Where is the child, that would willingly forget_a tender parenty though to remember be but to Jament? Who, even in the hour of. agony, would forget the friend, over whom he mourns? | No, the love which’ survives the tomb, is one of the noblest attributes of the soul. If it has its woes, it has likewise its de- lights; and when the overwhelming burst of grief is calmed into the gentle tear of recolle ; when the sudden anguish, and the convulsive agony over tha re t ruins of all that we most loved, is softened away into pensiv oe on all that it was, in the days of its loveliness, who would root out such a sorrow from the heart?’ Though it may, sometimes, throw a passing cloud over the bright hour of gayety, or spread a deeper sadness over the hour of gloom, yet, who would exchange it, even for the song of pleasure or the burst of revelry? No, there is a voice from the tomb sweeter than song. ‘There is a remembrance of the dead, to which we turn, even from the charms of the living. Oh, the grave!—the grave !—TIt buries every error, covers every defect, extinguishes every resentment! From its peaceful bosom, spring none but fond regrets and tender recollections. Who can look down upon the grave, even of an enemy, and not feel a compunctious throb, that he should have warred with the poor handful of earth that lies moldering before him? But the grave of those we loved—what a place for meditation! There it is, that we call up, in long review, the whole history of virtue and gentleness, and the thousand endearments lavished upon us, almost unheeded, in the daily intercourse of intimacy ; there it is, that we dwell upon the tenderness, the solemn, awful tender- ness of the parting scene; the bed of death, with all its stifled eriefs, its noiseless attendance, its mute, watchful assiduities |— the last testimonies of expiring love!—the feeble, fluttering, thrilling,—oh, how thrilling !—pressure of the hand !—the last fond look of the glazing eye turning upon us, even from the threshold of existence !—the faint, faltering accents, struggling in death to give one more assurance of affection! Aye, go to the grave of buried love, and meditate! ‘There OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 247 settle the account with thy conscience, for every past benefit un- requited ; every past endearment unregarded, of that departed being, who can never—never—never return to be soothed by thy contrition! If thou art a child, and hast ever added a sorrow to the soul, or a furrow to the silvered brow of an affectionate pa- rent; if thou art a husband, and hast ever caused the fond bosom that ventured its whole happiness in thy arms, to doubt one mo- ment of thy kindness or thy truth; if thou art a friend, and hast ever wronged, in thought, or word, or deed, the spirit that gene- rously confided in thee; if thou hast given one unmerited pang to that true heart, which now lies cold and still beneath thy feet ; then be sure, that every unkind look, every ungracious word, every ungentle action, will come thronging back upon thy me- mory, and knocking dolefully at thy soul; then be sure, that thou wilt lie down sorrowing and repentant on the grave, and utter the unheard groan, and pour the unavailing tear —more deep, more bitter, because unheard and unavailing. ‘Then weave thy chaplet of flowers, and strew the beauties of nature about the grave; consolethy broken spirit, if thou canst, with these tender, yet futile trib regret; but take warning, by the bitterness of this, thy contrite affliction over the dead, and henceforth, be more faithful and affectionate in the discharge of thy duties to the living.—W. Irvine. LESSON CXII. CHARACTER OF COLUMBUS. Coxumpus was a man of great and inventive genius. The operations of his mind were energetic, but irregular; bursting forth, at times, with that irresistible force which character intellect of such an order, His ambition was lofty and no- ble, inspiring him with high thoughts, and an anxiety to distin- guish himself by great achievements. He aimed at dignity and wealth in the same elevated spirit with which he sought renown ; they were to rise from the territories he should discover, and_be commensurate in importance. His conduct was characterized by the grandeur of his views, and the magnanimity of his spirit. Instead of ravaging the newly found countries, like many of his contemporary discov- erers, who were intent only on immediate gain, he regarded them with the eyes of a legislator; he sought to colonize and cultivate them, to civilize the natives, to build cities, introduce the useful arts, subject every thing to the control of law, order, 248 MGUFFEYS RHETORICAL GUIDE and religion, and thus to found regular and prosperous empires. Phat he failed in this, was the e fault of the dissolute rabble which it was his misfortune to command, with whom all law was ty- ranny, and all order oppression. He was naturally irascible and impetuous, and keenly sensible to injury and injustice; yet the quickness of his temper was counteracted by the generosity and benevolence of his heart. The magnanimity of his nature shone forth through all the troubles of his stormy career. ‘Though continually outraged in his dignity, braved in his authority, foiled in his plans, and en- dangered in his person, by the seditions of turbulent and worth- less men, and that, too, at times when suffering under anguish of body and anxiety of mind, enough to exasperate the most pa- tient, yet he restrained his valiant and indignant spirit, and brought himself to forbear, and reason, and even to supplicate Nor can the reader of the story of his eventful life, fail to notice how free he was from all feeling of revenge, how ready to. for- give and forget, on the least sign of repentance and atonement. He has been exalted for his Me in controlling others, but far greater praise is due to him for the firmness he displayed in go- verning himself. | His piety was genuine and fervent. Religion mingled with the whole course of his thoughts and actions, and shone forth in his most private and unstudied writings. Whenever he made any great discovery, he devoutly returned thanks to God. ‘The voice of prayer and the melody of praise,rose from his ships on dis- covering the new world, and his first action on landing was, to prostrate himself upon the earth, and offer up thanksgivings. All his great enterprizes were undertaken in the name of the Holy ‘Trinity, and he partook of the holy sacrament previous to embarkation. He observed the festivals of the Church in the wildest situations. The sabbath was to him a day of sacred rest, on which he would never sail from a port, unless in case of ex- treme necessity. ‘The religion thus deeply seated in his soul, diffused a sober dignity and a benign composure, over his whole deportment ; his very language was pure and guarded, and free from all gross or irreverent expressions. A peculiar trait in his rich and varied character remains to be scticed ; namely, that ardent and enthusiastic imagination, which threw a magnificence over his whole course of thought. A po- etical temperament is discernible throughout all his writings, and in all his actions. We see it in all his descriptions of the beau- ties of the wild lands he was discovering, in the enthusiasm with which he extolled the blandness of the temperature, the purity of the atmosphere, the fragrance of the air, “full ef dew and OF. THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 249 sweetness,” the verdure of the forests, the grandeur of the moun- tains, and the crystal purity of the running streams. It spread a glorious and golden world around him, and tinged every thing with its own gorgeous colors. He was decidedly a Hisionary , but a visionary of an uncom- mon kind, and successful in his dreams. ‘I'he manner in which his ardent imagination and mercurial nature were controlled by a powerful jndgment, and directed by an acute sagacity, is the most extraordinary feature in his character. ‘Thus governed, his imagination, instead of exhausting itself in idle flights, lent aid to his judgment, and enabled him to form conelusions at which common minds could never have arrived, nay, which they could not conceive, when pointed out. ‘Tc his intellectual vision it was given to read the signs of the times, and to trace in the conject- ures and reveries of past ages, the indications of an unknown world. ‘His soul,’’ observes a Spanish writer, ‘* was superior to the age in which he lived. For him was reserved the great enterprize of traversing a sea which had given rise to so many fables, and of deciphering the masiery. of his age.’ With all the visionary fervor’of his imagination, its fondest dreams fell short of the reality. He died in ignorance of the real grandeur of his discovery. Until his last breath, he enter- tained the idea that he had merely opened a new way to the old resorts of opulent commerce, and had discovered some of the wild regions of the east. What visions of glory would have broken upon his mind, could he have known that he had indeed discovered a new continent, equal to the old world in magnitude, and separated by two vast oceans, from all the earth hitherto known by civilized man! How would his magnanimous spirit have been consoled amidst the afflictions of age “and the cares of penury, the neglect of a fickle public and the injustice of an un- grateful king, could he have anticipated the splendid empires which would arise in the beautiful world he had discovered ; and the nations, and tongues, and languages, which were to fill its lands with his renown, and to revere and bless his name to the latest posterity !—W. Irvine. 250 M’GUFFEY’S RELGFORICAL GUIDE LESSON CXIIL. RECEPTION OF COLUMBUS, ON HIS RETURN TO | SPAIN. Tut fame of the discovery of a new world, had resounded throughout Spain; and,as the route of Columbus lay through several of the finest and most populous provinces, his journey appeared like the progress of a sovereign. Wherever he passed, the surrounding country poured forth its inhabitants, who lined the road, and thronged the villages. In the large towns, the streets, windows, and balconies, were filled with eager specta- ‘ars, who rent the air with ac¢lamations. His journey was continually impeded by the multitude, pressing to gain a sight of him, and of the Indians, who were regarded with as much admiration as if they had been natives of another planet. It was impossible to satisfy the craving curiosity, which assailed -himself and his companions, at every stage, with innumerable questions. Popular rumor, as usual, had exaggerated the truth, and had filled the newly founkgpountry with all kinds of won- ders. It was about the middle of April, that Columbus arrived at Barcelona, where every preparation had been made to give him a solemn and magnificent reception. ‘The beauty and serenity of the weather, in that genial season and favored climate, con- tributed to give splendor to this memorable ceremony. As he drew near the place, many of the more youthful courtiers and hidalgos of gallant bearing, together with a vast concourse of the populace, came forth to greet and welcome him. First, were paraded the Indians, painted according to their savage fashion, and decorated with tropical feathers and with their national or- naments of gold; after these, were borne various kinds of live parrots, together with stuffed birds, and animals of unknown species, and rare plants, supposed to be of precious qualities ; while great care was taken to make a conspicuous display of Indian coronets, bracelets, and other decorations of gold, which might give an idea of the wealth of the newly discovered regions. After these, followed Columbus, on horseback, surrounded by a brilliant cavaleade of Spanish chivalry. The streets were almost impassable from the countless multi- tude; the windows and balconies were lined with the fair; the very roofs were covered with spectators. It seemed as if the public eye could not be sated with gazing on these trophies of an unknown world, or on the remarkable man by whom it had been discovered. ‘There was a sublimity in the event, that min- gled a solemn feeling with the public joy. It was looked upon OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 251 as a vast and signal dispensation of Providence, in reward for the — piety of the monarchs; and the majestic and venerable appear- ance of the discoverer, so different from the youth and buoyancy which are generally expected from roving enterprise, seemed in harmony with the grandeur and dignity of his achievement. To receive him with suitable pomp and distinction, the sove-__ reigns had ordered their thrones to be placed in public, under a rich canopy of brocade of gold, in a vast and splendid saloon. | Here, the king and queen awaited his arrival, seated in state, with the prince Juan beside them, and attended by the digni- taries of their court and the principal nobility of Spain, all» impatient to behold the man who had conferred so incalculable a benefit upon the nation. At length, Columbus entered the hail, surrounded by a brilliant crowd of cavaliers; among whom he was conspicuous for his stately and commanding person, which, with his countenance rendered venerable by his gray hairs, gave him the august appearance of a senator of Rome. A modest smile lighted up» his features, showing that enjoyed the state and glory, in which he came; and sertaidlt nothing could be more deeply moving, to a sais inflamed by noble ambition, and conscious of having greatly deserved, than the testimonials of the admiration and gratitude of a nation, or rather of a world. As Columbus approached, the sovereigns rose, as if receiving a person of the highest rank. Bending his knees, he requested to kiss their hands; but there was some hesitation on the part of their majesties to permit this act of vassalage. Raising him in the most gracious manner, they ordered him to seat himself in their presence; a rare honor in this proud and punctilious court. At the request of their majesties, Columbus now gave an account of the most striking events of his voyage, and a descrip- tion of the islands which he had discovered. He displayed the specimens he had brought of unknown birds and other animals ; of rare plants, of medicinal and aromatic virtue; of native gold, in dust, in crude masses, or labored into barbaric ornaments ; and, above all, the Tachies of these countries, who were objects of intense and inexhaustible interest; since there is nothing to mati so curious as the varieties cf his own species. All these he pronounced mere harbingers of greater discoveries he had yet ¥ make, which would add realms of. incalculable wealth to th dominions of their majesties, and whole nations of proselytes to the true faith. The words of Columbus were listened to with profound emotion by the sovereigns. When he had finished, they sunk on their knees, and raising their clasped hands to heaven, their eyes filled with vie of joy and gratitude, they poured forth 252 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE _ thanks and praises to Ged for so great a providence; all present - followed their example ; a deep and solemn enthusiasm pervaded that splendid assembly, and prevented all common acclamations of triumph. ‘The anthem of 7'e Dewn laudamus, chanted by the choir of the royal chapel, with the melodious accompant- ments of the instruments, rose up from the midst, in a full body i of ‘sacred harmony, bearing up, as it were, the feelings and ig: y of the auditors to heaven; ; so that,” says the venerable fas Casas, the historian of the occasion, “it seemed as if, in that hour, they communicated with celestial delights.” Such was eethe solemn and pious manner in which the “brilliant court of Spain, celebrated this sublime event; offering up a grateful tribute of melody and praise; and giving glory to God for the discovery of another world. When Columbus retired from the royal presence, he was attended to his residence by all the court, and followed by the shouting populace. . For many days, he was the object of uni- versal curiosity, and wherever he appeared, he was surrounded ~ by an admiring multitude.—W. Irvine. LESSON CXIV. THE BATTLE OF IVRY.* Henry the Fourth, on his accession to the I*rench throne, was opposed by a large part of his subjects, under the Duke of Mayenne, with the assistance om OF Spain and Savoy, and, from the union of these several nations, their army was called the ‘‘ army of the league.’’ In-March, 1590, he cained a decisive victory over that party, at Ivry; a small town in France. Before the battle, he said to his troops, ‘‘ My children, if you lose sight of your colors, rally to my white plume,—you will always find it in the path to honor and glory.” His conduct was answerable to his promise. Nothing could resist his im- petuous valor, and the leaguers underwent a total and bloody defeat. In the midst of the rout, Henry followed, crying ‘‘Save the French!’’ and his clemency added a number of the enemy to his own army. Re “Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all Y aries are! And glory to our sovereign liege, King Henry of Navarre. Now let there be the merry sound of music and the dance, Through thy corn-fields green and sunny vines, O pleasant land of France ! And thou, Rocwelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters, Again let rapture light the eye of all thy mourning daughters. . As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy, For cold, and stiff, and still are they who would thy walls annoy. Hurrah ! ' hurrah! a single field hath turned the chance of war; Hurrah! hurrah! for Ivry, and King Henry of Navarre! * Pronounced L-vree. a OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 253 Oh! how our hearts were beating, when at the dawn of day, te We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array; With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers, And Appenzel’s stout infantry, and Egmont’s Flemish spears. There, rode the brood of. false Lorraine, the curses of our land! And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand! - And, as we looked on them, we thought of Seine’s empurpled flood, And good Coligni’s* hoary hair, all dabbled with his blood; ’ And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war, The king is come to marshal us, in all his armor drest, And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest. He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye; He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high. Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to wing, Down all our line, a deafening shout, ** God save our Lord, the King!” ‘And if my standard-bearer fall, and fall full well he may, For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray, Press where you see my white plume shine, amid the ranks-of war, And be your oriflamme,f to-day, the helmet of Navarre.” Hurrah! the foes are moving! Hark to the mingled din . Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin! The fiery duke is pricking fast across Saint André’s plain, With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne. Now, by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France, Charge for the golden lilies,t now upon them with the lance! A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest, A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest ; And in they burst, ‘and on they rushed, while, like a guiding star, Amidst the thickest carnage, blazed the helmet of Navarre. Now, God be praised! the day is ours! Mayenne hath turned his rein,— : D’Aumale§ hath cried for quarter; the Flemish count is slain; Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale;- The field is heaped with bleeding. steeds, and flags, and cloven mail. And then we thought on vengeance, and all along our van, “* Remember Saint Bartholomew,’ was passed from man to man; But out spake gentle Henry, then, ‘‘ No Frenchman is my foe; Down, down with every foreigner; but let your brethren go.” Oh! was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war, As our sovereign lord, King Henry, the soldier of Navarre! * Coligni, (pronounced Co-leen-yee,) a venerable old man, was one of the victims in the massacre of St. Bartholomew. : t Oriflamme, (pronounced or-ree-flam,) the French standard. t Golden lilies were embroidered upon the French flag. § Pronounced Do-mal. ll On the evening of St. Bartholomew’s day, in the year 1572, an indis- criminate massacre of the Protestants throughout France, took place, by or- der of Charles IX., then king of France To fight for his own holy name, and Henry of Navarre. * he” a Fils TR Seaeg cs 4 @ 254 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE Ho! maidens of Vienna! Ho! matrons of Lucerne! Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall return. Ho! Philip, send, for charity, thy Mexican pistoles, That Antwerp monks may sing a mass fur thy poor spearmen’s souls! Ho! gallant nobles of the league, look that your arms be bright! Ho! burghers of Saint Genevieve, keep watch and ward to-night! For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised the slave, And mocked the counsel of the wise and the valor of the brave. _ Then glory to His holy name, from whom all glories are; And honor to our sovereign lord, King Henry of Navarre. Macaulay LESSON CXYV. LORD ULLIN’S DAUGHTER. A cHirFTaIn to the Highlands bound, Cries, ‘‘ Boatman, do not tarry! And I’ give thee a silver pound, To row us o’er the ferry.” *¢ Now, who be ye would cross Loch-Gyle, This dark and stormy water ?”’ ‘¢©O!1’m the chief of Ulva’s isle, And this, Lord Ullin’s daughter. ‘“‘And fast before her father’s men Three days we ’ve fled together, For should he find us in the glen, My blood would stain the heather. ‘¢ His horsemen hard behind us ride; Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride, When they have slain her lover ?” Out spoke the hardy, Highland wight, “JT "ll go, my chief—I ’m ready: It is not for your silver bright, But for your winsome lady : “And, by my word! the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry ; So, though the w aves are raging white, I *ll row you o’er the ferry. ‘ By this, the storm grew loud apace, The water-wraith was shrieking ; And,in the scowl of heaven, each’ os Grew dark as they were speaking. es OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 255 But still, as wilder grew the wind And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode armed men, Their trampling sounded nearer “QO haste thee, haste!”’ the lady cries, ‘Though tempests round us gather; ~ I ll meet the raging of the skies, But not an angry father.” The boat has left the stormy land, A stormy sea before her— When, oh! too strong for human hand, The tempest gathered o’er her. And still they rowed, amidst the roar Of waters fast prevailing ; Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore, His wrath was changed to wailing. For sore dismayed, through storm and shade His child he did discover ; One lovely hand she stretched for aid, And one was round her lover. ‘Come back! come back!” he cried in grief, ‘Across this stormy water: And I’ll forgive your Highland chief; My daughter! oh, my daughter!” *T was vain: the loud waves lashed the shore, Return or aid preventing: The waters wild went o’er his-child, And he was left lamenting. —CampseeELt. LESSON CXVI. SURRENDER OF GRENADA TO THE SPANIARDS. Day dawned upon Grenada, and the beams of the winter sun, smiling away the clouds of the past night, played cheerily upon the murmuring waves of the Xenil and the Darro. Alone, up- on a balcony commanding a view of the beautiful landscape, stood Boabdil, the last of the Moorish kings. He had sought to bring to his aid ail the lessons of the philosophy, he had so ar- dently cultivated. . « What are we,” said the musing prince, “ that we should fill the earth with ourselves—we kings! Earth resounds with the ee: PR Sa ee Me a SE tote ET are eine amt tied 256 M'GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE erash of ice falling throne; on the ear of races unborn the echo will live prolonged. But what have Llost? Nothing that was necessary to my happiness, my repose ; nothing save the source of all my wretchedness, the Marah of my life! Shall I less en- joy heaven and earth, or thought and action, or man’s more ma- erial luxuries of food and sleep—the commen and cheap desires ofall? At the worst, I sink but to a level with chiefs and prin- ces: | am but leveled with those whom the multitude admire andenvy. . . . Butitistime to depart. ’’ So saying, he descended to the court, flung himself on his barb, and, with a small and saddened train, passed through the gate w hich we yet survey, by a blackened and crumbling tower, overgrown with vines and ivy; thence, amid gardens, now appertaining to the convent of the victor faith, he took his mournful and unnoticed way. When he came to the middle of the hill that rises above those gardens, the steel] of the Spanish armor gleamed upon him, as the detachment sent to occupy the palace, marched over the sum- mit in steady order and profound silence. At the head of the vanguard, rode, upon a snow-white palfrey, the Bishop of Avila, followed by a long train of barefooted monks. They halted as Boabdil approached, and the grave bishop saluted him with the air of one who addresses an infidel and an inferior. With the quick sense of dignity common to the great, and yet more to the fallen, Boabdil felt, but resented not the pride of the ecclesiastic. ‘“‘Go, christian,” said he mildly, * the gates of the Alhambra are open, and Allah has bestowed the palace and the city upon your king ; may his virtues atone the faults of Boabdil!”’ So saying, and waiting no answer, he rode on, without looking to the right or the left. ‘The Spaniards also pursued their way. The sun had fairly risen above the mountains, when Boabdil and his train beheld, from the eminence on which they were, the whole armament of Spain ; and,at the same moment, louder than the tramp of horse or the clash of arms, was heard distinctly, the solemn chant of Zé Deum,-which preceded the blaze of the unfurled and lofty standards. Boabdil, himself still silent, heard the groans and acelamations of his train; he turned to cheer or chide them, and then saw, from his own wateh-tower, with the sun shining full upon its pure and dazzling surface, the silver cross of Spain. His Alhambra was already in the hands of the foe ; while beside that badge of the holy war, waved the gay and flaunting flag of St. Jago, the canonized Mars of the chivalry of Spain. At that sight, the King’s voice died within him; he gave the rein to his barb, impatient to close the fatal ceremonial, and slackened not his speed, till almost within bow-shot of the first rank of the army. = OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 257 Never had Christian war assumed a more splendid and im- posing aspect. Far as the eye could reach, extended the glitter- ing and gorgeous lines of that goodly power, bristling avith sun- lighted spears and blazoned banners ; while beside, murmured, and glowed, and danced, the silver and laughing Xenil, careless what lord*should possess, for his little day, the banks that bloom- ed by its everlasting course. By a small mosque, halted the flower of the army. ‘Surrounded by the arch-priests of that mighty hierarchy, the peers and princes of a court that rivaled the Roland of Charlemagne, was seen the kingly form of Ferdi- nand himself, with Isabel at his right, hand, and the high born dames of Spain, relieving, with their gay colors and sparkling gems; the sterner splendor of the crested helmet and polished mail. Within sight of the royal group, Boabdil halted, composed his aspect so as best to conceal his soul, and a little-in advance of his scanty train, but never in mien and majesty more a king, the son of Abdallah met his haughty conqueror. . At the sight of his princely. countenance and golden hair, his comely and commanding beauty, made more touching by youth, a thrill of compassionate admiration ran through that assembly of the brave and fair.. Ferdinand and Isabel slowly advanced to meet their late rival,—their new subject ; and as Boabdil would have dismounted, the Spanish king placed lis hand upon his shoulder.‘ Brother and prince,”’ said he, “forget thy sorrows ; and may our friendship hereafter console thee for reverses against which thou hast contended as a hero and a king; resisting man, but resigned at length to God.”’ Boabdil did not affect to return this bitter, but unintentional mockery of compliment. He bowed his head, and remained a moment silent; then, motioning to his train, four of his officers approached, and, kneeling beside Ferdinand, proffered to him, upon a-silver buckler, the keys of the city. “Oh, king!” then said Boabdil, “accept the keys of the last hold-which has re- sisted the arms of Spain! The empire of the Moslem is no more. ‘Thine are the city and the people of Grenada; yielding to thy prowess, they yet confide in thy mercy.” ‘They do, well,’’ said the king; ‘‘ our promises shall not be broken. But since we know the gallantry of Moorish cavaliers, not to us, but: to gentler hands, shall the keys of Grenada be surrendered.”’ Thus saying, Ferdinand gave the keys to Isabel, who-would have addressed some soothing flatteries to Boabdil, but the emo- tion and excitement were too much for her compassionate heart, heroine and queen though she was; and when she lifted her eyes upon the calm and pale features of the fallen monarch, the tears gushed from them irresistably, and her voice died in: mur- murs. A faint flush overspread the features of Boabdil, and ~ 22 : ; ™’ 258 M GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE there was a momentary pause of embarrassment, which. the Moor was the first to break. ‘s Fair queen,’’ said he, with mournful and pathetic dignity, ‘‘thou canst.read the heart that thy generous sympathy touches and subdues; tliis is my last, but not least glorious conquest. But I detain ye; let not my aspect cloud your triumph. Suffer me to say farewell.’’ «+ Farewell, my brother,’ replied Ferdi- . nand, ‘and may fair fortune go with you! Ferget the past!” Boabdil smiled bitterly, saluted the royal pair with profound: re- spect and silent reverence, and rode slowly on, leaving the army below, as he ascended the path-that led to his new prineipality— beyond the Alpuxarras. As the trees snatched the. Moorish cavalcade from the view of the king, Ferdinand ordered the army , to recommence its march; and trumpet and cymbal presently sent their music to the ear of the Moslem. Boabdil spurred on, at full speed, till his panting charger halted at the little village where his mother, hissslaves, and his faithful wife, Armine, (sent on before) awaited him. Joining these, he proceeded without delay upon his melancholy path. They as- cended that eminence, which is the pass into the Alpuxarras, From its height, the vale, the rivers, the spires, and the towers of Grenada, broke gloriously upon the view of the little band. They halted mechanically and abruptly; every eye was turned to the beloved scene. ‘The proud shame of baffled warriors, the tender memories of home, of childhood, of fatherland, swelled every heart, and gushed from every eye. Suddenly, the distant boom of artillery broke from the citadel, and rolled along the sun-lighted valley and crystal river. An universal wail burst from the exiles; it smote, it overpowered the heart of the-ill- starred king, in vain seeking to wrap himself in the eastern pride or stoical philosophy. ‘The tears gushed from his eyes, and he eovered his face with his hands. The band wound slowly on through the solitary defiles; and that place, where the king wept at the last view of his lost empire, is still called run Last sIGH OF THE mMOoR.—BvuLwenr. . LESSON CXVII. THE LAST SIGH OF THE MOOR. THE Spaniards gave this name (‘‘ The Last Sigh of the Moor,’’) to the eminence from which, after. their expulsion, the Moorish king and his fol- lowers took their farewell view of Grenada. ‘ ‘ Winpine along, at break of day, ef __. And armed with helm and spears, " a "a . aa My. 2 * OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. Along the martyr’s rocky way, -. A king comes, with his peers; Unto the eye a splendid sight, - Making the air all richly bright, at Seen. flashing through the trees ; : i But, to the heart, a scene of blight— Seider than death were these. For brightly fall the morning rays Upon a conquer ’d king; The breeze that with his banner plays, Plays with an abject thing. Banner and king no more will know Their rightful place ’midst friend and foe— Proud. clarion, cease thy blast! Or, changing to the wail of woe, Breathe dirges for the past. Along, along, by rock and tower, That they have failed to keep, By wood and vale, their father’s dower, The exiled warriors sweep : The chevroned* steed, no more elate, ~As if he knew his rider’s fate, Steps languidly and slow, As if he knew Grenada’s gate Now open to the foe! Along, along, till all is past, ‘That once they call’d their own, Till bows the pride of strength at last, And knights, like women, moan! Pausing upon the green hill-side, That soon their city’s towers will hide, They lean upon their spears ; And hands, that late with blood were dyed, Are now washed white with tears. Another look, Hk brimming eyes, Along the glorious plain ; Elsewhere may spread as lovely skies, Elsewhere their monarch reign ; But never more in that bright land, With all his chivalry at hand, “Now dead, or far departed ! * And from the hill-side moves the band, The bravest, broken-hearted.—Miss Jewspury. * A chevron, is a certain mark used in heraldry. 259 ~ a a ™ 4 + ~ sae - 4 & ® wt 3. ali” : . 160. OC M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE a * “LESSON CXVIII. .. : THE APPROACH OF A DEVASTATING ARMY. APP! | RM ee »Biow ye the trumpet in Zion; ~ And sound af alarm in mine holy mountain: a Let-all the inhabitants of the land tremble: ~ a for the day of the Lord cometh,—for it is near: te A day of darkness and gloom: . - A day of clouds, and-of thick darkness. : As a dusk spread upon the mountains, ~~ jt Cometh a numerous people and strong. a" ca Like them, there hath not been of old time, . And after them, there shall not be, Ree 8 Kiven to the years of many generations. Before them, a fire devoureth, And behind, a flame burneth ; "Se The land is as the garden of Eden before them, . And behind them, a desolate wilderness: Yea, and nothing shall escape them. = Their appearance shall be like the appearance of horses, ia And like horsemen shall they run; % Like the sound of chariots, on the tops of the mountain, shall they leap ; r Like the oie of a fiame of fire, which devoureth stubble; ‘They shall be like a strong people, set in battle array. Before them, shall the people be much pained : All faces shall gather blackness; They shall run like mighty men; Like warriors shall they climb the wall; ae And they shall march every one in his way; ee » Neither shall they turn aside from their, paths ; Neither shall one trust another: ~- 2 .They shall march each in his road; — » ' ‘And if they fall upon the sword, they shall not be wounded. They shall run to and fro in the city, . They shall run upon the wall, they shall climb up into the houses; _ “They’shall enter in at the window, like a thief. Before them, the earth quaketh, the heavens tremble: — _ The sun and moon are darkened; a toe And the stars withdraw their shining. f- “And Jehovah shall utter his voice before his army 5 For his camp is very great, : And the day of the Lord is very great And very terrible, and who shall be able to bear it ? Yet, even now, saith Jehovah, ° Turn ye unto me with all your heart, With fasting, and with weeping, and with mourning, i. And rend your hearts, and not your garments, " , > me a 5G. ‘ej , o OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 261 And turn unto J elioval: your God ; For he is gracious and merciful, of Slow to anger, and/of great kixidnesss - iad & And Pages him of evil.—Jor1,.Cuaprer Il. ms i ae a LESSON CXIX. Wins, CHARACTER OF BLANNERHASSETT In 1807, Aaron Burr and ate among whom was Dlaringalwesctt: were tried on an indictment for treason against the government of the United States.. They were accused of a design to take possession of New Orleans, and to erect the country watered by the Mississippi and its branches, into‘an independent government. _'They.were acquitted for want of evidence, though it was generally believed that Burr was guilty. The beautiful island, upon which Blannerhassett resided, is situated in the Ohio river, about 270 miles above Cincinnati. His former residence is now, (1545,) in ruins, but the island is still an object of curiosity to the traveler. Ler us put the case between Burr and Bl annerhassett: Let us compare the two men, and setile the question of precedence between them. Who, then,is Blannerhassett? A native of Ire- land, a man of letters, who fied from the storms of his own country, to find quiet in ours. Possessing himself of a beautiful island in the Ohio, he rears upon it a palace, and decorates it with every romantic embellishment of fancy. A shrubbery,that Shenstone might have’envied, blooms around-him. | Music, that might have charmed Calypso and her nymphs, is his. 4n ex- tensive library spreads its treasures before him. A philosophical apparatus offers to him all the secrets and mysteries of nature. Peace, tranquillity, and innocence shed their mingled delights around him. 7 The evidence iota convince you, that this ‘is but a faint pic-_. ture of the real life. In the midst of all this peace, this imnocent ~ simplicity, and this tranquillity, this feast of the mind, this pure banquet of the heart, the destroyer comes; he comes to change this paradise into a hell. A stranger presents himself. — Intro-. duced to their civilities, by the high rank which he had lately held in his country, he soon finds his way to their hearts by the dignity and elegance of his demeanor, the light and beauty of his conversation, and the seductive and fascinating power of his ad- dress. The conquest was not difficult. Innocence is ever simple and eredulous. Conscious of no design itself, it suspects none in others. It wears no guard before its breast. Every door, and portal, and avenue of the heart is thrown open, and all who choose it, may enter. Such was the state of Eden, ‘when the ot * 262 MGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE serpent entered its bowers. ‘The prisoner, in a more engaging form, winding himself into the open and unpracticed heart of the unfortunate Blannerhassett, found but little difficulty in changing the native character of that heart, and-the objects of its affection. By degrees, he infuses into it the fire of his own courage; a daring and) desperate thirst for glory; an ardor panting for great ‘nterprises,—for all the storm, and bustle, and hurricane of life. In a short time, the whole man is changed, and every object of his former delight is relinquished. No more he enjoys the tranquil scene; it has become flat and insipid to his taste, His books are abandoned, His retort and crucible are thrown aside. His shrubbery blooms and breathes its fragrance upon the air in . vain ; he likes it not. His ear no longer drinks the rich melody of music; it longs for the trumpet’s clangor and the eannon’s roar. Even the prattle of his babes, once so sweet, no longer affects him: and the angel smile of his wife, which hitherto touched his bosom with ecstasy so unspeakable, is now unseen and unfelt. Greater objects have taken possession of his ine His im- agination has been dazzled by visions of diadems, of stars, and garters, and titles of nobility. He has been taught to burn, with restless emulation, at the names of great heroes and conquerors. His enchanted island is destined soon to relapse into a wilder- ness; and,in a few months, the beautiful and tender partner of his bosom, whom he lately “ permitted not the winds of summer to visit too .roughly,’’ we find shivering, at mid- night, on the winter banks of the Ohio, and mingling her tears with the torrents, that froze as they fell. Yet this unfortunate man, thus deluded from his interest and his happiness, thus seduced from the paths of innocence and peace, thus confounded in the toils that were deliberately spread for him, and overwhelmed by the mastering spirit and genius of another,—this man, thus ruined and undone, and made to play a subordinate part in this grand drama of guilt.and treason, this man is to be called the principal offender, while he, by whom he was thus plunged in misery, is comparatively innocent, a mere accessory ! Is this reason? Is it law? Is it humanity? Neither the human heart nor the human understanding, will bear a perver- sion so monstrous and absurd ! so shocking to the soul! so re- volting to reason! Jet Aaron Burr, then, not shrink from the high destination which he has courted ; and having already ruined Blannerhassett, in fortune, character, and happiness, forever, let him not attempt to finish the tragedy, by thrusting that ill-fated man between himself and punishment.— Wirr. OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 263 LESSON CXX. EXTRACT FROM A SPEECH GN THE TRIAL OF A ; MURDERER. . AarnsT the prisoner at the bar, as an individtial, I cannot have the slightest prejudice. I would not do him the smallest injury-or injustice. But I do not affect to-be indifferent to the discovery and the punishment of this deep guilt. I cheerfully share in the opprobrium, how much soever it may be, which is east on those who feel and manifest an anxious concern, that all who had a part in planning, or a hand in executing this deed of midnight assassination, may be brought to answer for their enor- mous crime at the bar of public justice. aa D Gentlemen, it is a most extraordinary case. In some respects it has hardly a precedent any where ; certainly none in our New England history. This bloody drama exhibited no suddenly excited, ungovernable rage. ‘Phe actors in it were not surprised by any lion-like temptation upon their virtue, overcoming it before resistance could begin. Nor did they do the deed to glut savage vengeance, or satiate long-settled and deadly hate. It was a cool, calculating, money-making murder. It was all « hire! and salary, and not revenge.” It was the weighing of money against life; the counting out of so many pieces of silver, against so many ounces of blood. An aged man, without an enemy in the world, in his own house, and in his own bed, is made the-victim of butcherly mur- der for mere pay. _ Truly, here is a new lesson for painters and poets. Whoever shall hereafter draw the portrait of murder, if he will show it, as it has been exhibited in an example, where such example was least to have been looked for, in the very bosom of our New England society, let him not give it the grim visage of Moloch, the brow kitted by revenge, the face black with settled hate, and the blood-shot eye emitting livid fires of “malice ;—let him draw, rather, a decorous, smooth-faced, blood- less demon; a picture in repose, rather than in action; not so much an example of human nature in its depravity and in its paroxysms of crime, as an infernal nature,—a fiend in the ordi- nary display and development of his character. The deed was executed with a degree of self-possession and steadiness, equal to the wickedness with which it was planned. The circumstances now clearly in evidence, spread out the whole scene before us. Deep sleep had fallen.on the destined victim, and on all beneath his roof. A healthful old man, to whom sleep was sweet,—the first sound stumbers of the night held him in their soft but strong embrace. ‘The assassin enters a ge Reh 264 MW GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE through the window, already prepared, into an unoccupied apart-* ment. With noiseless foot he paces the lonely hall, half lighted by the moon; he winds up the ascent of the stairs, and reaches the door of the chamber. Of this, he moves the lock, by soft and continued pressure, till it turns on its hinges; and he enters, and beholds his victim before him. ‘The room was uncommonly open to the admission of light.» The face of the innocent sleeper was turned from the murderer, and the beams. of the moon, rest- ing on the gray locks of his aged temple, showed him where to strike. ‘The fatal blow is given!