UC-NRLF 
 
 

 LIBRARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA. 
 
 GIKT OK 
 
 . &. 
 
 Rece .190 
 
 Accession No. 82/00 Class No. % 4 S~~ 
 

 
 

THE 
 
 OR RULES 
 
 FOR SPEAKING AND COMPOSING; 
 
 From the best Authorities. 
 
 COMPILED AND I'l lU.IMll.l) 
 
 E. G. WELLES, A. M. 
 
 PMLADELPHlAs 
 
 ( '):L\iL.U n>it THE COMPILER. 
 
 G, L, AUSTIN, PRINTER. 
 

RECOMMENDATION 
 
 By iheHe\. Dr. Abercrombie, Re\. Dr- Wilson 
 and Re\. Dr. \\>)iie. 
 
 Messrs. Potters, 
 
 We are mucli pleased with t\\e Compila- 
 tion published by JSlr. \Velles, eutitVed u TV\e 
 Orator ''sGfUide, or U\\\es for Speakm; and Coin- 
 posing.^ T\ie condensed form of it, and its 
 execution, are, in o\\r opinion, ca\c\x\ated to 
 Tender it both Vi\g\i\y interesting and exteii- 
 ai\eVy \isefvi\ And we cannot but Yiope tViat 
 t\iis/wor\t, and tbe ot\ier efforts of Mr. \\e\les 
 to aid our yout\i in t\ie study of Rhetoric and 
 TkUes-Lettres, wiVV be followed \\illi t\ie most 
 Iciappy consequences. 
 
 Jas. Abercrombie. 
 
 James P. Wilson. 
 
 Saml B- Wylic. 
 via, Marcli llth, 
 
1) Advertisement - 7 
 
 S, General Remarks and Rules, - 9 
 
 3, Accent, Empnasis and Cadence - -10 
 
 4, (iesiure, - - 25 
 
 5, Remarks, Sec. Rules to be observed in Composition, 33 
 
 6, Origin of Language, - - 35 
 7 Progress of Language and Writing, - 36 
 
 8, OfT-isre: Its Characu .cl Pleasures, - 41 
 
 9, Style: Perspicuity and Precision, 43 
 
 10, Classification of the v-everul kinds of Style 
 
 11, Simple, Affected and Vehement Style and *ome 
 
 directions for forming a proper style - 47 
 
 12, Form of a regular discourse, 49 
 13 History, - 51 
 
 14, Philosophical Writing, - - 52 
 
 15, Epistolary Writing, - 53 
 
 16, Fictitious History, - - 53 
 17 Nature of Poetry its Origin and Progress, * 55 
 IS) On the Eloquence of the Pulpit, - .56 
 
 SELECTIONS, $c. 
 
 19, Extract from Lord Byron's Cain a Mystery, 51 
 
 20, Collins* Ode on the Passions, 63 
 
 21, On Cruelty -o Animals a Tale, by Cowper, - 65 
 32,i Address to Messiah, by Cowper, - 66 
 
CONTENTS; 
 
 Page. 
 
 523, The Powtr and Influence of an Individual, by Pre- 
 sident Nott, - 68 
 
 24, On Card Playing, by President Nott, - - - 70 
 
 25, Mr. Phillips' Address to the King 76 
 
 26, Othello's Apology Shakspeare, - 86 
 
 27, Brutus and Cassius Shakspeare, - 85 
 
 28, On education, by the Rev. Dr. Mason - 87 
 
 29, On the necessity of learning in Ministers of the 
 
 Gospel, by the Rev. P. Lindsley, 90 
 G.O, Messiah's Throne, a sermon preached in Totten- 
 ham Court Chapel, London,; by J. M, Mason, D. D, 93 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 Systems of Rules for Pronunciation and Composi- 
 tion, are generally found connected with productions 
 which are so large and expensive, that many of our 
 youth often find it inconvenient to become possessed 
 of them. Hence, utility and economy combine, to ren- 
 der this little compend acceptable, and, indeed, desi- 
 rable, to no inconsiderable portion of the community. 
 The Compiler, however, is aware, that the Art 
 of Oratory needs no encomium. But he is at the same 
 time as well aware, that a great proportion of our 
 youth, and some who are preparing to become public 
 teachers, consider this an art of but inferior conse- 
 quence. With a view to correct thi< mistake, and to 
 diffuse the spirit of genuine Oratory anioiii; the youth 
 of this vicinity, and excite them to cultivate the talents 
 which (rod has given them, it may briefly be observed, 
 that Oratory .or the Art of Speaking and Readingelo- 
 quently, has been considered by the most distinguished 
 characters of every age, to be the most important and 
 ornamental of any ever possessed by man. The cor- 
 rectness of this sentiment will never be denied by in- 
 telligent and scientific men, until they shall have for- 
 gotten the blessed and glorious effects which eloquence 
 has produced. It is this, Noble drt which has pre- 
 pared the way for the civilization and refinement of 
 the barbarian; it is this, which has emancipated mil- 
 
Viii ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 lions from slavery; it is this, which has redeemed in 
 numerable captives; it is thin, which has brought re- 
 lief to the oppressed widow and injured orphan and 
 it is to this alone, that some are now indebted for their 
 immortality! Should this little compend, produce a 
 conviction, in some of the rising generation, of the 
 importance of the compilers object, and induce then* 
 to become correct and eloquent >peakers vrrily he 
 will hare his reward, and to all the Patrons of ge- 
 nuine Eloquence it is here most humbly inscribed 
 
 By the 
 
 COMPIL 
 
UULES VOR SPEAKING. 
 
 General Remarks on Pronunciation. 
 
 Pronunciation, which was also called Action, was 
 v.onsidered by the most competent judges among the 
 ancients, as the primary part of an Orator's province 
 as almost the only source from which lie can hope 
 to succeed, in the Art of persuasion. When Cicero. 
 in the ; person of Crassus. had discoursed in a diffuse 
 and elegant manner upon all the other branches of 
 Oratory, coming at last to speak of this, lie said, "all 
 the former have their elVect according as they are pro 
 nounced." It is the action alone which governs in 
 sneaking; without this, the best orator is of no value 
 and is often defeated by one, in other respects, much 
 his inferior." And Cicero lets us know, that tliei. 
 .Demosthenes was of lit-' -;un opinion. When he \va- 
 risked, what was the principal thing in oratory? he 
 replied Action/' ami being a-Ui-il uj.;iin, a second 
 and a third lime, \\ h:i( \\ as of next importance, still re- 
 plied, -Action/' And indeed, had lie not judged this 
 ;o be highly n-i e-sary in an orator, he would never 
 have taken so much pains, in correcting those natural 
 defects under which he laboured at first, in order to 
 acquire it. He had to surmount two very formidable 
 obstacles a weak voice, and an impediment in hi-: 
 <peech : the latter was so great, that he could not 
 even pronounce some particular letters, lint the for- 
 mer of those defects he overcame, partly by speak IHL 
 
10 
 
 a* loud as in his power, upon the shore, when the 
 roared and \va- boi>tcrons---and partly by pronouin 
 lorii; sriiteur*-s as he walked up some hill. Both ol 
 these methods had a joint eflcct in strengthening his or- 
 gans of speech $ and lie also found his pronunciation 
 fo become more clear and distinct from a use of pel) 
 bles placed under his tongue. Nor was he less careful 
 in endeavouring to acquire the habit of a becoming and 
 decent gesture : and for this purpose he used to pro- 
 nounce alone before a large mirror. And knowing 
 that he had a-n ungracious habit of shrugging up his 
 shoulders when In- -poke, to correct that, he used to 
 suspend a sword over them with the point downward-, 
 the pain- taken such, some of the 
 
 many eflorts made by this man this greatest of an- 
 < ient Oratoi rmount difficulties which would be 
 
 -idei-ed e\en in the-e din*, by a less aspiring mind. 
 sufVn icnt to discourage and deter tV(vin evevy pu? 
 in the lea-t < oMiM-rtod \\itli Oratory. But 7ze overc: 
 
 .i\ by indct'an-ibh- dili^nce and perseverance; 
 and under all the- circumstances* Jir- 
 
 reached th^ highest pitch of perfection, as an Orator 
 amoni;the anci' I'liis \\a< atknouledged by the 
 
 duct of his ^reat antagonist and rival in Elo- 
 
 fpieiK -. K*chitu" who, hmini; been eclipsed by Pe- 
 
 mosthenes in the cause of Ctesiphon, could not en- 
 dure the mortification of it in the region where it hap- 
 pened, but retired in disgrace to Rhodes. After hi? 
 arrival here, however, in compliance with the d< 
 of the Khodiaus, he repeated to them his own Ora- 
 tion upon that occasion, and the day following the\ 
 requested to hear that of Demosthenes- --which 
 
11 
 
 tie readily gratified ; and having pronounced it iu a, 
 most graceful and animating manner, to the admira 
 (ion and astonishment of every hearer, lie observed : 
 'How much more would you have wondered if you 
 -had heard him speak it himself!" To these authori- 
 ties might he added the sentiments of Quintilian. He 
 says that, " It is not of so much moment what our 
 compositions are, as how they are pronounced ; since 
 it is the manner of the delivery by which the audit 
 is moved/' 
 
 The truth of this sentiment of the ancients concern- 
 ing the power and eUirar \ of pronunciation, might be 
 proved by producing many instances. Hortensius, u 
 inporary with Cicero, and whilst he lived next to 
 him in reputation for being eloquent* was highly extolled 
 for his graceful action. But his Orations when publish 
 cd after his death, (|uintilian informs us, did not ap- 
 pear answerable to the reputation he had while living 
 whence he concluded, there must have hern something 
 peculiarly pleasing and fascinating in his action, by 
 which he gained that character, which was lost VN hen 
 we came to read them. And here indeed, we can find 
 no instance of this, more prominent and forcible tiian 
 that furnished by Cicero himself. Poinpey being now 
 dead, and Civsar in uncontrolled possession of the 
 government, many of his acquaintances interceded with 
 him for their relations and friends, who had been qf 
 Poinpey ? s party in the late commotions ; and amongst 
 others Cicero appeared before Caesar to solicit for his 
 friend Ligarius and when Tubero became apprised 
 of it, who owed Ligarius a grudge, he appeared to op- 
 pose it ; representing Cicero's friend Ligarius aswnwo;-- 
 
12 
 
 y of his mercy; and Omar hims< - prejudiced 
 
 against him and hence, lie said, when the cau.-e was 
 to come before him : *' we may venture to hear Cicero 
 display his eloquence in this case, for I know the per 
 son he pleads for to be an ill man and my eneu> 
 But we find, however, that in the course of his Ora 
 tion. Cicero so affected Caesar, that the frequent chan- 
 ges in his countenance evinced no ordinary emotion- 
 of mind : and as the Orator touched upon the battle of 
 Pharsalia which had given Cti-Mir the Empire of the 
 World, he presented it in such a moving manner, tha.i 
 Caesar could no longer controul his feelings and \\ii- 
 thrown into such a paroxysm, that he dropped the pa- 
 a and documents which he held in his hands ! Thi> 
 >vas the more remarkable, inasmuch. 
 himself, one of tin Orator's of his age all the 
 
 surt of address, and every avenue to the pa*-ims were 
 well knovfti to him, and of course he was the better 
 prepared to guard against their influence. But nei- 
 ther bis skill iu Oratory, nor deep-rooted prejudice 
 agaiu>t lagariusj -uftlcient guard against the 
 
 power of Kloqtience: but this Conqnerer of the World 
 the. (harms of Cicero, and contrary 
 to his predetermined -entem e, lie pardoned Ligarius 
 \ow, that Oration is Mill exiant ; and though it 
 ly appear-* to be well calculated to move the ii 
 ni> and snring* of the soul, yet we cannot ilis: 
 on readini: it. how it should have bad so astonishing 
 an eftect ! and this i iVe< t must have been principally 
 owing to the address and oratory of Cicero. 
 
 The more natural our pronunciation is, the more 
 it will be : since the pe 
 
1.3 
 
 in its nearest resemblance to nature. Hence it is nat 
 without the btst of reasons, that the ancients make it 
 an indispensahle Qualification in an orator, that he ap- 
 pear to be a sincere and good man ; because a person 
 of this character will make the cause he espouses his 
 own, and the more sensibly he is moved himself, the 
 more natural will be his pronunciation; and of course 
 the greater will be its effect upon others. It is cer- 
 tain that reality in every thin^; excels imitation ; but 
 if that were sufficient of itself, in pronunciation, we. 
 should have no occa>ion to recur to art. In this C;IMI. 
 therefore, as well as in many others, art, if well ma- 
 naged, will help to perfect nature. 
 
 .Hut this is not all; for it often happens that we 
 find the force of it M great and powerful, that where 
 it is entirely counterfeit, it will, for a time, produce the 
 same effect, as if it were founded in truth. Thi* i- 
 well known by those who have been conversant with 
 the representations 0f the theatre. In tragedies, though 
 we are sensible that even thing \\ e *ee and hear, is 
 fictitious : yet such is the fascinating power of action, 
 that many, whose good>en>e. and accomplishments are 
 worthy to be employed in some real and more digni- 
 fied scene, are often affet ted by it in the same manner. 
 as if it were all reality. Anger and resentment at the 
 exhibition of wanton cruelty ; concern and solicitude, 
 for suffering virtue, rise in our breasts, and tears are 
 >ited from us for persecuted innocence and at tin- 
 same moment, perhaps we arc ready to blush at our 
 selves for being thus decoyed. If art then have su 
 great an influence upon us, when supported by fancy 
 imagination only, how powerful must be its influ 
 
 
14 
 
 s us 9- just and animating 
 sentation of what we know to be true ? Hov 
 able it is bo ; h to nature and reason, that a warmth of 
 
 ion, and v< y of motion, should rise in 
 
 proportion to the importance of the subject and anxie- 
 ill more forcibly appear, by look 
 little into the more early and >impl i ages 
 of the world; for, the li . the iu< -hall 
 
 find of both. The Romans exhibited a great share of 
 talent fhi* way. ;md tlic d ill. lu- 
 
 deed. all the nations of the east excelled in it; and par 
 Mat divinely favoured nation, the Hebrews. 
 Nothing, in modern days, has equalled the *treni;tli 
 and vivacity of the figures employed in their diM-oi. 
 and the which they used to express their - 
 
 : such as throwing allies upon their head* : 
 tearing their garments, and covering themselves with 
 aackcloth, under any deep di.-tre-s or sorrow of mind : 
 and hence, uo don I - surprising eflects of elo- 
 
 quence appeared, \vhich \\e never witness now. 
 A.nd w hat is here declared of the eastern nations, w itli 
 < 1 1 to artion, was, in a great measure, prevalent 
 with the Greeks and Romans ; if it were not precisely 
 of the sume kind, it was no less vehement and e\ 
 pn --ive. They did not think language of itself 
 ne height of their passions, un 
 
 enforced by uncommon motions and gesture*. Thu*. 
 when Achilles had driven the Trojans into their city 
 with the greatest precipitation and terror, and only 
 Hector ventured to tarry without the i^ates to engage 
 him, Homer represents both, King Priam and his 
 tyueen. in the highest state of consternation for 
 
rfanger of their soli; and, therefore, in order to pre 
 rail with him to enter the city, and not fight with 
 Ac; illes, they not only entreat him from the walls, iu 
 the most tender and moving language imaginable, 
 but they violently tear oft' their grey locks with their 
 hands, and adjure him to comply with their request. 
 The poet well knew, that no words of themselves 
 could represent those agonies of mind he endeavoured 
 to convey, unless heightened by the idea of such at 
 fions as were expressive of the deeprst sorrow. In 
 one of Cicero's orations, he proceeds to argue in this 
 manner with one of his adversarie* . * Would you 
 tfalk thus if you were serious ? Would you, who are 
 wont to display your eloquence so warmly in the dan- 
 ger of others, act so coldly in your own ? AVhei 
 that concern, that ardour which used to extort pity 
 even from children? Here is no (motion, either of 
 in i nd or body; neither the forehead struck, nor the 
 thigh, nor so much as a stamp of the foot : therefore, 
 you have been so far from inflaming our minds, that 
 you have scarcely kept us awake,." 
 
 The ancients had persons whose proper IHIMIH^S 
 it was, to teach them how to regulate and manage 
 their voice ; and others who instructed them in the 
 whole art of pronunciation, both as to their voice and 
 gestures. The latter were selected from the most 
 Celebrated and experienced actors of the stage Bat 
 though they sometimes made use of actors to instruct 
 their youth in forming their speech and gestures, yet 
 they always, very correctly, considered the action of 
 a real orator to be necessarily very different from that, 
 rf the theatre. Cicero very forcibly represents this 
 
Ib 
 
 5 of orator**, in ilie won! 
 
 Gra*sus. he says, the motions of the body . 
 be suited to the expression*, not in a 
 mimicking the words by particular pMnlation. but 
 in a manner expressive of tin- with :i 
 
 .ind manly inflection of tl ken 
 
 from th; and actors, but from the exercise of 
 
 arms and the p " And Quint ilian ob^ei v 
 
 same purpose "The gc- and motion- 
 
 are not to be imitated b\ an orator." T! 
 ed men, thought th i action of the 
 too lii:ht and t _mit to be imitated by an < 
 
 and. thri>-forr. >\h-n tliey emphyed an actor t<* 
 in>t children in tli 'idiment-, the\ 
 
 ah\a^ - - 
 
 d on ]>' ith them a 
 
 and ,ement of their ' 
 
 prepared, t: e after\' it to the school - 
 
 the rhetcu-ician^ : and i - their ' 
 
 niltivate thi-ir ^tyle. and ?.c<n::re the Avhol* 
 
 ICC < parti- nlarly to ;n quitr a jusl :nid acci:; 
 
 pronunciation, by the- . in \vhich. for * 
 
 important end, they wen- ron-umtly emph>. 
 
 r all tlii> pairiN and indn>try. did they y* .( think 
 themselves ijtialitied to take upon them the < b 
 of orator-: bir. iheircoi in to col 
 
 ne of their friends and acquaintance, \\lic 
 >vere com^tent to jud-e of -uch ]K'rformances. and 
 
 I aim privately In-fore them. The !> 
 per^nn- \vn* to make n'i*er\ation- upon their perform- 
 ances, both with i to the language which they 
 d, and the manner of pronun : and tli 
 
17 
 
 expected to use the greatest freedom, to tak notice of 
 an v and every thing conceived to be imperfect, either 
 as to inaccuracy <f method, impropriety of style, or 
 acefulness in voice or gesture. This course gave 
 them an opportunity to correct all such defects, at tirst, 
 before they became habitual. Here we see parents, 
 in earlier times, exhibiting more sense than to smd 
 their children to such schools as proiVss to teach all 
 branches at once, and in the same hustling and confu- 
 sed room, and where, in fact, no branch is taught in 
 sue h a manner as it ought to be done. 
 
 The characteristic di lie re nee between the accom- 
 plishments of the youth, trained up and introduced 
 to the world after the manner of the ancients, and those. 
 who are now trained up in the confusion and noi-e. 
 which universally attend schools, where all bran- 
 are taught at the same time and plu< e. N great, and 
 humiliating indeed: and the course pmsui <l by the 
 ancients, as to its utility, dignity, and beamy, i 
 much to be preferred as the established, regular and 
 splendid book-store is to the contemptible *treet- 
 book'-stall. And here it is proper to ask, what splen- 
 did effects mi^ht ue not "expect in the present day, in 
 the midst of this dearth of real oratory, from the 1 
 tablishmeut of sue h an institution? Persons trained 
 up in this manner, with all those advantages, combi- 
 ned with good natural genius, could rarely fail of be- 
 coming accomplished orators; for even after they had 
 made their appearance before the public, like the an- 
 cient youth, they would not then discontinue the prac- 
 
 tice of declaiming. 
 
 3 
 
18 
 
 The influence of sound*, cither to raie or allay our 
 ;>n, is i -^den: from music; and, umpi ily, 
 
 the Jkirmony of a fine essay, or di>ooavse, on being 
 either read or recited well and gra,'. fully, is as c-\pa- 
 ble of moving a*, if not uith such violence and ecsta- 
 cy, yet with no le-.- power, and certainly more agree- 
 able :*; our rational facultie-. A- per>on> are difter- 
 d when they speak, so they naturally al- 
 ter i he tone of tlieir voice, though they do not ap; 
 
 1 10 it. Now, it ri-e>. now. it -ink*, and has 
 vario i- iiiilexion.^ ^iven it. accordins; to the stale or 
 disposition of the mind. V hen the mind is calm and 
 seda'e. the voice is moderate and even: when the for- 
 mer Is p iown hy sorrow, tiie la; . nnilous 
 and . I. and when th:. -ed hy passion^ this 
 It i- the orator's business there- 
 fore, to follow iiMiiire. and U> endeavour that the tone 
 ofl)' appeal 1 and unaffected an.l, for 
 thi- it it to the nature of 
 the subject : l> and always de- 
 cent. Some per-oii- ci.;inue their di-coii;--e in -urh 
 alow and dravvliiu; jnanuer, that they can ^canely 
 be heard by tin ir audience. Others a-;aiu, let the 
 nature of the subject be what it may, hurry on, in so 
 loud ;uid boi-H'iou- a manner, ilia? it would seem they 
 imagined Lheir hear. IN ?o be -ieaf. Now. all (he mu- 
 sic and luirinony of voice, lies between these two ex- 
 tremes. 
 
19 
 
 Of Accent, Emphasis, and Cadence. 
 
 Nothing is of more importance to a speaker, than 
 to pay proper attention to accent, emphuxi*. and ca- 
 dence. Every word in our language, of more than one 
 :hle, lias, at least, one accented syllable. This 
 syllable ought to be rightly known, and the word 
 should be pronounced by the speaker in the same 
 manner as he would pronounce it in ordinary conver- 
 sation. 
 
 13y emphasis, we distinguish those words in a sen- 
 tence, which we esteem the moat important, by laying 
 a greater stress of voice npnn them than we do upon 
 others; and it is surpri>iuu; to observe how the s 
 of a phrase may be altered b\ :; (he em 
 
 The following example will si .tn illu-iraliou. 
 
 Tins short question, "' Will yon ride to town to-day ?' ? 
 may be understood in four diiVerenl \\MV-, and, conse- 
 quently, may receive four different answers, according 
 as we place the emphasis. If it be pronounced thus, 
 " Will you ride to town to-day?" the uisuer may with 
 propriety, be given -No: I shall send my son. It* 
 thus. k Will you ride to town to day ':' Answer No; 
 I intend to v alk. " Will you ride to town to-day?" 
 !No; 1 shall ride into the country. " Will you ride 
 vn to-day? No: but I may to-morrow. This 
 sh...vs how necessary it is, that a speaker should know 
 how to --.iiicc his emphasis : and the oiily rule for :liis 
 is, that he study to attain a just conception of the force 
 
20 
 
 and spirit of the sentiments which he delivers. There 
 is as great a difference between one who lays hi* 
 phasis properly, and one who pays no regard to it, or 
 places it wrong, as there is between one who plays on 
 an iii.stument with the hand of a master, and the most 
 clownish and blundering performer. 
 
 Cad( i r< . i- the revci'M' of emphasis. It is a depres- 
 sion, or lowering of the voice, and commonly falls on. 
 the last syllable in a .sentence. It must be varied, 
 however, according to the seiisp. Whin a fj lies 'ion 
 is asked, it seldom IV- 11* on the last word, and many 
 quire no cadence at all. Every person 
 who speaks in public should endeavour, if possible, to 
 fill (he place v\ hw 1 hi' >jeak<. Hut Mill he ought to 
 be careful not to exceed (lit 1 natural key of his voice. 
 If he doe-, it \\ill neither be soft nor agreeble : but 
 either harsh and roui;h, or too shrill and squeaking. 
 Peside.s. hr will not be aide to give every syllable iis 
 full and distinct sound, \\hich will render Mhat he 
 says obscure, and difficult to be understood. He 
 should, therefore, take rare to keep his voice within, 
 reach, so as to be able io manage it. that he may raise 
 or sink it. or give it any inflection, he thinks proper; 
 \vhich, it will not be in his power to do. if he put a 
 force upon it, and strain it beyond its natural tone. 
 
 The like caution is to he used again*! the contrary 
 extreme, that the voice be not suffered to sink too low. 
 This will give the speaker pain in raiding it again to 
 its proper pitch, and be no less offensive to the hear- 
 ers. The medium between these two, is a moderate 
 and even voice ; but this is not the same in all ; that 
 which is moderate in one, would be high in another. 
 Every person, therefore, must regulate it by the na- 
 
21 
 
 turalkey of his own voice. A calm and sedate voice 
 is generally best as a moderate sound is most pleas- 
 ing to the ear, if it he clear and distinct. But this 
 equality of the voice must also be accompanied with 
 a variety; otherwise, there can he no harmony; since 
 all harmony consists in variety. 
 
 Nothing is more unpleasant than a discourse pro-* 
 nounced throughout in oue continued tone of the voice 
 without any alteration. The equality, therefore, we 
 arc here speaking of, admits a varity of inflections 
 and changes within the same pitch: and. when that 
 is altered^ the gradations, whe her higher or lower, 
 should be so gentle and regular a-* to preserve a due 
 proportion of the parts, and harmony of the whole; 
 wiiich cannot be done when the voice is suddenly 
 varied with too grea 1 a distinction: and, therefore, it 
 should move from one key to :. ! ioiher. -<> as rather to 
 glide like a gemle *trcam. than pour down like a ra- 
 pid torrent. Hut an a fleeted variety, ill placed, ; 
 disagreeable to a judicious audience, as the want of 
 it, where the subject requires it. \Ve may find somo 
 persons, in pronouncing a grave and plain discourse, 
 affect as many different tones, and variations of their 
 voice, as they- would in acting a comedy and this is 
 manifestly a very great impropriety. But the orator's 
 province is not barely to apply to the mind, but likewise*, 
 to the passions : which require a great variety of the 
 voice, high or low, vehement or languid, according to 
 the nature of the passions he designs to affect. So, that 
 for an orator always to use the same tone or degree 
 of his voice, and expect to accomplish all his objects 
 by it, would be as inconsistent as the rondnrt of that 
 
22 
 
 empiric amoiiii; ph> . who informs you he cau 
 
 and will, und > cure all <li-. one 
 
 re mono! un- 
 
 le necessary or pioper in 
 
 i ;>ro- 
 
 nounred faster than otl, i y manifest, (i.ty and 
 
 ld not only be exj- .der. 
 
 kcr than Mich u -oniy and plaintive. 
 
 And when we -press an opponent, the voice -honld 
 
 be hrUk. Hut when we hurry on in a prrcipi 
 
 manner v.ithout pa 1 .npelled to -iop for 
 
 want of breaih. \\'e certainly commit a ^reat mi-take. 
 
 In ihii \\ay. the r- (linn between M-n- 
 
 d and aUo. that be- 
 
 :i the se\eral >\nrdof tin- -auic -enteiK e : anil 
 
 of -peaking is lost, and 
 
 in a great n derixed from being 
 
 heard. Voiuij; pei->on< ai> . .hi . .- 
 
 cially at lir-t. It howex. . s from diffi- 
 
 d' nee. H. ; p'rformance<, and the 
 
 i hey may have in speakins;, they are in pain 
 till the o\'.-r: and thi- ihem into a 
 
 hurry of mind, which incapacitaies them forgo>ern- 
 ini; their voice and keeping it under that due regula- 
 tion, whicli perhnp> ili-y j.i-MjM^rd to them>el\es be- 
 fore they commenced speaking. And, as a precipitant 
 and hasty pronunciation is culpable, so also on the 
 other hand, ii i- a fault to speak tou -!I,-MV. This 
 seem- to ar^ue a heaviness in the speaker and as he 
 appears cool himself, he can never expect to warm his 
 hearers, and ex : flection-. ^ hei, ni.: only 
 
 y word, but every syllable is drawn out to too 
 
28 
 
 great a length, the ideas do not come fast enough te 
 keep up Hie attention without much uiuasiiuv-. Now 
 to avoid either of these two extremes last mentioned, 
 the voice ought to he distinct and sedate. And in or- 
 der to have it distinct, it is nee -cssary. not only that, 
 each word and syllable should have its just and full 
 sound, both as to time and accent; but also, that every 
 sentence, and part of a sentence, should be separated 
 by it proper pause. This is more e.isy to be done in 
 reading, from the assistance of he points: but it is no 
 less rigidly to be attended to in speaking, if we would 
 pronounce in a distinct and graceful manner. For, 
 let it never be forgotten, that every cue should speak 
 in the same manner as he ought to read, if possible 
 to arrive at such exactness. Now, the common rule 
 given in pausing U. that we stop our \oice at a coin- 
 in a, fill we can tell one: ai a semicolon, two ; at a colon 
 three: and at a full period four. And, as these points 
 are accommodated to the se\eral parts of the same 
 sentence, as the first three: or diflerent sentence- 
 the last; this occasions the different length of the 
 pause, hy which, either the dependence of what suc- 
 ceeds upon that which follows, or its distinction from 
 it, is represented. It is not in our power to give our- 
 selves what qualities of the voice we please; but it is 
 in every one's power to make the best use he can of 
 what a kind and wise providence has bestowed upon 
 him. However, several defects of the voice are ca- 
 pable of being remedied by care, and the use of proper 
 means. As on the other hand, the best voice may be 
 greatly injured by bad management and indiscretion. 
 
24 
 
 A temperate habit of living is calculated to preserve 
 and improve the voice; and every ape* ie- of ev ess U 
 extremely ])rejnrlicial to it. The voice must necessa- 
 rily suffer, if tiie organs of speech have not their pro- 
 per tone. A strong voice is of great service to an 
 orator: becau-e. ;fhe want some other advantages, he 
 e of making himself heard. And if, at 
 any lime, he is forced to strain it. he is in little dan- 
 ger of its failing him before he finishes his discourse. 
 But he, uho has a weak vnice, should be very care- 
 ful not to strain it, especially when commencing his 
 discourse. He ought to begin in a slow manner, and 
 rise -mhially. to Mich a pitch as the key of his voice 
 will carry him, without being obliged to sink again 
 afterward-. Kmjuent inflections of the voice will 
 lik to him. Hut especially 
 
 iiould take tare to speak deliberately, and . 
 liis all the proper pauses. It is an extreme, 
 
 much le :.'i\e;iient for SIK h a person rather to 
 speak loo sl,i\\ . 'Inn too fa-t. 15ut thi> defect of a weak 
 voi< pable nf being helped by the 
 
 of proper method-, as i- e\ident from the instance 
 of Demosthenes before mentioned. Some persons, 
 either from want of due care in their education at first, 
 or from inadvertency and negligence afterwards, run 
 into an irregular and confused manner of expressing 
 their words; either by misplacing the accent, con- 
 founding the sound of the letters, or huddling the 
 syllables one upon another, so as to render what they 
 say, often unintelligible. Indeed, sometimes this arises 
 from a natural defect, as hi the case of Demosthenes; 
 
25 
 
 who found a mean to rectify that, as well as the weak 
 ness of his voice. But, in defects of this kind which 
 proceed from habit, the most likely method of mend- 
 ing them, doubtless, is, to speak with great delibera- 
 tion. 
 
 Of Gesture. 
 
 By the term gesture, we mean that conformity of 
 the countenance, motion, and several parts of the 
 body, which is suited to the subject of our discourse. 
 
 It is not decided, with any degree of unanimity, 
 among the learned, whether th< '/< has 
 
 the greatest influence upon an auditory. Hut as the, 
 latter affects us through the CIJP. and the former through 
 the ear, it would seem, that ^-e^ture. from the nature-. 
 of it, must have this advantage that it conveys the 
 impression more speedily to the mind as the sight is 
 the quickest of all our senses. Nor is its influence. 
 less upon our passions ; as experience has often pro- 
 ved. The eye has a more powerful effect than any 
 gesture. A cast of the eye, will express desire, or 
 love, in a more moving manner than the softest, and 
 most mellifluous language ; and a different motion of 
 it, disgust and resentment. To wring the hands, tear 
 the hair, or strike the breast, are all strong indica- 
 tions of sorrow. And he who only puts his hand upon 
 
 his sword, throws us into a greater panic, than one 
 
 4 
 
26 
 
 who only threatens to kill us. Nor i it, in mnny 
 respects, less various and expressive language. We 
 are told by Cicero, that he often diverted himself by 
 trying this with Koscius, the, celebrated comedian ; 
 who could express a sentence in as many ways by 
 hi> -, as he could by lii^ word-. And timse 
 
 dramas, called pantomimes, have frequently been car- 
 vied on wholly by mute-, who have performed every 
 part by gestures only, in a very intelligible and intc- 
 .Mg manner. With respect, to oratory, gesture 
 may \<T\ properly be styled the second part of pro- 
 nunciation; in \\hich. as the voice should he sui^d 
 to the . imprcion- it rec$iveti from ihe mind, so the 
 several motions of the body on^hi 10 he accommodated 
 to the \arious tones and inHertiois of the voice. 
 When tin- ii, and moderate, little gesture 
 
 is requi. id nothing can be more improper, than 
 
 \iolent motion, in dUconrMiig upon ordinary and fa- 
 miliar subject*. The motion of the body should i 
 therefore, in proportion to thr vehemence and energy 
 of the sentiment, and appear to be the natural and 
 genuine etVect of it. 
 
 ISut as th very diflerent and various, as 
 
 to the manner of it, which depends upon the proper 
 management of the several part* of the body, it will 
 be important to point out more particularly the manage- 
 ment which is now under consideration. Now all 
 gesture is either natural, or from imitation. By na- 
 tural gesticulation, we mean. Mich actions and motions 
 of the body, as naturally accompany our words as 
 words do the impressions of our mind ; and these 
 cither respect the whole body, or some particular 
 
27 
 
 part of it. The orator should not long continue stand- 
 ing in the same position, like a statue; but be con- 
 stantly changing, though the motion needs to be but; 
 very moderate. There ought to be no appearance of 
 stiffness, but a certain ease, and pliableness, natural- 
 ly suiting itself to every expression : by which moans, 
 when a greater degree of motion is necessary, it will 
 appeal- less Midden and vehement ; for as the raising, 
 sinking, and various inflexions of the voice must be, 
 gradual, so likewise should the motions of the body* 
 It is only on some particular occasions, (liat a hurried, 
 vehement, and impel mm< manner, i proper in either 
 case. 
 
 With respect to the several parts of the body, the 
 gestures of the hruil* are the most important. To i 
 this too hii;-|i, gives an air of arrogance and pride; 
 to stretch it forward too far. or throw il It 
 rlownUh and imrultivated manners; to hanu; it down- 
 wards upon the breast, -lm\\ - an Undignified diflin 
 and want of spirit; and to sutler it to rest on either 
 shoulder, evince* both sloth and indolence. He- 
 rn all calm, and sedate speaking, the IK ad should be 
 kept in its natural state, or upright posture. How- 
 ever, it should not be long without motion, nor yet. 
 constantly moving; but gently turn, sometimes on one 
 side, and sometimes on the other, a- occasion requires ; 
 that the voice may be more distinctly heard by all who 
 are present; and then return in an ea-v and graceful 
 manner to its natural position. It should always ac- 
 company the other actions of the body, and turn on 
 the same side with them ; except when we wi* 
 express aversion to any thing ; and this is to be done. 
 
ti 
 
 by stretching out the right hand with the palm turned 
 back, and turning the head to the left. 
 
 But it is the countenance, that principally repre- 
 sents both the passions, and the disposition, of the 
 mind. By thi> \\e express love, hatred, joy, and 
 -oi row ; modesty, and confidence by this \ve suppli- 
 cate, threaten, soothe, flatter, invite, forbid, consent, 
 or refuse; and all this we may do without articula- 
 tion : and, indeed, it is from a view of the counte- 
 nance, that we judge not only of a person's present 
 temper, but of his capacity, and natural disposition. 
 Hence, it is common to sty, -IK h a one "has a pro- 
 mising countenance," or, "his countenance proini 
 but little." Thi>, however, is not an infallible rult 
 of judging; nor is it iu the power of an orator to alter 
 the natural mechanism of his countenance. But the 
 sr\i-ral parts of the face bear their part, and contri- 
 bute to the proper ami decent motion of the whole. 
 In cool and di- ite di-< ourse, all the features 
 
 retain their natural Mate and situation. In sorrow, 
 the forehead and exchrous lower, and the cheeks 
 hang down: but in expressions of cheerfulness and 
 . the forehead ami eyebrows are expanded, the 
 ( herkx < ontracied, and the comers of the mouth drawn 
 upwards. 
 
 ger and resent me fit contract the forehead, drau 
 the brows together, and thrust out the lips ; and ter- 
 ror elevates both the brows and forehead ; and as these 
 are invariably the natural siun* of .such passions, the 
 orator should ever recollect, and conform to them. 
 Hut as the eyes are the nio-i active and significant, it 
 is recommended that the greatest care should be taken 
 
29 
 
 in their management ; because other parts of the coun- 
 tenance, have but a few motions ; whereas the eyes ex- 
 press all the passions of the soul, by so many diller- 
 ent actions, which cannot possibly be expressed by 
 any gestures of the body, if the eyes are kept in a 
 fixed and motionless posture. We readily determine a 
 person's inclinations, and how he is afl'ected towards 
 us,by observing his eyes ; and any sudden gust, or 
 emotion of the mind, is speedily followed by an altera- 
 tion in the eye. 'Hence, in speaking, upon pleasant 
 and delightful subjects, the eyes are all animation and 
 cheerfulness; and, on the contrary, they become in 
 animate, languid, and cheerless, on delivering any 
 thing afflictive and sorrowful. This is so conforma- 
 ble to nature, that before a person speaks, we arc 
 prepared, from a mere \iew of him, with an expecta- 
 tion of either one, or the other, from hU dilVemit as- 
 pect. So also in anger, a certain vehemence and in- 
 tenseness appears in the eyeSj \\hi< h. for want of pro- 
 per words with which to expire it, we endc;i\onr to 
 represent it by metaphors taken from fire, the most 
 violent and rapid element ; and say, in such cases, 
 the eyes xjtarkle, bum, or are inhumed. In expres- 
 sions of dislike and detestation, it is natural to alter 
 the looks, either by turning the eyes a>ide, or down- 
 wards. Indeed, the eyes lire sometimes turned down- 
 wards upon other occasions; for instance, to expire 
 modesty ; and if at any time a particular object be 
 addressed, whatever it be, the eyes should be turned 
 that way. And hence, a certain author, with great 
 propriety, ridicules the rhetorician, as guilty of a so- 
 lecism in gesture, who. when saying, O Jupiter ! turn- 
 
3U 
 
 eii liis eyes downwards; and wheii saying, O earth! 
 looked upwards. 
 
 A staring look, has the appearance of poverty of 
 intellect, and \vant of thought : and a contraction of 
 theeve-. e\rite* the *upicion of chicanery or design. 
 A fixed look, may he occa*i.ned hy intenseness of 
 thought, hut, at the ^ame nine, it hetrays a disregard 
 to the audience: and a rapid wandering motion of tha 
 eyes. nerally considered, as denoting levity and 
 
 wautonne--. It i-. therefore, com hided that a gentle 
 and moderate motion of the e\e*. is generally the most 
 suitable always din i c;ed towards some of (he au- 
 dience : and gradually timiini; from side to side, with 
 a respectful modeM air, looking them in the face, as in 
 comiiion < on\ rr-aiion. Such a management of the 
 eyes, will, undoubtedly, attract due attention. With 
 r--pe< t to the other parts of the hody distinct from the, 
 head, the shoulder^ on-lit not to he elevated: for this 
 i* not only, in itself, indecent: hut it also contracts 
 the neck and pre\enN ilic proper motion of the head. 
 Nor on the other hand, should they he drawn down 
 and depressed: &fl ihU \\ill occa.-ion a stillness of the 
 nee k, not only, hut of the \> hole hody. Their natural 
 posture, therefore, i> hot. a^ thi^ is the most easy and 
 graceful. To shrug the shouklers has an air of abjec- 
 tion and servility: and frequently to heave them up- 
 wards and downwards, is a very disagreeable sight. 
 A continued motion of the arms, any way, is by all 
 means to be avoided; as their action should generally 
 be very moderate, and follow that of the hands ; unles- 
 in very pathetic expressions, wkeri, it may be proper 
 1& give them a mare animated and rapid motion 
 
31 
 
 It may here be further observed, that all proper 
 motions of the body, are either upward or downward; 
 to the right or left ; forward or backward, or, it possi- 
 bly may be circular. And, in all these, the hands arc 
 necessarily employed, except in the last. And, as they 
 ought to correspond to the sentiments we intend to 
 communicate, they ought alv\ ays to begin and end with 
 them. In admiration and our addresses to heaven, 
 the hands should be elevated, but rarely raised above 
 the eyes; and when speaking of things below us, 
 they should be directed downwards. Side motion, 
 should generally begin from the left, and gently ter- 
 minate on the right. In demonstration, addresses, and 
 on many other occasions, they should move forward ; 
 and sometimes, in threatening, they should be. thrown 
 
 back. Hut when ilie Orator speaks of himself, he 
 should gently lay his right hand upon his breast. And 
 the left hand should seldom move alone, but conform 
 to the motions of the right. In motions to the left 
 side, the right hand should not be often carried beyond 
 the left shoulder. 
 
 In promises, and complimentary expressions the 
 hands should have a gentle and *lo\\ motion; but in ex- 
 pressions of applause and exhortation, their motion 
 should be rapid. The hands should generally be open ; 
 but in expressions of contrition and anger, they may be 
 closed. All trifling and finical actions of the fingers 
 should be avoided ; though they should not be stretch- 
 ed out and expanded in a fixed and rigid posture, but 
 kept in an easy and natural one. The foregoing, are the 
 gestures which naturally accompany our expressions, 
 and if duly regarded, will, undoubtedly, be found 
 
I 
 
 sufficient for all the purposes of those who wih to be- 
 come eloquent orators. We have alluded, indeed, to 
 another sort of gestures o those required fi-.r imita- 
 tion : as, where the speaker personates another, and 
 describes his actions : But gestures of this kind are 
 never wanted by a good orator, and generally subject 
 those who make n>e of ;liem, to the charge of buffoon- 
 ery, of light. taral, and theatric mimicry. When 
 an orator is compelled to exhibit things of this sort, 
 let him con :-y to the minds of hi- h 
 
 or-, in an animating manner: but never resort to those 
 changes of the voice, attitml re, and countenance. 
 
 Avhich I>etray a forg'tfulness of that self-respect, and 
 ihat dignity, which ou^ht ever to appear, in a distin- 
 -hed orator. And, to close our remarks upon thissub- 
 . it i> earnestly recommended, that every -peaker, 
 should iii'-t carefully i;uard a^ainsi all atl'ectation; 
 ^which i> the utter de-liin lion of good pronunciation. 
 Let hi^ manner, \\hair\er it ]n\ he hi- own: Fiot the 
 product of an "huitation of any one. nor taken from a 
 model of the imagination: as this will always be un- 
 natural. Whatever is natural, though it maybe some- 
 ^vhat defective. v\ill pMierally |>1 % a-e: because it ex- 
 hibit* only the person before us, and appears to come 
 unadulterated, from the heart. It is true, that to attain 
 the art of an c.rtrent />/ < nrrect, and graceful pronun- 
 ciation, is what but few comparatively speaking.can ac- 
 complish: as it requires a concurrence, or combination 
 of talent-, which every one does not possess. At the 
 same time, it is equally true, that it is in the power of 
 the greatest part of mankind, to acquire a habit of 
 speaking iu a forcible and persuasive manner ; and 
 
33 
 
 those who do not acquire this habit when possessed 
 of the means, evince a taste, which will forever debar 
 them the pleasure of respectable and refined society. 
 
 REMARKS, &c. 
 
 Introductory to Rules to be observed in Composition. 
 
 It is generally understood that an ju-qnaintanc *e with 
 the circle of the liberal arts, is indispensably IK 
 sary, to the successful study of Rhetoric and Belli s 
 Lettres. It has been the sentiment, in every enlight- 
 ened age, that in order to heroine distinguished for 
 Oratory or real Kloqnence. we lir>t must he, conversant 
 W 7 ith every departmenl of science. And, indeed, it will 
 forever be impossible for man to contrive an art, 
 which shall give the merit of richness and splendour 
 of expression, to a composition which po-M'-M-* barren 
 or erroneous sentiments. Oratory has frequently been 
 debased by attempts to establish a false criterion of 
 its value some mistaken writers, have endeavoured 
 to supply the want of matter by the graces of their 
 composition; and to court the momentary applause of 
 the ignorant and vulgar, instead of the enduring and 
 valuable approbation of the enlightened and discern- 
 ing. But the prevalence of such oratory is well known 
 to be transitory ;,and the body, and basis of any valu- 
 able composition, must be produced by knowledge and 
 science. The structure may be completed and polish- 
 
 5 
 
34 
 
 ed hvthe Rhetorical art: but it is the (inn, solid. ;uul 
 di, ;'!.'! bod v unly. which is able to receive it. ln<l 
 it would be more than presumption, here to MB&rt, that 
 Hit- -Tudy of Rhetorical rules will injure excellence 
 in wniiiii; a dNcouise: in order to this, loni; and 
 
 .fill application to study and practice are in 
 sary. even for the bri-hte^t and most creative iy. niue. 
 At the same time, one of the most important objects 
 in the education of youth is. to them very early 
 
 in life, in >nch ire calculated to produ- 
 
 r the entertainments of taste. From a relish 
 for these, to that of the di of the higher and 
 
 more important duties of life, the tran-iiion ^illbe 
 natural and easy. From those minds anioni; our 
 you int and nolde turn, \s e may 
 
 cheri-h the mosi animating and pleaMn- liope^. On 
 ih .en \\lio manifest an entire insen- 
 
 La of eloquence, poetry, and 
 
 the line arts uch a* music, painting, sculpture, ar- 
 
 ( hi ue can expect nothing but 
 
 id j)er\ .IK linations for nothing 
 
 fan inferior order, and a capacity 
 
 ne of the IO\M>I mecliafiical puisuits. And 
 
 piihy si-ntiMice. K\ nihillo, nihil fit," will 
 
 .th of thi- character ouu;lit never 
 
 to i>e compelled to in the study of the liberal 
 
 and of Rhetoric and the Uelles-Lettres. For 
 they only become objects o\' ridicule, for students of 
 elc\ .1 refined taste: and a dNujrace to their pa- 
 
 rents ami nr>re intelligent connexion-. It is, however. 
 to a'hl :!; >se of opposite character: who thirst for ln\r 
 iu the higher, ornamental and useful arts. 
 
35 
 
 this little compend is designed ; and for this purpose 
 the following compilation from Philosophical and 
 Rhetorical productions is most respectfully presented. 
 
 The Origin of Language. 
 
 Nothing, perhaps, is more evident, than the posi- 
 tion, that oui thoughts can never he considered as ob- 
 jects of attention, for the external senses. In order 
 to communicate these tu other-, the earliest method 
 resorted to, was undoubtedly the n-e of the voice and 
 gesticulations. And, although language aiVi.rds only 
 audible signs, or arbitrary symbols of things, yet its 
 superiority to gesture, in communication, being evinced 
 by its greater certainly and variety it has, from the 
 Commencement of the existence of onr race, been the 
 great and universal medium of menial intercourse. 
 