—and the victim passes, with- out a struggle or a motion, from the repose of sleep to the repose of death ! It is the assassin’s purpose to make sure work; and he yet plies. the dagger, though it was obvious that life had been de- stroyed by the blow of the bludgeon. He even raises the aged arm, that he may not fail in his aim at the heart; and replaces it again over the wounds of the poniard! ‘T'o finish the picture, he explores the wrist for the pulse! He feels it, and ascertains that it beats no longer! Itis accomplished. The deed is done. He retreats, retraces his steps to the window, passes out through it as he came in, and escapes. He has done the murder—no eye has seen him, no ear has heard him. ‘The secret is his own, and it 1s safe ! ; | Ah! gentlemen, that was a dreadful mistake. Such a secret can be safe nowhere. - ‘The whole creation of God has neither nook nor corner, where the guilty can bestow it, and say it is safe. Not to speak of that eye which glances through all dis- guises, and beholds every thing as in the splendor of noon,— such secrets of guilt are never safe from detection, even by men. ‘True it is, generally speaking, that “ murder will out.” ‘True it is, that Providence hath so ordained, and doth so govern things, that those who break the great law of heaven, by shedding men’s blood, seldom succeed in avoiding discovery. Especially, in a case exciting so much attention as this, discovery must come, and will come, sooner or later. A thousand eyes turn at once to explore every man, every thing, every circumstance connected with the time and place; a thousand earseatch every whisper ; a thousand excited minds intensely dwell.on the scene, shedding all their light, and ready to kindle; at the slightest circumstance, into a blaze of discovery. Meantime, the guilty soul cannot keep its own secret. It is false to itself, or rather, it feels an irresistible impulse to be true to. itself. It labors under its guilty possession, and knows not what to do with it. The human heart was not made for the residence of such an inhabitant. It finds itself preyed on by a torment, which it does not acknowledge to God nor man. h Se 268 - $ M’GUFFEY’S RHETGRICAL GUIDE Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine. Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light— Angels; for ye behold him, and with songs And choral symphonies, day without night, Circle his throne, rejoicing; ye in heave en, On earth, join, all ye creatures, to extol Hin first, him last, him ’midst, and without end. Fairest of stars, last in the train of night, Sure pledge of day, that crown’st the smiling morn With ny bright eirelet, praise him in thy sphere, While day arises, that sweet hour of prime. , Thou Sun! of this great world both eye and soul, Acknowledge him, thy greater, sound his praise In thy eternal course, both when thou climb’st, And when high noon hast gained, and when thou fall’st. Moon, that now meet’st the orient sun, now fly’st With the fixed stars, fixed in their orb that flies, And ye, five other wandering fires, that move In mystic dance, not without song resound His praise, who, out of darkness, called up light. Air, and-ye clements, the eldest birth * Of Nature’s womb, that in quaternion run Perpetual Circle, multiform ; and mix ‘And nourish all things; let your ceaseless change . Vary to our great Maker still new praise. Ye mists and exhalations, that now rise From hill or steaming lake! dusky or gray, Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold, Tn honor to the world’s great Author, rise! Whether to deck with clouds the uncolored sky, Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers, Rising or falling, still advance his “praise. His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow, Breathe soft. or loud; and wave your tops, ye pines, With every plant, in sign of worship, wave. Fountains, and ye that warble, as ye flow, felodious murmurs, warbling, tune his praise icon voices, all ye living souls : ye birds, a That singing up to Heaven’s gate ascend, Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise. Ye that in waters ‘glide, a and ye that walk The earth, and stately tread, and lowly creep; Witness, if I be silent, morn or even, To hill or valley, fountain, or fresh shade Made vocal by my song’ and taught his praise, —_— ss Oe ne ee ee ee ee ee ee ame et hh ie i Hail, universal Lord! be bounteous still To give us only good ; and if the night Have gathered aught of evil, or concealed, Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.—MrtTon. on an : % OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 269 LESSON CXXIV. THE FIRST OF APRIL. “Minprut of disaster past, And shrinking at the northern blast, Reluctant comes the timid Spring. Scarce a bee, with airy wing, Murmurs the blossomed boughs around, That clothe the garden’s southern bound : Scarce a sickly, straggling Hower, Deck’s the rough castle’s rifted tower: Scarce the hardy primrose peeps, From the dark dell’s tangled steeps. Scant along the ridgy land, The beans, their new-born ranks expand : The fresh turned soil, with tender blades, Thinly the spreuting barley shades: Fringing the forest’s devious edge, Half robed appears the hawthorn hedge, Or to the distant eye displays, Weakly green, its budding sprays. The swallow, for a moment seen, Skims with haste the village green : From the gray moor, on feeble wing, The screaming plover idly spring : The butterfly, gay painted, soon . Explores awhile the tepid noon, And fondly trusts its tender dyes, To fickle suns and flattering skies. Fraught with transient.frozen shower, 4 Ifa cloud should haply lower, "= Sailing o’er the landscape dark, Mute, on a sudden, is the lark ; But when gleams the sun again, O’er the pearl-besprinkled plain, She mounts, and less’ning to the sight, Salutes the blithe return of light, And high her tuneful track pursues, Mid the dim rainbow’s scattered hues. O’er the broad fields, a tender race, Frisk the lambs, with faltering pace, : And with eager bleatings fill The foss that skirts the beacon’d hill. His free-born vigor, yet unbroke To lordly man’s usurping yoke, The bounding colt forgets to play, Basking beneath the noon-tide ray, 270 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE And stitahedl alread the daisies’ pride, Of a green dingle’s sloping side : While far beneath, where nature spreads Her boundless length of level meads, (In loose luxuriance taught to stray,) A thousand tumbling rills inlay, With silver veins, the vale, or pass Redundant through the sparkling grass. Yet in these presages rude, *Midst her pensive solitude, lancy, with prophetic glance, Sees the teeming months advance 3 Tne field, the forest, green and gay, The dappled slope, the tedded hay ; Sees the reddening orchard glow, The harvest wave, the vintage flow ; Sees June unfold his glossy robe Of thousand hues, o’er all the globe; Sees Ceres grasp her crown of corn, And plenty load her ample horn.—T. Warton. bows LESSON CXXV_ THE LITTLE BROOK. AND THE STAR ONcE upon a time, in the leafy covert of a wild, woody dingle, there lived (for. it was, indeed, a-thing of life )'a certain little brook, that might have been the happiest creature in the world, if it had but known when it was well-off, and been content with the station assigned to it by an unerring Providence. But in that knowledge and that content, consists the true secret of happi- ness ; and the silly little brook never found out the mystery, until it was too late to profit by it. I cannot say, positively, from what source the little irae came; but it appeared to well out from beneath the hollow root of an old thorn; and, collecting together its pellucid waters, so as to form asmall pool within that knotty reservoir, it swelled imperceptibly over its irregular margin, and slipped away, un- heard,— almost unseen,—among mossy stones and entangling branches.. No emerald was ever so green: never was velvet so soft, as the beautiful moss which encircled that tiny lake: and it was gemmed and embroidered, too, by all flowers that love the shade; pale primroses and nodding violets; anemones, with their fair, down-cast heads; and starry clusters of forget-me-not, looking lovingly, with their pale, tender eyes, into the bosom of their native rill. OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 271 The hawthorn’s branches were interwoven above, with those of a holly; and a woodbine, climbing up the stem of one tree, flung across to the other its flexible arms, knotting together the mingled foliage, with its rich clusters. and elegant. festoons, like a fair sister, growing up under the guardianship of two beloved brothers, and, by her endearing witchery, drawing together, in closer union, their already united hearts. Never was little brook so delightfully situated; for its existence, though secluded, was neither monotonous nor solitary. A thousand trifling incidents (trifling, but not uninteresting,) were perpetually varying the scene; and innumerable living creatures, the gentlest and love- liest of the sylvan tribes, familiarly haunted its retreat. Beautiful, there, was every season with its changes! In the year’s fresh morning, delicious May or ripening June, if a light breeze but stirred in the hawthorn tops, down on the dimpling water came a shower of milky blossoms, loading the air with fragrance as they fell. ‘Then, came the squirrel with his mirth- ful antics. Then, rustling through fern and brushwood, stole the timid hare, half startled, as she slaked her thirst at the still fountain, by the hquid reflection of her own large, lustrous eyes. There was no lack of music round about. A song-thrush had his domicil hard by; and, even at night, his mellow voice was heard, contending with alflightingale, 4 ‘in searce unequal rivalry. And other vocalists, innumerable, awoke those woodland echoes. Sweetest of all, the low, tremulous call of the ring-dove floated, at intervals, through the shivering foliage,— the very soul of sound and tenderness. In winter, the glossy green and coral clusters of the holly, flung down their rich reflectious on the little pool, then visited through the leafless boughs with a gleam of more perfect day- light; and a red-breast, which had built its nest, and reared its young among the twisted roots of that old tree, still hovered about his summer bower, still quenched his thirst at the little brook, still sought his food on its mossy banks; and, tuning his small pipe, when every other feathered throat, but his own, was mute, took up the eternal hymn of gratitude, which began with the birth-day of Nature, and shall only cease with her expiring breath. So every season brought but changes of pleasaniness to that happy little brook: and happier still it was,—or might have been,—in one sweet and tender companionship, to which passing time and revolving seasons brought no change. True it was, no unintercepted sunshine ever glittered on its shaded waters; but, just above the spot where they were gath- ered into that fairy fount, a small opening in the overarching foliage admitted, by day, a glimpse of the blue sky; and, by night, the mild, pale ray of a bright fixed-star, which looked a spay ee eee sot > * rage a 272 M GUEFEY S°REDPORICAL GUIDE down into the stilly water, with such tender radiance as beams from the eyes: we love. best, when they rest upon us with an earnest gaze of serious tenderness. Forever, and forever, when night came, the beautiful star still gazed upon its earth-born love, diets seemed, if a wandering ai ry but skimmed its surface, to stir, as if with life, in responsive intercourse with its. bright yisitant. Some malicious whispers went abroad, indeed, that the enam- ored gaze of that radiant eye was not always exclusively fixed on the litte brook; that it had its oblique glances for other fa- vorites. But I take it, those rumors were altogether libelous, mere rural gossip, scandalous tittle-tattle, got up between two old, gray, mousing owls, who went prowling about and prying into their neighbor’s concerns, when they ought to have been in their beds, at “home. However that m xy be—though I warrant ihe kind creatures were too conscientious to leave the little brook in ignorance of their candid conjectures—it did not care one fig about the matter, uiterly disregarding every syllable they said. This would have been highly creditable to the little brook, if its light mode of dismissing the subject had not been parily owing to the engrossing influence of certai -new-fangled notions and desires, which, in an ee ie hour, ha d insinuated themselves into its hitherto untroubled bosom. W ot” Alas! that elementary, as well as hi man natures, should be liable to moral infirmity! But that they ar are, was strongly exem- plified in the instance of our luckless litle brook. You, must know, that, notwithstanding the leafy recess, in which it was so snugly located, was, to all zrward appearance, sequestered as in © the heart of a vast forest, in point of fact, it only skirted the edge of an extensive plain, in one part of which lay a large pond, to which herds of kine and oxen came down to drink, morning and evening, and wherein they might be seen standing motionless for hours together, during the sultry summer noon; when the wave- less water, glowing like a fiery mirror under the meridian blaze, reflected, with magical effect, the huge forms and varied coloring of the congregated cattle, as well as those ofa flock of stately, milk-white geese, accustomed to swim upon its bosom. Now, it so chanced, that from the nook of which we have spo- en, encircled as it was by leafy walls, there opened, precisely n the direction of the plain and the pond, a cunning little peep- hole, which must have been perforated by the demon of mischief, and which no eye would ever have spied out, save that of a lynx or an idle person. Alas! our little brook was an idle person ; she had nothing in the world to do from morning to night, and that is the root of all evil;—so, though she might have found mae occupation, (every body can, if they seek it in right earnest,) she OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 273 speut her whole time in peering and prying about, till,.one un- lucky day, what should she hit upon, but that identical peep-hole, . through which, as through a telescope, she discovered with un- speakable amazement the great pond, all glowing in the noon-day sun; the herds of cattle and the flocks of geese, so brilliantly redoubled on its broad mirror. «My stars!’ ejaculated the little brook, (little thought she at that moment of the ove faithful star.) ‘* My stars! what can all this be? It looks something like me, only a thousand tines as big. What can be shining so upon it? and what can those great creatures be? Not LSeoash sure, though they have legs and tails ; but such tails! And those other white things, that float about, they cannot be birds, for they have no legs, and: yet they seem to have feathers and wings. What a life of ignorance have I led huddled up in this poor, little, dull place, visited only by a few, mean, humdrum creatures, and never suspecting that the world contained finer things and, grander company !”’ ‘Tull this unfortunate discovery, the little brook. had been watt enough satisfied with her condition ; contented with the society of the beautiful and gentle creatures which frequented her retreat, and with the tender admiration of her own “ bright unchanging star.’ But now there was a end all content, and no end to garrulous discontent and endless ¢ riosity. The latter, she soon found means to satisfy, for ‘the sky -lark brought her flaming accounts of the sun, at whose court he pretended to be a frequent visiter ; and the water-wagtail, was dispatched to ascertain the precise: nature of those other mysterious objects, so bewildering to the limited faculties of the curious little brook. Back came the messenger, mopping,* and mowing,* and wag- ging his tail with the most fantastic airs of conceited importance. “Well, what is it!”’ quoth my lady brook. . “Water, upon my veracity,’ quoth Master Wagtail, ‘monstrous piece of water, five hundred thousand million times as big as your ladyship.”’ ‘And what makes it so bright and glowing, instead of my dull color?’’ quoth my Jady. ‘The sun, that shines full upon it,” rejoins the envoy. ‘Oh! that glorious globe, the sky-lark talks of. How delightful it must be to enjoy fis notice! But what ure those fine creatures with legs, and those others with wings and no legs?’ -**Oh! those are cows, and oxen, and geese; but you cannot possibly comprehend their natures, never having seen any thing larger than a ‘hare. or wood- -pigeon.”” « How now Master Malapert!” quoth my lady, nettled to the quick at his impertinence ;—but her curiosity was not half satiated ; so she was fain to gulp down her own insulted dignity, and went on * Making wry faces. ————————— Oe (274 M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE questioning and cross-questioning, till she was ready to bubble over with spite and envy at Master Wagtail’s marvelous rela- tions. Poor thing! she did not know what allowance to make, for travelers’ stories. —LirERARyY SOUVENIR. LESSON CXXVI. THE SAME—CONCLUDED. THENCEFORWARD, the little brook perfectly loathed her own peaceful, unobtrusive lot. She would have shrunk away, had it been possible, from the poor, innocent creatures, who had so long enlivened her pleasant solitude. And, worst of all—most unpar- donable of all—she sickened at the sight of her benignant star, which continued to look down upon her as fondly and kindly as ever, still happily unconscious of her heartless estrangement. Well, she went on fretting and repining, from day to day, till dame Nature, fairly tired out with her wayward humor, resolved to punish her, as she deserved, by granting her heart’s desire. One summer morning, came two sturdy woodmen, armed with saws, axes, and bill- hook ; ; to work they went, lopping, hewing, and clearing, and before night-fall, there lay the little brook, ex- posed to the broad canopy of heaven, revealed in all its littleness, and effectually relieved from the intrusion of those insignificant creatures, which had been scared from their old familiar haunt, by that day’s ruthless execution. «¢ Well !? quoth the little brook, ‘this is something like life! What a fine world this is! A little chilly though, and I feel, I don’t. know how, quite dazzled and confounded. But to-morrow, when that great, red orb comes over-head again, I shall be warm and comfortable enough, no doubt; and then, I dare say, some of those fine, great ehesine es will come and visit me; and who knows but I may grow as big as that great pond, in time, now that I enjoy the same advantages.”’» Down went the sun; up rose the moon; out shone innumerable hosts of sparkling orbs, and among them, ¢hat “ bright particular star’’ looked out, pre- - eminent in lustre. Doubtless, its pure and radiant eye dwelt, with tender sorrow, on the altered condition of its beloved little brook. But that volatile and inconstant creature, quite intoxi- cated with her change of fortune, and with the fancied admira- tion of the twinkling myriads she beheld, danced and dimpled, in the true spirit of flirtation, with every glittering spark, till she was quite bewildered among the multitude of her adorers, and welcomed the gray hour of dawn, without having vouchsafed so much as one glance of recognition at her old, unalienated friend. OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. +, 2 tes Down went the moon and stars; up rose the sun, and higher and higher he mounted in the cloudless heaven, and keener waxed the impatience of the ambitious little brook. Never did court beauty so eagerly anticipate her first presentation to the eye of majesty! And, at last, arrived the hour of fruition. Bright over-head careered the radiant orb ; down darted his fer- vid, fiery beams vertically upon the centre of the little brook, penetrating its shallow waters to the very pebbles beneath. At first, it was so awed and agitated, and overpowered by the con- descending notice of majesty, fancying, (as small folks are apt to fancy,) that it had attracted peculiar observation, that it was hardly sensible of the unusual degree of warmth, which began to pervade its elementary system: but presently, when the fer- - mentation of its wits had a little subsided, it began to wonder how much hotter it should grow, still assuring itself that the sensation, though very novel, was exceedingly delightful. But at length, such an accession of fever came on, that the self-delusion was no longer practicable, and it began to hiss, as if set over a great furnace. Oh, what would the little brook have given now for only one bough of the holly or the haw- thorn, to intercept those intolerable rays! or for the gentle winnowing of the black-bird’s wing, or even the poor robin’s, to fan its glowing bosom. But. those’ protecting boughs lay scat- tered around; those small, shy creatures had sought out a dist- ant refuge, and my lady brook had nothing left but to endure what-she could not alter. «“ And after all,’? quoth she, ‘it’s only for a little while; by and by, when his majesty only looks sideways at me, I shall be less overcome with his royal favor, and in time, no doubt, be able to sustain his full gaze, without any of these unbecoming flutters, all owing to my rustic educa- tion and the confined life I have hitherto led.” Well, “his majesty” withdrew westward as usual, and my lady brook began to subside into a comfortable degree of tempe- rature, and to gaze about her again, with restored complacency. What was her exultation, when she beheld the whole train of geese waddling towards her from the great pond, taking that way homeward out of sheer curiosity, as I suppose. As the goodly company drew nearer and nearer, our brook admired the stateliness of their carriage, and persuaded herself, it was emi- nently graceful,“ for undoubtedly, they are persons of distin- guished rank,’ quoth she; “‘and how much finer voices they must have, than those little, vulgar fowls, whose twittering used to make me so nervous.’ Just then, the whole flock set up such a gabbiing and screeching, as they passed close by, that the little brook, well nigh leaped out of her reservoir, with hor- ror and amazement; and to complete her consternation, one fat, —— 276 M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE 3 old, dowager goose, straggling awkwardly out of the line of march, plumped right down into the middle of the pool, floune- ing and floundering about at a terrible rate, filling its whole cir- cumference with her ungainly person, and scrambling out again with an unfeeling precipitation, which cruelly disordered - the’ unhappy victim ef her barbarous outrage. Hardly were they out of sight, those awkward and unmans nerly creatures,—hardly had the eee little brook begun to breathe, after that terrible visitation, when all her powers of self- possession were called for, by the abrupt approach of another and more prodigious personage. A huge ox, goaded by the in- tolerable stinging of a gad-fly, broke away from his fellows of the herd and from. his cool station in the creat pond, and came Be ane down, in his blind agony, lashing the air with his tail, and making the vale echo with-his furious bellowing. To the woods just beyond the new cleared spot, he took his frantic eourse, and, the little brook lying in his way, he splashed. into it. and out of it) without ceremony, or probably so much as heeding the hapless. object, subjected to his ruffian treatment. That one splash pretty nearly annihilated the miserable little brook. ‘The huge fore-hoofs forced themselves into its mossy bank ; the hind ones, with a single extricating plunge, pounded bank and brook together into a muddy hole; and the tail, with one insolent whisk, spattered halt the black mass over the sur- rounding herbage. And now, what was wanting to complete the ruin and de- gradation of the unhappy | little brook? -A thick, black pud- dle was all that remained of the once pellucid pool. Poor little brook ! if it had-erred greatly, was it not greatly humbled ? Night eame again; but darkness was on the face of the un- happy brook, and well for it, that it was total darkness; for in that state of conscious, degradation, how could it- have sustained the searching gaze of its pure, forsaken: star ?~ Long, dark, and companionless. was the first night of misery, aad when morning dawned, though the turbid water had regained a degree of trans- parency, it had. sshrunk away.to a tenth part of its former * fair proportions,’ TpO- much had it lost by evaporation in that fierce solar alembies so much from absorption in the loosened and choking soil or its once firm and -beautiful margin; and so much by -dispersion, from the wasteful havock of i its destructive inuva- ders. Again, the great sun looked down upon it; again, the vertical beams drank fiercely of its shrunken water ; and when evening - came, no more remained of th iappoor litile brook, than just so many drops as filled the hollow of one of those large pebbles Wich had paved its uns liegipo 4 in the day of its brightness OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 277 - and beauty. But never, in the season of its brightest plenitude, was the water of the little brook so clear—so perfectly clear and pure, as that last portion, which tay,like a liquid gem, in the small concave of that polished stone. It had been nitered from every grosser particle, refined by rough discipline, purified by adversity, even from those lees of vanity and light-mindedness, which had adulterated its sparkling waters in their prosperous state. Just as the last sunbeam was withdrawing its amber light from that small pool, the old, familiar robin hopped on the edge of the hollow pebble, and dipping his beak once and again in the diminished fount, which had slaked his thirst so often and so long, drooped: his russet wings with a slight quivering motion, and broke forth into a short, sweet gush of parting song, before he winged his way forever from his expiring benefactress. ‘Twilight had melted into night—dark night—for neither moon nor stars were visible through the dark clouds that canopied the earth. In darkness and silence lay the little brook; forgotten it seemed, even by its benignant star, as though its last drops were exhaled into nothingness its languishing existence already struck out of the list of created things. ‘Time had been, when such apparent neglect would have excited its highest indignation ; but now, it submitted humbly and resignedly to the deserved in- fliction. And, after a little while, looking fixedly upwards, it almost fancied that the form, if not the radiance of the beloved _ star was faintly perceptible through the intervening darkness. The little brook was not deceived: cloud after cloud rolled away from the central heaven, till at last, the unchanging star was plainly discernible through the fleecy vapor which yet ob- scured its perfect lustre. But, through that silvery vail, the beautiful star*looked intently on its repentant love; and there was more of tenderness, of pity, and reconciliation in that dim, trembling gaze, than if the pure, heavenly dweller had shone out in perfect brightness on the frail, humbled creature below. Just.then, a few large drops fell heavily from the disparting cloud ; and one, trembling for a moment with starry light, fell, like a forgiving tear, into the bosom of the little pool. . Long—long and undisturbed (for no other eye looked out from heaven that night) was the last mysterious communion of the reconciled friends. No doubt, that voiceless intercourse was yet eloquent of hope and futurity; for though all that remained of the pure little brook was sure to be exhausted by the next day’s fiery trial, it would but change its visible form, to become an im- perishable essence: and who can tell whether the elementary nature, so purged froin eae may not have been. received up into the sphere of its heavenly friend, and indis- solubly united with the celestial substance.—Lir. SouvENIR.” | 278 M'GUFFEY'’S RHETORICAL GUIDE ol LESSON CXXVII: HYMN.ON THE SEASONS. Tues, as they change, Almighty Father, these Are but the varied God. ‘The rolling year _Is-full of Thee. . Forth in the pleasing spring Thy beauty walks, thy tenderness and love. Wide flash the fields; the fresh’ning air is balm; Icho the mountains round; the forest smiles; And ‘every sense and every heart is joy. . ‘Then, comes thy glory in the summer months, With light and heat refulgent. ‘Then, thy sun Shoots full perfection through the swelling year ; And oft. thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks, And oft, at dawn, deep noon, or swelling eve, By brooks and groves, in hollow, whisp’ring gales. Thy bounty shines in autumn, unconfined, And spreads a common feast for all that live. In winter, awful thou! with clouds and storms Around thee thrown, tempest o’er tempest rolled, Majestic darkness! On the whirlwind’s wing Riding sublime, thou bid’st the world adore, And humblest nature with thy northern blast. % * * * “seer * * 1 But, wandering oft, with rude, unconscious gaze, Man marks not thee; marks not the mighty hand, That, ever busy, wheels the silent spheres; Works in the secret deep; shoots, steaming, thence The fair profusion that o’erspreads the spring ; Flings from the sun, direct, the flaming day ; Feeds every creature; hurls the tempest forth; And, as on earth, the grateful change revolves, With transport touches all the springs of life. : | | Nature, attend! join, every living soul Beneath the spacious temple of: the sky, In adoration, join; and ardent, raise One general song! ‘To him, ye vocal gales, ‘ Breathe soft, whose spirit in your freshness breathes ; And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar, . Who shake th’ astonish’d world, lift high to heaven Th’ impetuous song, and say from whom your rage. His praise, attune, ye brooks; ye trembling rills; Ye headlong torrents, rapid and profound ; Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze Along the vale; and thou, majestic main, A secret world of wonders in thyself, Sound his stupendous praise, whose greater voice Or bids you roar, or bids your roaring cease. Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers, 4. ara oh ' em OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 279 In iningled clouds to him, whose sun exalts, Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints. Ye forests, bend, ye harvests, wave to him; Breathe your still song into the reaper’s heart, As home he goes, beneath the joyous moon. * ® it * * * * ——— In swarming cities vast, Assembled men, to the deep organ join The long-resounding voice; oft breaking clear, At solemn pauses, through the swelling base ; And, as each mingling flame increases each, In one united ardor rise to heaven. Or, if you rather choose the rural shade, And find a fane. in every spreading grove, There, let the shepherd’s lute, the virgin’s lay, The prompting seraph, and the poet’s lyre, Still sing the God of Seasons, as they roll. For me, when I forget the darling theme, Whether the blossom blows, the Summer ray Russets the plain, whisp’ring Autumn gleams, Or Winter rises in the black’ning east, Be my tongue mute, my fancy paint no more, And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat. Should fate command me to the farthest verge Of the green earth, to distant, barb’rous climes, Rivers unknown to song; where first the sun Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam Flames on th’ Atlantic isles; ’tis nought to me, . Since God is ever present, ever felt . In the void waste, as in the city full; ; And where he, vital, breathes, there must be joy. When even, at last, the solemn hour shall come, And wing my mystic flight to worlds unknown ; I, cheerful, will obey.. There, with mew powers, Will rising wonders sing. I cannot go Where universal love smiles not around, Sustaining all yon orbs and all their suns: From seeming evil still educing good, And better thence again, and better still, In infinite progression. But I lose Myself in Hin, in light ineffable! Come, then, expressive silence, muse his praise. —Tuompson, “> oe IRENE Om oe » *S ; Nn ioe ia Sa Se sla c 280 MGUFPFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE x“ LESSON CXXVII. THE QUACK. Scene—The Inn. inter Hostess, followed by Lampepo, a Quack Doctor. Hostess. Nay, nay; another fortnight. Lanpedo. + can’t be. ‘The man ’s as well as Lam: have some mercy ! He hath been here almost three weeks already. Zost. Well, then, a week. ; Lamp. We may detain him a week. [wth a drawn sword. [£nler Barruazar, the patient, from behind, in his nighi-gown, You talk now like a reasonable hostess, That sometimes has a reckoning with her consciénce. Hust. We still believes he has an inward bruise.. Lamp. I would to heaven he had! or that he ’d siipp’d His shoulder-blade, or broke a leg or two, (Not that I bear his person any malice,) Or lux’d an arm, or.even sprained his ancle! Hosi. Aye, broken any thing except his neck. Lamp. However, for a week I ’ll manage him: Though he had the constitution of a horse; ” A farrier shall prescribe for him. Balthazar. A farrier! . [.4side.-| ~~, Lamp. ‘To-morrow, we phlebotomize again ; Next day, my new invented, patent draught; Then, I have some pills prepared ; On Thursday, we throw in the bark ; on Friday Balth. [Coming forward.] Well, sir, on Friday—what on Friday? Come, proceed. Lanip. Discovered! pone Mercy, noble sir! - Q They fall on their knees. Lamp. We crave your mercy! § Balth. On your knees? "tis well! Pray, for your time is short. Host. . Nay, do not kill@as.- Balth. “You have been tried, condemn’d, and only wait For execution. Which shall I begin with ? ». Lamp. The lady, by all means, sir. Balih. Come, prepare. [Zo the hostess. ] Fost. Have pity on the weakness of my sex! Balih. Tell me, thou quaking mountain of gross fiesh, Tell me, and in a breath, how many poisons— If you atterapt it—[ Zo Lamprpo, who is making off.) you have cooked up for me? Host. None, as 1 hope for mercy! Balik. 1s not thy wine a poison? fost. No, indeed, sir; *Tis not, IL own, of the first quality ; But Balth. What 3 OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 281 Host. J always give short measure, sir, And ease my conscience that way. Balih. Vase your conscience ! I’ll ease your conscience for you. Host. Mercy, sir! Balth. Rise, if thou canst, and hear me. Host. ‘Your commands, sir? Balth. If, in five minutes, all things are prepared _ For my departure, you may yet survive. Host. It shall be done in less. Balth. Away, thou lump fish! [Hatt Hostess. Lamp. So! now comes my turn' ’tis all over with me! ‘There’s dagger, rope, and ratsbane in his looks! Balih. And now, thou sketch and outline of a man! Thou thing that hast no shadow in the sun! Thou eel in a consumption, eldest born Of Death on Famine! thou anatomy Of a starved pilchard! Lamp. Ido confess my leanness. I am spare, And, therefore, spare me. Balth. Why! wouldst thou not have made me A thoroughfare, for thy whole shop to pass ee ae q Lamp. Man, you know, must live. Balth. . Yes: he must die, too. Lamp. For my patients’ sake— Balih. Yl send thee to the major part of them. The window, sir, is open; come, prepare. Lamp. Pray, consider ; I may hurt some one-in the street. “Balth. Why, then, — / Ill rattle thee to pieces in a dice-box, Or grind thee in a coffee-mill to powder, For thou must sup with Pluto; so, make ready ; Whilst I, with this good smali-sword for a lancet, Let thy starved spirit out, (for blood thou hast none,) And nail thee to the wall, where thou shalt look Like a dried beetle with a pin stuck through him Lamp. Consider my poor wife. Ge 7 Balth. Thy wife! Lamp. My wife, sir. Balth. "ast thou dared think of matrimony, too? No flesh upon thy bones, and take a wife! Lump. I took a wife, because I wanted flesh. I have a wife, and three angelic babes, Who, by those looks, are w rell nigh fatherless. Balih. Well, well! your wife and children shall plead for you. Come, come; the pills! where are the pills? produce them. Lamy. Here is the box. Galth. Were it Pandora’s, and each single pill Had ten diseases in it, you should take them. Lamp. What, all? Balth. Aye, all: and quickly too. Come sir, begin-—that’s well ! Another. 24 iy ied fate a aed ee eae eae 2 ER oy A a eT Nee pe Thos 282 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE Lamp. One’s a dose. Balth. Proceed, sir. Lamp. What will become of me? Let me go home, and set my shop to rights, And, like immortal Cesar, die with decency. Balth. Away! and thank thy lucky star I have not Bray’d thee in thine own mortar, or exposed thee For a large specimen of the lizard genus. Lamp. Wouid I were one! for they can feed on air. Balih. Home, sir, and be more honest. [ Exit. Lamp. If I am not, _Pul be more wise, at least. [Lait } ANONYMOUS. LESSON CXXIX. EULOGY ON CANDLE-LIGHT Hart, candle-light ! without disparagement to sun or moon, the kindliest luminary of the three,—if we may not rather style thee their radiant deputy, mild viceroy of the moon! We love to read, talk, sit silent, eat, drink, sleep, by candle-light. It is every body’s sun and moon: it is our peculiar and household planet. Wanting it, what savage, unsocial nights must our an- cestors have spent, wintering in caves and unilluminated fast- nesses! ‘They must have ‘lain about, and grumbled at one another in the dark. What repartees could have passed, when you must have felt about for a smile, and handled a neighbor's cheek, to be sure that he understood it? This aecounts for the seriousness of the elder poetry. It has a somber cast, derived from the tradition of those unlanterned nights. Jokes came in with candles. We wonder how they saw to pick up a pin, if they had any. How did they sup? What a medley of chance-carying they must have made of it !—here, one had got the leg of a goat, when he wanted a horse’s should- er; there, another had dipped his scooped palm in a kid-skin of- wild honey, when he meditated right mare’s milk. ‘There is neither good eating nor drinking, in the dark. ‘The senses give and take reciprocally. Can you tell veal from pork, without light? or distinguish sherry from pure Malaga? Take away the candle from the smoking man ; by the glimmering of the left ashes, he knows that he is still smoking; but he knows it only by an inference, till the restored light coming in to the aid of the olfactories, reveals to both senses the full aroma. Then, how he redoubles his puffs, how he burnishes! — There is absolutely no such thing as reading, but by a candle, We have tried the affectation of a book at noon day, in gardens, Pee - - 3 OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 283 and in sultry arbors; but it was labor thrown away. Those gay motes in the beam come about you, hovering and teasing, like so many coquets, that will have you all to their self, and are jealous of your abstractions. By the midnight taper, the writer digests his meditations. By the same light, you must approach to their perusal, if you would catch the flame, the odor. It is a mockery, all that is reported of the influential Phebus*. No true se ever owed its birth to the sun’s light. They are abstracted works— ‘Things that were born, when none but the still night And his dumb candle saw his pinching throes.” Daylight may furnish the images, the crude material ; but for the fine “shapings, the irue turning and filing, they must be con- tent to hold their inspiration of the candle. The mild, inter- nal light that reveals them, like fires on the domestic hearth, goes out in the sunshine. Night and silence call out the starry fancies. Milton’s morning hymn, we would hold a good wager, was penned at midnight; and ‘Taylor’s richer description of a sunrise, smells decidedly of a taper. Even ourself, in these our humbler lucubrations, tune our best measured cadences, (prose has her cadences,) not unfrequently to the charm of the drowsy watchman, “blessing the doors,’’.or the wild sweep of winds at midnight. Even now, a loftier Speculation than we have yet attempted, courts our endeavors. We would indite something about the solar system. betty, bring the candles. Cuar es LAMBE LESSON CXXX. ULRILITY. OF; LIG.HE. Tue metaphorical expressions of all ages and nations with respect to light, sufficiently evince the value in which that ines- timable gift is held. In the sacred Scriptures, indeed, not only are temporal blessings compared to light, and temporal evils to darkness, but holy deeds are frequently described under the char- acter of the former, and unholy deeds under the character.of the latter; and, with respect to classical or oriental literature, a thousand instances might easily be adduced, illustrative of the same metaphorical use of the terms in question. There is something so congenial to our nature in light, some- thing so repulsive in darkness, that, probably on this ground * The sun. — « TIT SGE EPR ED OI Ne Yee Ral, BARA Ton te ae Ri Ro et Terns to 284 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE alone, the very aspect of inanimate things is instinctively either grateful or the reverse, in consequence of our being reminded by that aspect, of the one or of the other; so that, on this prin- ciple, perhaps, particular colors, throughout every province of nature, are more or less acceptable, in proportion as they ap- proach nearest or recede farthest, from the character of light, whether reflected immediately from the heavenly bodies, or from the azure of the sky, or from the thousand brilliant hues, with which the setting or the rising sun, illuminates its attendant clouds. Jn illustration of this principle, gold and silver, among metals, might be opposed to lead and iron; and, among flowers, the brilliancy of the crocus, the lily, or the rose, to the lurid as- pect of henbane or belladonna. The abundant supply of light from its natural source, the sun, and the ease with which it is producible, by artificial means, during the absence of that luminary, render us habitually less sensible of its real value, than, undoubtedly, we should be, were we to experience a long continued privation of it. And,as to the regularly periodical privation of it which we experience, in con- sequence of the alternation of night with day, this is so far from being an evil, that it is obviously beneficial; inasmuch, as in con- sequence of this very absence, sleep is both directly and indi- rectly conciliated ; without which gift of Heaven, all our facul- ties would soon be exhausted. The privation of light is rarely, if ever, total; for though the empire of time is divided in’nearly equal proportion between day and night, there are comparatively few nights in which there is not diffused through the air a sufficient quantity of light for many of the purposes of life. Let us, however, suppose for a moment, that, all the faculties and recollections of man remaining unaltered, and the general processes of nature continuing if possible the same as they are now, the existence of light were withdrawn from this earth. What would then be the condition of mankind? How could those occupations of life be pursued, which are necessary for the supply of our simplest wants? Who, in that case, could yoke the ox to the plow, or sow the seed, or reap the harvest? But, indeed, under such a suppo- sition, there would soon be neither seed for the ground nor grain for food; for if deprived of light, the character of vegeta- tion is completely altered, and its results, so far as general utility is concerned, destroyed. But, although this supposition of a general and total privation of light is, on all probable grounds of reasoning, inadmissible, it may yet serve to show us, indirectly, the value of the good we enjoy. It will be, however, a more grateful task to enumer- ate the actual benefits which we derive from the agency of light. - ~ Oe vs 3 > ae * \ OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. _ 285 ee In the Leastable world, upon the products of which, animal existence ultimately depends, light is the prime mover of every change that takes place. Exclude the agency of light, and, ina short time, the most experienced botanist might possibly be at a loss to know the plant with which he is, otherwise, most famil- lar, so completely obliterated are all its natural characters, wheth- er of color, form, taste, or odor. If a branch of i ivy or of any ‘spreading plant, penetrate, during the progress of its vegetation, into a dark cellar or any similar subterraneous situation, it is observable, that, with the total loss of color, its growth advances’ with great rapidity, but its proportions alter to such a degree, as often to mask its original form; and, if it be chimically exam-. ined, its Juices—it mig! it almost be said, its whole substance— would be found to consist of little else than mere water; and whatever odor it may have, is characteristic, not of its original nature, but of its unnatural mode of growth. The total result is, that all the native beauties and uses of a vegetable growing under these circumstances, are lost. The eye is neither delighted by any varicty or brightess of color, nor is the sense of smell gratified by any fragrance; the degeneracy of its fibre into mere pulp, renders it unfit for any mechanical pur- pose; and the resinous and other principles, upon which its nutritive and medicinal virtues depend, cease to be developed. The observation of those modifications which light undergoes - when reflected from the surfaces of bodies, has given rise to one of those impressive arts, which are capable of contributing no less to the refinement of society at large, than to the gratification of the individuals who cultivate or admire them. For who can look on the productions of such masters as Guido, apl hael, or Michael Angelo, without imbibing a portion of the spirit which animated those masters in the execution of their inimitable works? Or, who can successfully describe those emotions, which. are excited by the portrait of a beloved object—a child, or parent, now no more? or by the representation of that home and its surrounding scenery, in which the careless and happy hours of childhood were passed ?