 The great similarity of the vario;i^ IMI used 
 
 by the nations of the earth, however remote from each 
 other, has generally been considered by the tear 
 as satisfactory evidence that they all are to be trac -d 
 to the same origin. We indeed, cannot imagine how 
 tommunities con Id exist, without language ; and it 
 would be folly in the extreme, to suppose that language 
 existed in this world previously to the existence of 
 society. To open the mouth of the dumb, and to cause 
 their organs of speech to utter distinct and significant 
 language, required the exercise of that powerful intel- 
 ligence who made them. And hence, even heathen 
 philosophers, have ascribed the origin of primitive lan- 
 guage, to the invisible and unknown God and tho>. 
 
10 
 
 mi] believe Divine revelation, find and are 
 satisfied with the testimony, that God. our Maker, at 
 funiir-hed man with the faculties of reason and 
 iinlly inil'.ienred and taught him how to 
 : ci.se them in his intercourse with his Maker. We 
 indeed, know not how great a degree of perfection, 
 thai language had, which came immediately from the 
 allknowinu; (iod : yet it may he fairly supposed, it 
 not only sufficient for all the purposes of man, but 
 was more perfect than any language ever spoken by 
 man, since he experienced the eftects of that bewilder- 
 ing and woful shock, which the apo-tacy from hi* 
 Maker occasioned! It being sufficiently dear, there- 
 . that the exen i-e of the faculties, of reason and 
 ! hase been produced by a divine influence, 
 and word- to comniunicate idea-, on-mated from the 
 MM-. \ve -hall, in the next extract, furnish a 
 view of the progress of both language and writ 
 
 Progress of Language and Writing. 
 
 When the sphere of communication became enlarged 
 it became. nece-*ar\ 'o have names applied to particu- 
 lar object-: and the (jueMion now is. how did they pro- 
 I in this application? Certainly, by assimilating, as 
 mil' h a- they could, the sound of the name which they 
 gave, to the nature of the object named : as a painter 
 who would represent grass, must make u-e of ?i ^reeii 
 colour: -o in the infancy of language, (as some wo'ild 
 term it) one employed inj;ivini; a na-ne t;> any! 
 harsh or boisterous, would employ a harsh and boi- 
 
ttrous sound. He could not act otherwise without of- 
 
 fering violence to instinctive reason, and an insult to 
 
 his Maker, who had thus taught him. And hence it is ? 
 
 that we find wherever objects were to be distinguish- 
 
 ed, in which sound, action, or motion were included, 
 
 the resemblance in the sound of the words is always 
 
 obvious. Thus, in all languages, we discover a mul- 
 
 titude of words which are evidently constituted upon 
 
 this principle. And this analogy holds good in all 
 
 cases, except, where neither sound nor motion are 
 
 concerned ; and here, the names of such objects, *s 
 
 are presented to the sight, and those terms which are 
 
 appropriated to moral and immaterial things, it is ob- 
 
 servable, that the analogy is not always so \isible. 
 
 Yet, it has been the uniform sentiment of the learned, 
 
 thai it is not entir : but that throughout the 
 
 radical words of all languages, a resemblance lo the 
 
 object named is obvious. This principle, however, 
 
 respects language in its early and most simple state; 
 
 for the compiler is aware, that the boundless field 
 
 which has been occupied by the nations, and which 
 
 has exhibited innumerable arbitrary constructors of 
 
 language, abounds with thousands, and tens of thou- 
 
 sands, of fanciful and irregular terms, arid methods 
 
 of derivation and composition, which bear no resem- 
 
 blance, in sound, to the character of their roots, or to 
 
 the thing signified. And words as \ve now use iheuiy 
 
 taken generally, may be considered as symbols, but 
 
 not as imitations ; as instituted and arbitrary, and not 
 
 the natural signs of idea*. And hence, (he inference. 
 
 is certainly forcible, that language in its primitive and 
 
 unadulterated state was. undoubtedly, more natural, 
 
 3ITY 
 
and. as it came u rcaiurcs from the infinite and all 
 
 perfect (iod. it was more perfect than it ever has ! 
 
 .since the confusion of intellect occasioned by the 
 
 fall. It is. nevertheless, true, that lan^ua^e, in its pro- 
 
 .joni; the natim*. has become (perhaps, how- 
 
 ever from no happy necessity) more copious: as it has 
 
 the h \r;ity of its figurative style which was its 
 
 original characteristic. That natural and vehement 
 
 manner of speaking, hy tones and gestures, has been 
 
 laid asj<le, and instead of natural and ani- 
 
 mated poetic instructors, we are now furnished with 
 
 the professedly cool, but often dangerous philosopher! 
 
 And the. style of a philosopher of modern day-. 
 
 from its bcin:; considered more simple, cool and dis- 
 
 h;is sup :1 the ancient metaphorical 
 
 and poetic i of men. in their intercourse with 
 
 i other. 
 
 is an Improvement upon speech, and, of 
 
 roiirse is of Inter oriirin. 
 
 Its characters arc of t\\o kind- for words. 
 
 and si-ns for things. The alphabetical charac 
 which \\e now employ, an 4 si^n* lor words: and the 
 pictures, hieroglyphics, and symbols, employed by 
 the ancients, \\ere -i^iis for thii 
 
 Picture* uere. doubtless, the origin of writing. 
 Mankind, in all n^e-. and in all nations, have been 
 instinctively inclined to imitation. This course would 
 soon be employed for furnishini; imperfect descrip- 
 tions of events and records of their existence. Thus, 
 to represent that one man hud slain another, they 
 painted the form of a dead man stretched upon the. 
 ml. and of his ir.nrderer standing over him, armed 
 \\ith <ome deadly weapon. 
 
35 
 
 When America was first discovered, this was the 
 only kind of writing with which \icans were 
 
 acquainted. But this was a very defective expedient, 
 as in recording facts, pictures can delineate onl\ ex- 
 ternal objects. 
 
 The use of hierogljphical characters, has been con- 
 sidered as the second stage of the art of writing 
 These characters consist of certain symbols which are 
 made to represent immaterial or invisible objects, on 
 account of a certain resemblance which such symbols 
 are supposed to have to the objects in question. Thus, 
 an eye was the symbol of knowledge, and a circle, 
 having neither beginning nor end, the hieroglyphic of 
 eternity. This kind of writing, has been moM 
 died in Egypt There it is found to have been reduced 
 to a regular art. Through this medium their priests 
 have. al\\avs. with the greatest >ho\s of wisdom and 
 ivill-woiship," rommiinicated their instructions. They 
 have introduced animals as emblems of moral subjects: 
 for instance the fly, to represent imprudence an 
 ant, wisdom and a hawk, to represent victory. The, 
 Chinese, Japanese, Tnnqniuese, and the Cora?an^. 
 have all used similar characters in wri'ing: but it will 
 always be found confused and enigmatical, and to be 
 an extremely defective medium of knowledge ; as also, 
 that of arbitrary marks, as the signs of objects, a man- 
 
 of writing adopted )*\ the Peruvians. 
 Our arithmetical figures, are, however, like the hie 
 roglyphical character, signs of things and not of words. 
 They have no dependence whatever, upon words ; as 
 each figure is a representation of a number for which 
 it stands ; and, consequently, is as well understood by 
 
40 
 
 one na; another, where, they have mutually 
 
 adopted the use of Mich figures. To remedy all the 
 defects, ambiguities, and prolixity of the foregoing 
 methods of comuv.Miiration, as the first step, si-n*; 
 were invented, which did not stand distinctly for 
 thing*, but for the icordu, by which things were na- 
 med. This \\.i-i an alphabet of syllables, which 
 prior to the invention of our alphabet of letters. It 
 lid, sn ilphabct is preserved even to the 
 
 v-nt period, in ^Ethiopia and the Indies. But 
 this has been found deficient and ineffectual, as it re- 
 tains much of that prolixity and confusion which cha- 
 racter i /P. symbolic writini;. To whom the world i- 
 indebted for the di-rmery of letter-, is a question 
 
 ; been distinctly settled. We, 
 
 hoNv-Ncr. know, they were brought into Greece, by one 
 Cadmus, a Phu-niciaii. who was a cotemporary with 
 kin-.; David. His alphabet, however, contained only 
 en letters: the other letter- were subsequently- 
 added, as appropriate sign* for sound* were found to 
 be wanting. The Hebrew. Phu-nician, Greek, and 
 Roman alphabets, hear M> : rr-emhlance as to 
 
 fi^ii, and the order of the letters, that there 
 
 remains no doubt, hut. ihey all \\ere derived from one 
 and the same origin. The ancient order of writing, 
 was from the right hand to the left; and this method 
 appears from a variety of old inscriptions, to have 
 prevailed even in Greece. After thi>. however, the 
 Greeks practised writing alternately from the right to 
 the left, and from the left to the right. This practice 
 was coniinucd until the days of Solon, the celebrated 
 . who gave law to Athens, forty ye;.i- 
 
Jn process of time, beginning from the left and pro- 
 ceeding to the right being found more natural and 
 convenient, this, which is our present order of writ- 
 ing, was adopted, and has generally obtained through- 
 out the civilized world. 
 
 This art was first exercised on pillars, and tables 
 of stone afterwards on plates of softer metals, such 
 as lead ; and becoming more extensively practised, 
 some nations resorted to the use of the leaves and 
 bark of certain trees ; and others to tablets of wood, 
 which they covered with a thin coat of soft wax, up- 
 on which they produced the designed impression with 
 a plate, or stylus of iron. Parchment manufactured 
 from the skins of animals, was a later invention and 
 paper, which we now use, was an invention of the four- 
 teenth century. 
 
 Of Taste ; its Characteristics and Pleasures. 
 
 Taste, has been defined, to be the power of receiv- 
 ing pleasure and pain from the beauties and deformi- 
 ties of nature and art. li is a faculty, which is com- 
 mon to all mankind. 
 
 To have some discernment of beauty and deformity, 
 is no less essential to man, than the faculties of rea- 
 son and speech. The most prominent characteristics 
 of a cultivated taste are, Delicacy, and Correctness. 
 Delicacy of taste, refers principally to that natural 
 sensibility on which taste is founded ; and supposes 
 
 6 
 
a possession of those exquisite and acute organs, 01 
 powers, which enable us to discern beauiies which 
 elude the notice of a vulgar eje. 
 
 Correctness of taste, is a phrase, which denotes the 
 improvement which that faculty receives through the 
 medium and exercise of the understanding. And a 
 m.ui of correct taste will rarely lie decoyed by ficti- 
 tious beauties; but carries a standard of sound sense 
 in his own mind, by which he is enabled to bestow a 
 relative and proper estimate upon those productions 
 of genius which come in his way. This is not, how- 
 ever, an arbitrary principle, subject to the fancy and 
 and caprice of every individual ; but admits of a cri- 
 terion, by which we may determine whether it be true 
 or false. There are beauties which, if displayed ia 
 a happy manner will be universally pleasing; and 
 will be ceasi -It >*ly and universally admired. In all 
 Compositions, whatever powerfully affects the imagi- 
 nation and the heart, will give pleasure to men, of 
 every age, and nation. 
 
 By criticism, is to be understood the application of 
 taste, and refined sense, to the several fine arts. It 
 originates wholly in experience; or in the observa- 
 tion of those beauties which have been found gene- 
 rally pleasing to man. Genius is a word which ex- 
 tends much farther than to the objects of taste it de- 
 notes that talent which we have received from our 
 Alaker, and which, prepares us to excel in any thing 
 upon which we may be employed. This may be 
 Vi*tly improved by study and art, but can never be 
 by them produced. This faculty is of'li higher order 
 *hau that of taste : as we find many persons who have 
 
a refined and elegant taste, in the fine and polite arts 
 but, who are, nevertheless, unable to execute any 
 one of them in an excellent manner. 
 
 The principal sources of the pleasures of taste, are 
 sublimity and beauty; whether we refer to objects, 
 or composition. Tin* sublime in writing; must always 
 be laid in the. nature of the object described. 
 
 Of all writings, of any, and every age of the world, 
 the sacred scriptures, afford the most happy and 
 striking instances of the sublime. 
 
 Beauty, next to sublimity, is supposed to afford 
 the highest and most exquisite pleasure to the imagi- 
 nation. Colour, Jigiire, motion and imitation, arc 
 all considered sources of the pleasures of taste. .Melo- 
 dy, and harmony, also, contribute in a high degree to 
 the same end ; and icit, humour, and ridicule, afford 
 a great source of pleasure to this faculty but we 
 have neither time nor liberty, to extend the. extract 
 any further, but proceed to exliibit the subject of 
 Style. 
 
 Style, Perspicuity, and Precision. 
 
 Style has been defined, to be the peculiar manner 
 in which a man expresses his conceptions by means 
 of language. It is a picture of the ideas which occupy 
 his mind, and of the order in which they are there 
 
It 
 
 produced. The principal qualities of a good style, 
 are two which are denominated, Perspicuity and 
 Ornament. 
 
 The study of these is indispensible in the formation 
 of a proper style. Perspicuity, claims attention first, 
 in the choice of words and phrases, and then in the 
 construction of our sentences. And when we regard 
 perspicuity as it respects words, and phrases, it re- 
 quire 9 ^unty, propriety, and precision. Purity, is a 
 term used, to denote the use of such words, and such 
 a mode of constructing them, as is conformahle to the 
 idiom of the language which we use. This sentiment, 
 it is apparent, is opposed to the use of those words 
 and phrases, which, are either taken from other lan- 
 guages ; or, are obsolete, newly coined, or such as 
 are derived from nd proper authority. Propriety ex- 
 hibits the selection of such words, in composing, as 
 the best and most prevailing usage has appropriated 
 to those ideas we design to communicate by them. 
 Precision denotes the pruning of our composition; 
 and excluding every thing superfluous so that the 
 words used should express neither more nor less, 
 than a precise and perfect transcript of the ideas we 
 posst 
 
 A due attention to these particulars will, through 
 the habit of steady practice, soon enable the orator to 
 find his style improving. 
 
THE COMMON CHARACTERS OF STYLE, have been ar- 
 ranged, by Rhetoricians, in the following class 
 viz. the diffuse concise, feeble, nervous, dry, plain, 
 neat, elegant, flowery. 
 
 That different subjects require, in order to be treat- 
 ed properly, different kinds of style, is a position so 
 obviously correct, that it needs no illustration. Every 
 intelligent reader knows that an oration would require 
 a different style, from that, which would be proper, 
 in a philosophical essay. And it often happens, 
 that an alteration in the of style is necessary in the 
 different parts of the same composition. Still, in all 
 this variety, we expect to perceive, in the composition 
 of the same man, some prevailing characteristic of 
 style and manner, which shall be suited to his genius, 
 and show the impress of his peculiar turn of mind. 
 A diffuse writer, unfolds, and displays his ideas in a 
 full and glowing manner a concise one in the fewest 
 \vords possible. The nervous and feeble, are terms 
 or characters of style, which generally represent the 
 same ideas, as those denominated the concise and dif- 
 fuse, though it is frequently observed, that diffuse 
 writers exhibit no ordinary degree of strength. And 
 a nervous writer, having his mind always filled with 
 his subject, will give us a forcible and deep impres- 
 sion of what he communicates. Every phrase, and 
 figure which he uses, renders the assemblage of ima- 
 gery, which he sets before us, more splendid, interest- 
 ing, and perfect. The foregoing characteristics, how- 
 ever, respect more particularly, the expressiveness of 
 
an" authors meaning. The following terms, re- 
 spect the degree of ornament, which he employs, to 
 grace, or embellish his style; viz. a <lry, a plain, a 
 neat, an elegant, and a flowery style. We define 
 them thu a dry style, is that which entirely ex- 
 eludes all kinds of ornament a plain style rises, in- 
 deed, a little upon the dry; but admits of no consider- 
 able ornament, as its author relies, almost exclusive- 
 ly, upon his sense. A neat style, approximates the 
 region of ornament, but not of the splendid kind. A 
 writer of this style, by his selection of words and their 
 graceful location, evinces great partiality for the 
 beauties of language. His sentences are always freo 
 from the incumbrances of superfluous words ; of a mo- 
 derate length, and inclining more to brevity, than to 
 a swelling sonorous structure, and generally come to 
 a graceful, and musical close. This kind of style is 
 never improperly adopted, let the subject of the wri- 
 ter be what it may. An elegant style denotes a 
 iter degree of ornament still; and with this we 
 associate all the virtues and excellencies of ornament, 
 in our power. It, however, implies great precision, 
 and propriety; purity in the choice of words : and a 
 skilful and happy talent, in giving them a harmoni- 
 ous arrange nent. It, moreover, implies the spread- 
 ing over style all the beautie* of the imagination, as 
 far as the subject will allow it and all the illustra- 
 tion afforded by tropes and figures, when properly 
 employed. A writer, of an elegant style, will never 
 fail to delight the fancy and the ear; and whilst he is 
 imparting information to the mind, though he may 
 clothe his ideas with all the beauties and chastened 
 
47 
 
 splendours of expression ; he must be careful never to 
 overload them with ill-limed, and misplaced frippery. 
 A florid style, imports excessive ornament, and in 
 young writers is, on the whole, considered desirable. 
 But, it always requires pruning; and the fustian, 
 tinsel splendour of language, which some writers con- 
 tinually exhibit, is pitiable and contemptible. They 
 seem not to know, indeed, the difference which ex- 
 ists between a luscious collection of words, and an 
 exuberant collection of the images of an enlivened, 
 and creative fancy. Hence, the man of sense, on wit- 
 nessing such production^ : especially, if the sentiment 
 intended to be enforced, be either erroneous, or of lit- 
 tle importance, (as is most frequently the case with 
 writers of this style,) \\ill always think, that, " far- 
 thest from them is best." 
 
 Simple, affected, and vehement STYLE, defined and 
 illustrated and some DIRECTIONS, /or the forming 
 of a proper STYLE. 
 
 The term simplicity, when applied to composition, 
 is, like many other critical ones, often used too inde- 
 finitely; and the principal cause of this mistake is 
 found, in the fact that writers have given this term, 
 a great variety of meanings. It is proper, therefore, 
 here, to make a distinction between them ; and to 
 show, in few words as possible, how simplicity, is 
 properly applied to style. There are four distinct 
 senses in which this word is used, by rhetorical wri- 
 ters. The first, is simplicity of composition, which is 
 opposed to too great a variety of parts. The second, 
 
48 
 
 is simplicity of thought, which is opposed to refine- 
 ment. I he third, i* that \\hicli is opposed to orna- 
 ment, and pomp of language ami the fourth i- that 
 simplicity which appears in the easy and natural man- 
 ner in which our language expresses our thoughts. 
 In this last sense, simplicity is compatible with the 
 highest ornament. Homer, for instance, exhibits this 
 simplicity, in the highest perfection, and yet, no 
 wiher ever moved a pen, which was followed by such 
 splendid ornament and beauty. This is a simplicity 
 which always cherishes ornament, but not that which 
 is affected; and is a primary excellence in composi- 
 tion. The man who has attained this, gives no evi 
 dence of art in his expression*, but appears the real 
 child of nature. It is not a writer, and labourer, that 
 we here behold; but the man. in his own natural cha- 
 racter. However rich in his expressions, and full in 
 hi- figures and his fancy, these will appear to flow- 
 voluntarily, an I without difficulty; not, however, be- 
 cause he seems to have studied his subject well, but, 
 because it is a manner of exprpgsiou, which, apparent- 
 ly, perfectly accords with his taste, his circumstances, 
 and his nature. An affected style, is precisely the re~ 
 verse of a simple one; and a vehement style, denotes 
 strength, and alv r oids w ith simplicity. It is dis 
 
 tinguished by a peculiar ardor. It is the language of a 
 man whose imaginations and passions are glow ing and 
 impetuous. Paying little attention to the graces, he 
 bears down with the force and thunder of a tremen- 
 dous torrent. And this is the proper style, for the 
 higher kinds of oratory such was the style of a De~ 
 moslhenes; and ; sometimes, of a Cicero. Having stat- 
 
eel, and briefly explained the different characters of 
 style; we shall conclude with giving a few directions 
 for attaining excellence in the art of composition. 
 
 Tin' first rule is, to become possessed of clear ideas 
 on the subject, upon which we attempt to write or 
 speak. 
 
 The second is. to compose frequently; but not in a 
 hasty and careless habit, as this will lead us to ac- 
 quire a bad style. On the contrary, we must always, 
 in composing, exercise the greatest care, particularly, 
 when we commence the practice. The third is to 
 make ourselves familiar with the productions of the 
 best and most approved authors. The fourth is, to 
 guard with great care, against an imitation of any 
 particular author. The fifth is, always to endeavour 
 to adapt our style to the subject, and to the capacity 
 of our hearers, or readers. The sLvthj and last rulo 
 is, to pay particular attention to our thoughts. Let 
 the thoughts, or ideas always be important. Let it 
 never be said of you, reader, that you are rick in 
 <1s, but^oorin sentiment. 
 
 form of a Regular Discourse. 
 
 We here present a form proper to be observed in 
 making an oration, or any public discourse. The 
 number of parts, requisite to form a regular discourse, 
 is six and are denominated the exordium, the divi- 
 sion, the explication, and the reasoning; the pathetic, 
 
 7 
 
and the conclusion. Tt is, however, not always neces- 
 sary to incorporate t)>e whole in every discourse : nor 
 that they should always be subject to the order hero 
 prescribed. Kxielleut discourses are frequently met 
 \vitii, in which some of the parts here enumerated, arc 
 entirely omitted. Still, they are the natural and neces- 
 sary constituents of a well formed and regular dis- 
 course. And it is of no inconsiderable consequence 
 to an orator, that he understand how to construct them 
 well. The design of an introduction or exordium, is 
 to engage the attention of the audience, and prepare 
 their minds to yield to the art of persuasion. And 
 the most able writers have often fmind the execution 
 of this part of a discourse more difficult than that of 
 any other. And hence it so often occurs, that intro- 
 ductions, particularly those delivered "extempore," 
 are neither suited to the nature of the subject to be 
 digressed, nor to make a favourable impression upon 
 the audience. Fo prevent an experience of this, evil, 
 public speakers <.houN *p;ire no pains, until they have 
 acquired the talent, of executing this with the most 
 delicate refinements of art. It slio ill be always na- 
 tural, and consist of ide.i* -ingested by the subject, 
 and the circuw- -f the occasion. It should be 
 
 char;u-terised by corre< md great modesty; not, 
 
 however, betraying servility, nor anticipating any ma- 
 terial part of tin* suhj ct; atid it should be duly pro- 
 portioned as to its length. 
 
 I lie execution of the part of a discourse, which ge- 
 nerally comes next after the introduction, viz. tin* di- 
 vision, or proposition: should be clear and distinct, 
 aud as concise aiid simple as possible and the seve- 
 
ral parts, whether formally announced or not, should be 
 Really distinct from each other; that is, no one should 
 include another. And here we should be careful to 
 follow the order of nature beginning with the must 
 simple points, and thence proceeding to the discussion 
 of those which are the most important, and which 
 suppose the former to be known. 
 
 The division of the discourse should be such, as 
 appears the most natural to the subject ; and when 
 this is the case when the basis of a discourse is thus 
 formed, the speaker or writer is prepared to proceed, 
 and will encourage the hearer, or reader, to expect 
 an interesting and elegant discourse. 
 
 With respect to the style and manner, proper to be 
 used, in either popular, or philosophical essays, or ser- 
 mons ; it may be proper to observe that attention to 
 the best authors, and those remarks upon the sub- 
 ject, which are to be found in this compilation, with a 
 due degree of practice and care, in the art of com- 
 posing; will furnish correct and ample instructions. 
 
 History. 
 
 History is a record of events, and characters, for 
 the instruction and benefit of mankind ; and the seve- 
 ral characteristics of an historian should be impartia- 
 lity, fidelity, gravity, aud dignity. A due order and 
 
connexion, and a clear ami elevated style are almost 
 indispensable in historical productions. 
 
 Philosophical Writing. 
 
 The professed and <ole object of philosophy is in- 
 struction. Hence, with philosophic writers, style, 
 form, and dress, are considerations of minor con^e- 
 quence. It is, however, pioper to remark, that th. i y 
 ought not to he entirely nr^lfried ; for the sa;iit. syl- 
 logistic and philosophic reasonings, clothed in an ele- 
 gant style, are more imposing and interesting, tlim 
 they ever can he, in one that is unfashionable, d'lll, 
 and dry. Strict precision, and accuracy, are in- 
 dispensable characteristics of philosophic writin.;* ; 
 but these may easily he exhibited without resorting 
 to the use of a dry style. We have examples of this 
 kind of writing, which are highly polished specimens 
 of style ; anil, whilst it is urged, that the more mode- 
 rate figures of speech are admissible and desirable, 
 here; it must be remembered, that a florid, and tumid 
 style are always to be avoided The elegant and 
 beautiful style of Plato, and Cicero ; the rich and 
 splendid one of Seneca; are very happy specimens of 
 a proper style : and the style of Mr. Locke, in his 
 Treatise on the Luman Lndrrstandinu;, is, perhaps, 
 the best model extant, oi' a clear, distinct, and proper 
 philosophic style. 
 
Epistolary Writing. 
 
 In "Epistolary composition, the two principal charac- 
 teristics, are familiarity and ease; and the fundamental 
 requisites are nature, simplicity, sprigh illness, and 
 wit. '('lie style of letters, should give no evidence of 
 study : hut appear, like that of animated conversation, 
 to flow with perfect ease. Lord J.olingbroke and 
 Hishop Atterbury have furnished finished specimens 
 of this kind of composition. Mr. Pope's are less 
 happy, as they exhihit a tie Ution, and too much s udy. 
 Balzac and Voiture, in French, have been celebrated 
 for this kind of style ; and, of a familiar correspon- 
 dence, the most elegant and accomplished model, is 
 that of the letters of Madame de Savigne. These 
 abound with ease, variety, gprightliness, and beauty: 
 and of many letter writers, in English, perhaps no 
 one has furnished a more perfect model than that of 
 the celebrated Lady Mary Wortluy Montague. 
 
 Fictitio us Histo ry. 
 
 This species of writing includes a numerous, but, 
 generally speaking, an insignificant and worthless 
 class of writings, called romances and novels. The 
 influence, however, of these productions, is acknow- 
 ledged to be universally great 5 and, though this kind 
 
. 31 
 
 of composition has usually been employed for the ac- 
 complishment of mischievous and ruinous purposes, 
 yet. nevertheless, it might become productive of iuo*t 
 desirable eftVcts. When the object of a writer of 
 romance, or novels, is to depict human life and man- 
 ners ; the erratic wanderings, as well as the perfec- 
 tions of the passions and the mind if the production 
 be well executed it may be perused with no less ad- 
 vantage than pleasure. And, in accordance with this 
 sentiment, even wise men, in different countries, have 
 propagated knowledge through the medium of fables 
 and fictitious writings an<l Lord Bacon has observ- 
 ed, that the common affiirs of life, are insufficient to 
 en^ai;e the mind of men of the world; they must 
 U of th.'ir own, and wander into the rc- 
 gi(n5 of imagination. 
 
 Tin' compiler is. nevertheless, unalterably fixed in 
 the enti-nent, that romances and novel*, taken in the, 
 aJWegate. an* to be condemned ; as they have iC'insli- 
 t(it-(l no in'-onsidiT.ih'u' p-irt of that complex and fear- 
 ful machinery of corruption, which, in its mercil 
 and tremendous course, from its commencement with 
 n. in the -;nlen of Kdt-n, who successfully acl- 
 dressed the prisons of Kve, with a deceptive and 
 damnable tale, has drawn within its vortex, the pos- 
 
 sor* of beauty, virtue, talents, and integrity; and, 
 after tormenting and grinding them into d'ist, has 
 driven their infinitely precious souls to the dark and 
 bottomless aby** ! 
 
 Novels ! Romances ! Reader! mark them 
 
 .'i from them, and pass away!" 
 
Nature of Poetry its origin and progress. 
 
 Of the origin of Poetry, we may observe, it undoubt- 
 edly existed prior to what is now culled prose. Event 
 the definition which is given of it, would lead to this 
 
 conclusion. 
 
 Poetry is the language of passion, or enlivened 
 imagination; formed most commonly into regular num- 
 bers. The object of a poet is to please and to move 
 us, and hence his address is always made to the pas- 
 sions and imagination. Man is, naturally, both a 
 poet and a musician. The same impulse which in- 
 duces us to use an enthusiastic poetic style, will pro- 
 duce an elevnfed and harmonious modulation of the 
 voice. Indeed music and poetry are united in song, 
 anil mutually a^Ut and exalt each other. The first 
 poets sung their own productions; and hence the ori- 
 gin of what we call versification or the at ran^-mrut 
 of words to some tune, or harmony. Poems and 
 songs, are amoii'z; the antiquities of all countries; and 
 the occasions upon which they have been composed, 
 are nearly the same. They comprise the celebration 
 of gods, of heroes, and of victories. They abounded 
 with enthusiastic and fine imagery, and are generally 
 characterized by wildness, irregularity and splendor. 
 In the progress of society, however poems assume 
 different forms; the variety of poetic composition is 
 separated into classes, and the merit and appropriate 
 rules of each, are distinctly assigned Odes, elegies 
 epic poems? and dramatic and didactic poetry, are aU 
 
50 
 
 subject to particular rcgmtations, and are proper ob- 
 jects for the refined and discerning critic. 
 
 XV e might furnish remarks upon the various kinds 
 of poetry, sufficient to make a volume. Many ele- 
 gant productions exist, which are more in:. han 
 useful. Pastoral, lyric, didactic, and descriptive po- 
 etry, have severally engaged the attention and efforts 
 of the ingenious and the learned ; hut the brevity pro- 
 posed by the compiler, will not admit of his giving 
 them a place in this compilation. 
 
 On the Eloquence of the P ill pit. 
 
 Tin 1 importance of pulpit eloquence, is acknowledg- 
 ed by all; and the ungracious and slovenly raan.ier, 
 frequently complained of, in whirh many preachers 
 treat their auditories, calls imperatively upon students 
 in divinity, to pay more attention to this subject than 
 lias heretofore been bestowed. The following senti- 
 ments, from Dr. Blair, are highly important, and will 
 doubtless afford both entertainment and a source of 
 real improvement. 
 
 This field of public speaking has, evidently, several advan- 
 tages peculiar to itself. The dignity and importance of its 
 tubjects must be allowed to be superior to any other. They 
 admit of the highest embellishments in description, and the 
 greatest warmth and vehemence of expression. In treating 
 his subject, the preacher has also peculiar advantages. He 
 speaks not to one or a few judges, but to a numerous assem- 
 bly. He is not afraid of interruption. He chooses his sub- 
 
57 
 
 at leisure; and has all the assistance which the most 
 accurate premeditation can afford him. The disadvantages, 
 however, which attend the eloquence of the pulpit, are by 
 no means inconsiderable. The preacher, it is true, has no 
 contention *vith an adversary ; but debate awakens genius, 
 and excites attention. His subjects, though noble, are trite 
 and common. They are become so familiar to the public 
 ear, that it require**, no orc'inary genius in the preacher, to 
 fix the attention of his hearers. Nothing is more difficult, 
 than to bestow on what is common the grace of novelty. Be- 
 sides, the subject of the preacher usually confines him to ab- 
 stract qualities, to virtues, and vices ; whereas., that ot other 
 popular speakers leads them to treat of persons ; which is a 
 subject generally more interesting to the hearers, and which 
 occupies more powerfully the imagination. We are taught 
 by the preacher to detest only the crime ; by the pleader to 
 detest the criminal. Hence it happens, that though the 
 number of moderate!) i;ood preachers is great, there are so 
 few who have arrived at eminence. Perfection is very dis- 
 tant, indeed, from modern preaching. The object, however, 
 is truly noble and illustrious ; and worthy of being pursued 
 with attention, ardor, and perseverance. 
 
 To excel in preaching, it is necessary to have a fixed and 
 habitual view of its end and object. This, undoubtedly, is 
 to persuade men to become <*r".i. Every sermon ou 
 consequently, to be a persuasive oration. It is not to dis- 
 cuss some abstruse point, that the preacher ascends the pul- 
 pit. It is not to teach his hearers something new, but to 
 make them better : to give them, at the sa-nc time, clear 
 views, and persuasive impressions of religious truth. 
 
 The principal characteristics of pulpit eloquence, as distin- 
 guished from the other kinds of public speaking, appear to be 
 these two gravity and warmth. It is neither easy nor com- 
 mon to unite fhese characters of eloquence. The grave, when 
 it is too predominant, becomes a dull, uniform solemnity 
 'xThe warm, when appit wants gravity, too near the.roaches 
 
 8 
 
60 
 
 cumsunees, you are sure of his attention. No study, here-r 
 fore, is mor*. v for a preacher, than the study of hu-r 
 
 man life, and of the human heart- To be able to discover 
 a man to himself, in a light in which he never saw his own 
 character before, produces a wonderful effect. Those ser- 
 mons, though the most difficult in composition, are not only 
 the most beautiful, but also the most useful, which are 
 founded on the illustration of some peculiar character, or 
 remarkable piece of history, in the sacred writings ; by the 
 pursuit of which, we may trace, and lay open, some of the 
 most secret windings of the human heart Other topics of 
 pn-aching have become trite and common ; but this is an 
 extensive field, which has hitherto been little explored, and 
 possesses all the advantages of being curious, new, and in 
 the highest degree useful. Bishop Butler's sermon on the 
 character of Balaam, is an example of this kind of preach- 
 ing 
 
 Fashion, which operates so extensively on human man- 
 ners, has given to preaching, at different times, a change of 
 character. This, however, is a torrent, which swells to-day 
 and subsides to-morrow. Sometimes poetical preaching is 
 sometimes philosophical : at one time it must 
 be all nathetic ; at another all argumentative; according as 
 some celebrated preacher has afforded the example. Each 
 of these modes in the extreme, is very defective ; and he 
 who conforms himself to it, will both confine his genius, 
 an'! corrupt it. Truth and good sense are the only basis on 
 which he can build with safety Mode and humour are 
 feeble and unsteady. No example, however admired, should 
 be servilely imitated. From various examples, the preacher 
 may collect materials for improvement ; but the servility of 
 imitation will extinguish his yenius, and expose its poverty 
 fo his hearers. 
 
^ELECTIONS, 
 
 IN POETRY AND PROSE, 
 
 Extract from Cain a Mystery u\ LORD BVK 
 
 A( T IH. S( KNE I. 
 
 The Earth near /.'</<>/, .v / wfc/ I. 
 
 Enter Cain ami Adah. 
 ^Ldah. Hush ! tread softly, Cain. 
 Cain. I will; but wherefore? 
 
 Adah. Our little Enoch sleeps upon yon bed 
 Of leaves, beneath the cypress. 
 
 Cain. Cypress! 'tis 
 
 A gloomy tree, which looks as if it mourn'd 
 
 vhat it shadows; w 'icreiorc didst thou choose it 
 For our child's canopy ? 
 
 Adah. Because its branches 
 
 Shut out the sun like night, and therefore seem'd 
 Tilting to shadow slumber. 
 
 Cain. Ay, the last 
 
 And longest; but no matter lead me to him. 
 
 They go uji to the child. 
 How lovely he appears ! his little cheeks, 
 In their p-irc incarnation, vying with 
 The rose leaves strewn beneath them. 
 
 .7</A. And his lips, too, 
 
 How beautifully parted ! No ; you shall not 
 Kiss him, at least not now : he will awake soon-** 
 His hour of mid day rest is nearly over : 
 But it were pity to disturb him till 
 'Tis closed. 
 
 Cain. You have said well ; I will contain 
 My heart till then. He smiles, and sleeps! Sleep on 
 And smile, thou little, young inheritor 
 Of a world scarce less young: sleep on, and smile ! 
 Thine are the hours and days when both are cheering 
 And innocent \ thou hast not pluck'd the fruit 
 
62 
 
 Thou knov'st not thou art naked I Must the time 
 Come thou shall be amerced for sins unknown, 
 Which were not thine nor mine ? But now sleep on 1 
 His cheeks are reddening into deeper smiles, 
 And shining lids are trembling o'er his Kng 
 Lashes, dark as the cypress which waves o'er them ; 
 Half open, from beneath them the clear blue 
 Laughs out, although in slumber. He must droam 
 Of what r Of Paradis. dream of it, 
 
 j\Iy disinh* : .'.t-d boy ! 'Tis but a dream . 
 Tor never more thyself, thy sons, nor fathers, 
 Shall walk in that forbidden place of joy. 
 
 Adah. Dear Cain 1 Nay, do not whisper o'er our son 
 Such melancholy yearnings o'er the past: 
 Why \\ilt thou always mourn for Paradise ? 
 Can we not make another ? 
 
 Cain. Where : 
 
 \ih. Here, or 
 
 Where'er thou wilt : where'er thou art, I feel not 
 The want of this so much regretted Eden. 
 1 lave I not thee, our boy, our sire, and brother, 
 And /illah our - ,;nd our 1. 
 
 To whom Id much besides our birth ? 
 
 - leath, too, is amongst the debts we owe her. 
 
 Adah. C;iin ! that proud spirit, who withdrew tnee lu 
 Hath sadden'd thine still deeper. I had hoped 
 The promised wonders which thou hast beheld, 
 Visions, thou say'st, of past and present worlds, 
 Would have composed thy mind into the calm 
 Of a contented knowledge ; but I see 
 Thy guide hath done thee evil . still I thank him. 
 And can forgive him all, that he so soon 
 Hath given thee back to us. 
 
 n. So soon ? 
 
 Adah. 'Tis scarcely 
 
 Two hours since yc departed : two lo?ig hours 
 To wi, but only h^ur upon the sun. 
 
 j. And yet I have approach 'd that sun, and seen 
 Worlds which he once shone on, and never more 
 Shall light; and worlds he never lit: methought 
 Years had roll'd o'er my absen* 
 
 Adah. Hardly hours. 
 
 Cain. The mind then hath capacity of time, 
 And measures it by that which it beholds, 
 Pleasing or painful ; little or almighty. 
 I had beheld the immemorial works 
 Of endless beings ; skirr'd extinguished worlds ; 
 And, gazing on eternity, methought 
 
63 
 
 I had borrow'd more by a few drops of age 5 
 From its immensity ; but now I feel 
 My littleness again. Well said the spirit, 
 That I was nothing ! 
 
 Collins' Ode on the Passions. 
 
 WHFA T Music, heav'nly maid, was young, 
 \Vh-le yet in early fireee she sung, 
 The Passions, oft to hear her shell, 
 Throng d around her magic cell, 
 Exalting, trembling, raging, fainting*, 
 Possest, beyond the Muses' painting. 
 By turns they felt the glowing mind 
 Disturb'd, delighted, rais'd, relin'd. 
 'Till once, tis said, when all were iir'd, 
 Filld with fury, rapt, inspir'd, 
 From the sporting myrtles round 
 They snatch'd her nstruments of sound. 
 And as they oft had heard apart, 
 Sweet lessons of her forceful art, 
 h, for madness rul'd the hour, 
 Would prov his own expressive po\\er; 
 
 r, its hand his skill to try, 
 Amid the chords bcwilder'd laid, 
 And back recoil'd, he knew not why, 
 
 at the sound himself had m. 
 Next Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire, 
 In lightning own *d his secret stings, 
 In one rude clash he struck the lyre, 
 And swept with hurry'd hand the stf: 
 With woful measures wan Depair 
 Low, sullen sounds his grief beguil'd 
 A solemn, stranee, and mi gled air, 
 'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild, 
 But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair, 
 What was thy delighted measure ? 
 Still it whisper'd promis'd pleasure, 
 And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail 1 
 Still would her touch the scene prolong, 
 And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, 
 She calFcl on echo still, through all the song; 
 And where her sweetest theme she chose, 
 A soft responsive voice, was heard at every close, 
 And Hope enchanted, smil'd, and wav'd her golden huiV. 
 And longer had she sung, but with a frown, 
 Revenge impatient rose ; 
 
64 
 
 He threw his blood stahi'd sword in thunder down. 
 
 And with a withering look, 
 
 The war, denouncing trumpet took, 
 
 And blew a blast so loud and dread, 
 
 \\\re ne'er prophetic sounds so full of wo; 
 
 And ever and anon he beat 
 
 The doubling drum with furious heat; 
 
 And though, sometimes each dreary pause between. 
 
 Dejected Pity at his side 
 
 Her soul subduing voice applied, 
 
 Vet still he kept his wild, nalter'd mein, 
 
 \VhiIe each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting from 
 
 head. 
 
 Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd, 
 Sad proof of thy distressful state, 
 
 tiering themes the veering song was mix'd, 
 now it courted love, now raving caJ'd on hv 
 With eyes uprais'd, as one inspired, 
 Pale Melancholy -at retired, 
 And from her wild, scquester'd scat, 
 In notes more distant made more sweet, 
 Pou 'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul ; 
 And dashing soft from rocks around. 
 Bubbling runnels join'd the sound ; 
 Through glades and glooms the mingled measure sto 
 Or o\ ..turned streams with fond delay, 
 
 Bound a holy calm diffusing, 
 Lo\ and lonely musing, 
 
 In hollow murmurs died av> 
 But () how her d was its sprighttier tone; 
 
 nymph of healthiest hue. 
 HIT bow across her shoulders fli 
 
 :<t-m d with morning c< 
 
 Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung 
 hunter's call to fawn and dryad known ; 
 oak-crown d - il their chaste-ey'd quc 
 
 :.d sylvan boys were seen, 
 Peeping forth fiom 
 Brown Exerci^ 
 And sport leapt up, and seiz'd the beachen spear 
 
 Last came, Joy's ecstatic trial, 
 He, with vmy crown advancing, 
 
 to the lively pipe his hand address'd, 
 But soon he saw the brisk awaking viol, 
 Whose sweet advancing voice he lov'd the bi 
 
 They would have who heard the strain 
 They saw in Tempo's v;.ie her native maids 
 \rnid the festal sounding shades 
 
65 
 
 To some unwearied minstrel dancing, 
 While as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, 
 Love fram'd with mirth, a gay fantastic round, 
 Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound, 
 And he amid his frolic play, 
 As if he would the charming air repay, 
 Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings. 
 
 On Cruelty to Animals. a Tale. BY COWPKR 
 
 Where England stretch'd towards the setting sun, 
 Narrow and long, o'erlooks the western wave, 
 Dwelt young Misagathus. A scorner he, 
 Of God and goodness, atheist in ostent, 
 Vicious in act, in temper savage-fierce. 
 He journey'd, and his chance was, as he went, 
 To join a trav'ller of far different note, 
 Evander, fam'd for piety, for years 
 Deserving honour, but for wisdom more. 
 Fame had not left the venerable man, 
 A stranger to the manners of the youth, 
 Whose face too was familiar to his view. 
 Their way was on the margin of the land, 
 O'er the green summit of the rocks, whose base 
 Beats back the roaring surge, scarce heard so high. 
 The charity that wann'd his heart was mov'd 
 At sight of the man-monster. With a smile, 
 Gentle, and affable, and full of grace, 
 As fearful of offending whom he wish'd 
 Much to persuade, he ply'd his ear with truths. 
 Not harshly thunder'd forth, or rudely press'd, 
 But like his purpose, gracious, kind, and sweet. 
 And dost thou dream, the impenetrable man 
 Exclaim'd, that me, the lullabies of age, 
 And fantasies of dotards, such as thou, 
 Can cheat, or move a moment's fear in me ? 
 Mark now the proof I give thee that the brave 
 Need no such aids as superstition lends, 
 To steel their hearts against the dread of death. 
 He spoke, and to the precipice at hand, 
 Push'd with a madman's fury. Fancy shrinks, 
 And the blood thrills and curdles at the thought 
 Of such a gulph, as he design'd his grave. 
 But though the felon on his back could dare 
 The dreadful leap, more rational his steed 
 Declin'd the death, and wheeling swiftly round* 
 
 9 
 
66 
 
 Or ere his hoof had prcss'd the crumbling verge. 
 
 Baffled his rider, sav'd against his will. 
 
 The frenzy of the brain may be redress'd, 
 
 By med'cine well applied, but without grace, 
 
 The heart's insanity admits no cure 
 
 Enrag'd the more, by what might have reformM 
 
 His horrible intent ; again, he sought 
 
 Destruction, with zeal to be destroy'd, 
 
 With sounding whip, and rowels dy'd in blood. 
 
 But still in vain. The providence that meant 
 
 A longer date to the far nobler beast, 
 
 Spar'd yet again th* ignobler for his sake. 
 
 And now, his prowess prov'd, and his sincere 
 
 Incurable obduracy evinc'd, 
 
 His rage grew cool ; and pleas'd, perhaps, t' have earnM 
 
 eaply, the renown of that attempt, 
 With looks, of some complacence, he resum'd 
 His road, deriding much the blank amaze 
 Of good Evander, still where he was left, 
 
 notionless, and petrified with dread. 
 So on they farM ; discourse on other themes 
 Ensuing, seem'd to obliterate the past, 
 And tamer far for so much fury shown, 
 (As is the course of rash and fiery men) 
 The rude companion smiPd, as if transform'd. 
 But 'twas a transient calm. A storm was near, 
 An unsuspected storm. His hour was come. 
 The impious challenger of pow'r divine 
 Was now to learn, that heaven, though slow to wrath, 
 Is never with impunity defy'd. 
 His horse, as he had caught his master's mood, 
 Snorting, and starting into sudden rage, 
 Unbidden, and not now to be control'd, 
 Rush'd to the cliff, and having reach'd it, stood. 
 At once the shock unseated him. He flew 
 Sheer o'er the craggy barrier, and immers'd 
 Deep in the flood, found, when he sought it not, 
 The death he had deserv'd, and dy'd alone. 
 So God wrought double justice made the fool 
 The victim of his own tremendous choice, 
 And taught a brute the way to safe revenge. 
 
 Address to Messiah. BY co\vpii. 
 
 Come then, and added to thy many crowns, 
 Recieve yet one, the crown of all the earth. 
 
67 
 
 Thou who alone art worthy ! it was thine 
 
 By ancient cov'nant, ere nature's birth, 
 
 And thou hast made it thine by purchase since, 
 
 And overpaid its value with thy blood. 
 
 Thy saints proclaim thee King ; and in their hearts, 
 
 Thy title is engraven with a pen 
 
 Dipt in the fountain of eternal love. 
 
 Thy saints proclaim thee King; and thy delay 
 
 Gives courage to their foes, who, could they see 
 
 The dawn of thy last advent long desir'd, 
 
 Would creep into the bowels of the hills, 
 
 And flee for safety to the falling rofcks. 
 
 The very spirit of the world is tir'd 
 
 Of its own taunting question ask'd so long, 
 
 " Where is the promise of your Lord's approach?" 
 
 The infidel has shot his bolts away, 
 
 Till his exhausted quiver yielding none, 
 
 lie gleans the blunted shafts that have recoil'd, 
 
 And aims them at the shield of truth again. 
 
 The veil is rent, rent too by priestly hands, 
 
 That hides divinity from mortal eyes, 
 
 And all the mysteries to faith proposed 
 
 Insulted and traduc'd, are cast aside 
 
 As useless, to the moles, and to the bats. 
 
 They now are deem'd the faithful, and are praisM, 
 
 Who constant only in rejectng thee, 
 
 Deny thy Godhead with a martyr's zeal, 
 
 And quit their office for their error's sake. 
 
 Blind, and in love with darkness ! yet even these. 
 
 Worthy, compar'd with sycophants, who kneel, 
 
 Thy name adoring, and then preach thee man. 
 
 So fares thy church. But how thy church may fare, 
 
 The world takes little thought ; who will may preach^ 
 
 And what they will. All pastors are alike 
 
 To wand'ring sheep, resolv'd to follow none. 
 
 Two gods divide them all, Pleasure and Gain. 
 
 For these they live, they sacrifice to these, 
 
 And in their service wage perpetual war 
 
 With conscience, and with thee. Lust in their hearts, 
 
 And mischief in their hands, they roam the earth 
 
 To prey upon each other ; stubborn, fierce, 
 
 High minded, foaming out their own disgrace. 
 