—-Kipp. LESSON CXXXI. APOSTROPHE TO THE SUN. Center of light and energy! thy way . _ Is through the unknown void; thou hast thy throne, Morning, and evening, and at noon of day, Far in the blue, untended and alone: 286 WGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE Ere the first-wakened airs of earth had blown, On didst thou march, triumphant in thy light; Then didst thou send thy glance, which still hath flown Wide through the never-ending worlds of night, And yet, thy full orb burns with flash unquenched and bright. Thy path is high in heaven; we cannot gaze On the intense of light that girds thy car; There is a crowmof glory in thy rays, Which bears thy pure divinity afar, To mingle with the equal light of star; For thou, so vast to us, art, in the whole, One of the sparks of night that fire the air; And, as around thy center planets roll, So thou, too, hast thy path around the central soul. Thou lookest on the earth, and then it smiles ; Thy light is hid, and all things droop and mourn; Laughs the wide sea around her budding isles, When through their heaven thy changing car is borne; Thou wheel’st away thy flight,—the woods are shorn Of all their waving locks, and storms awake ; All, that was once so beautiful, is torn By the wild winds which plow the lonely lake, And, in their maddening rush, the crested mountains shake, The earth lies buried in a shroud of snow : Life lingers, and would die, but thy retuin Gives to their gladdened hearts an overflow Of ali the power,.that brooded in the urn Of their chilled frames, and then they proudly spurn All bands that would confine, and give to air Hues, fragrance, shapes of beauty, till they burn, When, on a dewy morn, thou dartest there Rich waves of gold, to wreath with fairer light the fair. The vales are thine :—and when the touch of Spring Thrills them, and gives them gladness, in thy light They glitter, as the glancing swallow’s wing Dashes the water in his winding flight, And leaves behind a wave, that crinkles bright, And widens outward to the pebbled shore : The vales are thine ; and when they wake from night, ‘The dews that bend the grass tips, twinkling o’er Their soft and oozy beds, lock upward and adore. The hills are thine :—they catch thy newest beam, And gladden in thy parting, where the wood Flames out in every leaf and drinks the stream, That flows from outthy fullness, as a flood: Bursts from an unknown land, and rolls the food Of nations in its waters; so thy rays Flow and give brighter tints, than ever bud, OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES When a clear sheet of ice reflects a blaze ‘Of many twinkling gems, as every glossed bough plays .- Thine are the mountains,—where they purely lift Snows that have never wasted, in a sky Which hath no stain; below, the storm may drift Its darkness, and the thunder-gust roar by ;— Aloft in thy eternal smile they lie Dazzling but cold ;—thy farewell glance looks there, And when below thy hues of beauty die, Girt round them, as a rosy belt, they bear Into the high, dark vault, a brow that still is fair. The clouds are thine; and all their magic hues Are penciled by thee ; when thou bendest low Or comest in thy strength, thy hand imbues Their waving folds with such a perfect glow Of all pure tints, the fairy pictures.throw Shame on the proudest art. These are thy trophies, and thou bend’st thy arch, The sign of triumph, in a seven-fold twine, Where the spent storm is hasting on its march And there the glories of thy light combine, And form, with perfect curve, a lifted line, Striding the earth and air ; ; man looks and tells How Peace and Mercy in its beauty shine, And how the heavenly messenger impels Her glad wings on the path, that thus in ether swells. The ocean is thy vassal ;—thou dost sway His waves to thy dominion, and they go Where thou, in heaven, dost guide them on their way, Rising and falling in eternal flow : “Thou lookest on the waters, and they glow, And take them wings,and spring aloft in air, And change to clouds, and then, dissolving, throw Their treasures back to earth, and, rushing, tear The mountain and the vale, as proudly on Y they bear. In thee, first light, the bounding ocean smiles, When the quick winds uprear it in a swell, That rolls in glittering green around the isles, Where ever-springing fruits and blossoms dwell. Oh! with a gifted joy no tongue can tell, I hurry o’er the waters when the sail Swells tensely, and the light keel glances well Over the curling billow, and the gale 287 at Ra Comes off from spicy groves to tell its winning tale—Perrccva.. 288 : eae heh, | b t f p ee | ‘i 4 > - i il if i M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE LESSON CXXXil DARKNESS I wap a dream, which was not all a dream. The bright sun was extinguished, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space, Rayless and pathless, and the icy earth Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air; Morn came, and went—and came, and brought no day, And men forgot their passions, in the dread Of this their desolation; and all hearts Were chilled into a selfish prayer for light. And they did live by watch-fires ; and the thrones, The palaces of crowned kings; the huts, The habitations of all things which dwell, _ Were burnt for beacons; cities were consumed, And men were gathered round their blazing homes To look once more into each other’s face; Happy were those who dwelt within the eye Of the voleanoes and their mountain torch. A fearful hope was all the world contained ; Forests were set on fire ; but, hour by hour, They fell and faded, and the crackling trunks Extinguished with a crash ;—and all was black. The brows of men, by the ‘unearthly light, Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits The flashes fell upon them ; some lay down, And hid their eyes, and wepts and some did rest Their chins upon their clinched hands, and smiled ; And others hurried to and fro, and fed Their funeral piles with fuel, and look’d up With mad disquietude on the dull sky, The pall of a past world ; and then again, With curses cast them down upon the dust, And gnash’d their teeth and howl’d. The wild birds shriek’d, : And, terrified, did flutter on the ground, And flap their useless wings; the wildest. brutes Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl’d And twin’d themselves among the multitude, Hissing, but stingless:—they were slain for food : And War, which for a moment was no more, Did glut himself again; a meal was bought - With blood, and each sat sullenly apart, Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left; All earth was but one thought, and that was death, immediate and inglorious; and the pang Of famine fed upon all entrails; men Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh, CF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 289 The meager by the meager were devouret 5 Even dogs assail’d their masters, all save one, And he was faithful to a corse, and kept ‘The birds, and beasts, and famished men at bay, Till hinger clung them, or the dropping dead - Lured their lan jaws; himself sought out no food, But with a piteous and pe-petual moan, And a quick,desolate crv, licking the hand Which answered not with a caress, he died. The crowd was famished by degrees; but two Of an enormous city did survive, And they were enemies ; they met beside _ The dying embers of an altar-place, f Where had been heap’d a mass of holy things For an unholy usage: they raked up, And, shivering, scraped with their cold, skeleton handg, The feeble ashes, and they made a flame Which was a mockery ; then, they lifted up Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld Each other’s aspects—saw, and shriek’d, and died— Even of their mutual hideousness they died, ‘Unknowing who he was, upon whose brow Famine had written Fiend. - The world was void; The populous and the powerful was a lump, Seasonless, herblesailllcléss, manless, lifeless A lump of death—a chaos of hard clay. The rivers, lakes, and ocean,all stood still, And nothing stirred within their silent depths; Ships, sailorless, lay rotting on the sea, And their masts fell down piecemeal ; as they dropp’d, They slept on the abyss without a surge. The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave; The moon, their mistress had expired before; The winds were wither’d in the stagnant dir, And the clouds perish’d. Darkness had no need ta Of aid from them.—She was: the universe.—Byron. _ Cok rae : "a ae LESSON CXXXIII. CHARACTER OF THE PURITANS. ‘lims Puritans were men, whose minds had drawn a peculiar character from the daily contemplation of superior beings and eternal interests. Not contented with acknowledging, in general terms, an over-ruling Providence, they habitually ascribed every event to the Great Being, for whose power nothing was too vast, fur whose inspection nothing was too minute. ‘To know him, 25 Ow : —. 290 | M'’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE to serve him, to enjoy him, was, with them, the ere end uf ex- istence. ~ - They rejected, with contempt, the ceremonious homage which other sects substituted for the pure worship of the,soul. Instead of catching occasional glimpses of the deity through an obscur- ing vail, they aspired to gaze full on the intolerable brightness, and to commune with him, face to face. Hence originated their eontempt for terrestrial distinctions. . The difference between the greatest and meanest of mankind seemed to vanish, when compared with the boundless interval which separated the whole race from him on whom their-eyes were constantly fixed. They revognized no | title to superiority, but his favor; and confident of that favor, the ‘ despised all. the*a dignities of: the world. If they Wire unacquainted wih the works of philosophers and poets, they were deeply read in the oracles of God. If their names were not found in the registers of heralds, they felt assured that they were recorded in the Book of Life. If their steps were pot accompanied by a splendid train of menials, eagens of ministering angels had charge over them. Their palacéS were houses not made with hands;, their diadems, crowns of glory which should never fade away ! » On the rich and the eloquent, “on nobles and priests, they looked down with contempt: forthey esteemed themselves rich in a more precious treasure, and e@Mquent in a more sublime lan- guage; nobles by the right of ar earlier creation, and priests Ly the imposition of a mightier hand. ‘The very meanest of them was a being, to whose fate a mysterious and terrible importance belonged ; on whose slightest action the spirits of light and dark- ness looked with anxious interest; who iad been destined, before heaven and earth were creat njoy a felicity which should continue when heaven and ear yuld have passed away. Events, which. yshort-sighted politicians ascribed to earthly causes rad bec on 0 rained on his aceon For his sake, em- | h ed. For his'sake, the e pen of the s evangelist D1 He had been | rescued, by no common ‘ificoree from th é grasp of no common foe. He had been ransomed, by the sweat of no vulgar glory, by the blood of no earthly sacrifice. It was for him, that the sun had teen darkened, that the rocks had been rent, that the dead had ari:en, that all nature had shuddered at the sufferings of her expiring . God! Thus, the Puritan was made up of two different mén,—the one,-all self-abasement, penitence, gratitude, passion; the other, proud, calm, inflexible, sagacious. He prostrated himself in the dust before his Maker; but he set his foot on the neck of his OF THE ECLECTIC ‘SE DRIES. ‘ ure ao king. In his devotional retirement, he prayed with convulsions, and groans, and tears. He was half maddened by glorious or terrible illusions. He heard the lyres of angels, or the tempt- ing whispers of fiends. He caught a gleam of the beatific vision, or waked screaming, from dreams of everlasting fire. But when he took his seat in the council, or girt on his sword for war, these tempestuous workings of the soul had left no perceptible trace behind them. People who saw nothing of the Puritans but their uncouth visages, and heard nothing from them but their groans and hymns, might laugh at them. - But those had little reason to laugh, who encountered them in the hall of debate or in the field of battle. feos The Puritans brought to civil, and military affairs a coolness of judgment and an immutability of purpose, which some wri- ters have thought inconsistent with their religious zeal, but which were, in fact, the necessary. effects of it. The intensity of their feelings on one subject, had made them tranquil on every other. One overpowering sentiment had subjected to itself, pity, hatred, ambition, and fear. Death had lost its terrors; and pleasure, its charms. ‘They had their smiles and their tears, their raptures and their sorrows, but not for the things of this world. Enthu- siasm had made them stoics, had cleared their minds from every vulgar passion and prejudice, a and raised them above the influence of danger and of corruption. It sometimes might lead them to pursue unwise ends, but never to choose unwise means. ‘They went through the world, crushing and trampling down oppression ; mingling with human beings, but having neither part nor lot in human infirmities ; insensible to fatigue, to pleasure, and to pain; not to be pierced by au * apd ‘not to be withstood by any barrier. Such, we believe, to have been the character of the Puritans. We perceive the absurdity of their manners; we dislike the gloom of their domestic habits ; we acknowledge that the tone of their minds was often inj red, by straining - ‘after things too high for mortal reach 3 and we know, that, in spite of their hatred of popery, they too ten fell into the vices of that bad system, intolerance and extravagant austerity. Yet, when all circum- stances are taken into consideration, we do not hesitate to pro- nounce them a brave, a wise, an honest, and a useful body. “a EXpinpuren Review. SIO ged * 292 = M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE LESSON CXXXIV. THE MEMORY OF OUR FATHERS. We are called upon to cherish with high veneration and grate- ful recollections, the memory of our fathers. Both the ties of nature and the dictates of policy, demand this. And surely, no nation had ever less occasion to be ashamed of its ancestry, or more occasion for gratulation in that respect; for, while most nations trace their origin to barbarians, the foundations of our nation were laid by civilized men—by christians. Many of them were men of distinguished families, of powerful talents, of great learning and of pre-eminent wisdom, of decision of charac- ter and of most inflexible integrity. And yet not unfrequently, they have been treated as if they had no virtues; while their sins and follies, have been aber immortalized in satirical anecdote. ‘The influence of such treatment of our fathers is too mani- fest. It creates, and lets loose upon their institutions, the van- dal spirit of innovation and overthrow ; for after the memory of our fathers shall have been rendered contemptible, who will ap- preciate and sustain their institutions? Zhe memory pratt thers, should be the watchword of liberty throughout the land: for, imperfect as they were, the world before had not seen their like, nor willit soon, we fear, behold their like again. ~ Such _ models of moral excellence, such apostles of civil and religious liberty, such shades f the illustrious dead, looking down upon their descendants witn approbation or reproof, according as they follow or depart from the good way, constitute a censorship in- ferior only to the eye of God; ar d to ridicule them, is national suicide. ‘The doctrines of our fathers have been represented as gloomy, superstitious, severe, irrational, and of a licentious tendency. But when other systems shall have produced a piety as devoted, a morality as pure, a patriotism as disinterested, and a state of society as happy, as have prevailed where their doctrines have been most prevalent, it may be in season to seek an answer to this objection. The persecutions instituted by our fathers, have been the oc- casion of ceaseless obloquy upon dheir fair fame. And truly, it was a fault of no ordinary magnitude, that sometimes they did persecute. But let him whose ancestors were not ten times more guilty, cast the first stone, and the ashes of our fathers will no more be disturbed. ‘Theirs was the fault of the age, and it will be easy to show, that no class of men had, at that time, approximated so nearly to just apprehensions of religious 4 OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 293 + liberty; and that it is to them that the world is now indebted, for the more just and definite views which now prevail. The superstition and bigotry of our fathers, are themes on which some of their descendants, themselves fer enough from superstition, if not from bigotry, have delighted to dwell. But when we look abroad, and behold the condition of the world, compared with the condition of New England, we may justly exclaim, ‘“* Would to God that the ancestors of all the nations, had been not only almost, but altogether such bigots as our fathers were.’’—Dr. BeEcHer. LESSON CXXXV. THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS Tue breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky, Their giant branches tossed ; And the heavy night hung dark The hills and waters o’er, When a band of exiles moored their bark On the wild New England shore. Not as the conqueror comes, They, the true-hearted, came’, Not with the roll of the stirring drums, And the trumpet that sings of fame’. Not as the flying come, In silence, and in fear’ ; They shook the depths of the desert’s gloom - With their hymns of lofty cheer. ~ Amidst the storm they sang, And the stars heard, and the sea; And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free. The ocean eagle soared From his nest by the white wave’s foam, And the rocking pines of thé forest roared 5 This was their welcome home. There were men with hoary hair, Amid that pilgrim band, Why had they come to wither there, Away from their childhood’s land? 294 Serra a PP Ee oe Se ee + M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE There was woman’s fearless eye, Lit by her deep love’s truth; There was manhood’s brow, serenely Rakes And the fiery heart of youth. What sought they thus afar‘? Bright jewels of ithe mine’? The wealth of seas’, the spoils of war’? They sought a faith’s pure shrine! Aye, call it holy ground, The soil where first they trod! They have left unstained what there they found—_ Freedom to worship God !—~Hermans. LESSON CXXXVI. SONG OF EMIGRATION. id THERE was heard a song on the chiming sea,’ A mingled breathing of grief and glee ; Man’s voice unbroken by sighs was there, Filling with.triumph the sunny air; Of fresh, green lands, and of pastures new, It sang, while the bark through the surges flew. But ever and anon A murmur of farewell, Told by its plaintive tone, That from woman’s lip it fell. ‘Away, away o’er the foaming mainl”’ This was the free and joyous strain— ‘*'There are clearer skies than ours afar, We will shape our course by a brighter star; There are plains whose verdure no foot hath pressed, And whose wealth is all for the first-brave guest.” ‘But alas! that we should go,” Sang the farewell voices then, ‘From the homesteads warm and low, By the brook and in the glen!” ‘‘ We will rear new homes, under trees that glow As if gems were the fruitage of every bough ; O’er our white walls we will train the-vine, And sit in its shadow at day’s decline; And watch our herds as they range at will Through the green savannahs, all bright and still.” : « But woe for that sweet shade Of the flowering orchard-trees, Where first our children played *Midst birds and honey-bees !” OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 295 “ATI all our own shall the forests Be, As to the bound of the roe-buck free! None shall say, ‘Hither, no farther pass We will track each step through the wavy grass; We will chase the elk in his speed and might, And bring proud spoils to the hearth at night.” ** But oh! the gray church-tower, And the sound of the Sabbath-bell, And the sheltered garden-bower, We have bid them ali farewell !”’ “ We will give the names of our fearless race To each bright river whose course we trace; ~ We will leave our memory with mounts and floods, And the path of our daring, in boundless woods ; , And our works on many a lake’s green shore, we Where the indians’ graves lay alone, before.” ‘¢ But who shall teach the flowers Which our children loved, to dwell ual In a soil that is not ours? —Home, home and friends, farewell !’’—Hemans. LESSON CXXXVII. POETRY OF THE BIBLE. One of the most eminent critics has said, that “ devotional poetry cannot please.” If it be so, then has the Bible carried the dominion of poetry into regions that are inaccessible to worldly ambition. -It has erossed the enchanted circle, and, by the beauty, boldness, and originality of its conceptions, has given to devotional poetry a glow, a richness, a tenderness, in vain sought for in Shakspeare or Cowper, in Scott or in Byron. Where is there poetry that can be compared with the song of Moses, after the destruction of Pharaoh; with the psalms of David; with the song of Solomon; and with the prophecies of _ Isaiah? Where is there an elegiac ode to be compared with the song of David, upon the death of Saul and Jonathan, or the la- mentations of Jeremiah? Where, in ancient or modern poetry, is there a passage like this? “In thoughts from the visions of the night, when deep sleep falleth on man, fear came upon me, and trembling, which made all my bones to shake. Then a spirit passed before my face: the hair of my flesh stood up. It stood still, but | could not discern the. form thereof. An image was before mine eyes. ‘There was silence. And I heard a voice, saying, ‘Shall mortal man be more just than God? shall a man be more pure than his Maker? Behold he putteth no trust in 296 M'GUFFEY’S RIIETORICAL GUIDE his servants, and his angels he chargeth with folly. How much less in them that dwell in houses of clay, whose foundation is as the dust, and who are crushed before the moth!” Men, who have felt the power of poetry, when they have marked the «‘ deep-working passion of Danté,’”? and observed the elevation of Milton, as he “combined i image with unage, in lofiy gradations,” have thought that they discovered the indebiedness of these writers to the poetry of the Old Testament. But how much more sublime is Isaiah than Milten! .How much more enkindling than Danté, is David! How much more picturesque than Homer, is Solomon or Job! Like the rapid and glowing argumentations of Paul, the poetic parts of the Bible may be read a thousand times, and they have all the freshness and glow of the first perusal. __ Where, in the compass of human language, is there a para- graph, which, for boldness and variety of metaphor, delicacy and majesty of thought, strength and invention, elegance and refine- _ ment, equals the passage in which “ God answers Job out of the whirlwind??? What merely human imagination, in the natural progress of a single discourse, and, apparently, without effort, ever thus went down to « the foundations of the earth ;”’ stood at ** the doors of the ocean ;”’ visited “the place where the day- spring from on high takes hold of the uttermost parts of the earth ;”’ entered-into ‘‘ the treasures of the snow and the hail ;” traced “the path of the thunderbolt ;’? and, penetrating the re- tired chambers of nature, demanded, ** Hath the rain a father? or, who hath begotten the drops of the dew?’ And how bold its flights, how inexpressibly striking and beautiful its antithesis, when, from the warm and sweet Pleiades, it wanders to the sterner Orion; and, in its rapid course, hears the “ young lions crying unto God, for lack of meat;”’ sees the war-horse pawing in the valley; descries the eagle on the crag of the rock ; and, in all that is vast and minute, dreadful and heautibal, discovers and proclaims the glory of Him, who is “excellent in counsel, and wonderful in working ?”’ The style of Hebrew poetry is every where forcible and figu- rative, beyond example. ‘The book of Job stands not alone in ‘his sententious, spirited, and energetic form and manner. It _ revails throughout the poetic part of the Scriptures; and they stand, confessedly, the most eminent eae ples to be found, of . the truly sublime and beautiful. I confess, I have not i a of the spirit of poetry. It is a fire that is enkindled at the living lamp of nature, and glows only on a few favored altars. And yet, 1 cannot but love the poetic associations of the Bible. Now, they are sublime and beautiful, like the mountain torrent, swollen and impetuous, by the sudden bursting of the cloud; now, they ay OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 297 are grand and awful, like the stormy Galilee, when the tempest beat “upon the fearful disci ile es3 ape they are placid as that calm lake, when the Savior’s feet have touched iis waters, and stilled them into peace. There is, also, a sublimity, an inven ve in the imagery of fhe Bible, that is found in no other book. In the Bible, you have allegory, apologue, | parable, and enigma, all clearly intelli- gible, ea enforcing truth are 5 strong and indelible 1 impression, You have significant actions, uttering volumes of instruction; as when “ Jesus called a little child, and set him in the midst of his disciples, and.said, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shail not enter into the kingdom of heaven;”’ as _ when he cursed the barren fig-tree; as when he ‘* washed. his disciples’ feet.”” And where is there a comparison like this? ‘And the heavens Perera as a scroll, when it is rolled togeth- er.’ Where is there-a description like this? «And I saw an _angel standing in the sun, and he cried with a loud voice, saying to all the fowls that fly in the midst of heaven, Come, and gather yourselves together unto the supper of the great God.’ Or, where is there a sentence like the following? “And I saw a. great white throne, and him that sat on it, from whose face the earth and the heavens fled away, and there was found no place for them.” English literature is no common debtor to the Bible. In what department of English literature,may not the difference be dis- covered between the spirit and sentiments of christian writers, and those who have drawn all their materials of thought and of ornament, from pagan writers? We find a proof of the supe- riority of christian principles, even in those works of imagina- tion, which are deemed scarcely susceptible of influence from religion. ‘The common. romance and the novel, with all their fooleries and ravings, would be more contemptible than they are, did they not, sometimes, undesignedly, catch a conception, or adorn a character from the rich treasury of revelation. And the more splendid fictions of the poet, derive their highest charm from the evangelical philanthropy, tenderness, and sublimity that invest them. But for the Bible, Homer and Milton might have stood upon the same shelf, equal in morality, as they are com- petitors for renown; Young had been ranked with Juvenal; and Cowper had united with Horace and with Ovid, to swell the tide of voluptuousness.—Dr. Sprine. 298 M'GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE LESSON CXXXVIII. SONG OF MOSES AFTER THE PASSAGE OF THE ’ RED. SBeAs I wii sing unto the Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously ; The horse and his rider hath he whelmed in the sea. My praise and my song is Jehovah, And he is become my salvation: He is my God, and I will praise him; My father’s God, and I will exalt him. Jehovah is a man of war: Jehovah is his name. ‘The chariots of Pharaoh and his hosts hath he cast into the sea, And his choicest leaders into the Red sea. i The floods have covered them; they went down; — Into the abyss they went down as a stone. Thy right hand, O Jehovah, hath made itself glorious in power: Thy right hand, O Jehovah, hath dashed in pieces the enemy ; And in the strength of thy majesty, thou hast destroyed thine adver- saries. . Thou didst let loose thy wrath: it consumed them like stubble. With the blast of thy nostrils the waters were heaped together: 'The flowing waters stood upright as a heap: The floods were congealed in the heart of the sea. The enemy said, I will pursue, I will overtake; I will divide the spoil; my soul shall be satisfied : I will draw my sword, my hand shall destroy them.” Thou didst blow with thy breath, the sea covered them: They sank as lead in the mighty waters. Who is like unto thee among the gods, O Jehovah! Who is like unto thee, making thyself gloricus in holiness, Fearful in praises, executing wonders ! Thou didst stretch out thy right hand,—the earth swallowed them. Thou hast led forth,in thy mercy, the people whom thou hast redeemed; ‘Thou hast guided them in thy strength to the habitation of thy holiness. The people shall hear, and be disquieted : _ Terror shall seize the inhabitants of Philistia. Then,the nobles of Edom shall be confounded: The mighty ones of Moab, trembling shall take hold upon them: All the inhabitants of Canaan shall melt away: ‘Terror and perplexity shall fall upon them: Because of the greatness of thine arm, they shall be still as a stone, Till thy people pass over, O Jehovah, Till the people pass over whom thou hast redeemed.’ Thou shalt bring them in, and plant them in the mountains of thine inheritance, The place for thy dwelling which thou hast prepared, O Jehovah! ‘The sanctuary, O Lord, which thy hands have established. Jehovah shall reign forever and ever!—l5ru cHap. or Exopus. a ae Ee OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 299 LESSON CXXXIX. THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER In a remote period of antiquity, when the supernatural and the marvelous obtained a readier credence than now, it was fabled, that a stranger of extraordinary appearance was observed passing the streets of one of the magnificent cities of the east, remarking, with an eye of intelligent curiosity, every surround- ing object. Several individuals gathering around- him, ques- tioned him concerning his country and his business; but they presently perceived that he was unacquainted with their lan- guage, and he soon discovered himself to be equally ignorant of the most common usages of society. At the same time, the dignity and intelligence of his air and demeanor, forbade the idea of his being either a barbarian or a lunatic. When, at length, he understood by their signs, that they wished to be fifovisied whence he came, he pointed with great significance to the sky ; upon which, the crowd, concluding him to be one of their deities, were proceeding to pay him divine honors ; but he no sooner comprehended their design, than he rejected it with horror; and, bending his knees and raising his hands toward heaven, in the attitude of prayer, gave them to un- derstand that he also was a worshiper of ‘the powers above. After a time, it is said, the mysterious stranger accepted the hos- pitalities of one of the nobles of the city ; under whose roof he applied himself with great diligence to the acquirement of the language, in which he made such surprising proficiency, that, in a few days, he was able to hold intelligent intercourse with those around him. ‘The noble host now resolved to take an early opportunity of satisfying his curiosity respecting the country and quality of his guest; and, upon his expressing his desire, the stranger as- sured him, that he would answer his inquiries that evening, after sunset. Accordingly, as night approached, he led him forth upon | the balconies of the palace, which overlooked the wealthy and* populous city. Innumerable lights from its busy streets and splendid palaces, were now reflected in the dark bosom of its noble river ; where stately vessels, laden with rich merchandise from all parts of the known world, lay anchored in the port. This was a city in which the voice of the harp-and the viol, and. the sound of the mill-stone, were continually heard ; and crafts- men of all kinds of craft were there ; and the light of a candle was seen in every dwelling; and the voice of the bridegroom and the voice of the bride were heard there. The stranger mused awhile upon the glittering scene ; and a 300 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE listened to the confused murmur of mingling sounds. Then, suddenly raising his eyes to the starry firmament, he fixed them with an expressive gaze, on the beautiful evening star, which was just sinking behind a dark grove, that surrounded one of the principal temples of the city. * Marvel not,”’ said he to his host, that I am wont to gaze with fond affection on yon silvery star. That was my home; yes, I was lately an ‘~*abitant of © that tranquil planet; from whence a vain curiosity nas «au, ied me to wander. Often had I beheld, with wondering admiration, this brilliant world of yours, even one of the brightest gems of our firma- ment, and the ardent desire I had long felt to know something of its condition, was at length unexpectedly gratified. I received permission and power from above to traverse the mighty void, and to direct my course to this distant sphere.» To that. per- mission, however, one condition was annexed, to which my ea- gerness for the enterprise induced me hastily to consent— namely, that I must thenceforth remain an inhabitant of this strange earth, and undergo all the vicissitudes to which its na- tives are subject. ‘Tell me, therefore, I pray you, what is the lot of man; and explain to me more fully than I yet understand, all that I see and hear around me.”’ . “Truly, sir,”’ replied the astonished noble, “although I am altogether unacquainted with the manners and customs, produets and privileges of your country, vet, methinks, I cannot but con- gratulate you on your arrival in our world; especially since it has been your good fortune to alight on a part of it, affording such various sources of enjoyment, as this our opulent and lux- uriant city. And be assured it will be my pride and pleasure, to introduce you to all that is most worthy the attention of such a distinguished foreigner.” | Our adventurer, accordingly, was presently initiated into those arts of luxury and pleasure, which were there well understood. He was introduced by his obliging friend to their public games and festivals ; to their theatrical diversions and convivial assem- ~Uhes ; and, in a short time, he began to feel some relish for amuse- ments, the meaning of which, at first, he could scarcely compre- hend. ‘The next lesson which it became desirable to impart to him, was the necessity of acquiring wealth, as the only means of obtaining pleasure. ‘This fact was no sooner understood by the stranger, than he gratefully accepted the offer of his friendly host, to place him in a situation in which he might amass riches. To this object he began to apply himself with diligence ; and soon became, in some measure, reconciled to the manners and customs of our planet, strangely as they differed from those of his own.—JAnE Taytor. x OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 301 LESSON CXL. THE SAME.—CONCLUDED. " He had been but a few weeks diligently engaged in his new plans for the acquisition of wealth, when, walking in the cool of the day with his friend, in the outskirts of. the. city, his at- tention was arrested by the appearance of a spacious enclosur» near which they passed. He inquired the use to which it wa appropriated. ‘It is,’ replied the nobleman, “a place of public interment.” ‘+I do not understand you,” said the stranger. “It is the place,’’ repeated his friend, ‘* where we bury our dead.” “‘[{xcuse me, sir,’ replied his companion, with some embar- rassment, ‘I must trouble you to explain yourself yet further.” The nobleman repeated the information in still plainer terms. “I am still at a loss to comprehend you perfectly,” said the stranger, turning deadly pale. ‘‘'This must relate to something of which I was not only totally ignorant in my own world, but of which I have, as yet, had no intimation in yours. I pray you, therefore, to satisfy my c-iriosity; for if I have any clewto your meaning, this, surely, is a matter of more mighty concern- ment, than any to which you have hitherto directed me.” “My good friend,”’ replied the nobleman, ‘* you must indeed be a novice among us, if you have yet to learn that we must all, sooner or later, submit to take our place in these dismal abodes. Nor will I deny, that it is one of the least desirable of the circum- stances which appertain to our condition ; for which reason it is a matter rarely referred to in polished ‘cpak ; and this accounts for your being hitherto uninformed on the subject. But truly, sir, if the inhabitants of the place from whence you came are not liable to any similar misfortune, I advise you to betake yourself ‘back again with all speed; for be assured there is no escape, - here, nor could I guaranty your safety even for a single hour.’”. ‘Alas !”’ replied the adventurer, ‘I must submit. to ‘the condi- tions of my enterp. ise, of which, till now, I little understood the import. But explain (vs me, I beseech you, something more of the nature and consequence of this wondro us cha nge, and tell me at what period it commonly happens to man.’ While he thus spoke, his voice faltered, and his whole frame shook violently ; his countenance was as pale as death. By this time his com- panion, finding the discourse becoming more serious than was agreeable, declared he must refer him to the priests for further information, this subject being very much out of his province. ‘How!’ exclaimed the stranger, “then I cannot have under- stood you. Do the priests only die? are you not to die also?” His friend, evading these questions, hastily conducted his im- 302, . «s M’GUFFBY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE es portunate companion to one of their magnificent temples, where _ he gladly consigned him to the instructions of the priesthood. | The emotion, which the stranger had. betrayed when he received the first idea of death, was yet slight in comparison with | that-which he experienced as soon as he gathered, from the dis- courses of the priests, some notions of immortality, and of the alternative of happiness or misery in a future state. But this agony of mind was exchanged for transport, when he learned 3 i aoe ‘ that, by the performance of certain conditions before death, the state of happiness might be secured. His eagerness to learn the . nature of these terms, excited the surprise and even the contempt ! pens : up ; rhe, Sete | of his sacred teachers. ‘They advised him to remain satisfied for the present with the instructions he had received, and defer the remainder of the discussion till to-morrow. “ How!” ex- : claimed the novice, “say ye not that death may come at any hour? may it not come: this hour? and what if it should come, before I have performed these conditions? O! withhold: not ~ the excellent knowledge from me,a single moment!” io nN The priests, suppressing a smile at his simplicity, proc¢eed- ed to explain their theology to their attentive auditor. But who can describe the ecstasy of his happiness, when he was given to understand the required conditions were, generally, of easy and pleasant-performance, and the occasional difficulties, _which might attend them, would entirely cease with the short term of -his earthly existence. ‘If, then, I understand you rightly,”’ said he to his instructors, “this event which-you call death, and which seems in itself strangely terrible, is most desi- rable and blissful. What a favor is this which is granted tome, in being sent to inhabit a planet in which I can die !” dan The priests again exchanged smiles with each other; but their ridicule was wholly lost on the enraptured stranger, When the first transports of his emotion had subsided, he began 10 reflect with more uneasiness on the time he had already lost since his arrival. “Alas! what have I been coing?”’ exclaimed he. ‘This gold which I have been collecting, tell me, reverend priests, will it avail me anything when the thirty or forty years are expired, which you say I may possibly sojourn in your plan- et?’ « Nay,”’ replied the priests, “but verily you will find it of excellent use so long as you remain in it.’ “A very little of it will sufice me,”’ replied he; “ for consider how soon this period — will be past. What avails it what my condition may be foro — short a season? Iwill betake myself from this hour,.to the grand concerns of which you have so charitably informed me.”” Accordingly, from that period, continues the legend, the stran- ger devoted himself to the performance of those conditions on which, he was told, his future welfare depended; but, in so do- God of 7 aps, © OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES.» , 303 Px ing, he had an opposition to encounter wholly unexpected, and for which he was at a loss even to account.» By, thus devoting his chief attention to his chief interests, he excited the surprise, the contempt, and even the enmity of most of the inhabitants of the city; and they rarely mentioned him but with a term of re- proach, which has been variously rendered in all the modern languages. Nothing could equal the stranger’ S surprise at this circum: stance ; as well as that of his fellow-citizens’ appearing, generally, so extremely indifferent as they did, to their own interests. That they should have so little prudence and forethought, as to provide only for their necessities and pleasures, for that short part of their existence in which they were to remain on this planet, he could but consider as-the effect of disordered intellect ; so that he even returned their incivilities to himself with affec- tionate expostulation, accompanied by lively emotions of compas- sion and amazement. If-ever_ he “was tempted for a moment to violate any of the conditions: ‘of his future happiness, he bewailed his own madness with agonizing emotions ; and to all the invitations he received from others to do anything inconsistent with his real interests, he had but one answer—* Oh,’ he would say, “1 am to die—I * “am to die. ”——JANE 'TAyLor. ae ies - _% ©LESSON OXLI. te CRATER OF KIRAUEA. ~ Axsout two o’clock in the afternoon, the crater of Kirauea suddenly burst upon our view. We expected to have seen a mountain with a broad base, and rough, indented sides, and whose summits would have presented a rugged wall of scoria, forming the rim of a mighty caldron. But, instead of this, we found ourselves on the edge of a steep precipice, with a vast plain before us, fifteen or sixteen miles in circumference, and sunk from two. hundred to four hundred feet below its oriyinal level. «The surface of this plain was uneven, and strewed over ~ with large stones and volcanic rocks, and, in the’ center of it, order to find a place by which we mi below ; and we soon discovered a point, from which—the preci- was the great erater, at the distance of a mile and a half from the precipice on which we were standing. Our guides led us round toward the north end of the ridge, in ght descend to the plain pice being less steep—a descent seemed practicable. It required, balls 304 Mw GUPFEY S RE ETORICAL GUIDE however, the greatest caution, as the stones and fragments of rock frequently gave way under our feet, and rolled down from above; but, with all our care, we did not reach the botiom, with- out several falls and slight bruises. The steep, which we had descended, was formed of volcanic matter, apparently a light red and gray kind of lava, lying in horizontal strata, varying in thickness from one to forty feet. In a small number of places, the different strata of lava were also rentin perpendicular or oblique directions, from the top to the bottom, either by earthquakes, or other violent convulsions of the ground, connected with the action of the adjacent-volcano. After walking some distance over the sunken plaim, which, in several places, sounded hollow under our feet, we, at length, came to the edge of the great crater, where a Neate sublime, and even appalling, presented itself before us “We stopped and trembled.’’ Astonishment and awe, for some moments, rendered us mute; and, like statues, we stood fixed to the spot, with our eyes riveted on the thea below. Immediately before us,yawned an immense gulf, in the form of a crescent, about two miles in length, from north-east to south-west, nearly a mile in width, and, apparently, eight hundred feet deep. The bottom was covered with lava, and the south-west and northern parts of it were one vast flood of burning matter, in a state of terrific ebullition, rolling to and fro its “fiery surge,’’ and flaming billows. Fifty-one conical islands, of varied form and size, containing as many craters, rose either round the edge, or from the surface of the burning lake. ‘Twenty-two constantly emitted columns of gray smoke or pyra- mids of brilliant fame; and several of these, at the same time, vomited from their ignited mouths, streams of lava, which rolled in blazing torrents down their black, indented sides, into the boiling mass below. ‘ The existence of these conical craters led us to conclude, that the boiling caldren of lava before us did not form the focus of the voleano ; that this mass of melted lava was comparatively shal- low;and that the basin in which it was contained, was separated, by a stratum of solid matter, from the great voleanic abyss, which con a ed bpured out its melted contents, through these numer- ous craters, into this reservoir. We were further inclined to hide opinion, eon the vast columns of vapor continually ascending from the chasms in the vicinity of the sulphur banks and pools of water; for they must have been produced by other fire, than that which caused the ebullition in the lava at the bottom of the great crater; and, also, by noticing a great number of small cra- . = ters in vigorous action, situated high up the sides of the great wetter res ~+* OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES): 305 gulf, and, apparently, quite detached from it. ‘The streams of lava which they emitted, rolled down into the lake and mingled. with the melted mass, which, though thrown up by different apertures, had, perhaps, been originally fused in one vast fur- nace. | The sides of the gulf before us, although composed of different strata of ancient lava, were perpendicular, for about four hundred feet, and rose from a wide, horizontal ledge of solid, black lava, of irregular breadth, but extended completely round. Beneath this ledge, the sides sloped gradually towards the burning lake, which was, as nearly as. we could judge, three or four hundred feet lower. It was evident, that the large crater had been re- cently filled with liquid lava, up to this black ledge, and had, by some subterranean canal, emptied itself into the sea, or upon the low land, on the shore. The gray, and, in some places, apparently calcined sides of the great crater before us; the fissures, which intersected the surface of the plain, on which we were standing; the long banks of sulphur on the apposite sides of the abyss; the vigorous ac- tion of the numerous small craters on its borders; the dense col- umns of vapor and smoke, that rose at the north and south end of the plain, together with the ridge of steep rocks, by which it was surrounded, rising, probably, in some places, three or four hundred feet, in perpendicular height, presented an immense, vol- eanic panorama, the effect of which was greatly augmented, by the constant roaring of the vast furnaces below. After the first feelings of astonishment had subsided, we re- mained a considerable time contemplating this scene, which it is impossible to describe, and which filled us with wonder and ad- miration, at the almost overwhelming manifestation it affords of the power of that dread Being, who created the world, and who “has declared, that by fire he will one day destroy it. We then walked along, the west side of the crater, and, in half an hour, reached the north end.—E 111s. LESSON CXIIl. fe APOSTROPHE TO NIAGAR & - F Low on forever, in thy glorious robe Of: terror and of beauty. God hath set : His rainbow on thy forehead, and the clouds Mantled around thy feet. And He doth give Thy voice of thunder power to speak of Him x Kternally ;—bidding the lip of man 26 306 & M'GU FFEYS RHETORICAL GUIDE Keep silence, and upon thy rocky altar, pour Incense of awe-struck praise. And who can dare To lift the.insect tramp of earthly hope, Or love, or sorrow, ’mid the peal sublime Of thy tremendous hymn! Even ocean shrinks Back from thy brotherhood, and his wild waves Retire abashed ; for he doth sometimes seem To sleep like a spent laborer, and recall His wearied billows from their vexmg play, And lull them to a cradle calm: but thou; With everlasting, undecaying tide, Dost rest not night nor day. . The morning stars, When first they sang o’er young creation’s birth, Heard thy deep anthem; and those wrecking fires That wait the archangel’s signal, to dissolve The solid earth, shall find Jehovah’s name Graven, as with a thousand diamond spears, On thine unfathomed page. Hach leafy bough, That lifts itself within thy proud domain, Doth gather greenness from thy living spray, ‘And tremble at the baptism. Lo! yon birds Do venture boldly near, bathing their wings Amid thy foam and mist. ’Tis meet for them To touch thy garments here, or lightly stir The snowy leaflets of thy vapor-wreath, — Who sport unharmed on the fleecy cloud, And listen at the echoing gate of heaven, Without reproof. But as for us, it seems Scarce lawful with our broken tones to speak Familiarly of thee. Methinks, to tint Thy glorious features with our pencil’s point, Or woo thee with the tablet of a song, Were profanation. Thou dost make the soul A wondering witness of thy majesty, ~ And while it rushes with delirious joy To tread thy vestibule, dost chain its step, And check its rapture, with the humbling view Of its cwn nothingness, bidding it stand In the d ead presence of the invisible, As if to mswer to its God through thee.—Mrs. Sicourner. OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 307 LESSON CXULII GOD,THE AUTHOR OF ALL THINGS Tuovu uncreate, unseen, and undefined, Source of all life, and fountain of the mind; Pervading Spirit, whom no eye can trace, Felt through all time, and working in all space Imagination cannot paint that spot, Around, above, beneath, where thou art not. Before the giad stars hymned to new-born earth. Or young creation reveled in its birth, Thy spirit moved upon the pregnant deep, Unchained the waveless waters from their sleep, Bade 'Time’s majestic wings to be unfurled, And out of darkness drew the breathing world! Primeval Power! before thy thunder rang, iene nature from Eternity out-sprang, a Ere matter formed at thy creative tone, | Thou wert; almighty, endless,and alone; In thine own essence, all that was to be— Sublime, unfathomable Deity ; Thou said’st—and lo! a universe was born, And light flashed from thee for his birth-day morn The Earth unshrouded all her beauty now ; The mountain monarch bared his awful brow; Flowers, fruits, and trees felt instantaneous life. But hark! Creation trembles with the strife Of roaring waves in wild commotion hurled.— *T is Ocean, winding round the rocky world ! And next, triumphant o’er the green-clad earth, The cnteeitl Sun burst into birth, And dashed from off his altitude sublime The first dread ray, that marked commencing Time! Last, came the Moon upon the wings of light, And sat in glory on the throne of Night, While fierce and fresh, a radiant host of Stars Wheeled round the heavens upon their burning cars But all was dismal as a world of dead, Till the great deep her living swarms outspread : Forth from her teeming bosom, sudden came Immingled monsters, mighty, without name ; Their plumy tribes winged into being there, And fledged their gleaming pinions on the air, Till, thick as dews upon a twilight green, Earth’s living creatures rose upon the scene! 308 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE Creation’s master-piece ! a breath of God, Ray of his glory, quickened at his nod, Immortal Man came next, divinely grand, Glorious and perfect from his Maker’s hand ; Last, softly beautiful, as music’s close, Angelic woman into being rose. And now, the gorgeous universe was rife, Full, fair, and glowing with created life; And, when the Eternal from his starry height, Beheld the young world basking in his light, And breathing incense of deep gratitude, He blessed it—for his mercy made it good! And thus, Thou wert, and art, the Fountain-soul, And countless worlds around thee live and roll ; In sun and shade, in ocean and in air, Diffused, yet undiminished—every where = All life and motion from thy source began, From worlds to atoms, angels down to man.—Mownreomery. aoe tid LESSON CXLIV THE EAGLE’S NEST. Axmosrt all the people in the parish were leading in their mead- ow-hay on the same day of: midsummer, so drying was the sun- shine. and the wind,—and huge heaped-up wains, that almost hid from view the horses that drew them along the sward be- ginning to get green with second growth, were moving in all directions towards the snug farm- ~yards. ‘Never had the parish seemed before so populous. Jocund was the balmy air with laughter, whistle, and song. But the -tree-enomons threw the shadow of “one o’clock”’ on the green dial-face of the earth; the horses were unyoked and took instantly to grazing; groups of men, women, lads, lasses, and children, collected under grove, and bush, and hedgerow ; graces were pronounced, some of them rather too tedious in presence of the mantling milk-cans, bull- ion-bars of butter, and erackling cakes ; and the great Being who gave them that day their daily bread, looked down from his eternal throne, well-pleased with the piety of his thankful ecrea- tures. ‘The great golden eagle, the pride and the pest of the parish, stooped down, and flew away with something in its talons. One. single, sudden, female shriek arose—and then, shouts.and outeries, as if a church spire had tumbled down on a congregation at a OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 309 sacrament: “ Hannah Lamond’s bairn!* Hannah Lamond’s bairn !”” was the loud, fast-spreading cry. ‘The eagle has ta’en off Hannah Lamond’s bairn !’’ and many hundred feet were, in another instant, hurrying towards the mountain. ‘T'wo miles of hill, and dale, and copse, and shingle, and many intersecting brooks lay between ; but, in an incredibly short time, the foot of the mountain was alive with people. The aerie was well known, and both old birds were visible on the rock-ledge. But who Shall scale that dizzy cliff, which Mark Steuart, the sailor, who had been at the storming of many a fort, attempted in vain? All kept gazing, weeping, wringing their hands in vain, rooted to the ground, or running back and forwards, like so many ants essaying their new wings in discom- fiture. “* What’s the use—what’s the use o’ ony puir human means? We have no power but in prayer!’ and many knelt down—fathers and mothers thinking of their own babies—as if they would force the deaf heavens to hear ! Hannah Lamond had all this while been sitting on a rock, with a face perfectly white, and eyes like those of a mad person, fixed on the aerie. Nobody had noticed her ; for strong as all sympathies with her had been at the swoop of the eagle, they were now swallowed up in the agony of eyesight. “ Only last Sabbath was = sweet wee weant baptized in the name o’ the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost!’’ and on uttering these words, she flew off through the brakes and over the huge stones, up—up—up—faster than ever huntsman ran in to the death,—fearless as a goat playing among the precipices. No one doubted, no one could doubt, that she would soon be: dashed to pieces. But have not people who walk in their sleep, obedient to the mysterious guidance of dreams, climbed the walls of old ruins, and found footing, even in decrepitude, along the edge of unguarded battlements, “and down dilapidated stair-cases, deep as draw-wells or coal- -pits, and returned with open, fixed, and unseeing eyes, unharmed to their beds, at midnight? It is all the work of the soul, to whom the body is a slave; and shall. not the agony of a mother’s passion—who sees her baby whose warm mouth had just left her breast, hurried off by a demon to a hideous death, bear her limbs aloft wherever there is dust to dust, till she reach that devouring den, and fiercer and more fu- rious far, in the passion of love, “than any bird of prey that ever bathed its beak in blood, throttle the fiends, that with their heavy wings would fain flap her down the cliffs, and hold up her child in deliverance before the eye of the all-seeing God ! No stop——no stay,—she knew not that she drew her breath, . ‘Child. Wee wean, little child. ~~ a - 310 MGUFFEYS RHETORICAL GUIDE Beneath her feet, providence fastened every loose stone, and to her hands strengthened every root. How was she ever to de- scend? ‘That fear but once crossed her heart, as she went up—up—up—to the little image of her own flesh and bloed.” “The God who holds me now from perishing—will not the same God save me when my child is on my bosom?’’ Down eame the fierce rushing of the eagles’ wings—each savage bird dashing close to her head, so that she saw the yellow of their wrathful eyes. All at once, they quailed and were cowed. Yell- ing, they flew off to the stump of an ash jutting out of a cliff, a thousand feet above the cataract; and the christian mother falling across the aerie, in the midst of bones and blood, clasped her child—dead—dead—dead—no doubt—but unmangled and un- torn, and swaddled up just as it was when she laid it down asleep among the fresh hay, in a nook of the harvest field. Oh! whata pang of perfect blessedness transfixed her heart, from that faint, feeble cry,—‘ It lives—it lives—it lives !’’ and baring her bosom, with loud laughter and eyes dry as stones, she felt the lips of the unconscious innocent, once more mur- muring at the fount of life and love! ‘O thou great and thou dreadful God! whither hast thou brought me—one of the most sinful of thy creatures? Oh! save my soul, lest it perish, even for thy own name’s sake! Oh thou, who diedst to save sin- ners, have mercy upon me !” Below, were cliffs, chasms, blocks of stone, and the skeletons of old trees—far—far down—and dwindled into specks, and a thousand creatures of her own kind, stationary, or running to and fro! Was that the sound of the waterfall, or the faint roar of voices? [Is that her native strath? and that tuft of trees, does it contain the hut, in which stands the cradle of her child? Never more shall it be rocked by her foot! Here must she die—and, when her breast is exhausted, her baby too! And those horrid beaks, and eyes, and talons, and wings, will return, and her child will be devoured at last, even within the dead bo- som, that can protect it no more.— WILSON. LESSON CXLV. THE SAME.—CONCLUDED,. } Wuenrg, all this while, was Mark Steuart, the sailor? Half way up the cliffs. But his eye had got dim, and his heart sick ; and he, who had so often reefed the top-gallant sail, when, at midnight, the coming of the gale was heard afar, covered his OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 311 face with his hands, and dared look no longer on the swimming heights. ‘And who will take care of my poor,bed-ridden mo- ther ?”’ thought Hannah, whose soul, through the exhaustion of so many passions, could no more retain in its grasp that hope, which it had clutched in despair. A voice whispered “ God.” She looked around, expecting to see an angel, but nothing moved, except a rotten branch, that, under its own weight, broke off from the crumbling rock. Her eye—by some secret sympathy of her soul with the inanimate object—watched its fall; and it seemed to stop not far off, on a small platform. | Her child was bound within her bosom—she remembered not how or when,—but it was safe—and, scarcely daring to open her eyes, she slid down the shelving rocks, and found herself on a small piece of firm, root-bound soil, with the tops of bushes appearing below. With fingers. suddenly strengthened into the power of iron, she swung herself down, by briar, and broom, and heather, and dwarf-birch. There, a loosened stone leaped over a ledge, and no sound was heard, so profound was its fall. There, the shingle rattled down the screes,* and she hesitated not to follow. Her feet bounded against the huge stone that stopped them, but she felt no pain. Her body was callous as the cliff. Steep, as the upright wall of a house, was now the side of the precipice. But it was matted with ivy, centuries old— long ago dead, and without a single green leaf, but with ‘thou- sands of arm-thick stems, petrified into the rock, and covering it, as with a trellis. She bound her baby to her neck, and, with hands and feet, clung to that fearful ladder. ‘Turning round her head and looking down, lo! the whole population of the parish—so great was the multitude—on their knees! and, hush! the voice of psalms! a hymn, breathing the Spirit of one united prayer! Sad and solemn was the strain, but nothing dirge-like,—breathing not of death, but deliverance. Often had she sung that tune, perhaps the very words, but them she heard not—in her own hut, she and her mother; or, in the kirk, along with the congregation. An unseen hand seemed fast- ening her fingers to the ribs of ivy; and, in sudden inspiration, believing that her life was to be saved, she became almost as fearless as if she had been changed into a winged creature. Again her feet touched stones and earth—the psalm was hushed, but a tremulous, sobbing voice was close beside her, and, lo! a she-goat, with two little kids, at her feet! ‘ Wild heights,”’ thought she, “do these creatures elimb, but the dam will lead down her kid by the easiest paths; foryoh! even in the brute creatures, what is the holy power of a mother’s love!” and, * Precipices. ' or 312 M'GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE turning round her head, she kissed her sleeping baby, and, for the first time, she wept. . Overhead, frowned the front of the precipicéy never before touched by human hand or foot. No one had ever dreamed of scaling it, and the golden eagles knew that well in their in- stinct, as, before they built their aerie, they had brushed it with their wings. But all the rest of this part of the mountain-side, though scarred, and seamed, and chasmed, was yet accessible ; and more than one person in the parish had reached the bottom of the Glead’s Cliff. Many were now attempting it; and, ere the cautious mother had followed her dumb guides a hundred yards, though among dangers, that, although enough to terrify the stoutest heart, were traversed by her, without a shudder, the head of one man appeared, and then the head of another; and she knew that God had delivered her and her child, in safety, into the care of their fellow creatures. Not a word was spoken-—eyes said enough—she hushed her friends with her hands—and, with uplifted eyes, pointed to the guides lent to her by Heaven. Small, green plats, where those creatures nibble the wild flowers, became now more frequent; trodden lines, almost as easy as sheep-paths, showed that the dam had not led her young into danger; and now, the brush- wood dwindled away into straggling shrubs, and the party stood on a little eminence above the stream, and forming part of the strath. There had been trouble and agitation, much sobbing, and many tears, among the multitude, while the mother was scaling the cliffs; sublime was the shout that echoed afar, the moment she reached the aerie; then, had succeeded a silence, deep as death ; in a little while, arose that hymning prayer, succeeded by mute supplication; the wildness of thankful and congratula- tory joy, had next its sway; and now, that her salvation was sure, the great crowd rustled like a wind-swept wood. And for whose sake was all this alternation of agony? A poor, humble creature, unknown to many, even by name; one who had but few friends, nor wished for more; contented to work all*day, here — there any where, that she might be able to support her aged mother and her little child; and who, on Sabbath, took her seat in an obscure pew, set apart for paupers, in the kirk! . | ‘Fall back, and give her fresh air,” said the old minister of the parish; and the circle of close faces widened around her, lying as in death. ‘‘ Gi’e me the bonnie bit bairn into my arms,” cried first one mother, and then another; and it was tenderly handed around the circle of kisses, many of the snooded maid- ens bathing its face in tears. ‘'There’s naa scratch about the OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 318 puir innocent, for the eagle you see maun* hae stuck its talons into the lang claes, and the shawl. Blin’, blin’, maun they be, who see not the finger o’ God in this thing !”’ Hannah started up from her swoon, and, looking wildly around, cried, “Oh! the bird! the bird! the eagle—the eagle— the eagle has carried off my bonnie wee Walter !—is there nane to pursue?” A neighbor put her baby to her breast, and, shut- ting her eyes, and smiting her forehead, the sorely bewildered creature said, in a low voice, “Am I wauken!—oh! tell me if I’m wauken—or if a’ this be the wark o’ a fever, and the de- lirium o’ a dream ?’’—Witson. : LESSON CXLVI. THE DEAD EAGLE. Ir is a desolate eve; - Dim, cheerless is the scene my path around ; Patters the rain; the breeze-stirred forests grieve; And wails the scene with melancholy sound,— While at my feet, behold, With vigorous talons clinched, and bright eye shut, With proud,curved beak, and wiry plumage bold, Thou liest, dead eagle of the desert; but Preserving yet, in look, thy tameless mood, As if, though stilled by death, thy heart were unsubdued How cam’st thou to thy death? Did lapsing years o’ercome, and leave thee weak, Or whirlwinds, on thy heaven-descending path, Dash thee against the precipice’s peak 1— >Mid rack and floating cloud, Did sythe-winged lightning flash athwart thy brain, And drive thee from thy elevation proud, Down whirling, lifeless, to the dim-seen plain ? I know not,—may not guess ; but here alone Lifeless thou liest, outstretched beside the desert stone. A proud life hath been thine: High on the herbless rock, thou ’wok’st to birth, And, gazing down, saw far beneath thee shine Outstretched, horizon-girt, the map-like earth. What rapture must have gushed Warm round thy heart, when first thy wings essayed, Adventurously, their heavenward flight, and rushed Up toward day’s blazing eye-star, undismayed,— * Must. 8 Or ee ne eT ARES NR a pee ee ee eee te = 2 faa —_- we M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE Above thee, space’s vacancy unfurled, And, far receding down, the dim,material world ! How fast—how far—how long, Thine hath it been, from cloud-vailed aerie high To swoop, and still the woodlark’s lyric song, The leveret’s gambols, and the lambkin’s ery? The terror-stricken dove Cowered down amid the oak-wood’s central shade; While ferny glens below, and cliffs above, To thy fierce shriek, responsive echo made, Carrying the wild alarm from vale to vale, That thou, the forest king, wert out upon the gale! - When wooded giens were dark, And o’er moist earth, glowed morning’s rosy star, High o’er the scarce tinged clouds, ’t was thine to mark The orient chariot of the sun afar: And ch! how grand to soar Beneath the full moon, on full pinion driven ; To pierce the regions of gray cloud-land o’er. And drift amid the star-isled seas of heaven! Even like a courier, sent from earth to hold With space-dissevered worlds, unawed, communion bold. Dead king-bird of the waste! And is thy curbless span of freedom o’er ? No more shall thine ascending form be traced ? And shall the hunter of the hills no more Hark to thy regal ery? While soaring o’er the stream-girt vales, thy form, Lessening, ccmmingles with the azure sky, Glimpsed ‘mid the masses of the gathering storm, As if it were thy proud resolve to see, Betwixt thee and dim earth, the zig-zag lightnings flee! A ¢hild of freedom thou,— Thy birth-right the tall cliff and sky beyond: Thy feet were fetterless; thy fearless brow, Ne’er quailing, tyrant man’s dominion owned. But nature’s general law The slave and freeman must alike obey : Pride reels; and Power, that kept a world ‘in awe, The dreadful summons hears; and where are they ? Vanished, like night-dreams, from the sleeper’s mind, Dust, ’mid dissolving day, or clouds before the wind! Lir., Souvenir OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 315 LESSON CXLVIL. THE MONK. A poor monk, of the order of St. Francis, came into the room to beg something for his convent. ‘The moment I cast my eyes upon him, I was predetermined not to give him a single sous,* and, accordingly, put my purse into my pocket, buttoned it up, set myself a little more upon my center, and advanced up gravely , to him. ‘There was something, I fear, forbidding in my look ; I have his figure this moment before my eyes, and think there was that in 1t which deserved better. - The monk, as I judged from the break in his tonsure—a few seattered white hairs being all that remained of it—might be about seventy; but from his eyes, and that sort of fire that was in them, which seemed more tempered by courtesy than years, could be no more than sixty—truth might lie between—he was certainly sixty-five ; and the general air of his countenance, notwithstand- ing something seemed to have been planting wrinkles in it before their time, agreed to the account. - It was one of ‘those heads which Guido has often painted; mild, pale, penetrating, free from all common-place ideas of fat, contented ignorance looking down- wards upon the earth—it looked forwards; but looked as if it looked at something beyond this world. How one of his order came by it, Heaven above, who let it fall upon a monk’s shoul- ders, best knows ; but it would have suited a Bramin, and had I met it upon he plains of Hindostan, I should have reverenced it. The rest of his outline may be given in a few strokes; one might put it into the hands of any one to design, for it was nei- ther elegant nor otherwise, but as character and expression made it so: it was a thin, spare form, something above the common size, if it lost not the distinction by a bend forwards in the fig- ure—but it was the attitude of entreaty; and, as it now stands present to my imagination, it gained more than it lost by it. When he had entered the room three paces, he stood still; and laying his left hand upon his breast, (a-slender, white staff, with which he journeyed, being in his right,) when I had got close up to him, he introduced himself with the little story of the _ wants of his convent, and the poverty of his order; and did it with so simple a grace, and such an air of deprecation was there in the whole cast of his look and figure, I was bewitched not to have been struck with it. A better reason was, I had predeter- mined not to give him a single sous. «*'T is very true,”’ said I, replying to a cast upwards with his ce re * Pronounced soo. Sie ee age Fan Os - Ae: — EE 316 M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE eyes, with which he had concluded his address, “’t is very true, and Efeaven be their resource who have no other but the charity of the world, the stock of which, I fear, is no way sufficient for the many great claims which are hourly made upon it.” As I pronounced the words gréat claims, he gave a slight glance with his eye downwards upon the sleeve of his tunic. I felt the full force of the appeal. “I acknowledge it,”’ said I, ‘*a coarse habit, and that but once in three years, and meager diet, are no great niatters; the true point of pity is, as they can be earned in the world with so little industry, that your order should wish to pro- cure them by pressing upon a fund which is the property of the lame, the blind, the aged, and the infirm: the captive, who lies down counting over and over again the days of his afilictions, languishes, also, for his share of it; and had you been of the order of Mercy, instead of the order of St. Francis, poor as I am,’’ continued J, pointing at my portmanteau, “ full cheerfully should it have been opened to you for the ransom of the unfor- tunate.”’ ‘The monk made me a bow. ‘“‘ But of .all others,’ resumed I, * the unfortunate of our own country have the first rights; I have left thousands in distress upon our own shore.’? ‘The monk gave a cordial wave of the head, as much as to say; No doubt there is misery enough in every corner of the world, as well as within our convent. “ But we distinguish,” said I, laying my hand upon the sleeve of his tu- nic, in return for his appeal, “we distinguish, my good father, be- twixt those who wish to eat only the bread of their own labor, and those who eat the bread of other people’s, and have no other plan in life but to get through it in sloth and ignorance, for the love of God.’ The poor Franciscan made no reply: a heetic, for a moment, passed across his cheek, but could not tarry. Nature seemed to have done with her resentments in him; he showed none, but letting his staff fall within his arm, he pressed both his hands with resignation upon his breast, and retired. My heart smote me, the moment he shut the decor. “ Pshaw!” said I, with an air of carelessness, three several times—but- it would not da: every ungracious syllable I had uttered, crowd->- ed back into my imagination ; I reflected I had no right over the poor Franciscan, but to deny him ; and that the punishment of that was enough to the disappointed, without the addition of unkind language. I considered his gray hairs; his courteous figure seemed to re-enter, and gently ask me what injury he had done me? and why I could use him thus? I would have given twenty livres for an advocate. I have behaved very ill, said I, within myself; but I have only just set out upon my travels; - and shall learn better manners as I get along.—STeRne. OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 317 LESSON CXLVULI. THE PHILOSOPHER’S SCALES. A monk, when his rites sacerdotal were o’er, In the depth of his cell with his stone-covered floor, Resigning to thought his chimerical brain, Once formed the contrivance we now shall explain ; But whether by magic’s or alchimy’s powers, We know not—indeed, ’tis no bus’ness of ours. Perhaps,it was only by patience and care, At last, that he brought his invention to bear; In youth ’twas projected, but years stole away, And ere ’twas complete, he was wrinkled and gray ; But success is secure, unless energy fails; And, at length, he produced the philosopher’s scales. ‘¢ What were they ?”” you ask; you shall presently see; These scales were not made to weigh sugar and tea; O no; for such properties wondrous had they, That qualities, feelings, and thoughts, they could weigh: Together with articles small or immense, From mountains or planets, to atoms of sense. Nought was there so bulky, but there it would lay, And nought so ethereal, but there it would stay, And nought so reluctant, but in it must go: All which some examples more clearly will show. The first thing he weighed was the head of Voltaire, Which retained all the wit that had ever been there ; As a weight he threw in a torn scrap of a leaf, Containing the prayer of the penitent thief; When the skull rose aloft with so sudden a spell, That it bounced like a ball on the roof of the cell. One time, he put in Alexander the Great, With a garment that Dorcas had made, for a weight, And, though clad in armor from sandals to crown, . The hero rose up, and the garment went down. A long row of alms-houses, amply endowed By a well esteemed Pharisee, busy and proud, Next loaded one scale ; while the other was prest By those mites the poor widow dropt into the chest ; Up flew the endowment, not weighing an ounce, And down, down the farthing-worth came with a bounce By further experiments, (no matter how,) He found that ten chariots weighed less than one plow ; A sword with gilt trapping rose up in the scale, Though balanced by only a ten-penny nail ; 318 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE A shield and a helmet, a buckler and spear, Weighed less than a widow’s uncrystalized tear. A lord and a.lady went up at full sail, - When a bee chanced to light on the opposite scale; Ten doctors, ten lawyers, two courtiers, one earl, Ten counselor’s wigs, full of powder and curl, All heaped in one balance and swinging from thence, Weighed.less than a few grains of candor and sense ; A first water diamond, with brilliants begirt, Than one good potato, just washed from the dirt: Yet not mountains of silver and gold could suffice, One pearl to outweigh—’twas the pearl of great price. Last of all, the whole world was bowled in at the grate, With the soul of a beggar to serve for a weight, When the former sprang up with so strong a rebuff, That it made a vast rent and escaped at the roof; When, balanced in air, it ascended on high, And sailed up aloft, a balloon in the sky; While the scale with the soulin’t somightily fell, That it jerked the philosopher out of his cell.—Jane Taytor. LESSON CXLIX. THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM. Ir was on a summer evening, Old Kaspar’s work was done, And he, before his cottage door, Was sitting in the sun, And by him sported on the green, His little grandchild Wilhelmine. She saw her brother Peterkin Roll something large and round, ~ Which he beside the rivulet, In playing there, had found 5 He came to ask what he had found, That was so large, and smooth, and round. < Old Kaspar took it from the boy, Who stood expectant by; And then the old man shook his head, And with a natural sich, “°'T’ is some poor fellow's skull,’’ said he, “Who fell in the great victory. ae "aii OF THE ECLECTIC-SERIES. 319 TI find them in the garden, For there ’s many here about; And often when I go to plow, The plowshare turns them out! For many thousand men,”’ said he, “‘ Were slain in that great victory.” “Now tell us what ’t was all about,” Young Peterkin, he cries; While little Wilhelmine looks up, With wonder-waiting eyes ; *¢ Now tell us all about the war, And what they killed each other for.”’ ‘Tt was the English,” Kaspar cried, “Who put the French to rout, But what they killed each other for, I could not well make out. But every body said,” quoth he, “That ’t was a famous victory. ‘‘ My father lived at Blenheim then, Yon little stream, hard by; They burnt his dwelling to the ground, And he was forced to fly ; So, with his wife and child, he fled, Nor had he where to rest his head. ‘¢ With fire and sword, the country round Was wasted, far and wide; And many a nursing mother then, And new-born baby died; — But things like that, you know, must be At every famous victory. “They say it was a shocking sight After the field was won; For many thousand bodies here Lay rotting in the sun; But things like that, you know, must be After a famous victory. ** Great praise the Duke of Marlbro’ won, And our young prince, Eugene.” “Why, ’t was a very wicked thing !”’ Said little Wilhelmine. ‘* Nay—nay—my little girl,” quoth he, “It was a famous victory. “And every body praised the Duke Who this great fight did win.” “But what good came of it, at last 2” Quoth little Peterkin. ‘Why, that I cannot tell,” said he, “« But ’t was a glorious victory.”-—SouTHey. - 320 MGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE LESSON CL. DESCRIPTION OF A SIEGE. IVANHOE, a wounded knight, and Rebeeca, a Jewess, had been impris- oned in the castle of Reginald Front de Boeuf. 'The friends of the prisoners undertake their rescue. At the’request ef Ivanhoe, who is unable to leave his couch, Rebecca takes her stand near a window overlooking the approach to the castle, and details to the knight the incidents of the contest, as they take place. Front de Boeuf and his garrison were Normans; the besiegers, axons. ; “Pe skirts of the wood seem lined with archers, although only a few are advanced from its dark shadow.”? “Under what banner ?”? asked Ivanhoe. ‘Under no ensign which I ean ob- serve,’ answered Rebecca. ‘A singular novelty,’’ muttered the knight, “to advance to storm such a castle without. pennon or banner displayed. See’st thou who they be, that act as lead- ers?’’ «A knight clad in sable armor is the most conspicuous,” said the Jewess: ‘“‘he alone is armed from head to heel, and seems to assume the direction of all around him.” ‘Seem there no other leaders?’’ exclaimed the anxious in- quirer.”” ‘“* None of mark and distinction that I can behold from this station,’’ said Rebecca, “but doubtless the other side of the castle is also assailed. ‘They seem,even now, preparing to ad- vance, God of Zion protect us!—What a dreadful sight !— Those, who advance first, bear huge shields and defenses made of plank: the others follow, bending their bows as they come on. ‘They raise their bows! God of Moses, forgive the crea- tures thou hast made !”’ Her description was here suddenly interrupted by the signal for assault, which was given by the blast of a shrill bugle, and at once answered by a flourish of the Norman trumpets from the battlements, which, mingled with the deep and hollow clang of the kettle-drums, retorted in notes of defiance, the challenge of the enemy. The shouts of both parties augmented the fearful din, the assailants crying,“ Saint George, for merry England !” and the Normans answering them with loud eries of “ Onward, De Bracy !—Front de Boeuf, to the rescue !”’ “And I must lie here, like a bed-ridden monk,’’ exclaimed “vanhoe, “ while the game, that gives me freedom or death, is layed out by the hand of others! Look from the window once again, kind maiden, and tell me if they yet advance to the storm.’? With patient courage, strengthened by the interval which she had employed in mental devotion, Rebecca again took post at the lattice, sheltering herself, however, so as not to be exposed to the arrows of the archers, ‘* What dost thou see, Rebecca ?”’ again demanded the wounded knight. « Nothing, but the cloud of arrows flying so thick as to dazzle mine eyes, OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 321 and to hide the bowmen who shoot them.” “ That cannot en- dure,’ said Ivanhoe. “If they press not right on, to carry the castle by force of arms, the archery may avail but little against stone walls and bulwarks. Look for the knight in dark armor, fair Rebecca, and see how he bears himself; for as the leader is, so will his followers be.”’ ‘sT see him not,’’ said Rebecca.—*‘ Foul craven !’’ exclaimed Ivanhoe; “does he blench from the helm, when the wind blows highest?’ “He blenches not! he blenches not!” said Rebec- ea; “1 see him now: he leads a body of men close under the outer barrier of the barbacan.* ‘They pull down the. piles and palisades; they hew down the barriers with axes. His high, black plume floats abroad over the throng, like a raven over the field of the slain. ‘They have made a breach in the barriers— they rush in—they are thrust back! Front de Boeuf heads the defenders. I see his gigantic form above the press. ‘They throng again to the breach, and the pass is disputed, hand to hand, and man to man. God of Jacob! it is the meeting of two fierce tides——the conflict of two oceans moved by adverse winds :”’—-and she turned her head from the window, as if unable longer to endure a sight so terrible. Speedily recovering her self-contro], Rebecca again looked forth, and almost immediately exclaimed, “ Holy prophets of the law! Front de Boeuf and the Black Knight fight hand to hand on the breach, amid the roar of their followers, who watch the progress of the strife. Heaven strike with the cause of the oppressed and of the captive !’’ She then uttered a loud shriek, and exclaimed, «“‘He is down!—he is down!” ~ «Who its dewn?’’ cried Ivanhoe; “for our dear Lady’s sake, tell me which has fallen?’ “'The Black Knight,’’ answered Rebecca faintly ; then instantly again shouted. with joyful eagerness— “‘But no-—but no! the name of the Lord of Hosts be blessed! he is on foot again, and fights as if there were twenty men’s strength in his single arm—his sword is broken—he snatches an ax from a yeoman—he presses Front de Boeuf, blow on blow-——the giant stoops and totters like an oak under the steel of the woodman—he falls—he falls!’ ‘Front de Boeuf?” ex claimed Ivanhoe. ‘‘ Front de Boeuf,’’ answered the Jewess; *‘his men rush to the rescue, headed by the haughty 'Templar,— their united force compels the champion to pause—they drag Front de Boeuf within the walls.” ‘* ‘The assailants have won the barriers, have they not ?’’ said Ivanhoe. ‘'They have—they have,—and they press the be- sieged hard, upon the outer wall; some plant ladders, some * Barbacan, an outer defense, or fortification, used as a watch-tower. i ia lm ca il nl a eel 822 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE swarm like bees, and endeavor to ascend upon the shoulders of each other ;—-down go stones, beams, and trunks of trees upon their heads, and as fast as they bear the wounded to the rear, fresh men supply their places in the assault. Great God! hast thou given men thine own image, that it should be thus cruelly defaced by the hands of their brethren!’’ ‘ Think not of that,’’ replied Ivanhoe; ‘this is no time for such thoughts. Who - yield? Who push their way 2” ‘“‘'The ladders are thrown down,’’ replied Rebecca, shudder- ing; ‘the soldiers lie groveling under them like crushed: rep- tiles——the besieged have the better.”? «Saint George strike for us!’ said the knight, “do the false yeomen give way?” “No,” exclaimed Rebecca, “ they bear themselves right yeo- manly—the Black Knight approaches the postern with his huge ax —the thundering blows which he deals, you may hear them above all the din and shouts of the battle—stones and beams are hailed down on the brave champion—he regards them no more than if they were thistle-down and feathers.”’ ‘By St. John of Acre !’’ said Ivanhoe, raising himself joy- fully on his couch, «‘methought there was but one man in Eng- land that might do such a deed.’”’ ‘The postern gate shakes,’’ continued Rebecca; ‘it crashes—it is splintered by his blows— they rush in—the out-work is won—-oh God! they hurry the defenders from the battlements—they throw them into the moat-—-O men, if ye be indeed men, spare them that can resist no longer !’’——** The bridge--the bridge which communicates with the castle-—-have they won that pass ?’’ exclaimed Ivanhoe. “‘No,”’ replied Rebecca; “ the ‘Templar has destroyed the plank on which they crossed—-few of the defenders escaped with him into the castle-—the shrieks and cries which you hear, tell the > fate of the others. —Alas! I see that it is still more difficult to look upon victory than upon battle.” ‘‘ What do they now, maiden?” said Ivanhoe’; “look forth yet again——this is no time to faint at bloodshed.’’ «It is over, for the time,” said Rebecea; ‘ our friends strengthen themselves within the outwork which they have mastered.”’ « Our friends,” said Ivanhoe, “will surely not abandon an enterprise so glori- ously begun, and so happily attained--O no! I will put my faith in the good knight, whose ax has rent heart-of-oak, and bars of iron.--Singular,”’ he again muttered to himself, ‘if there can be two who are capable of such achievements. It is, it must be Richard Coeur de Lion.”’ “‘See’st thou nothing else, Rebecca, by which the Black Knight may be distinguished?” « Nothing,” said the Jewess, “all about him is as black as the wing of the night-raven. No- thing can I spy that can mark him further; but having once OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 323 seen him put forth his strength in battle, methinks I could know him again among a thousand warriors. He rushes to the fray, as if he were summoned to a banquet. ‘There is more than mere strength ; there seems as if the whole soul and spirit of the champion, were given to every blow which he deals upon his enemies. God forgive him the sin of bloodshed! it is fearful, yet magnificent to behold, how the arm and heart of one man can triumph over hundreds.’”’—-WattTer Scott. LESSON CLI. INVASION OF SWITZERLAND BY THE FRENCH, Tue vengeance which the French took upon the Swiss, for their determined opposition to the invasion of their country, was decisive and terrible. ‘The history of Europe can afford no parallel to such cruelty. In dark ages, and the most barba- rous nations of the east, we must turn for similar scenes of hor- ror, and, perhaps, must turn in vain. ‘The soldiers, dispersed over the count?y, carried fire, and sword, and robbery, into the most tranquil and hidden vaileys of Switzerland. From the depth of sweet retreats, echoed the shrieks of murdered men, stabbed in their humble dwellings, under the shadow of the high mountains, in the midst of those scenes of nature which make solemn and pure the secret thoughts of man, and appall him with the majesty of God. The flying peasants saw, in the midst of the night, their cot- tages, their implements of husbandry, and the hopes of the fu- ture year, expiring in one cruel conflagration. ‘The men were shot upon the slightest provocation : innumerable women, after being exposed to the most atrocious indignities, were murdered, and their bodies thrown into the woods. In some instances this conduct was resented ; and for symptoms of such an honorable spirit, the beautiful town of Altdorf was burnt to the ground, and not a single house left to show where it had stood. The town of Staritz,a town peculiarly dear to the Swiss, as it gave birth to one of the founders of their liberty, was reduced to aheap of cinders. In this town, in the fourteenth century, a Swiss general surprised and took prisoner the Austrian com- mander, who had murdered his father; yet he forgave and re- leased him, upon the simple condition that he would not again serve against the Swiss Cantons. When the French got pos- session of this place, they burnt it to ashes,—not in a barbarous age, but now—yesterday—in an age we call philosophical ;— 324 M’GUFFEY'’S RHETORICAL GUIDE they burnt it, because the inhabitants had endeavored to preserve their liberty. The Swiss was a simple peasant; the French a mighty peo- ple, combined for the regeneration of Europe. Oh Europe, what dost thou owe to this mighty people? Dead bodies, ruin- ous heaps, broken hearts, waste places, childless mothers, wid- ows, orphans, tears, endless confusion, and unutterable woe. For - this mighty nation, we have suffered seven years of unexampled wretchedness, a long period of discord, jealousy, privation, and horror, which every reflecting man would almost wish blotted out of his existence. By this mighty people, the Swiss have lost their country ; that country which they loved so well, that if they heard but the simple song of their childhood, tears fell down every manly face, and the ‘most intrepid soldiers sobbed with grief. What then ? - Is all this done with impunity ? Are the thun- ders of God dumb? Are there no lightnings in his right hand ? Pause a little, before you decide on the ways of Providence ; tarry and see what will come to pass. ‘There is a solemn and awful courage in the human heart, placed there by God himself, to guard man against the tyranny of his fellows, and while this lives, the world is safe. ‘There slumbers even ffow, perchance, upon the mountains of Switzerland, some youthful peasant, un- conscious of the soul he bears, that shall lead down these bold people from their roc om to such deeds of courage as they have heard with their ears, a reir fathers have declared unto them ; to such as were done - days, and in the old times before them, by those magnanimous rustics, who first taught foolish ambition to respect “the wisdom and the spirit of simple men, righteously and honestly striving for every human blessing. Let me go on a little further in this ‘dreadful enumeration. More than thirty villages were sacked in the canton of Berne alone ;—not only was all the produce of the present year de- stroyed, but all the cattle unfit for human food were slaughterea, and the agricultural implements burnt; and thus the certainty of famine was entailed upon them for the ensuing year. At the end of all this military execution, civil exactions, still more cruel and oppressive. were begun; and under the forms of govern- ment and law, the most unprincipled men gave loose to their av arice and rapacity, till Switzerland has sunk at last under the complication of her misfortunes, reduced to the lowest ebb of misery and despair.