 Thy prophets speak of such ; and noting down 
 
 The features of the last degenerate times, 
 
 Exhibit ev'ry lineament of these. 
 
 Come then, and added to thy many crowns, 
 
 Receive yet one, as radient as the rest, 
 
 Due to thy last, and most effectual worki 
 
 Thy word fulfill'd, the conquest of a world. 
 
6i 
 
 On the Power and Influence of an Individual. 
 
 BY PRESIDENT NOTT. 
 
 Thus the impulse given either to virtue or to vice, by a single individual, 
 way b-> immeasurably extended, even to distant nations, and communica- 
 ted 'hroug'i succeeding- ages to the remotest generations. 
 
 * md their infidel coadjutors, collected their materials 
 
 and Kid a train which produced that fatal explosion, uhich shook the civi- 
 lizeil world to its centre. Governments were dismembered; monarchies 
 were overthrown; institutions were swept away; society was flung into 
 co;, fusion; human life was endangered. Years have elapsed, the face of 
 Europe is yet covered with wrecks and desolations! and how long L -t-.re 
 the world will recover from the disastrous shock their conspiracy occa- 
 sioned, God only knows. And yet Vo'taire, Rosseau and their infidel co- 
 re individuals. 
 
 Did not Cyrus sway the opinions, awe the fears, and direct the energies 
 of the world at Babylon? Did not Caesar do this a\ Home, and Cons':\n- 
 tine at Byzantium? and yet C)rus, Caesar and Constantine, were individu- 
 als Uut they w re fortunate ; they lived at critical conjunctures, and in 
 fit-Id* of blood gathered immortally. And is it at critical conjunctures and 
 in fiVids of Hood only, that immortally can be gathered ? 
 
 \N ,ere '.h-n is Howard, that saint of illustrious memory, who traversed 
 \ploring the jail and the prison-ship und taking the 
 
 dimensions of that misery which the*e caverns of vic< , of disease and of 
 dea.h had nceiled Whose heroic deeds of c! dun- 
 
 geoi'S alike of Europe and of Asia witnessed, and whose bones now conse- 
 cra e the confines of distant Canary, where he fell a martyr r 
 when like an angel if peace, he was engaged in conveying through the 
 cold, damp, pestilential cells of Russian Crimea, the lamp ot hope and the 
 cup of consolation to the incarcerated slave, who languished unknown, 
 unpitied, and forgotten there. 
 
 Where is Grf nnlle Sharp, the negro's advocate, whose disinterested ef- 
 forts, whose seraphic eloquence, extorted from a court tinctured with the 
 remains of feudal tyranny, that memorable decision of lord Mansfield, 
 which placed an eternal shield between the oppressor, and the 
 iv h ch raised a legal barrier around the vr; of the ensiaved Afri- 
 
 can, and rendered liberty thereafter, inseparable from the soil of the sea- 
 girt isles ot Britain It was this splendid triumph of reason over passion, 
 of justice over prejudice, that railed from the Irish orator, that bur.-,t. of 
 ingenuous feeling, at the trial of Rowan, when he said " 1 speak in the 
 spirit of the British law. which proclaims even to the stranger and the so- 
 journer, the moment he sets his foot on British earth, tiiat the ground on 
 which he treads is holy. No matter in what language, his doom may 
 have been pronounced; No matter what complexion incompatible with 
 freedom; an Indian, or an African sun may have burnt upon him; N'o 
 ma.ter in what disastrous battle his liberty may have been cloven down : 
 No matter with what solemnities he may have been devoted upon the 
 altar of slavery ; the first moment he touches the sacred soi- of Britain, 
 the altar, and the God sink 'ogetherin the dust; his soul walks abroad in 
 ber own majesty ; hib body swells bt.yond the measure of his chan.*, that 
 burst from around him, and he stands redeemed, emancipated, dis-en- 
 thralled. by irresistable genius of universal emancipation." 
 
 Where if Clarksou, who has been so triumphantly successful in wiping 
 away the reproach of slavery from one quarter of the globe, and in restor- 
 
69 
 
 !ng to the rights or" fraternity more than twenty millions of the human 
 family thai man, who after so many years of reproach and contumely; 
 after suffering's and purseve- ance which astonish as much as they inst'-uct 
 us, succeeded in turning 1 ih*- curren of national feeling ; in awake-ting 
 the sense ot national justice, and finally in obtaining, from the parliament 
 of England, thai glorious act, the abolition of the slave trade An act to 
 which ihe royal signature was affixed at noon day, and just as the sun 
 reached the meridian: a time fitly chosen for the consummation of so 
 splendid a transaction a transaction which reflects more honor on the 
 king, the parliament, and the people, than any other recorded in the annals 
 of history. Where is this man, whose fame I had rather inherit than that of 
 C<"es;ir f<*r it will ht more deathless as it is already more sacred. And 
 should Africa ever arise from its present degradation, and rise it will, if 
 there he any truth in God, what a perpetual flow of heartfelt eulogy will, 
 to a thousand generations, commemorate the virtues, the sufferings and 
 the triumph of the ingenuous, the disinterested, the endeared, the immor- 
 tal Clarkson the Negro's friendthe black man's hope the despised 
 African's benefactor ! 
 
 Where is Lancster, who has introduced, and is introducing a new era 
 in the history of letters, and rendering the houses of education, like the 
 temples of grace, accessible to the poor ? Owing to whose exertions and 
 enterprizes thousands of children, picked from the dirt and collected 
 from the streets, are this day enjoying the inestimable benefits of educa- 
 tion, and forming regular habits of industry and virtue, who must other- 
 wise have been doomed by the penury of their condition to perpetual ig- 
 norance, and probably to perpetual misery. 
 
 Ah ! hud this man lived but two thousand years ago, to say nothing of 
 the eflect which might have been produced on morals and happiness ge- 
 nerally, by the general diffusion of knowledge, and the regular formation 
 of habits to say nothing of that vulgarity which would have been dimin- 
 ished, nor of that dignity which might have been imparted to the charac- 
 ter of the species Could this man have lived two thousand years ago, and 
 all the rude materials in society have undergone only that slight polishing 
 which, under his fostering care, they are now likely to undergo, how many 
 mines of beauty and richness would have appeared ! How many gems 
 made visible by their glittering, would have been collected from among 
 the rubbish ! Or, to speak without a figure, had this rrflm lived two thou- 
 sand years ago, how much talent might have been discovered for the 
 church, for the state, for the world, among those untutored millions who 
 have floated unknown and unnoticed down the tide of time. Had this man 
 lived two thousand years ago, how many Demosthenes might have light- 
 ened and thundered ? How many Homers soared and sung ? How many 
 New tons roused into action, to clevelope the laws of matter? How many 
 Lockes to explore the regions of mind? How many Mansfields to exalt 
 the Iv.-nch ? How many Erskines to adorn the bar ? And perhaps some 
 oilier Washington, whose memory has now perished in obscurity, might 
 have been forced from the factory or the plow to decide the fate of battle, 
 and sustain the weight of empire. 
 
 And yet Howard, Sharpe, Clarkson and Lancaster, were individuals ; and 
 individuals too, gifted by no extraordinary talents; favoured by no pecu- 
 liar theatre of action. They were only common men brought up in the 
 midst of common life. No princely fortunes had descended to them ; no 
 paternal influence had devolved on them ; no aspiring rivals provoked 
 their emulation ; no great emergencies roused their exertions. They pro- 
 duced, if 1 may so speak, the incidents which adorn their history, and cre- 
 ated for themselves a theatre of action. Animated by the purest virtue, 
 and bent on being useful, they seized on the miseries of life, as the world 
 
70 
 
 presented them; and by deeds of charity and valour performed in reliev- 
 ing 1 those miseries, they converted the very abodes of ignorance and wo in- 
 to a theatre of glory. 
 
 And, young gentlemen, after all that has been done by these patrons of 
 virtue, these benefactors of mankind, remains there no prejudice to cor- 
 rect ; no ignorance to instruct ; no vice to reclaim ; no misery to alleviate I 
 Look" around you still there is room for youthful enterprise, for manly 
 exertion. Go, then, into the world ; cherish the spirit, imitate the exam- 
 ple, and emulate the glory of these illustrious worthies. Let no disasters 
 shake your fortitude; let no impediments interrupt your career. Come 
 what will, of this be assured, that in every enterprise of good, God will 
 be on your side; and that should you even fail, failure will be glorious 
 Nor will it ever be said in heaven of the man who has sincerely laboured 
 on the earth to glorify his God, or benefit his country, that he has lived in. 
 
 On Card Playing BY PRESIDENT NOTT. 
 
 Games of hazard, particularly where cards are concerned, tend imper- 
 ceptibly to gambling. 
 
 , at first, is resorted to as a pastime, and the gamester becomes an 
 idler only. This is the inceptive step. But mere play has not enough of 
 interest in it, to excite a continued attention, even in the most frivolous 
 of minds. To supply this defect, the passion of avarice is addressed by 
 the intervention of a trifling stake. This is the second step. The third 
 is deep and presumptuous gambling; here, all the adventurer can com- 
 mand, I* hazarded, aml^-aj'n not amusement, becomes the powerful motive 
 that inspires htm. These are the stages of play at cards, that delusive 
 und treacherous science, which has beggared so many families, made so 
 many a youth, a profligate ; and blasted forever, so many a parent's hope ! 
 
 But is a stake, at play, wrong in principle? It is so. Nor is the nature 
 >f the transaction changed by any increase, or diminution of amount. Not 
 that it is a crime to hazard, but to hazard wrongfully; to hazard, where no 
 law authorizes it ; where neither individual prudence, nor any principle of 
 public policy requires it. Property is a trust, and the holder is responsi- 
 ble for its use. He may employ it in trade; he may give it in charity. But 
 he may not wantonly squander it away ; he may not even lightly hazard the 
 loss of it for no useful purpose, and where there is no probability, that the 
 transaction will, on the whole be beneficial, either to the parties, or to the 
 community. 
 
 But I may not pass thus lightly over this article. The nature of gam- 
 bling considered as an occupation, and the relative situation of gamblers 
 ought to be attended to. The issue which the parties join; the rivalship 
 in which they engage, neither directly nor indirectly, promotes any inter- 
 est of community. It has no relation to agriculture, none to commerce, 
 none to manufactures. It furnishes no bread to the poor; it holds out no 
 motive to industry; it applies no stimulus to enterprise. It is an employ- 
 ment, mi generit. The talent it occupies is so much deducted from that 
 intelligence, which superintends the concerns of the world. The capital 
 it employs, is so much withdrawn from from the stock required for the com- 
 merce of the world. Let the stake be gained or lost, as it will, society 
 
71 
 
 j^ains nothing. The managers of this ill-appropriated fund are not identifi- 
 ed in their pursuits, with any of those classes, whose ingenuity, or whose 
 labours benefit society ; nor by any of the rapid changes, through which 
 their treasure passes, is there any thing produced by which community is 
 indemnified. 
 
 Their situation with respect to each other, is as singular, ond unnatural 
 as is their situation with respect to the rest of mankind. Here again the 
 order of nature is reversed ; the constitution of God is subverted ; and an 
 association is formed, not for mutual benefit, but for acknowledged and 
 mutual injury. Precisely so much as the one gains, precisely so much the 
 other loses. No equivalent is given; none is received The property in- 
 deed changes hands ; but its quality is not improved ; its amount is not 
 augmented 
 
 In the mean time, the one who loses, is a profligate, who throws away, 
 without any requital, the property he possesses The one who gains is a 
 ruffian, who pounces, like a vulture, on the property which he possesses 
 not, and has acquired no right to possess ; and both are useless members 
 of society, a mere excrescence on the body politic. Worse than this: 
 they are a nuisance ; like leeches on the back of some mighty, and health- 
 ful animal, which though they suck their aliment from its blood, contri- 
 bute nothing to its subsistence. No matter how numerous these vaga- 
 bonds, for 1 will not call them by a more reputable name, may be in any 
 community; no matter how long they may live, or how assiduously they 
 may prosecute their vocation. No monument of good, the product of that 
 vocation will remain behind them. They will be remembertd only by the 
 waste they have committed, or the injury they have done, while with 
 respect to all the useful purposes of being, it will be as if they had never 
 been. 
 
 And is there no guilt in such an application of property as this! Did 
 Almighty God place mankind here for an occupation so mean! Did he 
 bestow on them treasures for an end so ignoble ! If Jesus Christ con- 
 demned to utter darkness that unprofitable servant, who having wrapped 
 his talent in a napkin only, buried it in the earth : what think you will be 
 his sentence on the profligate, who, having staked and lost his all, goes 
 from the gaming table, a self created pauper, to the judgment seal! Nor 
 will the Judge less scrupulously require an account of the cents you bave 
 amusively put down at piquet, than he would, though you had played 
 away at brag the entire amount of the shekel of the sanctuary. 
 
 But you do not mean to gamble, nor to advovcate it I know it. But I 
 also know if you play at all, you will ultimately do both It is but a line 
 that separates between innocence and sin. Whoever fearlessly approach- 
 es this line, will soon have crossed it. To keep at a distance, therefore, 
 is the part of wisdom. No man ever made up his mind to consign to per- 
 dition his soul at once. No man ever entered the known avenues, which 
 conduct to such an end, with a firm and undaunted step. Tue brink of 
 ruin is approached with caution, and by imperceptible degrees ; and the 
 wretch who now stands fearlessly scoffing there, but yesterday had 
 shrunk back from the tottering cliff, with trembling. Do you wish for 
 illustration ? The profligate's unwritten history will furnish it. How in- 
 offensive its commencement, how sudden, and how awful its catastrophe! 
 Let us review his life. He commences with play; but it is only for 
 amusement. Next he hazards a triflle to give interest, and is surprised 
 when he finds himself a gainer by the hazard. He then ventures, not. 
 without misgivings, on a deeper stake. That stake, he loses. The loss 
 and the guilt oppress him. He drinks, to revive his spirits. His spirits 
 revived, he stakes to retrieve his fortune . Again he is unsuccessful, and 
 again his spirits flag, and again the inebriating cup reriyes them. Ere IIK 
 
72 
 
 i$ aware of it, lie has become a drunkard ; he has become a bankrupt. 
 Resource fails him. His for. line is pone ; his character is gone ; his ten- 
 derness of conscience is gone. God has withdrawn his spirit front him. 
 The demon of despair takes possession of his bosom : reason deserts him. 
 he becomes a maniac ; the pistol or ihe poignard close ihe scene, and with 
 a shriek he plunges, unwept, and forgotten, into hell. 
 
 But ihere are other lights in which tins subject should be viewed. The 
 proper aliment of the body is ascertained by its effects. V. ii nu- 
 
 tricious is selected ; whatever is poisonous, avoided. Let H man of com- 
 mon prudence, perceive the deleterious efiecrs of any fruit, however fair 
 to the eye; however sweet to the tasxe K-t him pc-rceivt- 
 the haggard countenances, and swollen limbs r>f 'hos par- 
 
 taking of it, and though he may not be able to discover \\herem 
 ciousness consists, he admits that it is vicious, and shrinks from the 
 cipation of a. repast in which some secret poison luiks 
 to many and injurious to most who hitherto have .a.rd h. < ;uid 
 
 not the same circumspection be used -;uctm the fthe 
 
 mind? It should undoubtedly. But ^ case 
 
 than the one we have supposed. For no> .my the fact but the r*a> 
 it is obvious. So that we may repeat wh;u has been already said of games 
 of hazard, that they impart no expansion to the mind, and that 
 
 their influence on the affections, and passiont, and heart are deleterious 
 
 -n I affirm, that these games impart no expansion or rigour to the 
 mind, I do not m an to be understood tha or can be pe formed 
 
 entirely without intellection. It is concedetJ, that the silliest game re- 
 quires some understanding, and that to play at it, is above the capacity of 
 an oyster, perlups of an ox or of an ape. It is conceded too, that games 
 :ry sort require some study; the most of them however, require but 
 little ; and after a few first efforts, the intellectual condition of the game- 
 -.o far as his occupation is concerned, is but one degree removed 
 from that of the dray-horse, buckled to his harness, and treading 
 from day to day, and from night to night, the same dull track, as lie turns 
 a machine which some mind of a higher order has invented. So very hum- 
 ble is this specie* of occupatic/' . limited the sphere in which it 
 allows the. mind to operate, that if an indi\ual were to remain through the 
 term of his existence, mute and motionless, in the winter state of th 
 wegian bear, his intellectual carter would be about as splendid, and his 
 attainments in knowledge about as great as they would, were he to 
 commence play in childhood, and continue on at whist or loo to 
 eternity. For though the latter state of being, pre-supposes some exer- 
 cise of the mental faculties, it is MO little, so low, and so uniform, that if 
 the result be not literally nothing, it approaches nearer to it than the re- 
 sult of any other state of being, to which an intelligent creature can be 
 doomed, short of absolute inanity, and death. 
 
 How unlike in its effect, must be this unmeaning shufHe of cards ; this 
 eternal gaze, on the party coloured surface of a few small pieces of paste- 
 board, where nothing but spades, and hearts, and diamonds, and clubs, 
 over and over again, every hour of the day, every hour of the night, meet 
 the sleepless eye of the vacant beholder how unlike must be the effect 
 of this pitiful employment, continued for fifty or for seventy years, to that, 
 which would have been produced on the same mind, in the same period, 
 by following the track of Xewton, to those sublime results, whither he 
 
 has led the way in the regions of abstraction -By communing with the 
 
 soul of Bacon, deducing from individual facts, the universal laws of the 
 material universe ; or by mounting with Herschell, to the Aihencum of 
 the firmament, and learning direct from the volume of the stars, the sci 
 ^ nee of astronomy > How unlike to that which would have been produced 
 
73 
 
 in the same period, by ranging with Paley, through the department oi 
 morals ; by soaring with Harvey on the wing of devotion, or even by tra- 
 cing the footsteps of Tooke, amid the mazes of philology ? 
 
 Card-playing has not even the merit of the common chit-chat of the tea- 
 table. Here there is some scope for reason ; some for a play of fancy; some 
 occasion for mental effort; some tendency to habits of quick association, 
 in attack, in repartee, and the various turns, resorted to for keeping up, 
 and enlivening conversation Much less has it the merit of higher and more 
 rational discourse, of music, of painting, or of reading. 
 
 Indeed, if an occupation were demanded for the express purpose of pev. 
 verting the human intellect, and humbling, and degrading, and narrowing 1 , 
 I had almost said annihilating, the soul of man, one more effectual, could 
 not be devised, than the one the gamester has already devised and pre-oc- 
 cupi^d. And the father and mother of a family, who instead of assembling 
 their children in the reading-ronm, or conducting them to the altar, seat 
 them, night after night, beside themselves at the gaming table, do, so fav 
 as this part of their domestic economy is concerned, contribute not only to 
 quench their piety, but also to extinguish their intellect, and convert them 
 into automatons, living mummies, the mere mechanical members of a do- 
 mestic gambling machine, which, though but little soul is necessary, re- 
 quires a number of human hands to work it. And if under such a blight- 
 ing culture, they do not degenerate into a state of mechanical exigence, 
 and gradually losing their reason, their taste, their fancy, become incapa- 
 ble of conversation ; the fortunate parents may thank the school-hous", the 
 church, the library, the society of friends, or some other and less wretch- 
 ed part of their own defective system, for preventing 1 the consummation of 
 so frightful a result. 
 
 Such, young gentlemen, are the morbid and sickly effects of play upon 
 the human intellect. Hut intelligence constitutes no inconsiderable part 
 of the glory of man; a glory, which, unless eclipsed by crime, incrc 
 as intelligence increases. Knowledge is desirable with reference to 
 world, but principally so with reference to the next ; not because philoso- 
 phy, or language, or mathematics will certainly be pursued in heaven ; 
 but because the pursuit of them on earth, gradually communicates that 
 quickness of perception, that acumen which, as it increases, approximate* 
 towards the sublime and sudden intuition of celestial intelligences, and 
 which cannot fail to render more splendid the commencement, as well a<* 
 more splendid the progression of man's interminable career. 
 
 But while gaming leaves the mind to languish, it produces its full ef 
 feet on the passion*, and on the heart. Here however that effect is delete- 
 rious. None of the sweet and amiable sympathies, are at the card-table 
 called into action. No throb of ingenuous and philanthropic feeling, is 
 excited by this detestable expedient for killing time, as it is called; and 
 it is rightly so called; for many a murdered hour will witness at the day 
 of judgment, against that fashionable idler, who divides her time between 
 her toilet and the card-table, no less than against the profligate, hackney- 
 ed in the ways of sin, and steeped in all the filth and debauchery of gam- 
 bling. But it'is only amidst the filth and debauchery of gambling, that the 
 full effects of card-playing on the passions and on the heart of man are 
 seen. 
 
 Here that mutual amity, that elsewhere subsists, ceases; paternal affec- 
 tion ceases ; even that community of feeling that piracy excites, and that 
 binds the very banditti together has no room to operate ; for at this inhos- 
 pitable board, every man's interest, clashes with every man's interest, and 
 every man's hand is literally against every man. 
 
 The love of mastery, and the love of money, are the purest loves, of 
 which the gamester is susceptible. And even the love of mastery, lose* 
 
 1(1 
 
74 
 
 all its nobleness, and degenerates into the love of lucre, which ultimately 
 predominates and becomes the ruling passion. 
 
 Avarice is always base ; but the gamester's avarice is doubly so It is 
 avarice unmixed with any ingredient of magnanimity, or mercy. Avarice, 
 that wears not even the gu ; se of public spirit ; that claims not even the 
 meagre praise of hoarding up its own hard earnings. On the contrary, it 
 is an avarice, that wholly feeds upon the losses, and only delights itself 
 with the miseries of others. Avarice, that eye*, with covetous desire, 
 whatever is not individually its own ; that crouches 'o throw its fangs 
 over that booty, by which its comrades are enriched. Avarice, that stoops 
 to rob a traveller, that sponges a guest, and that would filch the very 
 dust from the pocket of a friend. 
 
 But, though avarice predominates, other related passions are called into 
 action. The bosom, that was once serene and tranquil, becomes habitu- 
 ally perturbed. Envy rankles ; jealousy corrodes ; ang-.r rages, and hope 
 and fear alternately convulse the system. The mildest disposition grows 
 morose ; the sweetest temper becomes fierce and fiery, and all the once 
 amiable features of the heart assume a malignant aspect'. Features of 
 the heart, did I ay ? Pardon my mistake. The finished gambler has none. 
 Though his intellect may not be; though his soul may not be; his heart 
 is quite annihilated. 
 
 Thus habitual gambling, consummates what habitual play commences. 
 Sometimes its deadening influence prevails, even over female virtue, 
 eclipsing all the loveliness, and benumbing all the sensibility of woman. 
 In every circle, where cards, form the bond of union, frivolity and heart- 
 lessncss, become alike characteristic of the mother and the daughter; 
 devotion ceases ; domestic care is shaken off, and the dearest friends, 
 even before their burial, are consigned to oblivion. 
 
 This is not exaggeration. I appeal to fact. Madame du DefTand, was 
 certainly not among the least accomplished, or the least interesting fe- 
 male*, who received and imparted that exquisite tone of feeling, that per- 
 vaded the most fashionable society of modern Paris. And yet it is record- 
 ed of her, in the correspondence of the Baron I)e (irimm, whose veracity 
 will not be questioned, that when her old and intimate friend and admi- 
 rer, M. de Ponte de Vesle, died, this celebrated lady came rather late to 
 a great supper, in the neighbourhood ; and as it was known, that she made 
 it a point of honour, to attend him the catastrophe was generally suspect- 
 ed. She mentioned it however, herself, immediately, on entering; adding 
 that it was lucky he had gone off so early in the evening, as she might 
 otherwise have been prevented from appearing. She then sat down to 
 table, and made a very hearty and merry meal of it. 
 
 Afterwards, when Mad. de Chatelet, died, Mad. du DefTand, testified 
 her grief for the most intimate of all her female acquaintance, by circula- 
 ting over Paris, the very next morning, the most libellous and veoomous 
 attack on her person, her understanding, and her morals. 
 
 This utter heartlessness, this entire extinction of native feeling, was 
 not peculiar to Mad. du DefFand ; it pervaded that accomplished, and 
 fashionable circle, in which she moved. Hence, she herself, in her turn, 
 experienced the same kind of sympathy, and her remembrance was con- 
 signed to the same instantaneous oblivion. Daring her last illness, three 
 of her dearest friends used to come and play cards, every night, by the 
 ide of her couch and as she chose to die in the middle of a very inter- 
 esting game, they quietly played it out and settled their accounts before 
 leaving the apartment * 
 
 * See Quarterly Review. 
 
75 
 
 t do wot say lhat such are the uniform, but I do say, that such are the 
 natural and legitimate effects of gaming on the female character. The 
 love of plav i/a D< mn, which only takes possession, as it kills the heart. 
 But, if such is tbe effect of gaming, on the one sex, whut must be its ef- 
 fect on the other? Will nature long survive in bosoms invaded, not by 
 gaming only, but also by debauchery and drunkennness, those sister Fu- 
 ries, which hell has let loose, to cut off our young men from without, and 
 our children from th<- streets ? No, it will not. As we have said, the fin- 
 ished gambler has no heart. The club with which ho herds, would meet, 
 though all its members were in mourning. They would meet, though the 
 place of rendezvous were the chamber of the dying, they would meetj 
 though it were an apartment in the charnel-house. Not even the death of 
 kindred can affect the gambler. He would play upon his brother's coffin ; 
 he would play upon his father's sepulchre. 
 
 Yonder ste that wretch, prematurely old in infirmity, as \vell as sin. 
 He is the father of a family. The mother of his children, lovely in her 
 tears, strives, by the tenderest assiduities, to restore his health, and with 
 it, to restore his temperence, his love of home, and the long-lost charms 
 of domestic life. She pursues him by her kindness, and her entreaties to 
 his haunts of vice; she reminds him of his children; she tells him of their 
 virtues; of their sorrows ; of their wants; and she adjures him, by the 
 love of them, and by the love of God, to repent, and to return. Vain at- 
 trmpt ! She might as well adjure the whirlwind ; she might as well en- 
 treat the tiger. 
 
 The bmte has no feeling left. He turns upon her In the spirit of the 
 demons with which he is possessed. He curses his children and her who 
 bare them, and as he prosecutes his game, he fills the intervals with im- 
 precations on himself; with imprecations on his maker; imprecations bor- 
 rowed from this dialect of devils, and uttered with a tone that befits only 
 the organs of the damned! And yet in this monster there once dwelt the 
 spirit of a man. He had talents, he had honour, he had even faith. He 
 might have adorned the senate, the bar, the altar But alas ! his was a faith 
 that saveth not. The gaming table has robbed him of it, and of all things 
 else that is worth possessing. What a frightful change of character! What 
 a tremendous wreck, is th soul of man in ruins ! 
 
 Return disconsolate mother to thy dwelling, and be submissive ; thou 
 shall become a widow, and thy children fatherless. Further effort will 
 be useless the reformation of thy partner is impossible. God has forsa- 
 ken him nor will good angels weep, or watch over him any longer. 
 
76 
 
 Mr. Phillips' Address to the Kin-. 
 
 SlRl, 
 
 \\ hen 1 presume to address you on the subject which afflicts and agl. 
 lates the country, I do so with the most profound sentiments of respect 
 and loyalty. But 1 am no flatterer. I wish \vell to your illustrious house, 
 and therefore address you in the tone of simple truth the interests of 
 the King and Queen are identified, and her majesty's advocate must be 
 your's. The degradation of any branch of your family, must, in some de- 
 gree, compromise the dignity of all, and be assured there is as much dan- 
 ger as discredit in familiarizing the public eye to such a spectacle. I 
 1:0 doubt that the present exhibition is not your royal wish ; I have 
 no doubt it is the work of wily sycophants and slanderers, who have per- 
 suaded you of what they know 'to be false, in the base hope that it may 
 turn out to be profitable. With the view, then, of warning you against 
 interested hypocrisy, and of giving to your heart its natural humane and 
 noble inclination, I invoke your attention to the situation of your persecu- 
 ted consort ! I implore of you to consider whether it would not be for the 
 safety of the state, for the tranquillity of the country, for the honour of 
 your house, and for the interests alike of royalty and humanity, that an 
 helpless female should be permitted to pass in peace the few remaining 
 years which unmerited misery has spared to her. 
 
 It is now, Sire, about five and twenty years since her majesty landed on 
 the shores of England a princess by birth a queen by marriage the re- 
 lative of kings and the daughter and the sister of a hero. She was then 
 joung direct from the indulgence of a paternal court the blessing of her 
 aged parents, of whom she was the hope and stay and happiness shone 
 brightly o'er her; her life had been all sunshine time for her had only 
 trod on flowers ; and if the visions which endear, and decorate and hallow 
 home, were vanished for ever, still did she resign them for the sacred 
 name of wife, and sworn affection of a royal husband, and the allegiance 
 of a glorious and gallant people. She was no more to see her noble father** 
 hand unhclm the warriors brow to fondle over his child no more for her 
 a. mother's tongue Delighted as it taught, that ear which never heard a 
 strain, that eye which never opened on a scene, but those of careless, 
 crimeless, cloudless infancy, was now about to change its dulcet tones and 
 fairy visions for the accent and the country of the stranger. But she 
 had heard the character of Britons she knew that chivalry and courage 
 co-existed she knew that where the brave man and the free man dwelt, 
 the very name of -woman bore a charmed sway, and where the voice of 
 England echoed your royal pledge, to " love and worship, and cleave to 
 her alone," she but looked upon your Sire's example, and your nation's 
 annals, and was satisfied. Pause and contemplate her enviable station at 
 the hour of these unhappy nuptials ! The created world could scarcely 
 exhibit a more interesting spectacle. There was no earthly bliss of whick 
 she was not either in the possession or the expectancy. Royal alike by 
 birth and alliance honoured as the choice of England's heir, reputed the 
 most accomplished gentleman in Europe her reputation spotless as the 
 unfallen snow her approach heralded by a people's prayer, and her foot- 
 steps obliterated by an obsequious nobility her youth, like the lovely sea- 
 son which it typified, one crowded garland of rich and fragrant blossoms, 
 refreshing every eye with present beauty, and filling every heart with pro- 
 mised benefits ! No wonder that she feared no famine, in that spring tiile 
 
UNIVERSITY 
 
 vjf her happiness no wonder that the speech was rapture, and her step 
 was buoyancy ! She was the darling- of parent's hearts ; a kingdom was her 
 dower her very glance, like the sun of heaven, diffused light, and warmth, 
 and luxury around it in her public hour, fortune concentrated all its rays 
 upon her, and when she shrunk from its too radient noon, it was within 
 the shelter of a husband's love, which God and nature, and duty and mo- 
 rality, assured her unreluctant faith should b- eternal Such was she then, 
 all joy and hope, and generous credulity, the credulity that springs from 
 honour and from innocence. And who could blame it ? You had a world 
 to choose, and she was your selection your ages were compatible your 
 births were equal you had drawn her from the house where she was 
 honourable and happy you had n prodigal allowance showered on you 
 by the people you had bowed your anointed head before the altar; and 
 sworn by its majesty to cherish and protect her, and this you did in the 
 presence of that moral nation from whom you hold the crown, and in the 
 face of that church of which you are the guardian. The ties which hound, 
 you were of no ordinary texture you stood not in the situation of some 
 secluded profligate, whose brutal satiety might leave its vctim to a death 
 of solitude, where no eye could see, nor echo trll the quiverings of her 
 agony. Your elevation was too luminous and too lofty to be overlooked, 
 and she, who confided with a vestal's faith and a virgin's purity in your 
 honour and your morals, had a corroborative pledge in that publicity, 
 which could not leave her to suffer or be sinned against in secret. All the 
 calculations of her reason, all evidence of her experience, combined their 
 confirmation. Her own parental home was purity itself, and yours might 
 have bound republicans to royalty ; it would have been little less than 
 treason to have doubted you ; and, oh ! she was right to brush away the 
 painted vermin that infest a court, who would have withered up her youth- 
 ful heart with the wild errors of your ripe minority ! Oh, she was right to 
 trust the honour of " Fair England's" heir, and weigh but as a breath- 
 blown grain of dust, a thousand follies and a thousand faults balanced 
 against the conscience of her husband. She did confide, and what has 
 been the consequence ? 
 
 History must record it, Sire, when the brightest gem in your diadem 
 shall have mouldered, that this young, confiding, inexperienced creature 
 had scarcely heard the last congratulatory address upon her marriage, when 
 she was exiled from her husband's bed, banished from her husband's soci- 
 ety, and abandoned to the pollution of every slanderous sycophant who 
 chose to crawl over the ruin ? Merciful God ! was it mete to leave a hu- 
 man being so situated, with all her passions excited and inflamed to the 
 impulses of such abandonment ? \A as it meet thus to subject her inexpe- 
 rienced youth to the scorpion sting of exasperated pride, and ..II ita inci- 
 dental natural temptations ? Was it right to fling the ^hadow of a hus- 
 band's frown upon the then unsullied snow of her reputation ? Up to the 
 blight of that all-withering hour no human tongue dared to asperse her 
 character. The sun of patronage was not then strong enough to 
 quicken ioto life the serpent brood of slanderers : no starveling aliens, no 
 hungry tribe of local expectants, then hoped to fatten upon the offals of 
 the royal reputation. She was not long enough in widowhood, to give the 
 spy and the perjurer even a colour for their inventions. The peculiari- 
 ties of the foreigner, the weakness of the female the natural vivacity of 
 youthful innocence, could not then be tortured into "demonstrations 
 strong;" for you, yourself, in your recorded letter, bad left her purity not 
 only unimpeached, but unsuspected. That invaluable letter, the fiving 
 document of your separation, gives us the sole reason for your exile, that 
 your -'inclinations," were not in your power ! That, Sire, and that alone, 
 n-as the terrific reason which you gave your consort for this heart-rending- 
 
78 
 
 Degradation. Perhaps they were not : but give me leave to ask, a: 
 the obligations of rel'gion independent of us ? Has any man a right:- square 
 the solemnities of marriage according to his rude caprices ? .-> m 1 your 
 lowly subject, to understand that [ may kr.eel before the throne of God, 
 and promise conjugal fidelity till death, and self-absolve myself, whatever" 
 moment it suits my "inclination?" Not so will that mitred bench, who sec 
 her majesty arraigned before them read to you this ceremony. They will 
 tell you it is the most solemn ordinance of man--consecru'ed by the ap- 
 proving presence of our Saviour acknowledged by the whole civilized 
 community the source of life's purest pleasures, and of death's happiest 
 consolations the rich fountain of our life and being, whose draught not 
 only purifies existence, but causes man to live in his posterity ;-they will tell 
 you that it cannot perish by "inclination," but by crime, and that if there is 
 any difference between the prince and the peasant who invoke its obliga- 
 tion, it is the more enlarged duty entailed upon him, to whom tl 
 y has vouchsafed the influence of an example. 
 
 Thus, then, \vithin one year after her marriage, was she flung "like a 
 -.ome weed," upon the world, no cause assigned except your loathing 
 inclination ! It mattered nothing, that for you she had surrendered all her 
 worldly prospects that she had left her home, her parents and her coun- 
 try that she had confided in the honour of a prince, and the heart of a 
 man, and the faith of a Christian ; she had, it seems, in one little year, 
 " outlived your liking,'* and the poor, abandoned, branded, heart-rent 
 outcast, must bear it all in silence, for the vat a tlefencelest uoman, and 
 a ttranger. Let any man of ordinary fVeling th. situation ut this 
 
 trying crisis, and say he does not feel h. heart's blood boil within him! 
 Poor unfortunate ! who could have envied her her salaried shame, and her 
 royal humiliation ? The lowest peasant in her reversionary realm was hap- 
 py in the comparison. Tlie parents that loved her were far, far away 
 the friends of her youth were in another land she was alone, and he who 
 should have rushed between her and the bolt of heaven, left her exposed 
 to a rude world's caprices. And yet she lived, and lived without a mur- 
 mur ; her tears were silent her sighs were lonely ; and when you, per- 
 haps, in the rich blaze of earth's magnificence, forgot that such a wretch 
 existed, no reproach of her's awoke your mory. Perhaps 
 
 she cherished the visional y hope tha 1 . rilous infancy" 
 
 she cradled, might one day be her li ... .er's advocate ' How fond- 
 
 ly did she trace each taint resemblat.; lutlecasual paternal smile, 
 
 which played upon the features of that child, and might some distant day 
 be her redemption! How, as it lisped the sacred name of father, did she 
 hope its innocent infant tone might yet awake within that father's breast 
 some fond association ! Oh, sacred fancies! Oh, sweet and solemn visions 
 f a mother who but must hallow thec ! Blest be the day-dream that be- 
 guiles her heart, and robes each cloud that hovers o'er her child in airy 
 colours of that heart's creation ! Too soon lift's wintry whirlwind must 
 come to sweep the prismed vapour into nothing. 
 
 Tim*, Sire, for many and many a heavy year did your deserted Queen 
 beguile her solitude. Meanwhile for t/cu a flattering world assumed its 
 fiarlot smiles the ready lie denied your errors the villain courtier deifi- 
 ed each act, which in an humble man was merely duty, and mid the din 
 of pomp and mirth, and revelry, if remorse spoke, 'twas inarticulate. Be- 
 lieve me Sire, when all the tongues that flattered you are mute, and all 
 the gaudy pageants that deceived you are not even a shadow, an awful 
 voice will ask in thunder, did your poor wife deserve this treatment, mere- 
 ly from some distate of "inclination ?" It must be answered. Did not the 
 altar *> vow demand a strict fidelity, and was it not a solemn and a sworn- 
 duty, " for better and for worse," to watch and tend her correct her 
 
79 
 
 waywardness by gentle chiding, and fling the fondness of an huasband's 
 love between her errors and the world ? It must be answered, where the 
 poorest rag upon the poorest beggar in your realm, shall have the splen- 
 dour of a corronation garment. 
 
 Sad, alas ! were these sorrows of her solitude but sad as they were, 
 they were but in their infancy. The first blow passed a second and se- 
 verer followed. The darling child, over whose couch she shed her 
 silent tear upon whose head she pcured her daily benediction in whose 
 infant smile she lived, and moved, and had her being, was torn away, and 
 in the mother's sweet endearments she could no longer lose the miseries 
 of the wife. Her father, and her laurelled brother too, upon the field of 
 battle, sealed a life of glory, happy in a soldier's death, tar happier that 
 this dreadful day was spared them! Her sole surviving parent followed 
 soon, and though they left her almost alone on earth, yet how could she 
 regret them ? she has at least the bitter consolation, that their poor child's 
 miseries did not break their hearts. Oh, miserable woman ! made to re- 
 joice over the very grave of her kindred, in mournful gratitude that their 
 hearts are marble. 
 
 During a long probation of exile and wo, bereft of parents, country, 
 child and husband, she had one solace still her rfaraefer was unblemish- 
 ed By a refinement upon cruelty, even that consolation was denied her. 
 Twice had she to undergo the inquisition of a secret trial, originating in 
 foul conspiracy, and ending in complete acquittal. The charity of her 
 nature was made the source of crime the peculiarities inseperuLle from 
 her birth were made the ground of accusation her very servants were 
 questioned whether every thought, and word, and look, and gesture, and 
 visit, were not so many overt nets of adultery ; and when her most sacred 
 moments had been heartlessly explored, the tardy verdict which freed her 
 from the guilt, could not absolve her from the humiliating consciousness 
 of the accusation. Your gracious father, indeed, with ; benevolence of 
 heart more royal than his royalty, interposed his arm between innocence 
 and punishment ; for punishment it was, most deep and grievous, to meet 
 discountenance from all your family, and see the fame which had defied 
 all proof made the capricious sport of hint and insinuation, while that fa- 
 ther lived she still had some protection, even in his night of life there was 
 a sanctity about him which awed the daring of the highway slanderer his 
 honest, open, genuine Kng lish look, would have silenced whole banditti of 
 Italians. Your father acted upon the principles he professed. He was 
 not more reverenced as a king than he was beloved and respected as a 
 man; and no doubt he felt how poignant it must have been to be denoun- 
 ced as a criminal without crime, and treated as a widow in her husband's 
 life-time. But death was busy with her best protectors, and the venera- 
 ble form is lifeless now, -which would have shielded a daughter and a 
 Brunswick. He would have warned the Milan panders to beware the 
 honour of his ancient house ; he would have told them that a prying pet- 
 tifogging, purchased inquisition upon the unconscious privacy ot a royal 
 female, was not in the spirit of the English character; he would have dis- 
 dained the petty larceny of any diplomatic pickpocket; and he would have 
 told the whole rabble of Italian informers and swindling ambassadors, that 
 his daughter's existence should not become a perpetual proscription ; that 
 she was doubly allied to him by birth and marriage; and that those who 
 exacted all a wife's obedience, should have previously procured for her 
 husband's countenance. God reward him! There is not a father or an 
 husband in the land, whose heart does not at this moment make a pilgrim- 
 age to his monument. 
 
 Thus having escaped from two conspiracies equally affecting her honor 
 *nd life, finding all conciliation hopeless, bereft by death of every natural 
 
78 
 
 degradation. Perhaps thty were not : but give me leave to ask, a: : 
 the obligations of rel-gion independent of us ? Has any man a right t . . square 
 
 *l 1 ! - * C t N 
 
 her majesty arraigned before them read to you this ceremony. They will 
 tell you it is the most solemn ordinance of man--consecra ( ed by the ap- 
 proving presence of our Saviour acknowledged by the whole civilized 
 community the source of life's purest pleasures, and of death's happiest 
 consolations the rich fountain of our life and being 1 , whose draught not 
 only purifies existence, but causes man to live in his posterity ;-thev will tell 
 you that it cannot perish by "inclination," but by crime, and that if there is 
 any difference between the prince and the peasant who invoke its obliga- 
 tion, it is the more enlarg.-d duty entailed upon him, to whom the Al- 
 v has vouchsafed the influence of an example. 
 
 Thus, then, \vithin one year after her marriage, was she flung "like a 
 >ome weed," upon the world.no cause assigned except your loathing 
 inclination! It mattered nothing, that for you she had surrendered all her 
 worldly prospects that she had left her home, her parents and her coun- 
 try that she had confided in the honour of a prince, and the heart of a 
 man, and the faith ot a Christian ; she had, it seems, in one little year, 
 ' outlived your liking," and the poor, abandoned, branded, heart -rent 
 outcast, must bear it all in silence, for she vat a defencelett woman, and 
 a ttranger. Let any man of or : situation at this 
 
 trying crisis, and say he does not feel h s. heart's bbod boil whhin him! 
 Poor unfortunate ! who could have envied htr her salaried shame, and her 
 royal humiliation ? The lowest peasant in her reversionary realm was hap- 
 py in the comparison. The parents that loved her were far, far away 
 the friends of her youth were in another land she was alone, and he who 
 should have rushed between her and the bolt of heaven, left her exposed 
 to a rude world's caprices. And yet she lived, and lived without a mur- 
 mur ; her tears were silent her sighs were lonely ; and when you, per- 
 haps, in the rich blaze of earth's magnificence, forgot that such a wretch 
 existed, no reproach of her's awoke your slumbering memory. Perhaps 
 she cherished the visionary hope tha'. "rilous infancy" 
 
 she cradled, might one day be her hapless mother's advocate ' How fond- 
 ly did she trace each faint resemblar.. little casual paternal smile, 
 which played upon the features of that child, and might some distant day 
 be her redemption! How, as it lisped the sacred name of father, did she 
 hope its innocent infant tone might yet awake within that father's breast 
 some fond association ! Oh, sacred fancies! Oh, sweet and solemn visions 
 f a mother who but must hallow thec ! Blest be the day-dream that be- 
 guiles her heart, and robes each cloud that hovers o'er her child in airy 
 colours of that heart's creation ! Too soon lift's wintry whirlwind must 
 come to sweep the prismed vapour into nothing. 
 
 Thus, Sire, for many and many a heavy year did your deserted Queen 
 beguile her solitude. Meanwhile for you a flattering world assumed its 
 harlot smiles the ready lie denied your errors the villain courtier deifi- 
 ed each act, which in an humble man was merely duty, and mid the din 
 of pomp and mirth, and revelry, if remorse spoke, 'twas inatticulate. He- 
 lieve me Sire, when all the tongues that flattered you are route, and all 
 the gaudy pageants that deceived you are not even a shadow, an awful 
 voice will ask in thunder, did your poor wife deserve this treatment, mere- 
 ly from some disute of "inclination ?" It must be answered. Did not the 
 altar * vow demand a strict fidelity, and was it not a solemn and a sworn 
 duty, "for better ami for worse," to watch and tend her corre 
 
71) 
 
 waywardness by gentle chiding 1 , and fling the fondness of an huasband's 
 love between her errors and the world ? It must be answered, where the 
 poorest rag upon the poorest beggar in your realm, shall have the splen- 
 dour of a corronation garment. 
 
 Sad, ulas ! were these sorrows of her solitude but sad as they were, 
 they were but in their infancy. The first blow passed a second and se- 
 verer followed. The darling child, over whose couch she shed her 
 silent tear upon whose head she poured her daily benediction in whose 
 infant smile she lived, and moved, and had her being-, was torn away, and 
 in the mother's sweet endearments she could no longer lose the miseries 
 of the wife. Her father, and her laurelled brother too, upon the field of 
 battle, sealed a life of glory, happy in a soldier's death, tar happier that 
 tiiis dreadful day was spared them ! Her sole surviving parent followed 
 soon, and though they left her almost alone on earth, yet how could she 
 regret them ? she has at leasi the bitter consolation, that their poor child's 
 miseries did not break their hearts. Oh, miserable woman ! made to re- 
 joice over the very grave of her kindred, in mournful gratitude that their 
 hearts are marble. 
 
 During u long probation of exile and wo, bereft of parents, country, 
 child and husband, she had one solace still her character was unblemish- 
 ed By a refinement upon cruelty, even that consolation was denied her. 
 Twice had she to undergo the inquisition of a secret trial, originating in 
 foul conspiracy, and ending in complete acquittal. The charity of her 
 nature was made the source of crime the peculiarities insuperable from 
 her birth were made the ground of accusation her very servants were 
 questioned whether every thought, and word, and look, and gesture, and 
 visit, were not so many overt acts of adultery ; and when her most sacred 
 moments had been heartlessly explored, the tardy verdict which freed her 
 from the guilt, could not absolve her from the humiliating consciousness 
 of the accusation. Your gmcious father, indeed, with a benevolence of 
 heart more royal than his royalty, interposed his arm between innocence 
 and punishment ; for punishment it was, most deep and grievous, to meet 
 discountenance from ull your family, and see the fame which had tie fied 
 all proof made the capricious sport of hint and insinuation, while that fa- 
 ther lived she still had some protection, even in his night of life there was 
 a sanctity about him which awed the during of the highway slanderer his 
 honest, open, genuine Eng lish look, would have silenced whole banditti of 
 Italians. Your father acted upon the principles he professed. He was 
 not more reverenced as a king than he was beloved and respected as a 
 man; and no doubt he felt how poignant it must have been to be denoun- 
 ced as a criminal without crime, and treated as a widow in her husband's 
 life-time. But death was busy with her best protectors, and the venera- 
 ble form is lifeless now, which would have shielded a daughter and a 
 Brunswick, lie would have warned the Milan panders to beware the 
 honour of his ancient house ; he would have told them that a prying pet- 
 tifogging, purchased inquisition upon the unconscious privacy ol a royal 
 female, was not in the spirit of the English character; he would have dis- 
 dained the pe tty larceny of any diplomatic pickpocket ; and he would have 
 told the whole rabble of Italian informers and swindling ambassadors, that 
 his daughter's existence should not become a perpetual proscription ; that 
 she was doubly allied to him by birth and marriage; and that those who 
 exacted all a wife's obedience, should have previously procured for her 
 husband's countenance. God reward him! There is not a father or an 
 husband in the land, whose heart does not at this moment make a pilgrim- 
 age to his monument. 
 