—SypNEY SMITH. OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 325 LESSON. CLILI. BATTLE OF TALAVERA. Tus battle was fought, in the year 1811, at Talavera, in Spain, by the armies of England and Spain, on the one side, commanded by the Duke of Wellington, and that of France on the other, under Bonaparte’s generals, In this battle the French were defeated. Hark! heard you not those hoofs of dreadful note 2 Sounds not the clang of conflict on the heath? Saw ye not whom the reeking saber smote ? Nor saved your brethren ere they sunk beneath Tyrants and tyrants’ slaves? the fires of death, . The bale-fires flash on high; from rock to rock, Each volley tells that thousands cease to breathe ; Death rides upon the sulphury Siroc, Red battle stamps his foot, and nations feel the shock. Lo! where the giant on the mountain stands, His blood-red tresses deepening in the sun, With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands, And eye that scorcheth all it looks upon; Restless it rolls, now fixed, and now anon Flashing afar; and, at his iron feet, Destruction cowers to mark what deeds are done; For, on this morn, three potent nations meet, To shed before his shrine the blood he deems most sweet. Three tongues prefer strange orisons ich 5 Three gaudy standards flout the pale, blue skies ; The shouts are France! Spain! Albion! Victory! The foe, the victim, and the proud ally, That fights for all, but ever fights in vain, Are met, as if at home they could not die, To feed the crow on Talavera’s plain, And fertilize the field that each pretends to gain. Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice én There shall they rot—Ambition’s honored fools! Yes, honor decks the turf that wraps their clay! Vain sophistry ! In these, behold the tools, The broken tools that tyrants cast away By myriads, when they dare to pave their way With human hearts,—to what? a dream alone. Can despots compass aught that hails their sway ? Or call with truth, one span of earth their own, . Save that wherein, at last, they crumble bone by bone?—Byron. 326 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE -LESSON CLIT. THE WARRIOR'S WREATH. Brnorp the wreath which decks the warrior’s brow! Breathes it a balmy fragrance sweet? Ah, no! It rankly savors of the grave ; "Tis red—but not with roseate hues 3 *T is crimson’d o’er With human gore! °T is wet—but not with heavenly dews. °T is drench’d in tears, by widows, orphans shed. Methinks in sable weeds I see them clad, And mourn in vain, for husbands slain, Children belov’d, or brothers dear; The fatherless, In deep distress, Despairing, shed the scalding tear. I hear, ’mid dying groans, the cannon’s crash 5 I see, ’mid smoke, the musket’s horrid flash; Here, famine walks; there, carnage stalks, Hell in her fiery eye, she stains With purpled blood The crystal flood, Heaven’s altars, and the verdant plains! Scenes of domesti ‘peace and social bliss Are chang’d to seenes of woe and wretchedness ; The votaries of vice increase ; Towns sack’d—whole cities wrapt in flame! Just Heaven! say, Is this the bay, Which warriors gain!—Is this call’d Fame ?—Anonymovs. LESSON CLIV. EVILS OF WAR. Nopopy sees a battle. ‘The common soldier fires away, amidst a smoke-mist, or hurries on to the charge in a crowd, which hides every thing from him. ‘The officer is too anxious about the per- formance of what he is specially charged with, to mind what others are doing. ‘Ihe commander cannot be present every where, and see every wood, water-course, or ravine, in which his orders are carried into execution; he learns, from reports, how the work goes on. It is well; for a battle is one of those OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 327 jobs which men do, without daring to look upon. Over miles of country, at every field-fence, in every gorge of a valley, or entry into a wood, there is murder committing—wholesale, con- tinuous, reciprocal murder. ‘The human form—God’s image— is mutilated, deformed, lacerated, in every possible way, and with every variety of torture. ‘The wounded are jolted off in carts to the rear, their bared nerves crushed into maddening pain at every stone or rut; or the flight and pursuit trample over them, leaving them to writhe and groan, without assistance; and fever and thirst, the most enduring of painful sensations, possess them entirely. Thirst, too, has seized upon the yet able-bodied soldier, who, with blood-shot eye and tongue lclling out, plies his trade; blas- pheming; killing, with savage delight; callous, when the beni of his best-loved comrade are spattered over him! ‘The battle- field is, if possible, a more painful object of contemplation than the combatants. ‘They are in their vocation, se their bread: what will not men do for a shilling a day? But their work is carried on amid: the fields, gardens, and-homesteads of men un- used to war. ‘They left their homes, with all that habit and happy associations have made precious, to bear its brunt. The poor, the aged, the sick are left in the hurry, to be killed by stray shots or beaten down, as the charge or counter-charge go over them. ‘The ripening grain is trampled down; the garden is trodden into a black mud; the fruit- rees, bending beneath their luscious load, are shatiered by th 1n0n shot; ‘churches and private dwellings are used as for s, and ruined in the conflict; barns and granaries take » and the conflagration spreads on all sides. | At night, the steed is stabled besides tis altar, and the weary homicides of the day complete the wrecking of houses, to make their lairs for slumber. ‘The fires of the bivouac complete what the fires kindled by the battle have not consumed. The sur- viving soldiers march on, to act the same scenes over again, else- where; and the remnant of the scattered inhabitants return, to find the mangled bodies of those they had loved, amid the black- ened ruins of their homes; to mourn, with more than agonizing grief, over the missing, of whose fate they are uncertain; to feel themselves bankrupts of the world’s stores, and look from their children to the desolate fields and garners, and think of famine and pestilence, engendered by the rotting bodies of the half-buried myriads of slain. ‘The soldier marches on,——and on,—inflicting and suffering, as before. War is a continuance of battles—an epidemic, striding from place to place, more horrible than the typhus, pestilence, er cholera, which, not unfrequently, follow in its train. The 328 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE siege is an aggravation of the battle. ‘Che peaceful inhabitants of the beleaguered town are cooped up, and cannot fly the place of conflict. ‘The mutual injuries, inflicted by assailants and as- sailed, are aggravated; their wrath is more frenzied; then come the storm and the capture, and the riot and excesses of the vic- tor soldiery, striving to quench the drunkenness of blood in the drunkenness of wine. : | The eccentric movements of war, the marching and counter- marching, often repeat the blow en. districts, slowly recovering from the first. Between destruction and the wasteful consump- tion of the soldiery, poverty pervades the land. Hopeless of the future, hardened by the scenes of which he is a daily witness, perhaps, goaded ky revenge, the peasant becomes a plunderer and assassin. ‘Ihe families of the upper classes are dispersed; the discipline of the family circle is removed; a habit of living in the day, for the day, of drowning the morrow in transient and illicit pleasure, is engendered. ‘The waste and desolation which a battle spreads over the battle-field, is as nothing, when com- pared with the moral desolation which war diffuses through all ranks of society, in the country which is the scene of war. ANONYMOUS. ON THE REMO (Exrracr from Lord Chat British troops from Boston, & ’ am’s speech, in favor of the removal of the ivered in the House of Lords, Jan. 20, 1775.) My Lorps:— When I urge this measure of recalling the troops from Boston, I urge it on the pressing principle, that it is necessarily preparatory to the restoration of your peace, and the establishment of your prosperity. It will then appear, that you are disposed to treat amicably and equitably; and to consider, revise, and repeal those violent acts and declarations which have disseminated confusion throughout your empire. Resistance to your acts was necessary, as it was just; and your vain declarations of the omnipotence of parliament, and your imperious doctrines of the necessity of submission, will be found equally impotent to convince, or to enslave your fellow- subjects in America, who feel, that tyranny, whether exercised by an individual part of the legislature, or by the bodies which compose it, is equally intolerable to British subjects. I there- fore urge and conjure your lordships, immediately to adopt. this conciliating measure. I will pledge myself for its immediately producing conciliating effects, by its being thus well-timed: but, ~*~ OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 329 if you delay till your vain hope shall be accomplished, of tri- umphanily dictating terms of reconciliation, you delay forever. But, admitting that this hope (which, in truth, is desperate,) should be accomplished, what do you gain by the interposition of your victorious amity? You will be untrusted and unthanked. Adopt this measure, then, and allay the ferment prevailing in America, by removing the cause; a cause, obnoxious and wun- serviceable ; for the merit of our army can be only in action. Its force would be most disproportionately exerted against a brave, generous, and united people, with arms in their hands, and courage in their hearts; three millions of people, the genuine descendants of a valiant and pious ancestry, driven to those de- serts by the narrow maxims of a superstitious tyranny. And is the spirit of persecution never to be appeased? Are the brave sons of those brave forefathers to inherit their suffer- ings, as they have inherited their virtues? Are they to sustain the infliction of the most oppressive and unexampled severity, and, finally, because it is the wish of the ministry, be condemned unheard? My lords, the Americans have been condemned un- heard. ‘The indiscriminate hand of vengeance has lumped to- gether innocent and guilty ; and, with all the formalities of hos- tility has blocked up the town of Boston, and reduced to beg- gary and famine, its thirty thousand inhabitants. But, ministers say, that the union in America cannot last. Ministers have more eyes than I have, and should have more ears; but, with all the information I have been able to procure, I can pronounce it a union, solid, perm t, and effectual. It is based upon an unconquerable spir ndependence, which is not new among them. It is, and has ever been, their estab- lished principle, their confirmed persuasion; it is their nature and their doctrine. I remember, some years ago, when the repeal of the stamp _ act was in agitation, conversing, in a friendly confidence, with a person of undoubted respect and authenticity on that subject; and he assured me, with a certainty which his judgment and opportunity gave him, that these were the prevalent and steady principles of America; that you might destroy their towns, and cut them off from the superfluities, perhaps, the conveniences of life; but that they were prepared to despise your power, and would not lament their loss, wh'lst they have—what, my lords? their woods and their liberty ! When your lordships look at the papers transmitted us from America; when you consider their decency, firmness, and wis- dom, you cannot but respect their cause, and wish to make it your own. For myself, 1 must declare and avow, that, in all my reading and observation, and it has been my favorite study,—I 28 , * 330 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE have read ‘Thucydides, and have studied and admired the master states of the world—that, for solidity of reasoning, force of sa- gacity, and wisdom of conclusion, under such a complication of difficult circumstances, no nation or body of men, can stand in preference to the general congress, at Philadelphia. I trust it is obvious to your lordships, that all attempts to im- pose servitude upon such men; to establish despotism over such . a mighty continental nation, must be vain—must be fatal. We shall be forced ultimately to retract; let us retract while we can, not when we must. I say we must necessarily undo these vio- lent, cppressive acts; they must be repealed; you will repeal them; I pledge myself for it, that you will, in the end, repeal them; I stake my reputation on it; I will consent to be taken for an idiot, if they are not finally repealed. Avoid, then, this humiliating, this disgraceful necessity. With a dignity becoming your exalted situation, make the first advances to concord, to peace, and happiness; for that is your true dignity, to act with prudence and justice. Every ls therefore, of utes and of policy, of dignity and of prudence, urges you to allay the ferment in America, by a removal of your troops from Boston; by a repeal of your acts of parliament, and by a demonstration of your amicable disposi- tion toward your colonies. On the other hand, every danger and every hazard impend, to deter you from perserverance in your present ruinous measures. Foreign war is hanging over your heads by a slight and brittle thread, and France and Spain are watching your conduct, and waiting for the maturity of your errors. ae. To conclude, my lords, if the ministers thus persevere in mis- advising and misleading the king, I will not say that they can alienate the affections of his subjects from his crown; but I will affirm, that they will make the crown not worth his wearing ! I will not say, that the king is betrayed; but I will pronounce, that the kingdom is undone !—Lorp CuaTruaM LESSON CLVI. EDWARD AND WARWICK, Edward. let me have no intruders; above all, Keep Warwick from my sight— Enter WaRwIck. Warwick. Behold him here— 3 No welcome guest, it seems, unless I ask * OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. “334 My lord of Stafford’s leave—there was a time, ’ When Warwick wanted not zs aid, to gain Admission here. Ed. ‘Fhere-was a time, perhaps, When Warwick more desired, and more deserved it. War. Never; I’ve been a foolish, faithful slave; All my best years, the morning of my life, Have been devoted to your service: what +. Are now the fruits? Disgrace and infamy; My spotless name, which never yet the breath Of calumny had tainted, made the mock For foreign fools to carp at; but ’t is fit, Who trust in princes, should be thus rewarded. Ed. 1 thought, my lord, I had full well repaid Your services with honors, wealth, and power Unlimited: thy all-directing hand Guided in secret every latent wheel Of government, and mov’d the whole machine; ~ Warwick was all in all, and powerless Edward Stood like a cipher in the great account. War. Who gave that cipher worth, and seated thee On Eneland’s throne? Thy undistinguished name Had rotted in the dust from whence it sprang, And molder’d in oblivion, had not Warwick Dug from its sordid mine the useless ore, And stamp’d it with a diadem. ‘Thou knowest, This wretched country, doom’d, perhaps, like Rome, To fall by its own self-destroying hand, Tost for so many years in the rough sea Of civil discord, but for me had perish’d In that distressful hour, 7 seiz’d the helm, Bade the rough waves subside in peace, and Your shattered vessel safe into the harbor. — You-may despise, perhaps, that useless aid Which you no longer want; but know, proud youth, He who forgets a friend, deserves a foe. Ed. Know, too, reproach for benefits received, Pays every debt, and cancels obligation. War. Why, that indeed is frugal honesty ; A thrifty, saving knowledge: when the debt Grows burdensome, and cannot be discharg’d, A spunge will wipe out all, and cost you nothing. Ed. When you have counted o’er the numerous train Of mighty gifts your bounty lavish’d on me, You may remember next the injuries Which I have done you; let me know them all, And I will make you ample satisfaction. War. ‘Thou canst not; thou hast robb’d me of a jewel, That all thy power cannot. restore to me. I was the first, shall future annals say, That broke the sacred bond of public trust And mutual confidence; embassadors, 332 M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE In after times, mere instruments, perhaps, Of venal statesmen, shall recall my name To witness, that they want not an example, And plead my guilt to sanctify their own. Amidst the herd of mercenary slaves ‘That haunt your court, could none be found but Warwick, To be the shameless herald of a lie? Ed, And wouldst thou turn the vile reproach on me? It Lhave broke my faith, and stain’d the name Of England, thank thy own pernicious counsels That urg’d me to it, and extorted from me A cold consent to what my heart abhorr’d. War. Wve been abus’d, insulted, and betray’d ; My injur’d honor cries aloud for vengeance, Her wounds will never close. Hd. These gusts of passion ° Will but inflame them; if I have been right Inform’d, my lord, besides these dangerous scars Of bleeding honor, you have other wounds As deep, though not so fatal: such, perhaps, As none but fair Elizabeth can cure. War. Elizabeth! Ed. Nay, start not—I have cause To wonder most: I little thought, indeed, When Warwick told me, I might learn to love, He was himself so able to instruct me: But Pve discover’d all— War. And so have I— Thy faithless, base endeavors to supplant me. it, sir—Hlizabeth hath charms; Nor see I cught so godlik he form, So all-commanding in the name of Warwick, That he alone should revel in the rays Of beauty, and monopolize perfection. I knew not of your love. War. °T is false. You knew it all, and meanly took occasion, Whiist I was busied in the noble office, Your grace thought fit to honor me withal, To tamper with a weak, unguarded woman, And basely steal a treasure, Your kingdom could not purchase. Ed. How know you that? but be it as it may, T had a right, nor will I tamely yield My claim to happimess, the privilege To choose the partner of my throne: It is a branch of my prerogative. War. Prerogative! what’s that? the boast of tyrants A borrow’d jewel, glittering in the crown With specious luster, lent but to betray You had it, sir, and hold it, from the people. OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 333 Ed. And therefore do I prize it; I would guard Their liberties, and they shall strengthen mine: But when preud faction and her rebel crew Insult their sovereign, trample on his law, And bid defiance to his power, the people In justice to themselves, will then defend His cause, and vindicate the rights they gave. War. Go to your darling people, then; for soon, If I mistake not, ’t will be needful; try Their boasted zeal, and see if one of them Will dare to lift his arm up in your cause, If I forbid him. Ed. Is it so, my lord? Then mark my words: I ’ve been your slave too long And you have ruled me with a rod of iron; But henceforth, know, proud peer, | am thy master, And will be so; the king who delegates His power to others’ hands, but ill deserves The crown he wears. War. Look well then to your own: It sits but loosely on your head ; for, know, The man who injured Warwick, never pass’d Unpunished yet. Ed. Nor he who threatened Kdward— You may repent it, sir—my guards there !—seize This traitor, and convey him to the Tower— There, let him learn obedience. —TRaNSLATED FROM THE -Frenca. LESSON CLY EULOGY ON LA FAYETTE.* Wuite we bring our offerings for the mighty of our own land, shall we not remember the chivalrous spirits of other shores, who shared with them the hour of weakness and woe? Pile to the clouds the majestic column of glory; let the lips of those who can speak well, hallow each spot where the bones of your bold repose ; but forget not those who, with your bold, went out to battle. . among these men of noble daring, there was one, a youn and gallant stranger, who left the blushing vine-hills of his de- lightful France. The people whom he came to succor were not his Reape; ; he knew them only in the melancholy story of their *In 1824, fifty years after the war of Independence, in which he had taken an active part, La Fayette again visited the United States, and was received every where with a spontaneous burst of acclamation and rejoicing. = 334 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE wrongs. He was no mercenary wretch, striving for the spoil of the vanquished; the palace acknowledged him for its lord, and the valleys yielded him their increase. He was no name- less man, staking life for reputation; he ranked among nobles, and looked unawed upon kings. He was no friendless outcast, seeking for a grave to hide his cold heart; he was girdled by the companions of his childhood; his kinsmen were about him 3. his wife was before him. Yet from all these he turned away and came. Like a lofty tree, that shakes down its green glories, to battle with the win- ter’s storm, he flung aside the trappings of place and pride, to crusade for Freedom, in Freedom’s holy land. He came,—but not in the day of successful rebellion,—not when the new-risen sun of Independence had burst the cloud of time, and careered to its place in the heavens. He came when darkness curtained the hills, and the tempest was abroad in its anger; when the plow stood still in the field of promise, and briers cumbered the garden of beauty ; when fathers were dying, and mothers were weeping over them; when the wife was binding up the gashed bosom of her husband, and the maiden was wiping the death-damp from the brow of her lover. He came when the brave began to fear the power of man, and the pious to doubt the favor of God. It was then that this ong joined the ranks of a revolted people. Freedom’s little phalanx bade him a grateful welcome. With them he courted the battle’s rage ; with theirs, his arm was lifted; a theirs, his blood was shed. . Long and doubt as the conflict. At isi kind Heaven smiled on the good eause, and the beaten invaders fled. ‘The profane were driven from the temple of Liberty, and,at her pure shrine, the pilgrim warrior, with his adored COMMANDER, knelt and worshiped. Leaving there his offering, the mcense of an uncorrupted spirit, he at length rose, and, crowned with benedic- tions, turned his happy feet toward his long-deserted home. After nearly fifiy years, that onz has come again. Can mor- tal tongue tell, can mortal heart feel the sublimity of that com- ing? Exulting millions rejoice in it; and their loud, long, trans- porting shout, like the mingling of many winds, rolls on, undy- ing, to freedom’s farthest mountains. A congregated nation comes around him. Old men biess him, and children reverence him. ‘The lovely come out to look upon him; the learned deck their halls to greet him; the rulers of the land rise up to do him homage. How his full heart labors! He views the rusting trophies of departed days ; he treads upon the high places where his brethren molder; he bends before the tomb of his FATHER ;—his words are tears—the speech of sad remembrance. But he looks round upon a ransomed land and a joyous race; OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 335 é : he beholds the blessings, those trophies secured, for which those brethren died, for which that Farner lived; and again his words are tears—the eloquence of gratitude and joy. Spread forth creation like a map; bid earth’s dead multitude revive; and of all the pageants that ever glittered to the sun, when looked his burning eye on a sight like this? Of all the myriads that have come and gone, what cherished minion ever ruled an hour like this? Many have struck the redeeming blow for their own freedom; but who, like this man, has bared his bosom in the cause of strangers. Others have lived in the love of their own people; but who, like this man, has drank his sweetest cup of welcome with another? Matchless chief! Of glory’s immortal tablets, there is one for him, for him alone! - Oblivion shall never shroud its splendor; the everlasting flame of liberty shall euard it, that the generations of men may repeat the name recorded there, the beloved name of La Fayette. SPRAGUE. LESSON CLVIIL. CSPARACTER OF LA FAYETTE Tere have been those who have denied to La Fayette the name of a great man. What is greatness ? Does goodness belong to greatness, and make an eng jal part of it? Is there yet virtue enough left in the world, ta the sentiment, that ‘?'T ig phrase absurd, to call in great ?”’ If there is, who, I would ask, of he prominent names in history, has run through such a career, with so little reproach, justly or unjustly bestowed? Are military courage and con- duct the measure of greatness? La Fayette was intrusted by Washington with all kinds of service; the laborious and compli- cated, which required skill and patience; the perilous, that de- manded nerve; and we see him keeping up a pursuit, affecting a retreat, out-maneuvering a wary adversary with a superior force, harmonizing the action cf French regular troops and American militia, commanding an assault at the point of the bayonet, and all with entire success and brilliantreputation. Is the readiness to meet vast responsibility, a proof of greatness? ‘The memoirs of Mr. Jefferson show us, that there was a moment in 1789, when , La Fayette took upon himself, as the head of the military force, the entire responsibility of laying down the basis of the revolu tion. ~ Is the cool and brave administration of gigantic power, a mark of greatness? Jn all the whirlwind of the revolution, and when, - 336 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE as commander-in-chief of the National Guard, an organized force of three millions of men, who, for any popular purpose, needed but a word, a look to put them in motion,—and he their idol,—-we behold him ever calm, collected, disinterested ; as free from affectation as selfishness, clothed not less with humility than with power. Is the fortitude required to resist the multi- tude pressing on their leader to glorious crime, a part of great- ness? Behold him, the fugitive and the victim, when he might have been the chief of-the revolution. Is the solitary and un- aided opposition of a good citizen to the pretensions of an abso- lute ruler, whose power was as boundless as his ambition, an effort of greatness? Read the letter of La Fayette to Napoleon Bonaparte, refusing to vote for him as consul for life. Is the voluntary return, in advancing years, to the direction of affairs, at a moment like that, when, in 1815, the ponderous ma- chinery of the French empire was flying asunder,—stunning, rending, crushing thousands on every side,—a mark of great- ness? Contemplate La Fayette at the tribune, in Paris, when allied Enrope was thundering at its gates, and Napoleon yet stood in his desperation and at bay. Lastly, is it any proof of greatness to be able, at the age of seventy-three, to take the lead of a successful and bloodless revolution ; to chapge the dynasty ; to organize, exercise, and abdicate a military command of three and a half million of men; to take up, to perform, and lay down the most momentous, delicate, and perilous duties, without pas- sion, without hurry, ¥ selfishness? Is it great to disregard the bribes of title, of yoney ; to labor and suffer for great public ends, alone ; toa to principle under all circumstances ; to stand before Europe o merica conspicuous for sixty years, — in the most responsible stations, the acknowledged admiration of all good men ? [think I understand the proposition, that La Fayette was nota great man. It comes from the same school, which, also, denies greatness to Washington, and which accords it to Alexander and Cesar, to Napoleon and his conqueror. When I analyze the oreatness of these distinguished men, when contrasted with that of La Fayette and Washington, I find either one idea omitted, which is essential to true greatness, or one included as essential, which belongs only to the lowest conception of greatness. ‘The moral, disinterested, and purely patriotic qualities, are wholly wanting in the greatness of Cesar and Napoleon ; and on the other hand, it is a certain splendor of sucess, a brilliancy of result, which, with the majority of mankind, marks them out as the great men of our race. But not only are a high morality and a true patri- . otism essential to greatness; but they must first be renounced, before a ruthless career of selfish conquest can begin. . OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES 337 I profess to be no. judge of military combinations; but, with the best reflection I have been able to give the subject, I perceive no reason to doubt, that, had La Fayette, like Napoleon, been, by principle, capable of hovering on the edge of ultra-revolution ; never halting long enough to be denounced; never plunging too far to retreat; but with a cold and well-balanced selfishness, sus- taining himself at the head of affairs, under each new phase of revolution, by the compliances sufficient to satisfy its demands had his principles allowed him to play this game, he might have anticipated the career of Napoleon. At three different periods, he had it in his power, without usurpation, to take the govern- ment into his own hands. He was invited, urged todoso. Had he done it, and made use of the military means at his command, to maintain and perpetuate his power, he would then, at the sac- rifice of all his just claims to the name of great and good, have reached that which vulgar admiration alone worships,—the great- ness of high station and brilliant success. But it was the greatness of La Fayette, that looked down on greatness of the false kind. He learned his lesson in the school of Washington, and took his first practice in victories over him- self. Let it be questioned by the venal apologists of time-hon- nored abuses ; let it be sneered at by national prejudice and party detraction ; let it be denied by the admirers of war and conquest; by the idolaters of success ;—but let it be gratefully acknowl- edged by good men; by Americans;»by every man, who has sense to distinguish character fro who has a hee to beat in concert with the pure enthusia There is not, throughout the wor! fend of i@erty, who has not dropped his head, when he has heard that La Fayette is no more. Poland, Italy, Greece, Spain, Ireland, the South American republics,—every country, where man is struggling to recover his birth-right,—has lost a benefactor, a patron in La Fayette. But you, young men, at whose command I speak, for you a bright and particular lodestar is henceforward fixed in the front of heaven. What young man, that reflects on the history ‘of La Fayette; that sees him in the morning of his days, the associate of sages, the friend of Washington, but will start with new vigor on the path of duty and renown? And what was it, fellow-citizens, which gave to our La Fayette his-spotless fame? The love of liberty. What has consecrated his memory in the hearts of good men? The love of liberty. What nerved his youthful arm with strength, and inspired him in the morning of his days with sagacity and counsel?! The living love of liberty. To what did he sacrifice power, and rank, and country, and freedom itself? ‘To the horror of licen- tiousness ; to the sanctity of plighted faith ; to the love of liberty 29 “ & 4 338 ; ” hi RHETORICAL GUIDE wc tect . Thus, the great principle of your revolution- ary fathers, of your pilgrim sires, the great principle of the age, was the rule of his life; the love of liberty, protected by law. el . EVERETT. LESSON CLIX. THE VOICE OF SPRING. I come, I come! ye have called me long; I come o’er the mountains, with light and song; Ye may trace my step o’er the wakening earth, By the winds which tell of the violet’s birth, By the primrose stars in the shadowy grass, By the green leaves, opening as I pass. I have breathed on the south, and the chestnut flowers By thousands have burst from the forest bowers, And the ancient graves and the fallen fanes, Are vailed with wreaths on Italia’s plains ; But it is not for me, in my hour of bloom, To speak of the ruin or the tomb. _ _ The fisher nny sea, And ther er the pastures free, And the nge of softer green, And the mo bright where no foot hath been. 1 have sent through the wood-paths a glowing sigh, And called out each voice of the deep blue sky; From the night-bird’s lay, in the starry time, In the groves of the soft Hesperian clime, To the swan’s wild note, by the Iceland lakes, When the dark fir-branch into verdure breaks. From the streams and founts I have loosed the chain, They are sweeping on to the silvery main, They are flashing down from the mountain brows, They are flinging spray o’er the forest boughs, They are bursting fresh from their sparry caves, And the earth ean with the joy of waves. Come forth, O ye children of gladness, come! ‘i Where the violets lie, may be now your home. Ye of the rose-lip, and dew-bright eye, And the bounding footstep, to meet me, fly! ae With the lyre, and the wreath, and she falias layer Come forth to the sunshine ;—I may not stay. yall hee = ; 3 *4 il %, Pe + a the F OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 339 Away from the dwellings-of care-worn men! * The waters are sparkling in grove and glen ; Away from the chamber and silent hearth! The young leaves are dancing in breezy mirth; Their light stems thrill to the wild-wood strains, And youth is abroad in my green domains. But ye !—ye are changed since ye met me last! There is something bright from your features passed ! There is that come over your brow and eye, Which speaks of the world, where the flowers must die! Ye smile! but your smile hath a dimness set; ~Oh! what have ye looked on, since last we met? Ye are changed, ye are changed !—and I see not here All whom I saw in the vanished year: There were graceful heads, with their ringlets bright, Which tossed in the breeze, with a play of light, ‘There were eyes, in whose glistening laughter lay No faint remembrance of dull decay. There were steps that flew o’er the cowslip’s head, As if for a banquet all earth were spread 5 There were voices that rung through the sapphire-sky, And had not a sound of mortality! Are they gone? Is their mirth from the mountains passed } q Ye have looked on death, since evs met me last! I know whence the shadow ; you now , Ye have strewn the dust on the q Ye have given the lovely to e She hath taken the fairest of | With their laughing eyes, an¢ : They have gone from among you, in silence, down! They are gone from among you, the young and fair; Ye have lost the gleam of their shining hair! But I know of a land, where there falls no blight, I shall find them there, with their eyes of light! Where Death, ’midst the bloom of the morn may dwell, I tarry no longer,—farewell, farewell ! The summer is coming, on soft winds borne ; Ye may press the grape, ye may bind the corn! For me, I depart to a brighter shore ; Ye are marked by care, ye are mine no more. I go where the loved who have left you dwell, And the flowers are not death’s—fare-ye-well, farewell! _ Mrs. Hemans. he. B40 | MGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE ¥ LESSON CLX. THE RAIN. Tne pleasant rain! the pleasant rain! By fits it plashing falls = On twangling leaf, and er pool ; mS fiow sweet its warning calls!» &, They know it—all the bosomy vales, ee tone 3 High slopes, and verdant meads ; The queenly elms and princely oaks, Bow down their grateful heads. The withering grass, and fading flowers, ~ 3 And drooping shrubs look gay ; PF f The bubbling brook, with gladlier song, i» Hies on its endless WAY.3%,) < All things of earth—the grateful things! Put on their robes of cheer; ” They hear the sound of the warning burst, And know the rain is near. 3 mm F. “Tt comes! it comes! the slemant rain! oe sae I drink its cooler breath ; eet? It is rich w ith sichs of fainting flowers, And roses’ fragrant death ; It hath kissed mb of the lily pale, The bed ‘ And it be A its living wing I feel it And yet it co e lightning’s flash : Hath torn the Towering cloud ! With a distant roar and a nearer crash, Out bursts the thunder loud. It comes, with the rush of a god’s descent, On the hushed and trembling earth, To visit the shrines of the hallowed groves, Where a poet’s soul had birth. ae ‘ fs With a rush, as of a thousand steeds, aay Is its swift and glad descent ; ait, ats Beneath the weight of its passing tread, : The conscious groves are bent. Its heavy tread—it is lighter n now— And ret, it passeth on; a CORPS it is up, with a sudden lift— oe The pleasant rain hath gone. ~ The pleasant rain! the pleasant rain! © Tt hath passed above the earth: ¢ Ps - , a a os - > OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES.. 341 I see the smile of the opening cloud, Like the parted lips of mirth. The golden joy is spreading wide Along the blushing west, And the happy earth gives back her smiles, Like the flow of a grateful breast. ae As a blessing sinks in a grateful heart, J. © =. —* That knoweth all its need, a. So came the good of the pleasant rain, 3: O’er hill and verdant mead. It shall breathe this truth on the human ear, _ “In hall and cotter’s home, \ That to bring the gift of a bounteous heaven, ‘ ‘ The pleasant rain hath come.—Mu.uer. F F ¥ LESSON CLXI. — 2, BIRDS IN AUTUMN. t& a a ai. ~. Novemper came on, with.an eye severe, - wae se - _. And his stormy language was hoarse to hear ; ie And the glittering garland of brown and red, : Which he wreathed, for a while, round the forests’ head, In sudden anger, he rent.a Oe And all was cheerless, an¢ Then, the houseless grasshopf v And the humming-bird sent fe 11 for the rose, ~And the spider,—that weaver | I Rolled himself up in a ball, to sleep, And the cricket his merry horn laid by, On the shelf, with the pipe of the dragon-fly. Soon, voices were heard at the morning prime, Consulting of flight to a warmer clime; ** Let us go! let us go!” said the bright-winged jay; And his gay spouse sang from a rocking spray, “1’m tired to death of this hum-drum tree, » Pll go, if ’tis only the world to see.” “Will you go,” asked the robin, ‘‘my only love?’ And a tender strain from the leafless grove Responded, ‘“* Wherever your lot is cast, ’Mid sunny skies, or the wintry blast, I am still at your side, your heart to cheer, _ Though dear is our nest in this thicket here.” The oriole told, with a flashing eye, How his little ones shrank from this frosty sky, M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE How his mate, with an ague, had shaken the bed, And had lost her fine voice, by a cold in her head, And their oldest daughter, an invalid grown, No health in this terrible climate had known. ‘‘T am ready to go,” cried the plump young wren, ‘From the hateful homes of these northern men; My throat is sore, and my feet are blue, 4 I fear I have caught the consumption, too; . And then, Pve no confidence left, I own, — on In the doctors out of the southern zone.” Then, up went the thrush, with a trumpet-call, And the martins came forth from their box on the wall, And the owlets peeped out from their secret bower, And the swallows convened on the old church-tower, And the council of blackbirds was long and loud, Chattering, and flying from tree to cloud. ‘‘ The dahlia is dead on her throne,”’ said they, ‘‘And we saw the butterfly cold as clay; Not a berry is found on the russet plains, Not a kernel of ripened corn remains ; Ew’ry worm is hid, shall we longer oy, ‘To be wasted with famine ? Aw ayl away!” * But what a strange clamg on lin and oak, From a bevy of ,brown-coated n nocking-birds broke ; The theme of € ; In a shrill rep That the eloque Their own true & m Bicry bold, s started to hear wild and-elear. Then, tribe afore tribe with its leader fair, Swept off through the limitless fields of air; Who marketh their course to the tropics bright ? Who nerveth their wings for their weary flight ? Who guideth that-caravan’s trackless way, By the stars at night, and the cloud by day? The Indian fig, with its arching screen, Welcomes them in to its vistas green; And the breathing buds of the spicy tree Thrill at the bursts of their revelry ; And the bulbul starts, ’mid his carol clear, Such a rustling of stranger-wings to hear. O wild-wood wanderers! how far away From your rural homes in our groves, ye stray ; But when they awake at the touch of Spring, We shall see you again, with your glancing wing Your nest ’mid our household trees to raise, And stir our hearts to our Maker’s praise.—Mrs. Stcournry. OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. LESSON. CLXT. ADDRESS TO WINTER, O Winter! ruler of the inverted year, Thy scattered hair with sleet, like ashes, filled; Thy breath congealed upon thy lips; thy cheeks Fringed with a beard, made white with other snows Than those of age; thy forehead wrapped in clouds; A leafless branch thy scepter; and thy throne A sliding car, indebted to no wheels, But urged by storms along its slippery way ! I love thee, all unlovely as thou seem’st, And dreaded as thou art. Thou hold’st the sun A prisoner in the yet undawning east, Shortening his journey between morn and noon, And hurrying him—impatient of his stay— Down to the rosy west; but kindly still, Compensating his loss with added hours Of social converse and instructive ease, And gathering, at short notice, in one group, The family dispersed, and fixing thought, Not less dispersed by daylight and its cares. I crown thee-king of intimate delights, Fire-side enjoyments, home-born happiness, And all the comforts thatt wiy root | Of undisturbed retireme Of long, uninterrupted * * * *% And here, the needle plies i The pattern grows, the well-¢ | Wrought patiently into the snowy lawn, Unfolds its bosom; buds, and leaves, and sprigs And curling tendrils, gracefully disposed, Follow the nimble fingers of the fair; A wreath that cannot fade, of flowers that blow With most success, when all besides decay. The poet’s or historian’s page, by one Made vocal for the amusement of the rest; 5] The sprightly lyre, whose treasure of sweet sounds The touch from many a trembling chord shakes out; PRE: And the clear voice, symphonious, yet distinct, And, in the charming strife, triumphant still, Beguile the night, and set a keener edge O’er female industry; the threaded steel Flies swiftly, and unfelt the task proceeds. * * i * * * Discourse ensues, not trivial, yet not dull, Nor such as with a frown forbids the play gs 343 # > ar 344 MGUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE - Of fancy, or proscribes the sound of mirth. Nor do. we madly, like an impious world, Who deem religion frenzy, and the God That made them, an intruder on their joys, Start at his awful name, or deem his praise A jarring note: themes of a eraver tone Exciting oft our gratitude and love, While we retrace, with mem’ry’s pointing wand, The dangers we have ’scaped, the broken snare, The disappointed foe, deliv’rance found Unlooked for, life preserved, and peace restored, Fruits of omnipotent, eternal love.