 Thus having escaped from two conspiracies equally affecting her honor 
 and life, finding all conciliation hopeless, bereft by death of even' natural 
 
protector, and fearing perhaps that practiee might mat e perjxiy eotui 
 she rthictuntly determined on leaving England. One pang alone embit- 
 tered her departure her darling, and in despite of all discountenance, her 
 duteous child, clung round her heart with natural tenacity. Parents who 
 love, and feel hat very love compelling separation, can only feel for her. 
 Yet how could she subject that devoted child to the humiliation of her mo- 
 ther's misery ! How reduce her to the sad alternative of selecting between 
 separated parents! She chose the generous, the noble sacrifice self- 
 banished, the world was before her one grateful sigh for England one 
 tear the last, last tear upon her daughter's head and she departed. 
 
 Oh Sire, imagine her at that departure! How changed ! how fallen, since 
 n few short years before, she touched the shores of England ! The day- 
 beam fell not on a happier creature creation caught new colours from 
 her presence, joy sounded its timbrel as she passed, and the flowers of 
 birth, of beaut}, and of chivalry, bowed down before her. But now, alone, 
 an orphan and a widow! her gallant brother in his shroud of glory : no 
 arm to shield, no tongue to advocate, no friend to follow an o'er-clouded 
 fortune; branded, degraded, desolate, she flung herself once more upon the 
 wave, to her less fickle than a husbands promises' 1 do not wonder that she 
 has now to pass through a severer ordeal, because impunity gives persecu- 
 tion confidence. But I marvel indeed murh, that then, after the agony of 
 an ex parte trial, and the triumph of a complete though lingering excul- 
 pation, the natural spirit of English justice did not stand embodied be- 
 tween her and the shore, and bear her indignant to your capital. The 
 people, the peerage, the prelacy, should have sprung into unanimous pro- 
 cession ; all that was noble or powerful, or consecrated in the land, should 
 have borne her to the palace gate, and demanded why their queen present- 
 ed to iheir eye this gross a lomuly ! \Vh\ her anointed brow should bow 
 down in the dust, when a British verdict had pronounced her innocence ! 
 she was refused that conjugal restitution, which her humblest sub- 
 ject had a righi to claim! Why the annals of their time should be disgra- 
 ced, and the morals of their nation endure the taint of this terrific prece- 
 dent , and why it was that after their countless sacrifices for your royal 
 house, they should be cursed with this pageantry of royal humiliation \ 
 Had they so acted the dire affliction of this day might have Lecn spared 
 us. We should not have seen the filthy sewers of Italy disgorge a living 
 leprosy upon our throne; and slaves and spies, imported from acreedless 
 brothel, land to attaint the sacred Majesty of England ! But who, alas! 
 -iccnur the unfortunate* The cloud of your displeasure was upon her, 
 and the gay, glit'ering, countless insect swarm of summer friends, abide 
 but in the sun-beum! She passed away with sympathy I doubt not, but 
 in si!- 
 
 Who could have thought, that in a foreign land, the restless fiend of 
 persecution would have haunted her I* Who could have thought, that in 
 tliosi distant climes, where her distracted brain had sought oblivion, the 
 demoniac malice of her enemies would have followed ? who could have 
 thought that any human form which had an heart, would have skulked 
 after the mourner in her wanderings, to note and con every unconscious 
 gesture? who could have thought, that such a man there was, who had 
 drank at the pure fountain of our British law! who had seen eternal jus- 
 tice in her sanctuary! who had invoked the shades of Holt and Hard- 
 wicke, and held high converse with those mighty spirits, whom mercy 
 hailed in heaven as her representatives on earth ! 
 
 such a man there was ; who, on the classic shores of Como, even in 
 the land of the illustrious Roman, where every stone entombed an hero, and 
 every scene was redolent of genius, forgot his name, his country, and his 
 calling, to hoard such coinable and rabble slander! oh, sacred shade 
 
81 
 
 of our departed sages ! avert ynur eyes from this unhallowed spectacle ; 
 the spotless ermine is unsullied still ; the ark yet stands untainted in 
 the temple, and should unconsecrated hands assail it, there is a light- 
 ning- still, which would not slumber! No, no, the judgment seat of 
 British law is to he soared, not crawled to; it must be sought upon an 
 egle's pinion and gazed at by an eagle's eye ; there is a radiant purity around 
 it,, to blast the glance of grovelling speculation. His labour was in vain, 
 Sire, the people of England w, it not listen to Italian witnesses, nor ought 
 they. Our queen, has been, before Jus, twice assailed, and assailed on Uie 
 same charges. Adultery, nay, pregnancy, was positively sworn to, one of the 
 ornaments of our navy captain Manby, and one of the most glorious he- 
 roes who ever gave a nation immortality, a spirit of Marathon or old Ther- 
 mopylae i he who planted England*! red cross on the walls of Acre, and 
 showed Napoleon, it was invincible, W..TJ the branded triitors to their 
 sovereign's bed ! Englishmen, and, greater scandal, English women, per- 
 sons of rank, and birth, and education, were found to depose to this infer- 
 nal charge ! the royal mandate issued for inquiry ; Lord Ei skine, Lord El- 
 lenborough, a man who had dandled accusations from his infancy, sat on 
 the commission, and what was the rc>uU^ i'hri; found a verdict of perju- 
 ry again* t her base accusers ! The very child for whose parentage she 
 might have shed her sacred blood, was proved b.-yond all possible denial, 
 to have been but the adr.piiou of her charity. uchre 
 
 to your majesty our perfect conviction, that there is no foundation what- 
 ever for believing, (1 quote the very words of the commissioners,) that the 
 child now with the princess, is the child of her royal highness, or that she 
 was delivered of any child in the year 18J2; nor'has any thing uppeart d 
 to us, which would warrant the belief that she was pregnant in the year, or 
 at any other prrio-.I within the compass of our nu/niries.^ Yrt people of 
 rank, and station, moving in the highest society in England, admitted 
 even to the sovereign's court, actually volunteered tl.eir sworn at- 
 testation of this falshood! Twenty \\ ars have rolled over her since, ar.d 
 yet the same foul charge of adul.cry, sustained not as before by the plau- 
 sible fabrications of Englishmen, but holsieml by the habitual inventions 
 of Italians, is sought to b- aiii\.a to . of her life, in the face oi a 
 
 generous and a loyal people ! A kind of sacramental shipload a packed 
 and assorted cargo of human affidavits ha<> been consigned, it seems, from 
 Italy to Westminster; thirty thousand pounds of the people's money paid 
 the pedlar who selected the articles; and with this infected freight, which 
 should have performed quarantine before it vomited its moral pestilence 
 amongst us, the queen of England is sought to be attainted! It canno be, 
 Sire; we have given much, very much indeed, to foreigners, but we will 
 not concede to them the hard-earned principles of Btitish justice. It is 
 not to be endured, that two acquittals should be followed by a third expe- 
 riment; tl; a he English testament has failed, an Italian miasuf 's 
 kiss shall be resorted to; that when people of character here have been 
 discredited, others should be recruited who have no character any where ; 
 but above all, it is intolerable, that a defenceless woman should pass her life 
 in endless persecution, with one trial in swift succession following another* 
 in the hope perhaps, that her 1 noble heart which has defied all proof should 
 perish in the torture of eternal accusation. Send back, 'hen, to Italy, those 
 alien adventurers; the land of their birth, and the habits of their lives, 
 alike uv.fit for an English court of justice. There is no spark of freedom 
 no grace of religion no sense of morals in their degenerate soil. Effe- 
 minate in manners; sensual from their cradles; crafty, venal, and officious; 
 naturalized to crime ; outcasts of credulity ; they have seen from their 
 infancy their court a bagnio, their very churches scenes of daily assass. na- 
 tion! their faith is form; their marriage ceremony a mere mask for the 
 
 11 
 
82 
 
 most incestuous intercourses; goldis th*od before which they piostait 
 every impulse of their nature. "A, euri sacra fames! quid non mortalia 
 pectora cogis!" the once indignant exclamation of their antiquity, has 
 become the maxim of their modern practice. 
 
 No nice extreme a true Italian knows : 
 But, bid him go to hell to hell he goes. 
 
 Away with them any where from us ; they cannot live in England ; they 
 will die in the purity of its moral atmosphere. 
 
 Meanwhile during this accursed scrutiny, even while the legal blood- 
 hounds were on the scent, the last dear stay which bound her to the world 
 parted, the princets Charlotte died.' I will not harrow up a father's feel- 
 ings, bv dwelling on this dreadful recollection. The poet says, that even 
 grief finds comfort in society, and England wept with yon. But, oh, God J 
 what must have been that hapless mother's misery, when first the dismal ti- 
 dings came upon her! The darling child over whose cradle she had shed s 
 many tears whose lightest look was treasured in her memory who, amid 
 the world's frown, still smiled upon her the fair and lovely flower, which, 
 when her orb was quenched in tears, lost not its filial, its divine fidelity ! 
 It was blighted in its blossom its verdant stem was withered, and in a 
 foreign land she heard it, and alone no, no, not quite alone. The myr- 
 midons of British hate were around her, and when her heart's salt tears 
 were blinding h*r. a German nobleman was plundering he" letters Bethink 
 you Sire, if that fair paragon of daughters lived, woutcl England's heart 
 be wrung with this inquiry ? Oh ! she would have torn the diamonds from 
 her brow, and dashed each royal mockery to the earth, and rushed before 
 the people, not in a monarch's, but in nature's rnajeity a child appealing 
 fbr her persecuted mother! and God would bless the sight, and ma 
 would hallow it, and every little infant in the land who felt a mother's 
 warm tear upon her cheek, would turn by instinct to that sacred sum- 
 mons. Your daughter in her shroud, is r.tt alive; Sire her spirit is amongst 
 us it rose untombed when her poor mother landed it walks amid the 
 people it has left the angels to rroiec* the parent. 
 
 The them* is sacred, and I will not sully it I will not recapitulate 
 the griefs, and, worse than griefs, the little, pitiful, deliberate insult* 
 which are burning on every tongue in England. Every hope blighted 
 every friend discountenanced her kindred in their grave her declared 
 innocence made but the herald to a more cruel accusation her two trials 
 fbllowed by a third, a third on the same charges her royal character in- 
 sinuated away by German picklocks and Italian conspirators her divorce 
 sought by an extraordinary procedure, upon grounds untenable before 
 any usual lay or ecclesiastical tribunal her name meanly erased from the 
 Liturgy her natural rights as a mother disregarded, and her civil right 
 as a queen sought to be exterminated ! and all this all, because she dared 
 to touch the sacred soil of liberty! because she did not banish herself, an 
 implied adultress ! because she would not be bribed into an abandonment 
 of herself and of the country over which she has been called to reign, and 
 to which her heart is bound by the most tender tics, and the most indelible 
 obligations. Yes, she might have lived wherever she selected, in all the 
 magnificence which boundless bribery could procure for her, offered her 
 by those who affect such tenderness for your royal character, and such de- 
 votion to the honour of her royal bed. If they thought her guilty, as 
 they allege, this daring offer was a double treason treason to your ma. 
 jesty, whose honour they compromised treason to the people, whose 
 money they thus prostituted. But she spurned the infamous temptation, 
 and she was right. She was right to front hr insatiable accusers ; even 
 
88 
 
 fere she guilty, never was there victim with such crying palliations; but 
 all innocent, as in my conscience I believe her to be, not perhaps o: the 
 levities contingent on her birth, and which shall not be converted into con- 
 structive crime, but of the cruel charge of adultery, now for a third time 
 produced against her. She was right, bereft of the court, which was her 
 natural residence, and all buoyant with innocence as she felt, bravely to 
 fling herself upon the wave of the people that people will protect her 
 Britain's red cross is her flag, and Brunswick's spirit is her pilot. May 
 the Almighty send her royal vessel triumphant into harbour ! 
 
 Sire, I am almost done, 1 have touched but slightly on your queen's mis- 
 fortunes I have contracted the volume of her injuries to a single page, 
 and if upon that page one word offend you, impute it to my real, not my 
 intention. Accustomed all my lift- to speak the simple truth, i offer it 
 with fearless honesty to my sovereign. You are in a difficult it may be 
 in a most perilious emergency. Banish from your court the sycophants 
 who -abuse you ; surround your palace with approving multitudes, not with 
 armed mercenaries. Other crowns may be bestowed by despots and en- 
 trenched by cannon ; but 
 
 The throne we houuur is the people's choice. 
 
 Its safest bulwark is the popular heart, and its brightest ornament do- 
 mestic Tirtne. Forget not also, there is a throne which is above even the 
 throne of England where flatterers cannot conn- where kings are scep- 
 treless. The vows you made are written in language br.gh er thai' the 
 sun, and in the course of nature, you must soon confront them i pn-pare 
 the way by effacing now, each seeming, slight and fancied injury, and 
 when you answer the last awful trump* t, be your answer this, " GOD I 
 FORGAVE I HOPE TO BE FORGIVEN " 
 
 Uut, if against all policy, and all humanity, and all religion, you should 
 hearken to the counsels which further countenance this unmanly persecu- 
 tion, then must 1 appeal not'o you but to your parliament. I appeal to.'he 
 tacred prelacy of England, whether the holy vows which their high church 
 administered, have been kept towards this illustrious lady whether tho 
 hand of man should have erased her from that page, with which it is 
 worse than blasphemy in man to interfere whether, as Heaven's vicege- 
 rents, they will not abjure the sordid passions of the earth, imitate the in- 
 spired humanity of their Sariour ; and like Him, protect a persecuted 
 creature from the insatiate fangs of ruthless, bloody, and untiring accu- 
 sation ! 
 
 I appeal to tie hereditary peerage of the realm, whether they will aid 
 this levelling denunciation of their queen whether they will exhibit the 
 unseemly spectacle of illustrious rank and royal lineage degraded for the 
 orime of claiming its inheritance whether they will hold a son of civil 
 crimination, where the accused is entitled to the mercy of an impeachment.- 
 or whether they wid say with their immortal ancestors " We will not 
 tamper with the laws of England !" 
 
 I appeal to the ermined independent judges, whether life is to be made 
 a perpetual indictment whether two acquittals should not discountenance 
 a third experiment whether if any subject suitor came to their tribunal 
 thus circumstanced, claiming either divorce or compensation, they would 
 grant his suit ; and I invoke from them, by the eternal majesty of Bri- 
 tish justice, the same measure for the peasant and the prince ! 
 
 I appeal to the Commons in Parliament assembled, representing the fa- 
 thers and the husbands of the nation I beseech tftem by the outraged 
 morals of the land ! By the overshadowed dignity of the throne ! by the 
 holiest and tenderest forrag of religion! by the hanoar of the army, th 
 
84 
 
 sanctity of the church, the safety of the state, and character of the 
 country 1 by the solemn virtues which consecrate their hearths' by those 
 fond endearments of nature and of habit which attach them to their 
 cherished wives and families, I implore their tears, their protection, and 
 their pity upon the married widow and the childless mother ! 
 
 To those high powers and authorities I appeal with the firmest con- 
 fidence in their honour, their integrity, and their wisdom. May their 
 conduct justify my faith, and raise no blush on the cheek of our pos- 
 terity ! 
 
 I have the honour to subscribe myself, 
 
 Sire, 
 Your Majesty's most faithful subject, 
 
 CHARLKS PHILLIPS. 
 
 Othello- s Apology. 
 
 MOST potent, grave and reverend Seigniors, 
 i\ly very noble and approv'd good mastt 
 That I have ta en away this old man's daughter, 
 It is most true; true, 1 have married her; 
 The very head and front of my offending 
 Hath this extent; no more. Kudo- am I in speech, 
 And little bless'd >vith the set phrase of peace; 
 For since these arms of mine had seven 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 broils and battle; 
 And therefore little shall I grace my cause, 
 In speaking for myself. Yet, by your patience, 
 I will a round unvarnish'cl talc deliver, 
 Of my whole course of love ; what drugs, what charms, 
 What conjuration, and what mighty magic, 
 (For such proceeding I am charg'd withal) 
 I won his daughter with 
 
 Her father iov'd me, oft invited me ; 
 Still questioned me the story of my life, 
 From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortunes, 
 Tha I have past. 
 
 I ran it through, e'en from my boyish days, 
 To th* 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: 
 Wherein of antres vast, and deserts idle, 
 
85 
 
 Rough quarries, rocks, and hills, whose heads touch heav'n, 
 
 It was my bent to speak All these to hear 
 
 Would iJesdemona seriously incline, 
 
 But still the house-affairs would draw her hence, 
 
 Which ever as she could with haste despatch, 
 
 She'd come again, and with a greedy ear 
 
 Devour up my discourse : which I observing, 
 
 Took once a pliant hour, and found good means, 
 
 To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart, 
 
 That I would all my pilgrimage dilate ; 
 
 Whereof by parcels she had something heard, 
 
 But not distinctively. I did consent, 
 
 And often did beguile her of her tears, 
 
 When I did speak of some distressful stroke * 
 
 That my youth suffer'd. My story being done, 
 
 She gave me for my pains, a world of sighs, 
 
 She swore, in fait , 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange; 
 
 'Twas pittiful, 'twas womProus pitiful 
 
 She wish d she had not heard it yet she wish'd 
 
 That heav'n had made her such a man : She thank'd me, 
 
 And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her, 
 
 I should but teach him how to tell my story, 
 
 And that would woo her. On this hint I spake; 
 
 She lov'd rne for the clangers I had past ; 
 
 And I lov'd her that she did pity them. 
 
 This only is the witchcraft I have us'd. 
 
 SlIAKSPEARE. 
 
 Brutus and Cassius. 
 
 Cas. I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus, 
 As well as I do know your outward favour. 
 
 Well, honour is the subject of my story. 
 
 I cannot tell what you and other men 
 
 Think of this life ; but for my single self, 
 
 I had as lief not be, as live to be 
 
 In awe of such a thing as I myself. 
 
 I was born free as Caesar ; so were you ; 
 
 We both have fed as well; and we can both 
 
 ttidure the winter's cold as well as he. 
 
 For once upon a raw and gusty day 
 
 The troubled Tyber chasing with his shores 3 
 
 Caesar says to me, dar'st thou, Cassius, now 
 
 Leap in with me into this angry flood, 
 
 And swim to yonder point ? Upon the word, 
 
 Accoutred as I was, I plunged in, 
 
 And bade him follow ; so ; indeed, he did. 
 
The torrent roar'd, and we did buffet it 
 
 With lusty sinens ; throwing it aside, 
 
 And stemming it with hearts of controversy. 
 
 But ere we could arrive the point propos'd, 
 
 Caesar cry'd, help me Cassius, or I sink. 
 
 I, as ./Eneas, our great ancestor, 
 
 Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder 
 
 The old Anchises bear; so from the waves of Tyber 
 
 Did I the tired Caesar: and this man 
 
 Is now become a god ; and Cassius is 
 
 A wretched creature, and must bend his body, 
 
 If Caesar carelessly but nod on him. 
 
 He had a fever when he was in Spain, 
 
 And when he fit was on him, I did mark 
 
 How he did shake. 'Tis true, this god did shake ; 
 
 His coward lips did from their colour fly, 
 
 And that same eye, whose bend does awe the world. 
 
 Did lose its lustre ; I did hear him groan : 
 
 Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans 
 
 Mark him, and write his speeches in their books, 
 
 Alas! it cry'd (iive me some drink, Titinius 
 
 As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me, 
 
 A man of such a feeble temper should 
 
 So get the start of the majestic world, 
 
 And bear the palm alone. 
 
 Bru. Another general shout! 
 I do believe, that these applauses are 
 For some new honours that are heap'd on Caesar. 
 
 Cas. Why man, he doth bestride the narrow world 
 Like a Colossus ! and we petty men 
 Walk under his huge legs, and peep about 
 To find ourselves dishonourable graves. 
 Men at sometimes are masters of their fates; 
 The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, 
 But in ourselves, that we are underlings. 
 Brutus and Cxsar what should be in that Cxsar: 
 Why should that name be sounded, more than yours? 
 Write them together; your's is as fair a name: 
 Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well ; 
 Weigh them, it is as heavy ; conjure with 'em, 
 Brutus will start a spirit as soon Cxsar. 
 Now, in the names of all the gods at once, 
 Upon what meats does this oar Cxsar feed, 
 That he is grown so great? Age, thou art sham'd, 
 Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods. 
 When went there by an age, since the great flood, 
 But it was fanrd with more than with one man ? 
 When could they say, till now, that talk'd of Rome, 
 
'hat her wide walls encompass'd but one man i 
 Oh ! you and I have heard our fathers say, 
 There was a Brutus, one that would have brook'd 
 The eternal devil, to keep his state in Rome 
 AS easily as a king. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE, 
 
 On Education. BY THE REV. DR. MASON, President 
 of Dickinson College. 
 
 The revival of a decayed institution, being much more difficult than the 
 establishment of a new one, as the resurrection of a dead body is more 
 arduous, and certainly more uncommon, than the production of a living one; 
 and as all the success, humanly speaking, will depend upon the plan to be 
 pursued, it may be due to the occasion to say a few words on a subject, 
 on which every body talks confidently, and few think correctly, while the 
 million prate without thinking at all the subject of EDUCATION. 
 
 Education, if I mistake not, contemplates three objects, the evolution of 
 faculty ', the formation of habitt, and the cultivation of manners. 
 
 I. The evolution of faculty This, of course, implies, that there is facul- 
 ty to be evolved. So, that like all created power, education must have its 
 materials from the hand of the Creator. Itself creates nothing. It only 
 brings out qualities which pre-existed. It is a manufacture, and like all 
 other manufactures must have the raw material to work upon, or it can do 
 nothing. Many well meaning people imagine that it is in the power of 
 teachers to do every thing : and hard measure do they give them for not 
 working miracles for not converting a booby into a lad of genius. My 
 friends, you must not expect that we shall do what the Almighty God has 
 not done. That we shall furnish brains where our pupils naturally are 
 without them I know no more thankless and desperate experiment, than 
 an attempt to educate the naturally stupid. It may well enough consort 
 with the vocation of a pedant, who provided he has a head to hummer upon, 
 is well enough satisfied ; but it is grief, and misery, and purgatory, to a man 
 of any sense or feeling. Persons, with uncouth and rugged minds, would 
 be employed far better in following the plough, drawn by their more intel- 
 ligent horses, than in making themselves ridiculous by endeavouring to 
 obtain a liberal education. At the same time it must be acknowledged that 
 the seeds of natural ability are pretty equally distributed : and that fine 
 minds are often lost for want of culture. 
 
 " 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.** 
 
 Yes, among these lads who know no other use for their limbs, than fel- 
 ling the forests ; -and no other for their activity of mind and body, than 
 eaiching the wild turkey, the pheasant, or the deer, there are some master 
 spirits who need nothing but cultivation to bring them forth into their pe- 
 culiar action ; who contain the rudiments of the statesman's skill, and the 
 patriot's fire, and may, according to their places, become the VVashingtons 
 the Hamiltons, and the Franklin's of future days. There are, among these 
 simple rustics, men who in former ages would ha've 
 
88 
 
 " Wielded at will the fierce democracy, 
 " And fulmin'd over Greece to Macedon 
 " And Artaxerxes* Throne." 
 
 O, could we but light upon these chosen spirits, these minds which can 
 balance themselves and millions of other men! Could Dickinson present 
 among her sons, an array hostile, terrible, destructive, to all the legions of 
 infidelity and misrule, she might well hold up her head amid the semina- 
 ries of the nation, and receive their homage, not less freely granted than 
 richly merited. 
 