—-Cowprr. LESSON CLXIIL. THE BAPTISM. Tue rite of baptism had not been performed for several months in the kirk* of Lanark. It was now the hottest time of persecution ; and the inhabitants of that parish found other pla- ces in which to worship God, and celebrate the ordinances of religion. It was now the Sabbath day,—and a small congrega- tion ef about a hundred souls, had met for divine serviee, in a place more magnifice than ay temple that human hands had ever built to Deity. tion had not assembled to the a of the bell,— t knew the hour and observed : for there are sun-dials among the hills, woods, mee and fields ; 2 shepherd and the peasant see the hours passing by them, n-shine and shadow. The church in which they were assembled was hewn by God’s hand, out of the eternal rock. A river rolled its way through a mighty chasm of cliffs, several hundred feet high, of which the one side presented enormous masses, and the other, corresponding recesses, as if the great stone girdle had been rent by a convulsion. ‘The channel was overspread with prodigious fragments of rocks or large loose stones, some of them smooth and bare, others containing soil and verdure in their rents and fissures, and here and there, crowned with shrubs and trees. The eye could at once command a long-stretching vista, seemingly closed and shut up at both extremities by the coalescing cliffs. This majestic reach of river contained pools, streams, and water- falls innumerable ; and when the water was low—which was now the case, in the common drought—it was easy to walk up this scene with the calm,blue sky overhead, an utter and sublime solitude. — § * Church. OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 345 On looking up, the soul was bowed down by the fecling of that prodigious height of unscalable, and often’ overhanging cliff. Between the channel and the summit of the far extended precipices, were perpetually fiying rooks and wood pigeons, and now and then a hawk, filling the profound abyss with their wild cawing, deep murmur, or shrilly shriek. Sometimes a heron would stand erect and still, on some little stone island, or rise up like a white cloud along the black walls of the chasin: and dis- appear. Winged creatures alone could inhabit this region. The fox and wild-cat chose more accessible haunts. Yet,here came the persecuted christians and worshiped God, whose hand hung over their head those magnificent pillars and arches, scooped out those galleries from the solid rock, and laid at their feet the calm water, in its transparent beauty, in which they could see themselves sitting in reflected groups, with their bibles in their hands. Here, upon a semi-circular ledge of rocks, over a narrow chasm of which the tiny stream played in a murmuring waterfall, and divided the congregation into two equal parts, sat about a hun- dred persons, all devoutly listening to their minister, who stood before them on what might well be called a small, natural pulpit of living stone. Up to it there led a short flight of steps, and over it waved the canopy of a tall, graceful birch-tree. The pulpit stood in the middle of the%ehannel, directly facing the congregation, and separated fr vclear, deep, spark- ling pool, into which the scart poured over the blackened rock. The water, as 1 pool, separated into two streams, and flowed on each § fat altar, thus placing it in an island, whose large mossy § ere richly embowered under the golden blossoms and green tresses of the broom. Divine service was closed, and a row of maidens, all clothed in purest white, came gliding off from the. congregation, and crossing the stream on some stepping stones, arranged themselves at the foot of the pulpit, with the infants about to be baptized. The fathers of the infants, just as if they had been in their own kirk, had been sitting there during worship, and now stood up before the minister. The baptismal water, taken from that pel iucid pool, was lying, consecrated, in a small hollow of one of the upright stones that formed one side or pillar of the pulpit, and the holy rite proceeded. Some of the younger ones in that _ semi-circle, kept gazing down into the pool, in which the whole scene was reflected; and now and then, in spite of the grave looks, and admonishing whispers of their elders, letting fall a pebble into the water, that they might judge of its depth, frora the length of time that elapsed before the clear air-bells lay spark- ling on the agitated surface. The rite was over, and the reli: 346 M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE gious service of the day closed by.a psalm.. The mighty rocks hemmed in the holy sound, and sent it in a more compact vol- ume, clear, sweet, and strong, up to heaven. When the psalm ceased, an echo, like a spirit’s voice, was heard dying away, high up among the magnificent architecture of the cliffs; and once more might be noticed in the silence, the reviving voice of the waterfall. Just then,a large stone fell from the top of the cliff into the pool, a loud voice was heard, and a plaid was hung over on the point of a shepherd’s staff. ‘Their wakeful sentinel had descried danger, and this was his warning. Forthwith, the congregation rose. ‘There were paths, dangerous to unpracticed feet, along the ledges of the rocks, leading up to several caves and places of concealment. ‘The more active and young assisted the elder —more especially the old pastor, and the women with the in- fants ; and many minutes had not elapsed, till not a living crea- ture was visible in the channel of the stream, but all of them were hidden, or nearly so, in the clefts and caverns. The shepherd, who had given the alarm, had lain down again instantly in his plaid on the green-sward, upon the summit of these precipices. A party, of soldiers was immediately upon him, and demanded what signals he had been making, and to whom ; when one of them looking over the edge of the cliff, ex- claimed, “ See, see! H , we have caught the whole tab- ernacle of the Lord st. ‘There ‘they are, praising God among the st r Mouss. ‘These are the Cart- land Craigs. By my lyation, a noble cathedral |”? « Fling the lying sentinel ov ffs. Here is a canting covenanter for you, deceiving ho pldiers on the very sabbath day. Over with him, over with him; out of the gallery into the pit.” But the shepherd had vanished like a shadow, and mixing with the tall, green broom and bushes, was making his unseen way toward a wood. ‘Satan has saved his servant; but come, my lads; follow me. I know the way down into the bed of the stream, and the steps up to Wallace’s cave. ‘They are called ‘‘kittle* nine stanes.’? ‘The hunt’s up. Well all be in at the death. Halloo—my boys—halloo !”’ The soldiers dashed down a less precipitous part of the wood- ed banks, a little below the * craigs,’’ and hurried wp the chan- nel. But when they reached the altar where the old gray-haired minister had been seen standing, and the rocks that had been covered with people, all was silent and solitary—not a creature to be seen. ‘* Here is a Bible, dropped by some of them,” cried a soldier, and, with Lis foot, spun it away into the pool. “A * * Dangerous. OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 347. bonnet—a bonnet,’’ cried another, ‘ now for the pretty, sanc- tified face, that rolled its demure eyes below it.” But after a few jests and oatlis, the soldiers stood still, eveing with a kind of mysterious dread, the black and silent walls of the rocks that hemmed them in, and hearing only the small voice of the stream that sent a profounder stillness through the heart of that majestic solitude. ‘Curse these cowardly covenanters—what if they tumble down upon our heads pieces of rock, from their hiding places? Advance? or retreat??? ‘There was no reply; for a slight fear was upon every man. Musket or bayonet could be of little use to men obliged to clamber up rocks, along slender paths, leading they knew not.where. And they were aware that armed men, now-a-days, worshiped God; men of iron hearts, who feared not the glitter of the soldier’s arms—neither barrel nor bayonet; men of long stride, firm step, and broad breast, who, on the open field, would have overthrown the mar- shaled line, and gone first and foremost, if a city had to be taken by storm. As the soldiers were standing together irresolute, a noise came upon their ears like distant thunder, but even more appalling ; and a slight current of air, as if propelled by it, passed whisper- ing along the sweet-briers, and the broom, and the tresses of the birch-trees. It came deepening, and es | and roaring on; and the very Cartland Craigs shook to their ; earthquake. ‘The Lord have And down fell many of the m and some on their faces, upon the it was like the sound of many m f their iron axles, down the strong ehannel of the torrent, ‘The old, gray-haired minister issued from cave, and said in a loud voice, “ ‘The Lord God terrible reign- eth !”’ _ A water-spout had burst up among the moorlands, and the river,in its power, was at hand. ‘There it came—tumbling along into that loig reach of cliffs, and, in a moment, filled it with one. mass of waves. Huge, agitated clouds of foam rode on the sur- face of a blood-red torrent. An army must have been swept off by that flood. The soldiers perished in a moment ;—but, high up in the cliffs, above the sweep of destru®@tion, were the _ covenanters—men, women, and children, uttering prayers to » God, unheard by themselves, in the raging thunder. —W son Bb 448 MGUFFEW’S RiiRICAL GUIDE : LESSON CHLXIV. e OBSERVANCE OF THE SABBATH Tae Sabbath lies at the foundation of all true morality. Mo- rality flows from principle. Let the principles of moral obliga- tion become relaxed, and the practice of morality will not long - survive the overthrow. No man can preserve his own morals; no parent can preserve the morals of his children, without the impressions of religious obligation. If you can induce a community to doubt the genuineness and authenticity of the Scriptures; to question the reality, and obli- gations of religion; to hesitate, undeciding, whether there be any such thing as virtue or vice; whether there be an eternal state of retribution beyond the grave; or whether there exists any such being as God, you have broken down the barriers of moral virtue, and hoisted the flood-gates of immorality and crime. I need not say, that when a people have once done this, they can no longer exist as a tranquil and happy people. . Every bend that holds society together would be ruptured; fraud and treach ery would take the place of confidence between man and man ; the tribunals of justice would be scenes of bribery and injustice ; avarice, perjury, ambition, and revenge would walk through the land, and render. it m@vre lik welling of savage beasts, an the tranquil abode 1 christianized men. If there is an’ i | opposes itself to thier goss of human degene rows a shield before the interests of. moral virtue in 0 less and wayward world, it is the Sabbath. In the fearh icgle between virtue and vice, not- withstanding the powerful’ auxiliaries which wickedness finds in the bosoms of men, and in the seductions and influence of pop- ular example, wherever the Sabbath has been suffered to live, the trembling interests of moral virtue have always been revered and sustained. One of the principal occupations of this day, is to illustrate and enforce the great principles of sourd morality. Where*this sacred trust is preserved inviolate, you behold a na- tion convened one day in seven, for the purpose of acquainting themselves with the best moral principles and precepts.. And it cannot be otherwise, than that the authority of moral virtue, under such auspices, should be acknowledged and felt. We may not, at once, perceive the effects which this weekly observance produces. Like most moral causes, it operates slow- ly ; but it operates surely, and gradually weakens the power, and breaks the yoke of profligacy and sin. No villain regards the Sabbath. No vicious family regards the Sabbath. No im- monte pe eye Se regard the Sabbath. ‘The holy rest of this OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 349 ever-memorable day, is a barrier which is always broken down, before men become giants in sin. Blackstone, in his Commen- taries on the Laws of England, remarks, that ‘+a corruption of morals usually follows a profanation of the Sabbath.”? It is an observation of Lord Chief Justice Hale, that “ of all the persons who were convicted of capital crimes, while he was upon the bench, he found a few only, who would not confess that they began their career of wickedness by a neglect of the duties of the Sabbath, and vicious conduct on that day.” The prisons in our own land could probably tell us, that they have scarcely a solitary tenant, who had not broken over the re- straints of the Sabbath, before he was abandoned to crime. You may enact laws for the suppression of immorality ; buf the se- eret and silent power of the Sabbath constitutes a stronger shield to the vital interest of the community, than any code of penal statutes that ever was enacted. ‘The Sabbath is the key-stone of the arch which sustains the temple of virtue, which, however defaced, will survive many a rude shock, so long as the founda- tion remains firm. _ The observance of the Sabbath is, also, most influential in securing national prosperity. ‘The God of Heaven has said, ‘«Them that honor me, will I honor.” You will not often find a notorious Sabbath-bréaker a permanently prosperous man; and a Sabbath-breaking commut ever a happy or pros- perous community. There of unobserved influ- ences, oe the Sabbath exe emporal welfare of men. It promotes the spirit o d harmony; it ele- vates the poor from want; it tr ualid wretchedness ; it imparts self-respect and elevation of character; it promotes softness and civility of manners; it brings together the rich and the poor, upon one common level, in the house of prayer; it purifies and strengthens the social affections, and makes the fa- mily circle the center of allurement, and the source of instruc- tion, comfort, and happiness. Like its own divine religion, it 6 has the promise of the life that now is, and that which is to come,” for men cannot put themselves beyond the reach of hope and heaven, so long as they treasure up this one command, «¢ Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy.””-—Dr. Sprine.. ~ 350 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE LESSON CLXV. THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM. Wuew marshaled on the nightly plain, The glittering host bestud the sky ; One star alone, of all the train, Can fix the sinner’s wandering eye. Hark! hark! to God the chorus ‘breaks, From every host, from every gem; But one alone, the Savior speaks, It is the star of Bethlehem. Once, on the raging seas I rode; The storm was loud, the night was dark, The ocean yawned, and rudely blow’d The wind that tossed my foundering bark. Deep horror then my vitals froze, Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stem 3 When suddenly a star arose, It was the star of Bethlehem. {t was my guide, my light, my all, It bade my dark forebodings cease, And through the storm and danger’s thrall, It led me to the port of peace. Now, safely, moor’d—my perils o’er, I’ ll sing, first in night’s diadem, Forever and forever more, The a the ‘star of Bethlehem !—H. K. Warrtr. LESSON CLXVI. WHAT IS TIME? I askep an aged man, a man of cares, Wrinkled, and curved, and white with hoary hairs; ‘‘'Time is the warp of life,’? he said, ‘oh tell The young, the fair, the yay, to weave it well.”’ I asked the ancient, venerable dead, Sages who wrote, and warriors who bled; From the cold grave, a hollow murmur flowed, 66 Ti las me sowed the seed we reap in this abode!” ked the dying sinner, ere the tide Of life had left his veins; ‘*Time!” he replied: I’ve lost it!- es the treasure!’’ and he died. a! OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 351 I asked a spirit lost; but oh, the shriek That pierced my soul! I shudder while I speak! It cried, ‘*‘A particle! a speck! a mite Of endless years, duration infinite!” i asked my Bible; and, methinks, it said, “Time is the present hour ; the past is fled ; Live! live to-day! to-morrow never yet ~— On any human being rose or set.” = I asked old Father Time himself, at last; But in a moment, he flew swiftly past, His chariot was a cloud, the viewless wind His noiseless steeds, which left no trace behind. I asked the mighty Angel who shall stand One foot on sea, and one on solid land; ‘‘T now declare, the mystery is o’er; Time was,’ he cried, *‘ but Time shall be no more!” MarspDEN. LESSON CLXVII. FOLLY OF INTOXICATION CASSIO and IAGO Iago. Wuat! are you hurt, lieutenant? Cassio. Past all surgery. ~ Jago. Marry, Heaven forbid! Cas. Reputation, reputation, repuseae Oh, ey have lost my repu- tation! I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial. My reputation! Iago, my reputation ! Jago. AsI aman honest man, I thought you had received some bodily wound: there is more sense in that than in reputation. Rep- utation is an idle and most false imposition: oft got without merit, and lost without deserving. What, man! there are-ways to recover the general again. Sue to him, and he’s yours. — Cas. I will rather sue to be despised.—Drank! and squabble! swagger! swear! and discourse fustian with one’s own shadow! Oh, thou invincible spirit of wine! if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil. Jago. What was he that you followed with your sword? What had he done to you? Cas. I know not. fago. Is’t possible? Cas. I remember a mass of things, but nothing distinctly; a quar- rel, but nothing wherefore. Oh, that men should put an enemy into their mouths to steal away their brains; that we should, with joy, gayety, revel, and applause, transform ourselves into beasts ! * Iago. Why, but you are now well enough: how came you thus recovered ? ~. ey a 352 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE Cas. It has pleased the devil, Drunkenness, to give place to the devil, Wrath; one imper fection shows me another, to make me frankly despise myself. Iago. Come, you are too severe a moralizer. As the time, the place, and the condition of this country stands, I could heartily wish this had not befallen; but since it is as it is, mend it for your own ood. P Cas. If I ask him for my place again, he will tell me I am a drunkard! Had Tas many mouths as Hydra, such an answer would stop them all. To be now a sensible man, by and .by a fool, and presently a beast !—Every inordinate cup is unblessed, and the in- eredient is.a devil. lugo. Come, come, good wine is a good familiar creature, if it be well used; exclaim no more against it. And, good lieutenant, J think, you think I love you. ; Cas. Ihave well approved it, sir. I, drunk! fago. You, or any man living, may be drunk at some time, man. I tell you what you shall do. Our general’s wife is now the general. Confess yourself freely to her; importune her help to put you in your place again. She is of so free, so apt, so kind, so blessed a disposi- tion, she holds it a vice in her goodness not to do more than she is requested. This broken joint between you and her husband, entreat her to splinter; and, my fortunes against any lay worth naming, this crack of your love shall grow stronger than it was before. Cas. You advise me well. Jago. I protest in all the sincerity of love and honest kindness. Cas. I think it freely, and betimes in the morning, I will beseech the virtuous Desdemona to undertake for me. fago. - You are in the right. - Good night, lieutenant, I must go to the watch. Cas. Good night, honest lago.—SHaKsPEARE - LESSON CLXVUI DEATH AND THE DRUNKARD His form was fair, his cheek was. health ; His word a bond, his purse was wealth ; With wheat his field was covered o’er, Plenty sat smiling at his ‘door. His wife, the fount of ceaseless joy; ee | Now laughed his daughter, played his boy; » ae His library, t though large, was read Till half its contents decked his head. At morn, ’t was health, wealth, pure delight, ’T was health, wealth, peace, and bliss at night I.wished not to disturb his bliss— "TF is gone! but all the fault is his. ae » OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 353 The social glass I saw him seize, The more with festive wit to please, Daily increase his love of Caer Ah, little thought he J was near! Gradual indulgence on him stole, Frequent became the midnightbowl. J, in that bowl, the headache placed, Which, with the juice, his lips embraced. Shame next I mingled with the draught; Indignantly-he drank, and laughed. In the bowl’s bottom, bankruptcy ( placed—he drank with tears and glee. Remorse did I into it pour; He only sought the bow] the more. I mingled, next, joint torturing pain; Little the more did he refrain. The dropsy in the cup I mixed ; Still to his mouth the cup was fixed. - My emissaries thus in vain L sent, the mad wretch to restrain. On the bowl’s bottom, then, myse/f I threw; the most abhorrent elf Of all that mortals hate or dread ; And thus in horrid whispers said, «¢ Successless ministers I’ve sent, Thy hastening ruin to prevent 5 Their lessons nought—then here am I; Think not my threatenings to defy. Swallow this, this thy last will be,” For with it, thou must swallow me.” Haggard his eyes, upright his hair, Remorse his lips, his cheeks despair ; With shaking hands the bowl he clasp’d, My meatless limbs his carcass grasp’d And bore it to the churchyard, where Thousands, ere 1 would call, repair. Death speaks—ah, reader, dost thou hear? Hast thou no lurking cause to fear? Has not o’er thee the sparkling bowl, Constant, commanding, sly control ? Betimes reflect, betimes beware, Though ruddy, healthful now, and fair; Before slow reason lose the sway, Reform; postpone ancther day, You soon may mix with common clay. —Anoxyniovs. 30 354 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE LESSON CLXIX. hi CHOICE OF HERCULES. * ‘Wuen Hercules was in that part of his youth, in which it was natural for him to consider what course of life he ought to pur- sue, he one day retired into a desert, where the silence and the solitude of the place very much favored his meditations. As he was musing on his present condition, and very much perplexed in himself on the state of life which he should choose, he saw two women of larger stature than ordinary, approaching him. One of them had a very noble air and graceful deportment ; her beauty was natural and easy, her person clean and unspot- ted, her eyes cast toward the ground with an agreeable reserve, her motion and behavior full of modesty, and her raiment as white as snow. ‘The other had a great deal of health and flor- idness in her countenance, which she had helped with an artifi- cial white and red; and she endeavored to appear more graceful than ordinary in her mien, by a mixture of affectation in all her - gestures. She had a wonderful confidence and assurance in her looks, and all the variety of colors in her dress, that she thought were the most proper to show her complexion to advantage. She cast her eyes upon herself, then turned them on those that - were present, to see how they liked her, and often looked on the figure she made in her own shadow. Upon her approach to Hercules, she stepped before the other lady, who came for- ward with a regular, composed carriage, and, running up to him, accosted him after the following manner: «s My dear Hercules, I find you are very much divided in your thoughts upon the way of life, that you ought to choose: be my friend, and follow me; I will lead you into the possession of pleasure, and out of the reach of pain, and remove you from all the noise and disquietude of business. ‘The affairs of either - war or peace shall have no power to disturb you. Your whole employment shall be to make your life easy, and to entertain every sense with its proper gratifications. Sumptuous tables, beds of roses, clouds of perfumes, concerts of music, crowds of beauties, are all in readiness to receive you. Come along with me into this region of delights, this world of pleasure, and bid arewell forever to care, to pain, to business.’’ Hercules, hear- ing the lady talk after this manner, desired to know her name; to which she answered, ‘“‘ My friends and those who are well acquainted with me, call me Happiness: but my enemies and those who would injure my reputation, have given me the name. of Pleasure.” ~ By this time, the other lady was come up, and addressed her- OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 355 self to the young hero in a very different manner. <‘ Hercules,’’ said she, ‘I offer myself to you, because I know you are de- scended from the gods, and give proofs of that descent, by your love of virtue, and application to the studies proper for your age. This makes me hope that you will gain, both for yourself and me, an immortal reputation. But before I invite you into my society and friendship, I will be open and sincere with you; and must lay this down as an established truth, that there is nothing truly valuable which can be purchased without pains and labor. ‘he gods have set a price upon every real and noble pleasure. If you would gain the favor of the Deity, you must be at the pains of worshiping him; if the friendship of good men, you must study to oblige them ; if you would be honored by your country, you must take care to serve it; in short, if you would be eminent in war or peace, you must become master of all the qualifications that can make you so. ‘These are the only terms and conditions upon which I can promise happiness.”’ The goddess of Pleasure here broke in upon her discourse ; ‘* You see,’’ said she, “ Hercules, by her own confession, the way to her pleasures is long and difficult, whereas that which I propose is short and easy.”’ ‘Alas!’ said the other lady, whose visage glowed with scorn and pity, ‘¢ what are the pleasures you propose? ‘To eat before you are hungry, drink before you are thirsty, sleep before you are tired; to gratify appetites before they are raised, and raise such appetites as nature never plant- ed. You never heard the most delicious music, which is the praise of yourself; or saw the most beautiful cbject, which is the work of your own hands. Your votaries pass away their youth in a dream of mistaken pleasures; while they are hoard- ing up anguish, torment, and remorse, for old age. As for me, I am the friend of the gods, and of good men; an agreeable companion of the artisan; a household guardian to the fathers of families ; a patron and protector of servants; an asso- ciate in all true and generous friendships. The banquets of my votaries are never costly, but always delicious; for none eat or drink at them, who are not invited by hunger and thirst. ‘Their slumbers are sound, and their wakings cheerful. My young men have the pleasure of hearing themselves praised by those who are in years: and those who are in years, of being honored by those who are young. Ina word, my followers are favored by the gods, beloved by their acquaintance, esteemed by their coun- try, and, after the close of their labors, honored by posterity.” We know, by the life of this memorable hero, to which of these two ladies he gave up his heart; and, I believe, every one who reads this, will do him the justice to approve of his choice. TATLER. 356 M'GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE LESSON CLXX. ALEXANDER’S FEAST. *T was at the royal feast, for Persia won By Philip’s warlike son.— Aloft, in awful state, The godlike hero sat On his imperial throne. His valiant peers were placed around, Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound ; So should desert in arms be crowned. The lovely Thais, by his side, Sat like a blooming Kastern bride, In flower of youth, and beauty’s pride.— Happy, happy, happy pair! None but the brave, None but the brave, None but the brave—deserve the fair Timotheus, placed on high Amid the tuneful choir, With flying fingers touched the lyre- The trembling notes ascend the sky, And heavenly joys inspire. The song began from Jove, Who left his blissful seats above; Such is the power of mighty love. A dragon’s fiery form belied the god- Sublime on radiant spheres he rode, When he to fair Olympia pressed, And stamped an image of himself, a sovereign of the world. The listening crowd admire the lofty sound: A present deity ! they shout around ; A present deity! the vaulted roofs rebound.— With ravished ears The monarch hears ; Assumes the god, Affects to nod, And seems to shake the spheres. The praise of Bacchus, then, the sweet musician sung ; Of Bacchus, ever fair, and ever young. The jolly god in triumph comes! Sound the trumpets, beat the drums. Flushed with a purple grace, He shows his honest face. Now, give the hautboys breath—he comes! he comes! Bacchus, ever fair and young, Drinking joys did first ordain. Bacchus’ blessings are a treasure; Drinking is the soldier’s pleasure Rich the treasure ; OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 357 Sweet the pleasure; Sweet is pleasure after pain. Svothed with the sound, the king grew vain. Fought his battles o’er again; And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain. The master saw the madness rise; His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes ; And, while he heaven and earth defied, Changed his hand, and checked his pride.— He chose a mournful muse Soft pity to infuse. He sung Darius, great and good, By too severe a fate, . Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, Fallen from his high estate, . And weltering in his blood. Deserted in his utmost need By those his former bounty fed, On the bare earth exposed he lies, With not a friend to close his eyes.— ~ With downcast look the joyless victor sat, Revolving, in his altered soul, The various turns of fate below, And, now and then, a sigh he stole, And tears began to flow. The master smiled, to see That love was in the next degree; *T'was but a kindred sound to move; For pity melts the mind to love. Softly sweet in Lydian measures, Soon, he soothed his soul to pleasures; War, he sung, is toil and trouble; Honor, but an empty bubble; Never ending, still beginning, ~ Fighting still, and still destroying. If the world be worth thy winning, Think, oh! think it worth enjoying! Lovely Thais sits beside thee; Take the good the gods provide thee.— The many rend the skies with loud applause 3 So love was crowned, but music won the cause. The prince, unable to conceal his pain, Gazed on the fair Who caused his care, And sighed and looked; sighed and looked. Sighed and looked; and sighed again: At length, with love and wine at once oppressed, The vanquished victor—sunk upon her breast. Now, strike the golden lyre again 5 A louder yet, and yet a louder strain: 358 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE Break his bands of sleep asunder, And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder, Hark! hark !—the horrid sound Hath raised up his head, As awaked from the dead, - And amazed he stares around. Revenge, revenge! 'Timotheus cries— See the furies arise! See the snakes that they rear, How they hiss in the air, And the sparkles that flash from their eyes! Behold a ghastly band, Iach a torch in his hand ! 4 These are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain, And, unburied, remain Inglorious on the plain. Give the vengeance due To the valiant crew. Behold, how they toss their torches on high ! How they point to the Persian abodes, And glittering temples of their hostile gods ! The princes applaud, with a furious joy ; And the king seized a flambeau, with zeal to destroy + Thais led the way, To light him to his prey; And, like another Helen—fired another Troy. Thus, long ago, Ere heaving bellows learned to blow, While organs yet were mute ; Timotheus, to his breathing flute And sounding lyre, Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. At last, divine Cceilia came, Inventress of the vocal frame. The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store: Inlarged the former narrow bounds, And added length to solemn sounds, With nature’s mother-wit, and arts unknown before. “Let old Timotheus yield the prize, Or both divide the crown; He raised a mortal to the skies; She drew an angel down.—Drypen. OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 359 LESSON CLXXI. | SPEECH ON THE CATHOLIC QUESTION. Wuerg, | ask, where are those Protestant petitions against the Catholic claims, which, we were told, would by this time have borne down your table? We were told, in the confident tone of prophecy, that England would have poured in petitions rom all her counties, towns, and corporations, against the claims of Ireland. JI ask, where are those petitions? Has London, her mighty capital, has the university of Dublin, mocked the calami- ties of your country, by petitioning in favor of those prejudices, that would render us less able to redress them? Have the peo- ple of England raised a voice against their Catholic fellow-sub- jects? No; they have the wisdom to see the folly of robbing the empire, at such a time, of one-fourth of its strength, on ac- count of speculative doctrines of faith. ‘They will not risk a kingdom, on account of old men’s dreams about the prevalence of the pope. They will not sacrifice an empire, because they dislike the sacrifice of the mass. I say, then, England is not against us. She has put ten thou- sand signatures upon your table in our favor. And what says the Protestant interest in Ireland? Look at this petition; ex- amine the names, the houses, the families. Look at the list of merchants, of divines. Look, in a word, at Protestant Ireland, calling to you in a warning voice; telling you, that if you are resolved to go on till ruin breaks, with a fearful surprise, upon your progress, they will go on with you; they must partake your danger, though they will not share your guilt. Ireland, with her imperial crown, now stands before you. You have taken her parliament from her, and she appears in her own person at your bar. Will you dismiss a kingdom without a hearing? Is this your answer to her zeal, to her faith, to the blood that has’so profusely graced your march to victory, to the treasures that have decked your strength in peace? Is her name nothing? her fate indifferent? Are ‘her contributions insignifi- eant? her six millions revenue? her ten millions trade? her two millions absentee? her four millions loan? Is suéh a country not worth a hearing? Will you, can you dismiss her abruptly from your bar? You cannot do it! the instinct of England is against it. We may be outnumbered now, and again; but, in calculating the amount of the real sentiments of the people, the ciphers that swell the evanescent majorities of an evanescent minister, go for nothing. Can Ireland forget the memorable era of 1788? Can others forget the munificent hospitality, with which she then gave to her 360 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE chosen hope all she had to give? Can Ireland forget the spon- taneous and glowing cordiality, with which her favors were then received? Never! Never! Irishmen grew justly proud, in the consciousness of being subjects of a gracious predilection ; a predilection that required no apology, and called for no renun- ciation; a predilection that did equal honor to him who felt it, and to those who were the objects of it. It laid the grounds of a great and fervent hope; all a nation’s wishes, crowding toa point, and looking forward to one event, as the great coming, at which every wound was to be healed, every tear to be wiped away. The hope of that hour beamed with a cheering warmth and a seductive brillianey. Ireland followed it, with all her heart—a leading light through the wilderness, and brighter in its gloom. She followed it over a wild and barren waste; it has charmed her through the desert, and now, that it has led her to the con- fines of light and-darkness, now, that she is on the border of the promised land, is the prospect to be suddenly obscured, and the fair vision of princely faith to vanish forever! I will not be- lieve it; I require an act of parliament to vouch its credibility ; nay, more, [ demand a miracle to convince me that it is possible. GRATTAN. LESSON CLXXIL. ON A STANDING ARMY. We have heard a great deal about parliamentary armies, and about an army continued from year to year. I always have been, and always shall be, against a standing army of any kind. To me, it is a terrible thing; whether under that of a parliamentary, or any other designation, a standing army is still a standing army, whatever name it is called by. ‘They are a body of. men, dis- tinct from the body of the people; they are governed by differ- ent laws; and a blind obedience, and an entire submission to the orders of their commanding officer, is their only principle. ‘The nations around us are already enslaved, and have been enslaved, by these very means. By means of their standing armies, they have, every one, lost their liberties. It is, indeed, impossible that the liberties of the people can be preserved in’any country where a numerous standing army is kept up. Shall we, then, take any of our measures from the examples of our neighbors? On the contrary, from their misfortunes, we ought to learn to avoid neve rocks upon which they have split. It signifies nothing, to tell me that our army is commanded ne OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 361 such gentlemen, as cannot be supposed to join in any measures for enslaving their country. It may beso. 1 hope itisso. I have a very good opinion of many gentlemen now in the army. I believe they would not join in any such measures; but their lives are uncertain, nor can we be sure how long they may be continued in command. ‘They may all be dismissed in a mo- ment, and proper tools put in their room. Besides, we know the passions of men; we know how dangerous it is to trust the bes of men with too much power. Where was there a braver army than that under Julius Cesar? Where was there ever an army that had served their country more faithfully? ‘That army was commanded, generally, by the best citizens of Rome, by men of great fortune and figure in their country ; yet that army enslaved their country. The affections of the soldiers toward their country, the honor and integrity of the under officers, are not to be depended on. By the military law, the administration of justice is so quick, and the punishment so severe, that neither officer nor soldier dares offer to dispute the orders of his supreme commander; he must not consult his own inclinations. If an officer were com- manded to pull his own father out of this House, he must do it; he dares not disobey ; immediate death would be the consequence of the least grumbling. And if an officer were sent into the Court of Request, accompanied by a body of musketeers, with screwed bayonets, and with orders to tell us what we ought to do, and how we ought to vote, I know what would be the duty of this House; I know it would be our duty to order the officer to be taken and hanged up at the door of the lobby ; but I doubt much if such a spirit could be found in this House, or in any House of Commons that will ever be in England. Sir, I talk not of imaginary things; I talk of what has hap- pened to an English House of Commons, and from an English army; not only from an English army, but an army that was raised by that very House of Commons; an army that was paid by them; and an army that was commanded by generals ap- pointed by them. ‘Therefore, do not let us vainly imagine, that an army raised and maintained by authority of parliament, will always be submissive to them. If any army be so numerous, as to have it in their power to overawe the parliament, they will be submissive as long as the parliament does nothing to disoblige their favorite general; but when that case happens, [ am afraid, that in place of the parliament’s dismissing the army, the army will dismiss the parliament, as they have done heretofore. We are told ihis army is desired to be continued but for one year longer, or fo. a limited term of years. How absurd is this distinction! Is there any army in the world, continued for any 31 os ”~ 2 362 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE term of years? Does the most absolute monarch tell his army, that he isto continue them for any number of years, or any number of months? How long have we already eontinued our army from year to»year? And if it thus continues, where will it differ from the standing armies of those countries, which have already submitted their necks to the yoke?’ Weare come to the Rubicon; our army is now to be reduced, or it never will; from his majesty’s own mouth, we are assured of a profound tranquillity; we know there is one at home. If this is not a proper time, if these circumstances do not afford us a safe opportunity for reducing, at least, a part of our regular forces, we never can expect to see any reduction; and this na- tion, already overburdened with debts and taxes, must be loaded with the heavy charge of perpetually supporting a numerous standing army; and remain forever exposed to the danger of having its liberties and privileges trampled upon by any future king or ministry, who shall-take it into their heads to do so, and shall take a proper care to model the army for that purpose. PULTENEY. LESSON CLXXIIL. KING JOHN DIRECTING HUBERT TO THE MURDER OF PRINCE ARTHUR. King John. Come hither, Hubert, O, my gentle Hubert! We owe thee much; within this wall of flesh There is a soul counts thee her creditor, And with advantage means to pay thy love: And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished. Give me thy hand. I had a thing to say— But I will fit it with some better time. By heaven, Hubert, ] am almost ashamed To say what good respect I have of thee. Hubert. 1 am much bounden to your majesty. K. John. Good friend, thou hast.no cause to say so yet$ But thou shalt have; and, creep time ne’er so slow, Yet it shall come for me to do thee good. I had.a thing to say,—but let it go: The sun is in the heaven, and the proud day, Attended with the pleasures of the world, Is all too wanton, and too full of gauds, To give me audience:—If the midnight bell 3 Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth, Sound one unto the drowsy race of night; : If this same were a church-yard where we stand, ee And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs ; ae Ae a”, » ‘i 3 » OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. Or if that swly spirit, melancholy, : Had bak’d thy blood and made. it heavy, thick ; (Which, else, runs trickling up and down the veins, Making that idiot, laughter, keep men’s eyes, _ ’ And strain their cheeks to idle merriment, A passion hateful to my purposes ;) . Or if that thou could’St see me without eyes, Hear me without thine ears, and make reply Without a tongue, using conceit alone, Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words; Then, in despite of brooded, watchful day, I would into this bosom pour my thought; But ah, I will not :—vYet I love thee well; And, by my troth, I think thou lov’st me well. Hub. So well, that what you bid me undertake, Though that my death were adjunct to my act, By heaven, I'd do it. , JOnn. % Do I not know, thou would’st ? Good Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye On yon young boy; 1 ’Il tell thee what, my friend, He is a very serpent in my way; And, wheresoe’er this foot of mine doth trace, He lies before me: Dost thou understand met? Thou art his keeper.— Hub. And I will keep him so, That he shall not offend your majesty. K. Jthn. Death. Hub. My lord ? K. John. A grave. Hub. He shall not live. _ K. John. Enough. I could be merry now. Hubert, I love thee; - Well, I ’ll not say what I intend for thee: Remember. LESSON CLXXIV. REMORSE OF KING JOHN. 363 ’ SHAKSPEARE. Hubert. My lord, they say five moons were seen to-night : - Four fixed ; and the fifth did whirl about __ The other four, in wondrous motion. King John. Five moons? Hub, Old men and beldams_ in the streets Do prophesy upon it dangerously: Young Arthur’s death is common in their mouths 7 yhisper one another in the ear; An And hi that speaks, doth gripe the hearer’s wrist, po oe they talk of him; they shake their heads, c ‘ % 364 M’GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE Whilst he, that hears, makes fearful action With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes. I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus, The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool, With open mouth swallowing a tailor’s news ; Who, with his shears and measure in his hand, Standing on slippers, (which his nimble haste * Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet, ) Told of many thousand warlike French, That were embattled and rank’d in Kent; Another lean, unwashed artificer, Cuts off his tale, and talks of Arthur’s death. K. John. Why seck’st thou to possess me with these fears ? Why urgest thou so oft young Arthur’s death? Thy hand hath murdered him; I had mighty cause To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him. Hub. Had none, my lord! Why, did you not provoke me ? K. John. tis the curse of kings, to be attended By slaves that take their humors for a warrant To break within the bloody house of life ; And on the winking of authority, To understand a law ; to know the meaning Of dangerous majesty, when, perchance, it “frowns More upon humor than advised respect. Hub. Were is your hand and seal for what I did. . kK, John. Oh, when the last account ’twixt heaven and earth Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal Witness against us to damnation! How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds, Makes ill deeds done! Hadst not thou been by, A fellow by the hand of nature mark’d, Quoted and sign’d to do a deed of shame, ‘This murder had not come into my mind : But, taking note of thy abhorred aspect, Finding thee fit for bloody villainy, Apt, liable to be employed in danger, I faintly broke with thee of Artnur’s death; And thou, to be endeared to a king, Made it no conscience to destroy a prince. Hub. My lord. K. John. Uadst thou but shook thy head, or made a pause, When I spoke darkly what I purposed ; Or turned an eye of doubt upon my face, And bid me tell my tale in express words ; Deep shame had made me dumb, made me break off, And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me But thou didst understand me by my signs, And didst in signs again parley with sin; Yea, without stop didst let thy heart consent, And, consequently, thy rude hand to act The deed, which both our tongues hold vile to name,— Out of my sight, and never see me more! ‘ i % . OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. | 365 _ My nobles leave me; and my state is braved, Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers ; Nay, in the body of this fleshly land, This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath, Hostility and civil tumult reigns Between my conscience, and my cousin’s death. Hub. Arm you against your other enemies, I'll make a peace between your soul and you. Young Arthur is alive: this hand of mine Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand, Not painted with the crimson spots of blood. Within this bosom never entered yet The dreadful notion of a murderous thought, And you have slandered nature in my form; Which, however rude exterlorly, Is yet the cover of a fairer mind Than to be butcher of an innocent child. K. John. Doth Arthur live? Oh, haste thee to the peers, Throw this report on their incens’d rage, _ And make them tame to their obedience ! Forgive the comment that my passion made Upon thy feature: for my rage was blind, And foul, imaginary eyes of blood Presented thee more hideous than thou art. O, answer not; but to my closet bring The angry lords, with all expedient haste ; mei I conjure thee but slowly: run more fast.—SuaksPeare by fw i LESSON CLXXV THE TWINS , Tuer Kirk of Auchindown stands, with its burial-ground, on a little, green hill surrounded by an irregular and straggling village, or rather about a hundred hamlets clustering round it, with their fields and gardens. the eleven I paid. P. Henry. ©, monstrous! eleven buckram men grown out of two! Ful. But three knaves, in Kendal green, came at my back, and let drive at me;—for it w as so dark, Hal, that thou could’st not see thy hand. P. Henry. These lies are like the father of them; gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou clay-brained, thou knotty- pared fool; thou greasy tallow-keech ce Fol. What! art thou mad? art thou mad? is not the truth the ‘truth? P. Henry. Why, how could’st thou know these men in Kendal “ay OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 421 green, when it was so dark thou could’st not see thy hand? Come, tell us your reason ;—what say’st thou to this ? Poins. Come, your reason, Jack; your reason. Fal, What, upon compulsion? 'N o, were I at the strappado, or all the racks in the world, I would not tell you on compulsion. Give you a reason on compulsion ? If reasons were as plenty as black- berries, | would give no man a reason on compulsion. P. Henry. 17\1 no longer be guilty of this sin: this sanguine cow- ard, this bed-presser, this horse-back-breaker, this huge hill of flesh Fal. Away! you starveling, you eel-skin, you dried neat’s tongue, you stock-fish—O for breath to utter what is like thee !—you tailor’s yard, you sheath, you bow-case, you P. Henry. Well, breathe awhile, and then to ’t again; and when thou hast tired thyself i in base comparisons, hear me speak but this. Poins. Mark, Jack. P. Henry. We two, saw you four, set on four; you bound them, and were masters of their wealth. Mark now, how plain a tale shall put you down. ‘Then did we two, set on you four, and with a word out-faced you from your prize, and have it; yea, and can show it to you, here in the house: and, Falstaff, you carried yourself away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and roared for mercy, and still ran and roared, as ever I heard calf. What a slave art thou, to hack ' thy sword as thou has done, and then say it was in fight. What trick, what device, what starting-hole canst thou now find out to hide thee from this open and apparent shame? Poins. Come, let’s hear, Jack. What trick hast thou now 2 2 Fal. Why, I knew ye, as well as he that made ye. Why, hear ye, my masters : was it for me to kill the heir-apparent? Should I turn upon the true prince? Why, thou knowest, I am as valiant as Hercules; but beware instinct; the lion will not touch the true prince ; instinct is a great matter; I was a coward on instinct. I shall think the better of myself and thee, duriag my life; I for a val- iant lion, and thou for a true prince. But lads, [am glad you have the money. Hostess, clap to theloors. Watch to-night, pray to-mor- row. Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold; all the titles of good fel- lowship come to you! What, shall we be merry? Shall we havea play extempore ? P. Henry. Content;—and the argument shall be, thy running away. Fal. Ah! no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me.—SHaksPEARE. 422 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE LESSON CCIV COMBAT BETWEEN.A CRUSADER AND SARACEN. * wf x As the Knight of the Leopard fixed his eyes -attentively on the distant cluster of palm-trees, which arose be- side the well assigned for his mid-day station, it seemed to him as if some object was moving among them. ‘The distant form eparated itself from the trees which partly hid its motions, and advanced towards the knight with a speéd which soon showed a mounted horseman, whom his turban, long spear, and green cafian* floating in the wind, on his nearer approach, showed to be a Saracen cavalier. ‘In the desert,’’ saith an Eastern pro- verb, “‘no man meets a friend.’’ ‘The crusader was totally indif- ferent whether the infidel, who now approached on his gallant barb, as if borne on the wings of an eagle, came as friend or foe :—perhaps, as a vowed champion of the Cross, he might rather have preferred the latter. He disengaged his lance from his saddle, seized it with the right hand, placed it in rest, with its point half elevated, gathered up.the reins in the left, waked his horse’s mettle with the spur, and prepared to encounter the ~ stranger with the calm self-confidence belonging to the victor in ' many contests. The Saracen came on at the speedy gallop of an Arab horse- man, managing his steed more by his limbs and the inflection of his body, than by any use of the reins, which hung loose in his left hand; so that he was enabled to wield the light, round buck- ler of the skin of the rhinoceros, ornamented with silver loops, which he wore on-his arm, swinging it, as if he meant to oppose its slender circle to the formidable thrust of the western lance. His own long spear was not couched, or leveled like that of his antagonist, but grasped by the middle with his right hand, and brandished at arm’s length, above his head. As the cavalier ap- proached his enemy, at full career, he seemed to expect that the Knight of the Leopard should put his horse to the gallop, to en- counter him. But the christian knight, well acquainted with the customs of eastern warriors, did not mean to exhaust his good horse by any unnecessary exertion ; and, on the contrary, made a dead halt, confident that if the enemy advanced to the actual shock, his own weight and that of his powerful charger would give him sufficient advantage, without the momentum gained by rapid motion. Equally sensible and apprehensive of such a probable result, the Saracen cavalier, when he had approached towards the chris- * A kind of loose vest: OF THE ECLECTIC. SERIES. 423 tian within twice the length of his lance, wheeled his steed to the left, with inimitable dexterity, and rode twice around his an- tagonist, who, turning without quitting his ground, and presenting his front constantly to his enemy, frustrated his attempts to at- tack him on an unguarded point; so that the Saracen, wheeling his horse, was fain to retreat to the distance of a hundred yards. A second time, like a hawk attacking a heron, the heathen re- newed the charge, and, a second time, was fain to retreat without coming to a close struggle. A third time, he approached in the-same manner, when the Christian knight, desirous to terminate this illusory warfare, in which he might, at length, have been worn out by the activity of his foeman, suddenly seized the mace which hunggat his saddle- bow, and with a strong hand and unerring aim, hurled it against the head of his assailant. ‘The Saracen was just aware of the formidable missile, in time to interpose his light buckler betwixt the mace and his head; but the violence of the blow forced the buckler down on his turban, and, though that defense also con- tributed to deaden its violence, the Saracen was beaten from his horse. — hs Ere the Christian could avail himself of this mishap, his nim- ble foeman sprung from the ground, and, calling on his steed, which instantly returned to his side, he leaped into his seat, and regained all the advantage of which the Knight of the Leopard had hoped to deprive him. But the latter had, in the mean while, recovered his mace, and the eastern cavalier, who remembered the strength and dexterity with which his antagonist had aimed it, seemed to keep cautiously out of reach of that weapon, of which he had so lately felt the force; while he showed his pur- pose of waging a distant warfare with missile weapons of his own. Planting his long spear in the sand at a distance from the scene of combat, he strung,with great address, a short bow which he carried at his back, and, putting his horse to the gallop, once more described two or three circles of a wider extent than for- merly, in the course of which, he discharged six arrows with such unerring skill, that the goodness of the knight’s armor alone saved him from being wounded in as many places. The seventh shaft apparently found a less perfect part of the harness, and the Christian dropped heavily from his horse. But what was the surprise of the Saracen, when, dismounting to ex- amine the condition of his prostrate enemy, he found himself suddenly within the grasp of the European, who had had recourse to this artifice to bring his enemy within his reach! Even in this deadly grapple, the Saracen was saved by his agility and presence of mind. He unloosed the sword-belt, in which the. Knight of the Leopard had fixed his hold, and thus eluding the » of a 424 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE fatal grasp, mounted his horse, which seemed to watch his mo- tions with the intelligence of a human being, and again rode off. But in the last encounter, the Saracen had lost his sword and his quiver of arrows, both of which were attached to the girdle, which he was obliged to abandon. He had also lost his turban in the struggle. These disadvantages seemed to incline the Mos- lem toa truce. He approached the Christian with his right hand extended, but no longer in a menacing attitude. +‘ There is truce betwixt our nations,” he said; *§ wherefore should there be war betwixt thee and me? Let there be peace betwixt us.” “I am well contented,’”’ answered he of the Leopard; “but what secu- rity dost thou offer that thou wilt observe the truce?’ The word of a follgwer of the Prophet was never broken,” answered the emir. “It is thou, brave Nazarene, from whom J should demand security, did I not know that treason seldom dwells with courage.’ ‘The crusader felt that the confidence of the Moslem made him ashamed of his own doubts. “By the cross of my sword,’ he said, laying his hand upon the weapon as he spoke, “I will be a true companion to thee, Saracen, while our fortune wills that we remain in company.” “ By Monammed, Prophet of Allah,” replied his late foeman, “there is not treachery in my heart toward thee. And now, wend we to yonder fountain, for the hour of rest is at hand, and the. stream had hardly touched my lip, when. I was called to battle by thy approach.” ‘The Knight of the Leopard yielded a ready and. courteous assent; and the late foes, without an angry look or gesture of doubt, rode, side by side, to the little cluster of ~ palm trees—WatrTer Scorr. LESSON CCV. LOCHINVAR. O voune Lochinvar is come out of the West, Through all the wide border his steed was the best; And save his good broad-sword, he weapon had none, He rode all unarm’d, and he rode all alone. So faithful in love, seal so dauntless in war, There never was knight like young Lochinvar. Fe staid not for brake, and he stopp’d not for stone, He swam the Eske river where ford there was none; But, ere he alighted at Netherby sate, ; The bride had consented, the eallant came late: For a laggard in love atid a dast: ard In war, Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. = - * ’” OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. " 425 So boldly he éntered thre Netherby hall, Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, ‘and brothers; and all ; Then spoke: the bride’s father, his hand on his sword, (For the poor,eraven bridegroom said never a word,) ‘**O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance.at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar ?” “‘T long woo’d your daughter, my suit you denied : Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide; And now,am I come with this lost love of mine, To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, That would gladly be bride to young Lochinvar.” _ The bride kissed the goblet, the knight took it up, He quafted off the wine, and threw down the cup. She look’d down to blush, and she look’d up to sigh, With a smile on her lips, ‘and a tear in her eye. He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,— “ Now tread we a measure!” said young Lochinvar. ; So stately h® form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace; While her mother did fret and her father did fume, _And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume 3. And the bridemaidens whisper’d “I were better by far To have matched. our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.” One touch to her hand and one word in her ear, . When they reached the hall door,.and the charger stood near; So light to the croup the fair lady he swung pod So light to the saddle before her he sprung! ‘She is won!, we are gone, over bank, bush, and seaur; They *1l have fleet steeds that follow »’ quoth young Lochinvar. There was mounting ’ mong Gremes of the Netherby clan; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Museraves, they rode and they ran; _ There was racing, and chasing, on Cannobie Lee, | But the lost bride of Netherby ne’er did they see. So daring i in love and so dauntless in war, Have ye e’er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar ?—Scorr. LESSON CCVI. a AN INVOCATION. Come out of the sea, maiden, Come out of the sea, With thy green tresses laden “With jewels. for me 5 36 : 426 > * - ; MGUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDES Out of the deep, iiheos the. sea-grass waves Its plumage in silence, o’er gems and. graves, Come out, for the moonlight. f Is over the earth, - hg ~ And all ocean is bright 5 With a beautiful birth ; The birth of ten thousand gleaming things, Darting and dipping their silver wings. w Come up, with your rosy, siren horn, From caves of melody, Where the far down music-of, death is Dabs: O maiden of the sea! Come, breathe to me tales of your coral halls, Where the echo of tempest never falls ; Where faces are vailed In a strange eclipse, ae And voice never wailed ae From human lips; But a fathomless silence and glory sleep, Far under the swell of the booming deep. ie s Come forth, and reveal To my *tranced eye, Where thy elf sisters steal In their beauty by, Like victors, with watery flags unfurled, >Mid the buried wealth of a plundered world : Where the sea-snakes glide O’er monarchs-drowned, With their skulls yet in pride Of diamonds crowned : Where the bones of whole navies lie around, Awaiting the last stern trumpet’s sound. s O tell me if there, The uncoffined dead, ; ‘Who earth’s beautiful were, To their billowy, bed, (Some cavern of pearls,) are borne far in, Where the spirits of ocean their watch begin; — And their long hair flung O’er their bosoms white, Is the shroud of the young, The pale, and bright; And guarded for ages, untouched they lie In the gaze of the sea-maid’s sleepless eye. For, niaiden, 1 ’ve dreamed Of long vigils kept O’er lost ¢ ones, who gleamed On our hearts ere they slept; 4 { * al OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES, 427 The visions of earth,—too pure for decay, In the silent, green ocean-halls inineam mney And Giese to her. rest A seraph went down, With her-warm heart pressed . To the heart she had won; *Mid the shriek of the storm and the thunder of waves, Sea-maiden, she shot to thy echoless caves. O come—lI invoke thee, ~'rom thy dim chambers hither— Bear me under the sea, Where white brows never wither; Lay me there, with my pale and beautiful dead, With her wet hair sweeping about my head! Come out of the sea, maiden, iy Come out of the sea, For my spirit is laden YS} en, And pants to be free; _{ would pass from the storms of this sounding shore, For the cloudless light of my years is o’er. —Mewen. LESSON CCVII. THE CORAL GROVE .. Deep in the wave is a coral grove, Where the purple mullet and gold-fish rove, Where the sea-flower spreads its leaves of blue, That never are wet with falling dew, But.in bright and changeful beauty shine, pike Far down in the green and glassy brine. a The floor is of sand, like the mountain-drift, And the pearl-shells spangle the flinty snow ; From coral rocks the sea-plants lift Their boughs where the tides and billows flow ; The water is calm and still below, For the winds and waves are absent there, And the sands are bright as the stars that glow In the motionless fields of upper air 5 There, with its waving blade of green, The sea-flag streams through the silent water, And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen To blush like a banner bathed in slaughter : There, with a light and easy motion, The fan-coral sweeps through the clear,deep sea ~And the yellow and searlet tufts of ocean Are bending like cotn on the upland lea; 128 MWGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE © . And life, in rare and beautiful forms, Is sporting amid those bowers of stone, And is safe, when the wrathful spirit of storms Has made the top of the waves his own; And when the ship from his fury flies, _ When the myriad voices of ocean roar, ‘When the wind-god frowns in the murky skies, And demons are waiting the wreck on shore ; Then, far below, in the peaceful sea, -~ The purple mullet and gold-fish rove, n Where the waters murmur tranquilly, Through the bending twigs of the coral-grove.—Prrcivah. | . $ LESSON CCVIII.

.* Fred. 1 can’t tell till I encounter him; and then uncle, when. © i I have an old gentleman by the hand, who has béen disabled in» * his country’s service, and is struggling to support. his motherless child, a poor relation, and a faithful servant in. honorable indi- gence, impulse will supply me with words to SRELese. my senti- _ ments. Stir R. Stop, you rogue; I must be before you m one busi- ness. Fred. That depends on who can run fastest; so, start fair, uncle, and here goes.—[ Jtuns out. | Sir R. Stop, stop; why, Frederic—a jackanapes—to take my department out of my hands! -I’Il disinherit the dog for his assurance. ¢ Hum. No you won’t. Sir R. Won’ti? Hang me if I—but we’ll argue that point ~ as we go. ‘So, come along, Humphrey.—Coiman. LESSON CCXVIIL STARLIGHT ON MARATHON. ‘No. vesper-breeze is floating now, No murmurs:shake the air; A gloom hath vailed the mountain’s brow, And quietude is there ; ; The night-beads on the dew-white grass _ Drop brilliant as my footsteps pass. No hum of life disturbs the scene, The clouds are rolled to rest ; *T is ike a calm where grief hath been, So welcome to the breast! The warring tones of day have gone, And starlight glows-on Marathon. I look around from earth.to sky, And gaze from star to star; Till Grecian hosts seem gliding by, Triumphant from the war: _ Like sleepless spirits from the dead, * _ Revisiting where oncesthey bled. : What though the mounds that marked each name, Beneath the wings of ‘Time, Have worn away,—theirs is the fame, . Immortal and sublime; _For who can tread on Freedom’s plain, Nor wake her dead to light again? > M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE Oh! to have seen the marching bands, . And heard the battle clash, Have seen their weapon-clinching hands, And eyes defiance flash,— Their radiant shields,and dancing crests, _ And corselets on their swelling breasts. Then said the mother to the son, And pointed to his shield ; ‘“¢ Come with it, when the battle’s done, Or on it, from the field !’’* Then mute she glanced her fierce, bright eye, That spoke of ages vanished by. "TP was here they fought: and martial peals Once thundered o’er the ground, And gash and wound from plunging steels Bedewed the battle mound ; . Here, Grecians trod the Persian dead, ao. And Freedom shouted while she bled! But gone the day of Freedom’s sword, And cold the patriot brave, Who mowed the dastard-minded horde Into a gory grave ; While Greece arose sublimely free, And dauntless as her own dark sea. Still, star-light sheds the same pale beam, For aye, upon the plain: And musing breasts might fondly dream ‘The Grecian free again 5 For empires fall, and Freedom dies, But dimless beauty robes the skies. May He, whose glory gems the sky, x0d of the slave and free, Hear every patriot’s burning sigh . That ’s offered here for thee ; For thee, sad Greece, and every son OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 449 LESSON CCXIX. + ihe . BATTLE OF MARATHON. ' To the left of the Athenians was a low chain of hills, clothed with trees ; to their right, a torrent; their front was long; for, to render it more imposing in extent, and to prevent being out-flank- ed by the Persian numbers, the center ranks were left weak and shallow ; but, on either wing, the troops were drawn up more solidly and strong. _ Callimachus commanded the right wing the Platzans formed the left; the whole was commanded by Mil tiades. ‘They had few, if any, horsemen or archers. The details which we possess of their arms and military array, if notin this, in other engagements of the same period, will com- plete the picture. We may behold them clad in bright armor of a good proof and well tempered, which covered breast and back ; the greaves, so often mentioned by Homer, were still rétained ; their helmets were wrought and crested, the cones mostly painted in glowing colors, and the plumage of feathers, or horse-hair, rich and waving in proportion to the rank of the wearer. Broad, sturdy, and richly ornamented were their bucklers—the pride and darling of their arms, the loss of which was the loss of honor ; their spears were ponderous, thick, and long—a chief mark of contradistinction from the light shaft of Persia—and, with their short broad-sword, constituted their main weapons. No Greek army marched to battle without vows, and sacrifice, ' and prayer; and now, in the stillness of the pause, the divine rites were solemnized. Loud broke’ the trumpets; the standards, wrought with the sacred bird of Athens, were’ raised onehigh 5 * it was the signal of battle, and the Athenians rushed with an im- petuous vehemence upon the Persian power. “'They were the first Greeks of whom I have heard,” says- the historian, “who ever ran to attack a foe; the first, too, who ever beheld, without dismay, the garb and armor of the Medes ; for hitherto, in Greece, the very name of Mede had excited terror.’ When the. Persian army, with its numerous horse, animal as well as man protected by coats of mail, its expert bow-men, its ines and ‘deep files of turbaned soldiers, gorgeous with many a blazing standard, headed by leaders well hardened, despite their gay garbs and adorned breast-plates, in many a more even field ; when, I say, this force beheld the Athenians rushing. towards them, they considered them, thus few and destitute alike of cav- alry and archers, as madmen hurrying to destruction. But it was evidently not without deliberate calculation, that Miltiades had so commenced the attack.'The warlike experience of his guer- illa life had taught him to know the foe aa whom he fought. 38 459 MGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE 2 To volunteer the assault, was to forestall and cripple the charge of the Persian horse; besides, the long lances, the heavy arms, the hand-to-hand valor cf the Greeks, must have been no light. encounter to the more weakly mailed and less formidably armed infantry, of the East. Accustemed, themselves,to give the charge, it was a novelty and a disadvantage to receive it. Long, fierce,-and stubborn was the battle. ‘The center wing of the barbarians, composed of the Sacians and the pure Per- sian race, at length, pressed hard upon the shallow center of the Greeks, drove them back into the country, and, eager with pur- suit, left their own wings to the charge of Callimachus on. the one side, and the Platzan forces on the other. The brave Cal- limachus, after the most signal-feats of valor, fell fighting in the field; but his troops, undismayed, smote on with spear and sword. The barbarians retreated backwards to the sea, where swamps and marshes encumbered their movements ; and here, (though the Athenians did not pursue them far,) the greater portion were slain, hemmed in by the morasses, and probably ridden down by their own disordered cavalry. Meanwhile, the two tribes that had formed the center, one of which was commanded by Aris- tides, retrieved themselves with a mighty effort, and the two wings having routed their antagonists, now inclining towards each other, intercepted the barbarian center, which thus attacked in front and rear, was defeated with prodigious slaughter. Evening came on; confused and disorderly, the Persians now only thought of flight ; the whole army retired to their ships, ‘hard chased by the Grecian victors, who, amid the carnage, dired the fleet. Cynegirus, brother. to Aischylus, the tragic poet, (himself highly distinguished for his feats, that day,) seized one of the vessels by the poop; his hand was severed by an ax; he died gloriously of his wounds. - But to none did the fortunes of that fieid open a more illustrious career, than to a youth of the tribe of Leontes, in whom, though probably then but a simple soldier in the ranks, werefirst made manifest the nature and the genius destined to command. The: name of that youth was "THEMISTOCLES. Seven vessels were captured, six thousand, four hundred of the barbarians fell in the field; the Athenians and their brave ally lost only one, hundred, but among them perished many of their bravest.nobles. It was a superstition, not uncharacteristic of that imaginative people, and evincing. how greatly their ardor was aroused, that many of them fancied they Leheld the gigantic shade of their ancestral Theseus, completely armed and bearing down before them upon the foe. A picture of the battle, representing Miltiades in the foremost — ae OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 451 place, and solemnly preserved in public, was deemed no inade- quate reward to that great captain; and yet, conspicuous above ‘the level plain of Marathon, rises a long barrow, fifteen feet in height, the supposed sepulcher of the Athenian heroes. Still does a romantic legend, not unfamiliar with our traditions of the north, give a supernatural terror to the spot. Nightly, along the plains are yet heard by superstition, the neighings of chargers, and the rushing shadows of spectral war. And still, throughout the civilized world, (civilized how much by the art and lore of Athens !):men of every clime, of every political persuasion, feel as Greeks at the name of Marathon. . Later fields have presented the spectacle of an equal valor, and almost the same disparities of slaughter; but never’in ‘the annals of earth, were united so closely in our applause, admiration for the heroism of the victors, and sympathy for the holiness of their cause.—BuLwerx. LESSON CCXX. SONG OF THE GREEK BARD. _A mopErn Greek is here supposed to compare the present degeneracy of his country with its ancient glory, and to utter his lamentations in the words of the song. Poe Tue Isles of Greece, the Isles of Greece! Where burning Sappho loved and sung, Where lived the arts of war and peace, Where Delos rose and Phebus sprung! Eternal summer gilds them yet, But all, except their sun, is set. wo The Scian and the Teian muse, The hero’s harp, the lover’s lute, Have found the fame your shores refuse ; Their place of birth alone is mute To sounds which echo further west, Than your sire’s ‘‘Islands of the Blest.” The mountains look on Marathon, And Marathon looks on the sea 5 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. ~ A king* sat.on the rocky brow . Which looks o’er sea-born Salamis; « * Xerxes. 452 M’GUFFEY’'S RHETORICAL GUIDE And ships by thousands lay below, And men and nations—all were his! He counted them at break of day, And when the sun set—where were they ? And where are they ? and where art thou, My country ?. On thy voiceless shore Th’ heroic lay is tuneless now, Th’ heroic bosom beats no more! And must this lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine? Must we but weep o’er days more blest? 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 Thermopyle ! : What, silent still? and silent all? Ah! no:—the voices of the dead Sound like a distant. torrent’s fall, And answer, ‘Let one living head, But one arise,—we come, we come!”’ "T is but the Living who are dumb. In vain! in vain!—strike other Mord 3 Fill high the cup with Samian wine! Leave battles to the Turkish hordes, And shed the blood of Scio’s vine! Hark! rising to the ignoble call, How answers each bold bacchanal ! You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet; » Whereis the Pyrrhic phalanx gone? Of two such lessons, why forget | The nobler and the manlier one? - You have the letters Cadmus gave; Think you he meant them for a slave? Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! We will not think of themes like these! It made Anacreon’s song divine! ; ‘He served—but served Polycrates— A tyrant: but our masters then Were still at least our countrymen. The tyrant of the Chersonese Was freedom’s best and bravest friend: That tyrant was Miltiades! O! that the present hour would lend Another despot of the kind! Such chains as his were sure to bind. OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 453 » Fil high the bow] with Samian wine! ~ Our virgins dance beneath the shade; I see their glorious, black eyes shine; But gazing on each glowing maid, My own the burning tear-drop laves, - 'To think such breasts must suckle slaves. 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 Samian wine !—Byron. LESSON CCXXI, THE FAMILY OF MARCO BOZZARIS. Movine on beyond the range of ruined houses, though still within the line of crumbling walls, we came to a spot, perhaps as interesting as any that Greece, in her best days, could show. It was the tomb of Marco Bozzaris! No monumental marble emblazoned his deeds and fame; a few round stones, piled over his head, which, but for our guide, we should have passed haan’ out noticing, were all that marked his grave. I would not disturb a proper reverence for the past ; time cov- ers, with its dim and twilight glories, both distant scenes and the men who acted in them ; but, to my mind, Miltiades was not more of a hero at Marathon, or Leonidas,at ‘Thermopyle, than Marco Bozzaris, at Missolonghi. When they went out against the hosts of Persia, Athens and Sparta were great and” free, and they had the prospect of glory and the praise of men,—to the Greeks always dearer than life. -But when the Suliote chief. drew his sword, his country lay bleeding at the feet of a giant, and all Europe condemned the Greek revolution as fool- -hardy » and desperate. For two moaths, with but a few aided men, protected only by a ditch and a slight parapet of earth, he defended the town, where his body now “rests, against the whole Egyptian army. In stormy weather, living upon bad and unwholesome bread, with _no covering but his cloke, he passed his days and nights in con- stant vigil; in every assault his sword cut down the foremost assailant; and his voice, rising above the din of battle, struck ter- ror into the hearts of the enemy. In the struggle which ended with his life, with two thousand men, he proposed to attack the whole army of Mustapha Pacha, and called upon all who were : t a = 454 M’GUFFEYS RHETORICAL GUIDE, willing to die for their country, to stand forward. The whole band advanced, toa man. Unwilling to sa+rifice so many brave men in a death- -struggle, he chose three huncred, the sacred num- ber of the Spartan band, his true and trusty Suliotes. At mid- night, he placed himself at their head, directing that not a shot should be fired till he sounded his bugle; and his last command was, “If you lose sight of me, seek me in the pacha’s tent.” In the moment of victory, and while ordering the pacha to be seized, he received a ball in the loins; his voice still rose above the din of battle, cheering his-men, until he was struck by an- other ball in the head, and borne dead from the field of his glo- By. * But the most interesting part of our day at Missolonghi was tocome. Returning-from a ramble round the walls, we noticed a large, square house, which, our guide told us, was the residence of Constantine, the brother of Marco Bozzaris. We were all in- terested in this intelligence; and our Interest was in no small de- gree. increased, when he added, that the widow and two of the ehildren of the Suliote chief. were living. with his brother. The house was surrounded by a high stone-wall, a large gate stood invitingly open, and we turned toward it in the hope of catching a glimpse of the inhabitants; but, before we reached the gate, “our interest had increased to such a point, that, after consulting with our guide, we requested him to say, that if it would not be considered an intrusion, three travelers—two of them Ameri- cans—would feel honored in being permitted to pay their re- ea spects to the widow and children of Marco Bozzaris. a. We were invited in, and shown into a large room on the right, where three Greeks were sitting cross-legged, on a divan, smo- king the long ‘Turkish pipe. Soon after, the brother entered, a man about fifty, of middling height, spare built, and wearing a Bavarian uniform, as holding a colonel’s commission in the ser- of king Otho. In the dress of the dashing Suliote, he would have better: looked the brother of Marco Bozzatis, and I might then more easily have recognised the daring warrior, who, on the field of battle, ma moment of extremity, was deemed, by uni- versal acclamation, worthy of succeeding the fallen herh Now, the straight, military frock-coat, buttoned «tight across the breast, the stock, tight pantaloons, boots, and straps, seemed to repress the free energies of the mountain warrior; and I could not but think how awkward it must be,for one who had spent his whole life in a dress which hardly touched him, at fifty, to put on a i This occurred August 20th, 1823. His last words were, gis is dic for libs erty; is a pleasure, not a pain.” bad ~ “ae » Ms a eal ‘ OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. .. 455 stock, and straps to his boots. Our guide introduced us, with an apology for our intrusion. ‘The colonel received us with great kindness, thanked us for the honor done his brother’s widow, and requested us to be seated, ordering coffee and pipes. And here, on the very first day of our arrival in Greece, and from a source which made us proud, we had the first evidence of what afterward met me at every step, the warm feeling existing in Greece toward America; for almost the first thing that the brother of Marco Bozzaris said, was to express his gratitude as a Greek, for the services rei ndered his country by our own; and after referring to the provisions sent out for his famishing coun- trymen, his eye sparkled and his cheek- flushed, as he told us, that when the Greek revolutionary flag first sailed into the port of Napoli di Romania, among hundreds of vessels of all nations, ©. an American captain was the first to recognize and salute it. In a few moments, the widow of Mareo Bozzaris entered. I have often been disappointed in my pre-conceived notions of personal appearance, but it was-not so with the lady who now stood before me. She looked the widow of a hero; as one wor- | thy of those Grecian mothers, who gave their hair for bow-strings, and their es for sword-belts, and, while their heart-strings were cracking, sent theif young lovers from their arms, to fight and perish for their country. Perhaps it was she tha tled Mar- co Bozzaris into the path of unmortality, that roused him frome. wild guerilla warfare in which he had passed his early life, eS es and. fired him with the high and holy ambition of freeing his Cea Gl ~ Of one thing I am certain, no man could look her in e@ face, without finding his wavering purposes. fixed, without ee treading: more firmly in the path of high and henorable enter- prise. ~ She > was under forty, tall, and stately in person, and habitec n deep black, fit emblem of her widowed condition, We all rose as she entered the room; and, though ‘living seclu- has ded, and seldom. seeing the face of a stranger, she received our * compliments and returned them with far less embarrassment, than we both felt and exhibited. . oe But our-embarrassment—at least, I speak for myself—was . induced by an unexpecied circumstance. Much as I was inter- ested in lier appearance, I was not. insensible to the fact, that she was accompanied by two youne and -beautiful girls, who -— were introduced to us as her daughters. ‘This somewhat bewil- ~ dered me; for, while waiting for their appearance, and talking ‘s ' with Constantine Bozzaris, I had, in some way, conceived the idea, that the daughters were. mere. children, and had fully made up my mind to take them both on my knee and kiss them; but the appearance of the stately mother recalled me to the grave. * of Bozzaris; and the daughters would probably have thought ‘2 is Z » ox Po mi = 4 *-* ae 456 WGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE that I was.taking liberties, upon so short an acquaintance, if I had followed up my benevolent purpose in regard to them ; so, with the long pipe in my hand, which, at that time, I did not know how to manage well, I cannot flatter myself that I exhib- ited any of the alvantages of continental travel. ‘The elder was about sixteen, and even in the opinion of my friend, Dr. W., a. cool judge in these matters, a beautiful girl, possessing all the elements of Grecian beauty ; a dark, clear com- plexion; dark hair, set off by a little red cap, embroidered with gold thread, and a long blue tassel hanging down behind ;-and large black eyes expressing a melancholy quiet, but which might be excited to shoot forth glances of fire more terrible than her father’s sword. Happily too, for us, she talked French, having learned it from a French marquis, who had served in Greece, and been domesticated with them; but young, and modest, and unused to the company of strangers, she felt the embarrassment ommon to young ladies, when attempting to speak a foreign _ language. And we could not talk to her on common themes. ~ Our lips were sealed, of course, upon the subject which had brought us-to her house. We could not sound for her the praises -_ of her gallant father. At parting, however, I told them that the name of Marco Boz- garis was as familiar in America, as that of a-hero of our own : -revolution; and that it had been hallowed by the inspiration of an American poet; and I added, that if it would not be unac- ceptable, on my return to my native country, I would send the _ tribute referred to, as an evidence of the feeling existing in Amer- _ica toward the memory of Marco Bozzaris. _ My offer was grate- _ fully accepted; and afterward, while in the act of mounting my horse to leave Missolonghi, our guide, who had remained behind, came to me with a message from the widow and daugiiers, re- minding me of my promise. I make no apology for introducing to the public, the widow and - daughters of Marco Bozzaris. ‘True, I was received by them in private, without any expectation, either on their part or mine, that all the particulars of the interview would be noted and laid before the eyes of all who choose to read. I hope it will not be considered invading the sanctity of private life; but, at all events, I make no apology ; the widow and children of Marco Bozzaris are the property of the world.—STEvENs. + eS a oe ee ae oa - * OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 45 LESSON CCXXII. MARCO BOZZARIS. Ar midnight, in his guarded tent, The Turk lay 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 ; In dreams, his song 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. At midnight, in the forest shades, Bozzaris ranked his Suliote band, True as the steel of their tried blades, Heroes in heart and hand. There, had the Persian thousands stood; There, had the glad earth drunk their blood, Rit In old Plateea’s day: . And now, there breathe that haunted air, The sons of sires who conquered there, With arms to strike and souls to dare, As quick, as far as they. An hour passed on; the Turk awoke,— That bright dream was his last: He woke, to die midst flame and smoke, And shout, and groan, and saber-stroke, And death-shot falling thick and fast, Seige As lightning from the mountain-cloud ; a And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, my, 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!” - They fought like brave men, long and well; They piled the ground with Moslem slain; They conquered—but Bozzaris fell, Bleeding at every vein. His few surviving comrades saw His smile, when rang their faint huzza, And the red field was won; — They saw in death his eyelids close, Calmly as to a night’s repose, Like flowers at set of sun. 39 . ¥S.- 458 M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE. 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 Which close the pestilence, are broke, And crowded cities wail the stroke; Come, in consumption’ S ghastly form, The earthquake’s shock, the ocean’s storm, Come, when the heart beats hich 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, is 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 prime, 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.—Ha..eck. LESSON CCXXIII. DUTIES OF AMERICAN CITIZENS. ~ FELLOW-CITIZENS, let us not retire from this occasion, without a deep and solemn conviction of the duties which have devolved upon us. ‘This lovely land, this glorious liberty, these benign institutions, the dear purchase of our fathers, are ours; ours to enjoy, ours to preserve, ours to transmit. Generations past, and generations to come, hold us responsible for this sacred trust. Our fathers from behind admonish us with their anxious, pater- nal voices; posterity calls out to us from the bosom of the fu- ture; the world turns hither its solicitous eyes; all; all conjure us to act wisely and faithfully in the relation which we sustain. We can never, indeed, pay the debt which is upon us; but by virtue, by morality, by religion, by the cultivation of every good principle and every eood habit, we may hope to enjoy the bless- ing through our day, and leave it unimpaired to our children. Let us feel deeply how much of what we are and what we - i Suey < OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. ~ 459 possess, we owe to this liberty and to these institutions of gov- ernment. Nature has, indeed, given us a soil which yields boun- teously to the hands of industry; the mighty and fruitful ocean is before-us, and the skies over our heads shed health and vigor. But what are-lands, and seas, and skies to civilized man, with- out society, without knowledge, without morals, without religious culture; and how can these be enjoyed in all their extent and all their exeellence, but under the protection of wise institutions, and a free government? Fellow-citizens, there is not one of us here present, who does not, at this moment, and at every mo- ment, experience in his own condition, and in the condition of those most near and dear to him, the influence and the benefits of. this liberty, and these institutions. Let us then acknowledge the blessing; let us feel it deeply and powerfully; let us cherish a strong affection for it, and resolve te maintain and perpetuate it. ‘The blood of our fathers, let it not have been shed in vain; the great hope of posterity, let it not be blasted. The striking attitude, too, in which we stand to the world — around us,—a topic to which, I fear, I advert too often, and dwell on too long,—eannot be altogether omitted here. — Neither individuals nor nations can perform their part well, until they understand and feel its importance, and comprehend and justly appreciate all the duties belonging to it. [It is not to inflate na- tional vanity, nor to swell a light and empty feeling of self-im- portance; but it is, that we may judge justly of our situation and of our duties, that I earnestly urge this consideration of our position and our character among the nations of the earth. It cannot be denied, but by those who would. dispute against the sun, that with America, and in America, a new era commen- ees in human affairs. This era is distinguished by free repre- sentative governments, by entire religious liberty, by improved systems of national intercourse, by a newly awakened and an unquenchable spirit of free inquiry, and by a diffusion of knowl- edge through the community, such as has been before altogether unknown and unheard of.. America, America, our country, fel- low-citizens, our own dear and native land, is inseparably con- nected, fast bound up, in fortune and by fate, with these great interests. If they fall, we fall with them; if they stand, it will be because we have upholden them. Let us contemplate, then, this connection which binds the pos- terity.of others to our own; and let us manfully discharge all the duties which it imposes. If we cherish the virtues and the principles of our fathers, Heaven will assist us to carry on the work of human liberty and human happiness. Auspicious omens cheer us. Great examples are before us. Our firmament now “a shines brightly upon our path. /#ashington is im the clear, ? 460 ' M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE upper sky. Adams, Jefferson, and other stars have jomed the American constellation; they circle round their center, andthe heavens beam with new light. Beneath this illumination, let us walk the course of life; and, at its elose, devoutly commend our beloved country, the common parent of us all, to the divine be- » nignity.——- WEBSTER. LESSON COXXIV. IMPORTANCE OF THE UNION. Mr. Prusipent, I am conscious of having detained you and the senate much too long. I was drawn into the debate with no previous deliberation, | such as is suited to the discussion of so grave and important a subject. But it is a subject of which my heart is full, and I have not been willing to suppress the utter- ance of its spontaneous sentiments. T cannot, even now, per- suade myself to relinquish it, without expressing once more, my deep conviction, that, since it respects nothing less than the union of the states, it is of most vital and essential importance to the public happiness. . I profess, sir, in my career hitherto, to have kept steadily in view the 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 consideration 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, pros- trate 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 proof of its utility and its blessings ; and although our territory has stretched out wider and wider, and our population spread farther and farther, they have not out-run its protection or its benefits. It has been to us all a eopious fountain of national, social, and personal happiness. I havegnot allowed myself, sir, to look beyond the union, to see what might lie hidden in the dark recess behind. If have not coolly weighed the chances of preserving 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 see whether, with my short sight, | can fathom the abyss be- low ; nor could I regard him as a safe counselor in the affairs of the government, whose thoughts should be mainly bent_on OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 461 considering, not how the union might best be preserved, but how tolerable might be the condition of the people, BAL ty it shall be broken up and destroyed. While the union lasts, we have high, eae gratifying 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 curtam may not rise. God-grant, that on my vision never may be opened what lies behind. 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, bellig- erent; our land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood! Let their last feeble and lingering glance rather behold the gor- geous ensign of the republic, now known and honored through- out 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 obscured, bearing, for its motto, no such misera- ble interrogatory as, What is all this worth? nor those other words of delusion and folly, Liberty first, and Union after- wards,—but every where, spread all-over, in characters of liv- ing light, blazing on all its ample folds, as they float over the sea, and over the land, and on every wind, and under the whole heavens, that other sentiment, dear to every true American heart —Liberty ann Union, now and forever ; one and inseparable! [ WEBSTER. LESSON. CCXXV.. THE AMERICAN FLAG, Wuen Freedom, from her mountain height, Unfurled her standard to the air, She tore the azure robe of night, And set the stars of glory there. She mingled with its gorgeous dyes, The milky baldrick ofthe skies, And striped its pure, celestial white, With streakings of the morning light; Then, from his mansion in the sun, She called hér eagle-bearer down, And gave into his mighty hand The symbol of her chosen land. Majestic monarch of the cloud ! Who rear’st aloft thy regal form, ‘ To hear the tempest trumping loud, 462 MGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE And see the lightning-lances driven, When stridesthe warrior of the storm, — And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven; we: Child of the sun! to thee tis given - To guard the banner of the free, To hover in the sulphur smoke, To ward away the battle-stroke, And bid its blendings shine afar, Like rainbows in the cloud of war, The harbinger. of victory. Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly The sign of hope and triumph high. When speaks the signal-trumpet tone, . And the long line comes gleaming on, Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet, Has dimmed the clistening bayonet, Each soldier’s eye shall brightly turn To where thy meteor glories burn, And as his springing steps advance, Catch war and vengeance from the glance; And when the cannon’s mouthings loud, Heave, in wild wreaths, the battle shroud, And gory sabers rise and fall, Like shoots offlame on midnight’s pall, There, shall thy victor glances glow, And cowering foes shall sink below Each gallant arm, that strikes beneath That awful messenger of death. Flag of the seas! on ocean’s wave. Thy stars shall glitter o’er the brave. When death, careering on the gale, Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail, And frighted waves rush wildly back, Before the broadside’s reeling rack, The dying wanderer of the sea Shall look at once to heaven and thee, And smile, to see thy splendors fly In triumph o’er his closing eye. Flag of the free heart’s only home! By angel hands to valor given, Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, And all thy hues were born in heaven. Forever float that standard sheet! Where breathes the foe but falls before us, With Freedom’s soil beneath our feet, And Freedom’s banner waving o’er us !—J. R. Draxn, OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 463 * LESSON CCXXVI. THE EAGLE. Birp of the broad and sweeping wing, Thy home is high in heaven, Where the wide storms their banners fling, 2 And the tempest clouds are driven. Thy throne is on the mountain-top ; ‘Thy fields, the boundless air; And hoary peaks, that proudly prop The skies, thy dwellings are. Thou art perched aloft, on the beetling crag, And the waves are white below, And on, with a haste that cannot lag, _ They rush in an endless flow. Again thou hast plumed thy wing for flight, To lands beyond the sea, And away, like a spirit wreathed in light, Thou hurriest, wild and free. Lord of the boundless realm of air, In thy imperial name, The hearts of the bold and ardent dare The dangerous path of fame. Beneath the shade of thy golden wings, The Roman legions bore, From the river of Egypt’s cloudy springs, Their pride to the polar shore.* For thee they fought, for thee they fell, And their oath on thee was laid; To thee the clarions raised their swell, And the dying warrior prayed. Thou wert, through an age of death and fears, The image of pride and power, Till the gathered rage of a thousand years, Burst forth in one awful hour.} And then, a deluge of wrath it.came, And the nations shook with dread; And it swept the earth, till its fields were flame, And piled with the mingled dead. Kings were rolled in the wasteful flood, With the low and crouching slave ; And together lay in a shroud of blood, The coward and the brave. _ “The Roman standard was the image of an eagle. The soldiers swore by it, and the loss of it was considered a disgrace. ; t Alluding tothe destruction of Rome by the northern barbarians. 464 MGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE And where was then thy fearless flight? ‘¢O’er the dark and mysterious sea, To the land that caught the setting light, The cradle of Liberty. There, on the silent and lonely. shore, For ages I watched alone, And the world, in its darkness, asked no more Where the glorious bird had flown. But then, came a bold and hardy few, And they breasted the unknown wave; 1 saw from far the wandering crew, And I knew they were high and brave. I wheeled around the welcome bark, As it sought the desolate shore, And up to heaven, like a joyous lark, My quivering pinions bore. And now, that bold and hardy few. Are a nation wide and strong ; And danger and doubt I have led them through, And they worship me in song ; And over their bright and glancing arms, On field, and lake, and sea, With an eye that fires, and a spell that charms, T guide them to victory !’’—Perrcivan. LESSON COXXVII. ROME. Tue Niobe of nations! there she stands, Childless and crownless, in her voiceless woe; An empty urn within her withered hands, Whose holy dust was scattered long ago; The Scipios’ tomb contains no ashes now; The very sepulchers are tenantless Of their heroic dwellers; dost thou flow, Old Tiber! through a marble wilderness ? Rise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress ? The Goth, the Christian, Time, War, Flood, and Fire, Have dealt upon the seven hilled city’s pride; She saw her glories, star by star, expire, And up the steep, barbarian monarchs ride Where the car climbed the capitol; far and wide Temple and tower went down, nor left a site: Chaos of ruins! who shall trace the void, O’er the dim fragments cast a lunar light, And say, ‘here was, or is,’’? where all is doubly night? OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 46 The double night of ages, and of her, Night’s daughter, ignorance, hath wrapt and wrap All round us; we but feel our way to err: The ocean hath his chart, the stars their map, And knowledge spreads them on her ample lap; But Rome is as the desert, where we steer Stumbling o’er recollections; now we clap Our hands, and cry, ‘* Hureka!’’ it is clear— When but some false mirage of ruin rises near. . Alas! the lofty city! and alas! The trebly hundred triumphs! and the day, When Brutus made the dagger’s edge surpass The conqueror’s sword in bearing fame away! Alas, for Tully’s voice, and Virgil’s lay, And Livy’s pictured page! but these shall be Her resurrection; all beside, decay. Alas, for earth! for never shall we see That brightness in her eye she bore, when Rome was free. There is a moral of all human tales; *Tis but the same rehearsal of the past: First, freedom, and then, glory ; when that fails, Wealth, vice, corruption,—barbarism at last; And history, with all her volumes vast, Hath but one page,—’tis better written here, Where gorgeous tyranny had thus amassed All treasures, all delights, that eye, or ear, . Heart, soul could seek, tongue ask—away with words! draw near ; Admire, exult, despise, laugh, weep; for here, There is much matter for all feeling. —Man! Thou pendulum betwixt-a smile and tear! Ages and realms are crowded in this span, This mountain, whose obliterated plan The pyramid of empires pinnacled, Of glory’s gew-gaws shining in the van, Till the sun’s rays with added flame were filled! Where are its golden roofs? where those who dared to build? Tully was not so eloquent as thou, Thou nameless column, with the buried base! What are the laurels of the Cesar’s brow? Crown me with ivy from his dwelling place. Whose arch or pillar meets me in the face } Titus’,or Trajan’s? No! ’tis that of Time: ‘Triumph, arch, pillar, all he doth displace, Scoffing; and apostolic statues climb To crush the imperial urn,* whose ashes slept sublime.—Byron. * Trajan’s. 466 M'GUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE LESSON CCXXVIIL. BE a: WESTMINSTER ABBEY. WueEn I am in a serious humor, I very often walk by myself. in Westminster Abbey, where the gloominess of the place, and the use to which it is applied, with the solemnity of the building, and the condition of the people who lie in it, are apt to fill the mind with a kind of melancholy, or rather thoughtfulness, that is not disagreeable. I yesterday passed the whole afternoon in the church-yard, the cloisters, and the church, amusing myself with the tomb-stones and inscriptions that I met with in those several regions of the dead. Most of them recorded nothing else of the buried person, but that he was born upon one day, and died upon another; the whole history of his life being compre- hended in those two circumstances,-that are common to all man- kind. I could not but look upon these registers of existence, whether of brass or marble, as a kind of satire upon the departed persons, who had left no other memorial of them, but that they were born, and that they died. Upon my going into the church, I entertained myself with the digging of a grave, and saw in every shovelfull of it that was thrown up, the frasment of a bone or skull, intermixed with a kind of fresh, moldering earth, that,sometime or other, had a place in the composition of a human body. Upon this, I began to consider with myself, what innumerable multitudes of people lay confused together under the pavement of that ancient cathedral ; how men and women, friends and enemies, priests and soldiers, monks and prebendaries, were crumbled among one another, and blended together in the same common mass; how beauty, strength, and youth, with old age, weakness, and deformity, lay undistin- guished in the same promiscuous heap of matter. After having thus surveyed this magazine of mortality, as it were in the lump, I examined it more particularly, by the ac- eounts which I found on several of the monuments, which are raised in every quarter of that ancient fabric. ‘Some of them were covered with such extravagant epitaphs, that if it were pos- sible for the dead person to be acquainted with them, he would blush at the praises which his friends have bestowed upon him. ‘There are others so excessively modest, that they deliver the char- acter of the person departed, in Greek or Hebrew, and, by that means, are not understood once ina twelvemonth. In the poetical quarter, I found there were poets who had no monuments, and monuments which had no poets. I observed, indeed, that the present war had filled the church with many of those uninhabit- ed monuments, which had been crected to the memory of. per- OF ‘THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 467 sons, whose bodies were, perhaps, buried in the plains of Blen- ‘heim, or in the bosom of the ocean. . I know, that entertamments of this nature are apt to raise dark and dismal thoughts in timorous minds and gloomy imaginations; but, for my own part, though I am always serious, I do not know what it is to be melancholy; and can, therefore, take a view of nature in her deep and solemn scenes, with the same pleasure, as in her most gay and delightful ones. By this means, | can im- prove myself with those objects, which others consider with ter- ror, When I look upon the tombs of the great, every emotion of envy dies in me; when I read the epitaphs of the beautiful, every inordinate desire goes out ; when I meet with the grief of parents upon a tombstone, my heart melts with compassion ; when I see the tomb of the parents themselves, I consider the vanity of grieving for them, whom we must quickly follow; when I see kings lying by those who deposed them, when I see rival wits lying side by-side, or holy men that divided the world by their contests and disputes, I reflect, with sorrow and astonishment, on the little competitions, factions, and debates of mankind. When I read the several dates of the tombs, of some that died yesterday, some, six hundred years ago, I consider that great . day when we shall all of us be contemporaries, and make our appearance together.—ADDISON. LESSON CCXXIX. THE THREE WARNINGS. Tue tree of deepest root is found Least willing still to quit the ground ; *T was therefore said, by ancient sages, That love of life increased with years, So much, that in our latter stages, When pains grow sharp and sickness rages, The greatest love of life appears. This great affection to believe, Which all confess, but few perceive, If old assertions can’t prevail, Be pleased to hear a modern tale. When sports went round, and all were gay, On neighbor Dobson’s wedding-day ; Death called aside the jocund groom With him into another room 5 And looking grave, ‘“‘ You must ”’ says he, ‘Quit your sweet bride, and come with me.” 468 MGUFFEY'S RHETORICAL GUIDE “With you ! and quit my-Susan’s side? With you?” the hapless bridegroom crieil : Young as J am, ’tis monstrous hard! Besides, in truth, I’m not prepared.” What more he urged, I have not heard ; His reasons could not well be stronger: So Death the poor delinquent spared, And left to live a little longer. Yet calling up a serious look, His hour-class trembled, while he spoke-— “‘ Neighbor,” he said, ‘* farewell; no more Shall Death disturd your mirthful hour, And further, to avoid all blame Of cruelty upon my name, To give you time for preparation, And fit you for your future station, Three several warnings you’shall have, Before you’re summoned to the grave: Willing, for once, I’1l quit my prey, And. grant a kind reprieve ; In hopes you ’ll have no more to say, But when I eall again this way, Well pleased the world will leave. To these conditions both consented, And parted perfectly contented. What next the hero of our tale befell, How long he lived, how wise, how well, It boots not, that the muse should tell; He plowed, he sowed, he bought, he sold, Nor once perceived his growing old, Nor thought of Death as near; His friends not false, his wife no shrew, Many his gains, his children few, He passed his hours-in peace : But, while he viewed his wealth increase, While thus along life’s dusty road, The beaten track, content, he trod, Old Time, whose haste no mortal spares, Unealled, unheeded, unawares, Brought on his eightieth year. And now, one night, in musing mood As all alone he sat, The unwelcome messenger of Fate Once more before him stood. Half killed with wonder and surprise, ‘¢ So soon returned !’’ old Dobson. cries. “So soon, d’ye call it ?’’ Death replies: ‘‘ Surely, my friend, you ’re but in jest; Since I was here before, ate OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 469 . "T is six-and-thirty years at least, And you are now four-score.”’ ‘¢So much the worse !”’ the clown rejoined ; ‘‘'To spare the aged would be kind : Besides, you promised me three warnings, Which I have looked for, nights and mornings !”” ‘‘T know,’’ cries Death, ‘ that, at the best, I seldom am a welcome guest ; But don ’t be eaptious, friend ; at least, I little thought you ’d still be able © To stump about your farm and stable; Your years have run to a great length, ~ Yet still you seem to have your strength.” ‘¢ Hold !”’ says the farmer, ‘ not so fast ! I have been lame, these four years past.”’ ‘* And no great wonder,”’ Death replies ; *¢ However, you still keep your eyes 5 And surely, sir, to see one’s friends, For legs and arms would make amends.”’ ‘“‘ Perhaps,”’ says Dobson, “so it might, But latterly I’ve lost my sight.” ‘¢ This is a shocking story, faith ; But there’s some comfort still,’’ says Death; Each strives your sadness to amuse : I warrant you hear all the news.” ‘¢ There ’s none,”’ cries he, ‘* and if there were, [’ve grown so deaf, I could not hear.” *‘ Nay, then,” the specter stern rejoined, ‘‘ [These are unpardonable yearnings ; If you are lame, and deaf, and blind, You ’ve had your three sufficient warnings ; So, come along ! no more we ’ll part :” He said, and touched him with his dart: And now, old Dobson, turning pale, Yields to his fate—so ends my tale-—Mrs. THRALE LESSON CCXXX. GRATEFULOLD AGE—THE SOLILOQUY OF PALEZMON How beautifully the dawn shines through the hazel-bush, and the wild roses blossom at the window! How joyfully the swal- low sings on the rafter, under my roof, and the little lark in the high air! Every thing is cheerful, and every. plant is revived in the dew. I also feel revived. My staff shall guide my tot- tering steps to the threshold of my cottage, and therewill I sit down facing the rising sun, and look abroad on the green mead- * 470 = M’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE ows. How beautiful is all around me here! All that I hear are voices of joy and thanks. ‘The birds in the air and the shep- herd on the hill, sing their delight, and the flocks from the grassy slopes and out of the variegated valleys, bellow out their joy. How long, how long, shall I yet be a witness of divine good- ness? Ninety times, have I already seen the change of the sea- sons; and when f look back from the present hour to the time of my birth,—a beautiful and extended prospect which, at last, is lost in pure air,—how swells my heart! ‘This emotion, which my tongue cannot utter, is it not rapture? And are not these tears, tears of joy? And yet, are not both too feeble an expres- sion of thanks? Ah! flow, ye tears! flow down these cheeks! When I look back, it seems as if I had lived only through a long spring, my sorrowful hours being only short storms, which re- freshed the fields and enlivened the plants. Hurtful pestilences have never diminished our flocks; never has a mischance hap- pened to our trees,.nor a lingering misfortune rested on this cot- tage. I looked out enraptured into futurity, when my children played smiling in my arms, or.when my hand .guided their tot- tering footsteps. With tears of joy I looked out into the future, when I saw these young sprouts spring up. ‘1 will protect them from mischance,”’ said I, «1 will watch over their growth, and heaven will bless my endeavors. ° They will grow up and bear excellent fruit, and become trees, which shall shelter my de- clining age with their spreading branches.” So. I spake, and pressed them to my heart, and now, they have grown up, full of blessings, covering my weary years with their. refreshing shade. So, the apple trees, the pear trees, and the tall nut trees, planted by me while yet a boy, around my cottage, have grown up, carrying their widely extended branches _ high into the air; and my little home nestles in their covering shade. This, this was my most vehement grief, O Myrta, when thou didst expire on my agitated breast, within my arms. Spring has already covered thy grave, twelve times, with flow- ers. *-But the day approaches, a joyful day, when my bones shall be laid with thine. Perhaps, the coming night conducts it hither. O, I see with delight, how my gray beard flows down over my breast. Yes, play with the white hair on my breast, thou little zephyr, who hoverest about me! It is as worthy of , thy caresses, as the golden hair of joyful youth, or the brown curls on the neck of the blooming maiden. . This day shall be to me a day of joy! I will assemble my children around me here—even down to the little stammering grand-child—and will offer thanksgiving to God; the altar shall be here before my cottage. I will garland my bald head, and my trembling hand shall take the lyre, and then will we-—I and t » i. mm . + wee ; aid We ae OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. “471 my children—sing songs of praise. Then, will I strew flowers over my table, and, with joyful discourses, partake of the boun- ty of the most Hich. ‘Thus spake Palemon, and rose trembling upon his staff; and having called his children together, held a glad festival of devout and joyous thanksgiving to the Deity. —TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF GESNER. LESSON CCXXXI. "PT HESNEW YEAR’S NIGHT OF AN UNHAPPY MAN. On new-year’s night, an old man stood at his window, and looked, with a glance of fearful despair, up to the immovable, unfading heaven,.and down upon the still, pure, white earth, on which no one was now so joyless and sepia: as he. © His grave stood: near him; it was covered only with the snows of age, not with the verdure of youth; and he brought with him out of a whole, rich life, nothing but errors, sins, and diseases ; a wasted body; a desolate soul; a heart full of poison; and an old age full of repentance. | : The happy days of his early youth passed before him, like a procession of specters, and brought back to him that lovely morning, when his father first placed him on the cross-way of life, where the right hand led by the sunny paths of virtue, into a large and. quiet land, full of light and harvests; and the left. plunged by the subterranean walks of vice, into a black cave, full of distilling poison, of hissing snakes, and of dark, sultry vapors. Alas, the snakes were hanging upon his breast, and the drops of poison on his tongue ; and he now, at length, felt all the hor- hs ror of his situation. Distracted, with unspeakable grief, and” with face up-turned to heaven, he cried, “ My father! give me back my youth! O, place me once again upon life’s cross-way, that I may choose aright.”’ But his father and his youth were long since gone. He saw phantom-lights dancing upon the marshes, and disappearing at the church-yard; and he said, «‘ These are my foolish days !’. He saw a star shoot from heav- en, and glittering in its fall, vanish upon the earth. “ Behold an emblem of my career,”’ said his bleeding heart, and the serpent tooth of repentance digged deeper into his wounds. His excited imagination shewed him specters flying upon the roof, and a skull, which had been left in the charnel-house, grad- ually assumed his own features. In the midst of this confusion of objects, the music of the new-year flowed down from the steeple, like distant church-melodies. His heart began to melt. 47Q« °* MW’GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE He looked around the horizon, and over the wide earth, and thought of the friends of his youth, who now,—better and hap- pier than he,—were the wise of the earth, prosperous men, and the fathers of happy children; and he said, “ Like you, I also might slumber, with tearless eyes, through the long nights, had I chosen aright in the outset.of my career. Ah, my father! had I hearkened to thy instructions, | too might have been happy.”’ In this feverish remembrance of his youthful days, the skull bearing his features, seemed slowly to rise from the door of the charnel-house. At leneth, by that superstition, which, in the new-year’s night, sees the shadow of the future, it became a liy- ing youth. He could look no longer,—he covered his eyes,—a thousand burning tears streamed down, and fell upon the snow. In accents scarcely audible, he sighed disconsolately : «Oh, days of my youth, return, return!’’—and they dd return. It had only been a horrible dream. But, although he was still a youth, his errors had been a reality. And he thanked God, that he, still young, was, able to pause in the degrading course of vice, and return to the sunny path which leads to the land of harvests. Return with him, young reader, if thou art walking in the same downward path, lest his dream become thy reality. For if thou turnest not now, in the spring-time of thy days, vainly, in after years, when the shadows of age are darkening around thee, shalt thou call, “ Return, oh beautiful days of youth!” Those beautiful days, gone, gone forever, and hidden in the sha- dows of the misty past, shall close their ears against thy misera- ble cries, or answer thee in hollow accents, “las! we return no more.”’—TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF RIcHTER. LESSON CCXXXII. THE CLOSING VEAR. °T 1s midnight’s holy hour, and silence now Is brooding, like a gentle spirit, o’er The still and pulseless world. Hark! on the winds, The bell’s deep tones are swelling; ’t is the knell Of the departed year. No funeral train Is sweeping past; yet, on the stream and wood, With melancholy light, the moon-beams rest Like a pale, spotless shroud; the air is stirred, As by a mourner’s sigh ; and, on yon cloud, That floats so still and placidly through heaven, The spirits of the Seasons seem to stand,— Young Spring, bright Summer, Autumn’s solemn form, And Winter, with his aged lecks,—and breathe hile OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 473 In mournful cadences, that come abroad Like the far wind-harp’s wild, touching wail, A melancholy dirge o’er the dead year, Gone from’the earth forever. °T is a time For memory and for tears. Within the deep, Still chambers of the heart, a specter dim, ’ Whose tones are like the wizard voice of Time, Heard from the tomb of ages, points its cold And solemn finger to the beautiful And holy visions, that have passed away, . And left no shadow of their loveliness On the dead waste of life. ‘That specter lifts The coffin-lid of Hope, and Joy, and Love, And bending mournfully above the pale, Sweet forms that slumber there, scatters dead flowers O’er what has passed to nothinoness. The year Has gone, and with it, many a glorious throng Of happy dreams. Its mark is on each brow, Its shadow, in each heart. In its swift course, It waved its scepter o’er the beautiful ; And they are not. It laid its pallid hand Upon the strong man; and the haughty form Is fallen, and the flashing eye is dim. It trod the hall of revelry, where thronged The bright and joyous; and the tearful wail Of stricken ones is heard, where erst the song And reckless shout resounded., It passed o’er The battle-plain, where sword, and spear, and shield, Flashed in the light of mid- -day ; ; and the strength Of serried ‘hosts is shivered, and the grass, Green from the soil of carnage, waves above The crushed and moldering skeleton. It came, And faded like a wreath of mist at eve; Yet, ere it melted in the viewless air, It heralded its millions to their home. In the dim land of dreams. Remorseless Time! Fierce spirit of the glass and sythe! what power Can stay him in his silent course, or melt His iron-heart to pity! On, still on, He presses, and forever. The proud bird,. The condor of the Andes, that can soar Through heaven’s unfathomable depths, or brave The fury of the northern hurricane, And bathe his plumage in the thunder’s home, Furls his broad wing at night-fall, and sinks down To rest upon his mountain « crag 5 but Time 40 WGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE Knows not the weight of sleep or weariness, And Night’s deep darkness has no chain to bind His-rushing pinion. Revolutions sweep O’er earth, like troubled visions o’er the breast Of dreaming sorrow; cities rise and sink Like bubbles on the water; fiery isles Spring blazing from the ocean, and go back . To their mysterious caverns ; mountains rear To heaven their bold and blackened cliffs, and bow Their tall heads to the plain; and empires rise, Gathering the strength of hoary centuries, And rush down, like the Alpine avalanche, Startling the nations; and the very stars, Yon bright and glorious blazonry of God, Glitter a while in their eternal depths, And, like the Pleiad, loveliest of their train, Shoot from their clorious spheres, and pass away To darkle in the trackless void; yet Time, Time, the tomb-builder, holds his fierce career, Dark, stern, all-pitiless, and pauses not Amid the mighty wrecks that strew his path, To sit and muse, like other conquerors, Upon the fearful ruin he hath wrought.—G. D. Prentice. LESSON CCXXXTI. THE LAST MAN. Au worldly shapes shall melt in gloom, The sun himself must die, Before the mortal shall assume Its immortality. I saw a vision in my sleep, That gave my spirit strength to sweep Adown the gulf of time. I saw the last of human mold, That shall creation’s death behold, As Adam saw her prime. The sun’s eye had a sickly glare, The earth with age was wan; The skeletons of nations were Around that lonely man. Some had expired in fight; the brands Still rusted in their bony hands; In plague and famine, some. Earth’s cities had:no sound nor tread; And ships were drifting with the dead fis shores where all was dumb. ~ . a OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 379 Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood, With dauntless words and high, That shook the sear leaves from the wood, As if a storm passed by; Saying, ‘“‘ We are twins in death, proud Sun, 7” Thy face is cold, thy race is run, *Tis mercy bids thee go. For thou, ten thousand thousand years, Hast seen the tide of human tears, That shall-no longer flow. ‘© What though beneath thee, man put forth His pomp, his pride, his skill, And arts that made fire, flood, and earth, The vassals of his will: Yet mourn I not thy parted sway, Thou dim, discrowned king of day; _ For all these trophied arts And triumphs, that beneath thee sprang, Healed not a passion or a pang, Entail’d on human hearts. * Go, let oblivion’s curtain fall Upon the stage of men; Nor, with thy rising beams, recall Life’s tragedy again. Its piteous pageants bring not back, Nor waken flesh, upon the rack Of pain anew to writhe, Stretch’d in disease’s shapes abhori’d, Or mown in battle by the sword, Like grass beneath the sythe. * Hven [ am weary, in yon skies To watch thy fading fire; Test of all sunless agonies, Behold not me expire. My lips, that speak thy dirge of death, Their rounded gasp and gurgling breath To see, thou shalt not boast. The eclipse of nature spreads my pall, The majesty of darkness shall Receive my parting ghost. “This spirit shall return.to Him That gave its heavenly spark 5 Yet, think not, Sun, it shall be dim When thou thyself art dark. No! it shall live again, and shine In bliss unknown to beams of thine, By Him recalled to breath, Who captive led captivity, Who robbed the grave of Victory And took the sting from Death. 476 MWGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE * “Go, Sun, while mercy holds me up On nature’s awful waste, To drink this last and bitter cup - Of grief that man shall taste, Go, tell the night, that hides thy face, Thou saw’st the last of Adam’s race - On earth’s sepulchral elod, The dark’ning universe defy To quench his immortality, Or shake his trust in God !’’—CampBeun. LESSON CCXXXIV GOD BLESSES THE INDUSTRIOUS ‘THERE is an ancient fable of a man whose wagon was set fast in the mire, instantly praying to Hercules to come and lift it out for him. The statement is, that Hercules did, indeed, come, but told him to put his own shoulder to the wheel; for he would not try to help him, till he began in earnest to help himself. Fables of this nature do well enough to exhibit a moral senti- ment when we want to smile, but on the present occasion we may say, on authority quite different from fables,—“ Providence rules over all things, and rules, by assisting our personal exertions.” It is the blessing of God which maketh rich, and addeth no sor- row therewith. And this blessing has always a connection with our own endeavors. ‘The hand of the diligentshall bear rule.” «‘Seest thou a man slothful in his business ?—there is more hope of a fool than of him.” There are two mistakes, which are extremes to each other, either of them very hurtful to such’as incline towards them. One considers the over-ruling power and providence of God as a reason, or rather as an excuse for indolence. If God works, and gives as he pleases, I need not work; I may be still, till he chooses to shower down the blessmg. Facts and experience show that such persons mistake sadly; they read their folly in their failure. ‘This modg of error is not very likely to allure the young; the spirit of activity natural to youth, revolts against it. ‘There is more danger from the opposite feeling, which places so much confidence in its own exertions, as to forget, that, after all, the blessing must be sought, must, indeed, be obtained, or no actual success will crown our labors. The hand of Providence is an unseen hand; but not on that account the less real, or the less powerful, or the less suited to our daily occasions “He is on my right hand, though I cannot see o hee ii OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 477 him ; and on my left hand he worketh, though I cannot behold him.” 'To have so powerful, so wise, so gracious an agent on our side, must be an advantage ; even the careless must own this. To have him, on the contrary, our adversary, must be to ruin us; the most hardy will eventually feel it se. Were we speaking of the world to come, the statement would scarcely be denied; and it is equally true of the world that now is. Let it be recollected, that large, and beauteous, and well-fur- nished as this globe of ours is, it is rather a laboratory than a store-house. ‘The things we see are not exactly what we want; they are rather materials,and tools, and incitements towards the production of our own enjoyments. He who prepared Eden for man, did not authorize him to lounge and take his ease there, but ‘“¢ He put him into the garden, to dress it and to keep it.”’. ‘There were fruits, and flowers, and shady groves, and sunny banks, no doubt ; luxurious gratifications to every sense ; but these were all of a nature to run wild and spoil, if left to themselves ; mind, intellectual mind was necessary to keep them in proper order, to give them their sweetest beauty, to produce their most gratifying effect, and, especially,to continue the varied succession for daily occasions, as new days would severally demand. 7 His plan is still the same. JEivery individual mind he brings into existence, is placed where little can be obtained by ignorance or torpidity, but much by skill and labor. ‘That wheat, which becomes the substantial food of man, was once a neglected plant, growing wild, and scattering vainly its starvelmg seeds to the wind. Were it not now selected, carefully sown, defended, fos- tered, cleaned, it would still be almost useless, except to the ‘birds, whose instinct prompts them incessantly to seek it. The spreading tree may afford a shelter, by its shady branches, to a few naked Indians; but cut down, squared into timber, sawed into planks, planed, cut into moldings, it may form a habitation of quite another kind, which shall be more comfortable, secure, and certain. ? Beholdthat mis-shapen, dirty, useless lump. “ ‘Throw it away,” says ignorance. “ No,’ says science, “that is a mass of ore. By fire, by water, by hammering, by sifting, by melting, by shap- ing, we shall obtain the bar of iron, the workman’s tool, the al- most diamond-like brightness of polished steel! Our fruit-trees must be sown, and planted, and grafted, and pruned, or no deli- cious. fruit will be obtained. Those who grudge the labor, de- serve to have crab-apples, or black-berries for their dessert, for such is the spontaneous production of the soil.”’ We have many pretty descriptions given us of nature and her simple children, sometimes by the novelists, but oftener by those falsifying gentry, the poets, who never know how to keep to 478 MWGUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE plain matiers of fact;—accordingly, it is very fascinating in good rhymes, to have a vivid picture set before us, of nature spontane- ously providing for her favorite offspring. We are shown them in natural bowers, sleeping sweetly during the dominion of dark- ness, while the moon-beam flickers on their leafy pillow. O1 we trace them, plucking from the bending bough, the luscious mangostan, the prickly-pear, the date, the flaming pomegranate or the ripe citron. If this picture please us, we had better not take a nearer in- spection by traveling thither. At least, let us first inquire, what serpents bask upon their sunny banks, or festoon from their over- arching mangroves ! what locusts sometimes blast all their vege- table hopes? what diseases undermine their health, which they have no skill to repel? In short, wherever nature, simple, unas- sisted nature rules, there are countless privations. Where arts are unknown, science uncultivated, commerce unattended to, there are misery, want, superstition, and every kind of suffering. Such is, always, and under every climate, the condition of those who do not hearken to the voice of Almighty Benevolence, say- ing, ‘Arise and labor. Bind, and prune, and dig, and sow ; form, build, beautify, exalt. Here are, around you, in rich abundance, materials, tools, immense powers of action; apply them. While you sit still, 1 shall give you little; up, and be doing. Invent, it shall delight you ; make, it shall be useful to you; preserve, it shall — enrich you; associate, mutual kindness shall make you happy ; ye shall cultivate one another; ye shall do soon, by mutual as- sistance, what by individual exertion no one can ever effect. Let me see fields of golden corn waving; there is a fine vale for them; gather me flocks on those mountains; drain that marsh, it will make the air wholesome: on that knoll, assemble a village ; teach the hollowed tree to float in that river; catch the fish, allure . the birds, drive off the beasts of prey, defend the cattle, educate the children. Activa will bring health; wants will lead to in- vention ; inventions will produce accommodation; accommoda- tion will give leisure; and leisure, which avoids the imine of labor, gives opportunity for thinking.” The being who lives idly, lives rebelliously ; contrary to na- ture’s first law, and purest feeling; and he must take, as his ap- propriate Laguntuady’ poverty, ienorance, misery, and want. ‘TAYLOR. a: OF THE ECLECTIC SERIES. 479 % LESSON CCXXXV. GOD'S GOODNESS TO SUCH AS FEAR HIM Fret not thyself because of evil doers, Nor be thou envious against the workers of iniquity ; For they shall be cut down like the grass, And wither as the green herb. Trust in the Lorp and do good; So shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed. Delight thyself, also, in the Lorn, And He shall give thee the desires of thy heart. Commit thy way unto the Lorp; Trust also in Him, and He shall bring it to pass, And He shall bring forth thy righteousness as the light, And thy judgment as the noon-day. Rest in the Lorp, and wait patiently for Him. Fret not thyself because of him who prospereth in his way, Because of the man who bringeth wicked devices to pass. Cease from anger and forsake wrath ; Fret not thyself, in any wise, to do evil, For evil-doers shall be cut off; But those that wait upon the Lorn, they shall inherit the earth. . For yet a little while, and the wicked shall not be; Yea, thou shalt diligently consider his place, and it shall not be. But the meek shall inherit the earth, And shall delight themselves in the abundance of peace. The wicked plotteth against the just, And gnasheth upon him with his teeth. The Lorp shall laugh at him, For He seeth that his day is coming. The wicked have drawn out the sword, And have bent their bow, To cast down the poor and needy, : And to slay such as are of upright conversa(gon. Their sword shall enter into their own heart, And their bows shall be broken. A little, that a righteous man hath, Is better than the riches of many wicked ; For the arms of the wicked shall be broken, But the Lorp upholdeth the righteous. The Lorp knoweth the days of the upright, And their inheritance shall,be forever ; They shall not be ashamed in the evil time; And in the days of famine they shall be satisfied. But the wicked shall perish, And the enemies of the Lorn shall be as the fat of lambs; They shall consume; into smoke shall they consume-away. The wicked borroweth and payeth not again; ~ 480 M GUFFEY’S RHETORICAL GUIDE. But the righteous showeth mercy and giveth. - For such as are blessed of him shall inherit the earth ; And they who are cursed of him shall be cut off. The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lorp, And he delighteth in his way ; ‘Though he fall, he shall not be utterly cast down, For the Lorp upholdeth him with his hand. _ I have been young, and now am old, Yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, Nor his seed begging bread. He is ever merciful and lendeth, And his seed is blessed. Depart from evil and do good, And dwell for evermore; For the Lorp loveth judgment, And forsaketh not his saints: They are preserved forever: But the seed of the wicked shall be cut off: The righteous shall inherit the land, And dwell therein forever. The mouth of the righteous speaketh wisdom, And his tongue talketh of judgment ; The law of his God is in his heart; None of his steps shall slide. The wicked watcheth the righteous, And seeketh to slay him. The Lorp will not leave him in his hand, Nor condemn him when he is judged. Wait on the Lorp and keep his way, And He shall exalt thee to inherit the land; When the wicked are cut off, thou shalt see it. I have seen the wicked in great power, And spreading himself like a green bay-tree; Yet he passed away, and lo, he was not; Yea, I sought him, but he could not be found. Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright, For the end of that man is peace ; But the transgreSsors shall be destroyed together, The end of the wicked shall be cut off, But the salvation of the righteous is of the Lorp; He is their strength in the time of-trouble; . And the Lorp shall help them, and deliver them; He shall deliver them from the wicked, and save them, Because they trust in him,—PsaLmM Xxxvu. THE END. Sa et ay Sek f ee 4 yi ict | xe) Y Pid eee oy