 On subordination to authority. I regret to say that in all thedena tments of 
 society, from the parental controul to that of the government, this i- 
 by our youth in too little esteem. Thtir ambition, \v 
 be manly and to be 1 y are, therefore, pr;;ie 10 spurn re- 
 
 and to take their own way: esteemed that t" be a noble : pirit wiiich ac- 
 knowledges no superior; and that to be true liberty which follows its own 
 ure. That the prevalence of such . produce wide 
 
 spreading mi chief, is manifest to every sound thh;'. fen to the 
 
 youth themselves, when it is too late to undo the c<>n ,( (jvienct-6 In the 
 mean time it militates alike against thr very constitution of our nature 
 against the most express commandments of God and ag;.i >nnci- 
 
 ples of action which, at all times and in every place, but from peculiar 
 causes, in the p: and m our ov. n country, are necessary to the 
 
 order of society and the happiness of individuals. 
 
 It militates against runtution of our nature. It is not for no- 
 
 thing; it is for benign and wise purposes, that our Creator has deier- 
 - Mould come into the world utterly feeble and helpless. The 
 first friend whom the infant recognizes, is his mother To her tenderness, 
 her watchfulness, her s more than to the kind- 
 
 ness of any of his species. Under her gentle an- tirst buddings of 
 
 his rational nature begin to unfold. To her is allotted the d li-h fill pro. 
 vinre of teaching ' the >oung idea how to shout." ot m;>ul .irt 
 
 of cherishing all its amiabl -iithe 
 
 " sweet charities" of life of leading it in ; >d the sovereign 
 
 good The rudiments of m^ny a character distinguislu-.i - lion- 
 
 oured both on earth and in heaven, can be traced to the nursery and the 
 lap. O most charming employment ! rich >r the seclusion, 
 
 pains, to ^tined! O most refreshing 
 
 abatement of the sorrows of that cup which has been assigned to woman 
 for her priority in transgression ! 
 
 , comes the father, appointed by the divine mandate to be the head 
 of the domestic establishnu . II -, family is his kingdom; his children 
 are his subjects; and he is the governour in his own house. These young 
 subjects are submitted to his rule: he knows best, at least better than they, 
 what is for their good. His authority is to be their reason for many, for 
 most things, while they are quite young. And should they prove refrac- 
 tory, his superior physical force can, : a their submis- 
 sion, re, both parents perform their duty, their children, not- 
 . -uiaing the dreadful drawback of human depravity, will generally 
 grow up trained to obedience. Their habits will be incorporated into 
 their character. They cannot become rude and disorderly without violating 
 all sense of decorum and gratitude ; and breaking through, besides, 
 all their early habit*. The common sense of mankind is in :<cc-)rdtmct 
 all ihis. A rough, surly, ungovernable, boy, there is nothin.; more com- 
 mon than to call ./ child. Thus are children, by the very condi- 
 tion of their being, made fit subjects for order which "is Heaven's first 
 And he who requites his parents care, by vicious courses, by giving 
 
89 
 
 inmself up to the service of iniquity, which is the essential diawder though 
 lie should be one of the *' fairest spirits," that ever " lost heaven" and 
 should be plausible and seducing as Belial himself, deserves no other ap- 
 pellation than that of H monster. 
 
 \ have said that education includes the cultivation of manners. I 
 mean by manners all those lighter things in conduct, which though they 
 do not occupy the rank of morals, do yet belong 1 to the embellishments 
 and ornaments of life. 
 
 1 hardly know how it has happened, that a" scholar," is become a com- 
 mon term for every thing unpolished and uncouth. Some men, indeed, by 
 the greatness oi' -isis, :ind the immensity of their erudition, have 
 
 attained a sort of privileged exemption from the common courteous of so- 
 ciety. 13utthe misery i*. that the same exemption is claimed by thosi who 
 inly rudeness, which they mistake for genius ; and disregard of civi- 
 lity, which pusses with them for erudition. Thus, if scholar* are sometimes 
 awkward and ;. y awkward, inattentive creature calls himself a 
 
 scholar. Just as, to use a comparison of the late Mr (.'-uveni^ur Morris, 
 been called knaves, ev< ry knave should, of 
 
 course, suppose himself a statesman." Certain however, it is, that no 
 young men halve enjoyed the reputation of being ill-bred, unmannerly, and 
 >;, more than Students of Collejp there any thing 
 
 in the retreats of the muses to ch i :,h ferocity Do men necessarily become 
 brutes, wl. Id gives them credit for becoming philosophers? 
 
 Does the acquisition - . especially moral science, involve the des- 
 
 truction of decency ? So that after a \ 0:1:1- man has U f t codege laden with 
 all its honours, he h;. . hool, in practical life, before he 
 
 lit. for the company of gentlemen and ladie?. ? 1 blush to think that 
 the priace, which of al] i supposed to teach a young man manners, 
 
 the army : Thai the kindness, the courtesy, the chivalry ot life, should 
 be associated with t!: blood ! Th.; the pistol and the dagger, 
 
 shouU: !-. and of politi -ness, with gentlemen : and 
 
 that when 1 der the'n ',aw of (iod and man; 
 
 '-Mid all thu human I >nd ought to I), of high accou it 
 
 in human made tlu* apor of rr.nmenta."> passion, they should 
 
 still be aid. ''There is some- 
 
 thing rotten in tlu- slate of Denmark !" 
 
 \Vhat tlun is the government which ought to be pursued, and will per- 
 viong young men ! One which is very plain, very sim- 
 ple, though unhappily not very common ; and one which will carry the 
 :nily up to a nation. The whole secret consists 
 in b< ing reasonable, being ^/r'rw, and being uniform, 
 
 1. In being reasonable. Whatever you requiie, must be such as cannot 
 fairly be objected to : such as In-long to the situation, of your pupil, his 
 duties, and his time of life. It is a very strong point gained to have his 
 conscitnce on your side. You are not to demand what he is unable <.o per- 
 form. And if such happen to be his situation, it must be altered accord- 
 ingly, (ireat care must then be taken to see that your commands are rea- 
 sonable; this matter being settled, I say: 
 
 2. That a good government ought to be Jinn. Intreaty and supplication 
 ought to have no more influence upon its proceedings, than upon the 
 bci.ch of the Supreme court; and a youth should count no more upon its 
 pliancy. 1 do not mean to assert, that a teacher or governour of youth 
 should never acknowledge an errour ; or that he should obstinately adhere 
 to a thing because he has said or ordered it. lie is a miserable pauper whom 
 the loss of a six pence will bankrup and in intellectual matters he is no 
 richer, who cannot afford to COR <: mistake. He must not, indeed, do 
 this often. But occasional)' utm *st trrare* he may by owning 
 
so 
 
 that he has been mistaken, doing it freely, doing- it magnanimously, ttac1x 
 the affections of the youth very strongly to hi> p .iffirm his autho- 
 
 Ti\y b> those very means which would Weaken it in an undecided and inca- 
 pable man. 
 
 3. 1 add, once nv>re, that a government, to be good f<>r any thing, muat 
 be uniform. By uniform, 1 mean that it shall be habitually the same thing ; 
 that when you i cisions at one time, you know where 10 find 
 
 them at another: thai it shall not be marked b) whim : shall nut be moved 
 out of its course by gusts of passion : slull not, in a fit of great good hu- 
 mour, allow to-day what in a fit of ill-humour it will forbid to-morrow. Shall 
 not, therefore, tease and ex he subjects of it by it* nckU -ness, and varia- 
 bleness. These should aluavs know what they ha\e to depend upon; and 
 not s?e the elements of order dislui bed and broken up, by ihe prevalence 
 of official ditvrJer. 
 
 a government adminis'ered upon such principles, and marked 
 in it? exeiai acis by courtesy, by kindness, by the frankness and dignitj of 
 
 men, 1 am persuaded that depravity herself could not muster up any 
 
 like H formidable conspiracy. 
 
 Such, gentlemen, we profess to be our aim ; and in the prosecution of 
 such an a m we. feel confident of your suppoi t. Although we do not ex- 
 pect to have n.nch, if any, reas<>n to ap|-U for it. \\ < do hope, thai an ap- 
 pe.il to thi understanding, the magnanimity, the conscience, of the students, 
 
 ccasionally 
 
 tarnished of oilier Colleges ; u ,-ction will do fur us, 
 
 what the exercise of mere authority bus not betu able to do for ol 
 aitach the btudcnis more and more to the interests of their J'.'iu .Water. 
 
 On the necessity of Learning in the .V hi inters of 
 Gospel. B\ inr. KK\. r. LIMU;\. 
 
 But, brethern, allow me to appeal to facts. Wha says the history ot 
 the Christian church :nencement. Kxamine the qualifica- 
 
 tions of its original foundeis. We hare already hinted at their peculiar 
 and distinguishing Advantages and preng Miice 
 
 bien enjoyed or Who succeeded thrnii Men of the greatest 
 
 learning then in the world. Men of whom th* world was unworthy. Me 
 \*ho could put all (irecian and all Roman sciei ce to the blush: who could 
 mi ei ihe aged philosopher and the wil\ sophist on their own ground: 
 Clemens, Ignatius, Pohcarp. Justin, Irei xu>, Tertullian, Origen, Cypnan, 
 Eusebius. Vilianasius, U..sil, ( hrysostom, Lactantius, Ambrose, Jerome, 
 Augustine, and a hosi of m..m i s and fathers too numerous to meniion. 
 
 \Vhen learning declined, religion degenerated. \Vhen learning had van- 
 istud, religion was nearly extinct. When letters revived, religion again 
 flourished and assumed a purer form 
 
 \V bo were the first to discover, expose, refute, condemn, and demolish 
 the papal errors and the papal lyranin ? Who, but the men of the largest 
 minds and the greatest learning? Need 1 name Wick lift', Huss, Jerome of 
 Prague, Luther, Melanchlhon, Calvin, Latimer, Ridley, Cranmer, Knox, 
 and a bundled others, as eminent for literature as religion; for integrity 
 arid courage as for zeal and ardour in ihe cause of truth , who nobly dared 
 to stem the tonvni which had nearly deluged the Christian world, and 
 neaily buried in ruins the whole Christian fabnck ? 
 
 Shall 1 trace the pr<>givss of religion from tha' bright epoch when the 
 
 Sun ot tbe lieiormauou first rose above the horizon and began to dispel the 
 
91 
 
 darkness ofa long dismal night which seemed to threaten an endless dura- 
 tion, down to the present time ? What is the character of the men who have 
 lahoure 1 in the fiVld and on the battle-ground with most efficiency and suc- 
 cess ? Who have written books, and thundered in the pulpit, with argument 
 and eloquence irresistible and overwhelming? Were they not the most 
 acute, best disciplined, most profoundly erudite of the ages in which they 
 flourished ? Shall I come nearer to your own times and to your own doors ? 
 Shall I invoke the spirits of a Hammond, an Owen, a Baxter, a Plavel, a 
 Stillingfleet, a Tillotson,an Kliot, a Swartz, a John, an Rd wards, a D.tvi s, 
 a Whitefield, a Horsley, a Porteus, a Huchannan,a Witherspoon ? but the 
 catalogue would be endlf ss. 
 
 Tlie history of Christianity is a triumphant refutation of the heresy and 
 the slander that learning is unnecessary, or that it is unfriendly to genuine 
 religion. It exhibits proof most positive that without learning nothing has 
 been or could have been effected. That zeal without knowledge leads to 
 fanaticism, to error, to superstition, to enthusiasm ; to abuses and heresies 
 the most absurd and abominable. 
 
 On this topic I might indulge in a variety of illustration from facts. I 
 could summon your attention to a thousand mournful evidences of the 
 danger of suffering self-ufBcient aspiring ignorance to obtrude itself into 
 tile direction and government of the church. 
 
 Commissioned by his divine Master to proclaim glad tidings of peace to 
 the perishing: he labours to fulfil the object of his env>assy with a 
 zeal, a patience, a perseverance, which no earthly considerations could 
 inspire: and which no earthly discouragements or difficulties can damp 
 or destroy. 
 
 Is he an enthusiast; is he an impostor? There may be enthusiasts; 
 'Jiere may be hypocrites; there may be wolves in sheep's clothing invested 
 with this sacred character. But what then ? Does th.s fact afford any 
 sound argument against the sincerity and good faith of the whole body of 
 Christian ministers ? What gaoil thing is there in the universe which has 
 not been abused and counterfeited' What wise and benevolent institution 
 has ever existed free from contamination and perversion* Sirange, indeed, 
 would it be, if religion: if the Christian religion: and the ministers of this 
 religion, did not occasionally share the corruption, degeneracy, and abuse 
 which are inseparable from all things here below. There is no form of 
 virtue, no disguise of religion which has not been assumed as a conve- 
 nient mask for the worst of crimes. And this fact operates with no less 
 force to the disadvantage of natural religion; of natural or political virtue; 
 of human learning and wisdom ; and of every thing which the world calls 
 great and good ; than it does to the disparagement of Christianity and its 
 advocates. This species of argument therefore has no application to the 
 case. Or, if it have, it would equally demolish the systems of the sage 
 and the moralist: of the believer and the infidel. It would leave us nothing 
 but one vast wild of hideous ruin and deformity of hopeless misery and 
 wickedness. Beware then of this subtile, insinuating exterminating logick. 
 It is unsound and illiberal. And none but the enemies of truth and piety 
 can employ it 
 
 Christianity is the only system of religion at present known in the world 
 which can lay just claims to a heavenly origin. If it be true, its own infal- 
 lible oracles declare the appointment, and the necessity of continuing for- 
 ever a ministry in the church. And how can this ministry be perpetuated 
 except by the regular education ofa competent number of young men to 
 supply the places of those vacated by age, infirmity, and death : and to 
 meet the growing demands of an enlarged and dady increasing church ? 
 \Vhai mode of education can be devised better adapted to meet these wants, 
 than publick seminaries exclusively devoted to this object under the spe- 
 
cial superintendance and control of the church itself? I propose tins que* 
 tion whh o <* rfrct confidence lhat a negative reply cannot be made to it; and 
 will not be made to it, by the wise, the judicious, and the pious. 
 
 The exigency of the case su^ests this as the only natural and efficient 
 method of furnishing an adequate supply of faithful and enlightened pastors 
 and missionaries for the vast evangelized and unevangelized reg-ons of this 
 almost boundless continent : whose population is annually augmenting in a 
 ratio which confounds ail computation: whose spiritual wants of course* 
 are multiplying with equal rapidity: and to a degree, which almost over- 
 whelms -vith 'liscouragement the pious philanthropist while contemplating 
 this great moral wilderness which is scarcely illumined by a ray of gospel 
 light. Surely it is time for the friends of religion and humanity to awake 
 from 'heir slumbers, and to put forth all their strength in one grand effort to 
 meliorate the condiuon of the countless thousands of our ov n countr\ 
 who are literally perishing for lack of knowledge : yes, at this moment des- 
 titute of the ordinary means of grace; without bibles and without minis- 
 ters. 
 
 There is now a grand movement in the camp of Israel. Arise and come 
 forth to the help of the Lord aguinst the mighty. 
 
 Behold the progress of heresy and infidelity under the disguise of ra- 
 tional Christianity. See the artifice of the great destroyer in these latter 
 He has commissioned his emissaries to assume the garb and the 
 functions of ;he ministers of he gospel, i hat they may 'he more effectually 
 sap the fou-: the whole Christian t-dilice. He has enlis 
 
 and learning, and indefatigable enterprise in this work of desolation. He 
 has taught the deistical scoffer at revelation to step a little aside from his 
 omed track ; and to come forward in a new shape, but with the same 
 malignant hostility against the truth. He is now willing to be esteemed a 
 But he rejects the essential divinity of the Sa- 
 viour ; thf depravity of human nature; the doctrine of the atonement, 
 an i of j unification by faith. Or, he is a Christian without holding one 
 principle of the chr.stian religion which can distinguish it from the reli- 
 t nature. Mo-It- rn unitarianism, which is every where insinuating 
 ;>e hearts of men naturally preiiisp:>sed to its reception, because 
 d to the natural character of men, is more to be dreaded 
 than u y ever > et avowed. It is a deadly enemy, v 
 
 ing the mask and the name of a friend. 
 
The following SERMON, was delivered on a missionary occa- 
 sion, in Tottenham-Conrt-Chapel, LONDON, 62; the Rttfd. 
 J. M. Mason, I). D. late provost of Columbia College, but 
 now President of Dickinson- College, Carlisle, (Penn.) It 
 is with no ordinary emotions of pleasure that it is presented 
 to the public in this compilation. Jls all intelligent and 
 correct reasoners will acknowledge, thai it exhibits the 
 "truth of God, and the way to eternal life;" and persons 
 of refined taste will find it to be one of the most interesting, 
 splendid, and highly finished prc.'luctions of the present age. 
 The Compiler will only add let students in divinity eclipur 
 i in their power. 
 
 MESSIAH'S THRONE. 
 
 HEB. i. 8 But unto the Son, he saith, Thy Throne, O God, is for ever and ever. 
 
 IN' the all-important argument which occupies this epistle, Paul assumes, 
 what the believing Hebrews had already professed, that Jesus of Nazareth 
 is the true Messiah. To prepare them for the consequences of their own 
 principle; a principle involving nothing less than the abolition of their law, 
 the subversion of their state, the ruin of their city, the final extinction of 
 their carnal hopes, he leads them to ihe doctrine of their Redeemer's per- 
 son in order to explain the nature of his offices, to evince the value of his 
 spiritual salvation, and to show, in both, the accomplishment of their occo- 
 nomy which was now ready to vanish away ' Under no apprehension of 
 betraying the unwary into idolatrous homage, by giving to the Lord Jesus 
 greater glory than is 'due unto his name-,' the apostle sets out with as- 
 cribing to him excellence and attributes which belong to no creature. Crea- 
 tures of most elevated rank are introduced; but it is to display, by contrast, 
 the pre-eminence of Him who is the brightness of the Father's glory, and 
 the express image of his person.' Angels are great in might, and in dig- 
 nity ; but /unto them hath he not put in subjection, the world to come. 
 Unto which of them said he at any time, Thou art my son ?' To which of 
 them, Sit thou at my right hand ?' He saith, they are spirits, ministering 
 spirits, sent forth to minister unto them who are tha Heirs of salvation.' 
 JBut unto the SON, in a style which annihilates competition and comparison 
 unto the SON he saith, thy throne, O GOD, is for ever and ever. 
 
 Brethren, If the majesty of Jesus is the subject which the Holy Ghost se- 
 lected for the encouragement and consolation of his people, when he was 
 shaking the earth and the heavens, and diffusing his gospel among the na- 
 tions ; can it be otherwise than suitable and precious to us on this occasion ? 
 it not expand our views, and warm our hearts, and nerve our arm, in 
 
94 
 
 flur efforts to exalt his fame ? Let me implore then, the aid of your prayers; 
 but far more importuna'ch the aids of his ewn Spirit, \vhile I speak of " the 
 things which concern the king:' those great things contained in the text 
 his personal Sflory his xov-reign rule 
 
 I. Hi-> personal glory shines forth in the name by which he is revealed ; a 
 name above every name, TRY throne () < 
 
 To ihe single eye nothing- can be more evident, in tlie 
 
 Firtt nlace, than thai the Holy Ghost here asserts the essential deity of our 
 Lord Jesus Christ. Of his er.emjes, whom lie will make his footstool,* 
 some have, indeed, controverted this position, and endeavoured to blot out 
 the text from the catalogue of his witnesses Instead of ' thy throne, O God;' 
 they would compel us by a perversion of phraseology, o figure, and ot it 
 to read, * G >d is thy throne ;' converting the great and dreadful God into a 
 symbol of authority in one of his own creatures. The sc'iptures, it seems, 
 may utter contradictions, or impiety, hut the d.vmity of the Son they shall not 
 attest The crown however, which flourishes on his head,' is not to be 
 torn away ; nor the anchor of our hope to be wrested from us, by the rude 
 hand of licentious criticism. 
 
 I cannot find, in the lively oracles, a single distinctive mark of deity which 
 is not applied, without reserve or limitation, to the only begotten Son. * All 
 things whatsoever the Father hath, are AM.' If'/to is that mysterious M onu, 
 that was, *in the beginning, with ne ' Alpha and Omega, the 
 
 beginning and the ending, the first an . ht\?' Who is he 
 
 that ' knou > man,' because he searches the deep and dark reces- 
 
 ses of the heart? Who is the Omnipresent, that h:is promised. Wherever 
 two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of 
 them?' the light of whose countenance i-, at the same momen*, the joy of 
 heaven, and ^he salvation of earth? who is incircled by the Seraphim on high, 
 and 'walks in the midst of the golden candlesticks:' who is in this assem- 
 bly; in all the assemblies of bis people' in evt-r\ worshipping fiimiK? in every 
 closet of prayer' in ev?ry holy heart ' ll'ho-e h mils have stretched out the 
 heavens and laid the foundations of the earth"' 1 If'hs hath replenished them 
 with inhabitants, and garnished them with beautv, having created all things 
 that are in both, * visible and invisible, whether they he thrones, or domini- 
 ons, or principalities, or powers'' By whom do ' all things consist.' 1 ll'ho is 
 the governor among the nations, having on his vesture and on his thigh a 
 name written 'King of kings and Lord of lords.' If htm is it the Father's 
 will that 4 all men should honour, even as they honour himself? H'hom has 
 he commanded his angels to worship? whom to obey? Before -whom do the 
 devils tremble' It' ho is qualified to redeem millions of sinners from the 
 wr.ith to come,' and preserve them, by his grace, to his everlasting kingdom? 
 IT/io raiseth the dead, ' having life in himself, to quicken whom he will,' so 
 that at his voice, ' all who are in their graves shall come forth ; and death 
 and hell' surrender their numerous and forgotten captives? Wht shall weigh, 
 in the balance of judgment, the destinies of angels and men' dispose of the 
 thrones of paradise ? and bestow eternal life? Shall I submit to the decision 
 of reason' Shall I ask a response from heaven' Shall 1 summon the devils 
 from their ' chains of darkness?* The response from heaven sounds in my 
 ears; reason approves, and the devils confess This, O Christians, is none 
 other than the OREAT GOD our Sivioun ! 
 
93 
 
 Indeed, my brethren, the doctrine of our Lord's divinity is not. as *facf+ 
 more interesting to out- faith, than, as a principle, it is essential to our hope. 
 If he were not ' the true God,' he could not be 'eternal life.' When pres- 
 sed down by guilt and languishing for happiness, 1 look around for a deliver- 
 er such as my conscience and my heart and ihe word of God assure me I 
 need, insult not my agony, by directing me to a creature to a man, a mere 
 man like myself! A creature ! a man ! M\ Redeemer owns my person My 
 immortal spirit is his property* When \ come to die, I must commit it into 
 his hands. My soul! My infinitely precious soul committed to a mere man! 
 become the property of a mere man! I would not, thus, entrust my body* to 
 the highest angel who burns in the lemple above. It is only the * Father of 
 spirits,' that can have property in spirits, and be their refuse in the hour of 
 transition from the present to the approaching world. In short, my breth- 
 ren, the divinity of Jesus, is, in the system of grace, the sun to which all ita 
 parrs are subordinate, and all their stations r-ter which binds them in sacred 
 concord; and imparts to them their radiance, and lite, and vigour Take 
 from it this central luminary, and the glory is dep-tried hs holy harmonica 
 are broken The elements rush to chaos The light of salvation is extin- 
 guished for ever ! 
 
 But it is not the deity of the Son, simply considered, to which the text 
 confines our attention. We are in the 
 
 Second place to contemplate it as subsisting in a personal union with the 
 huimn nature. 
 
 Long before this epis'le was written had he 'by himself purged our sins^ 
 and sat down at the ri K 'ht hand of the majesty on high.' It is, therefore, as 
 manifested in the ;ny own brother, while he is ' the express 
 
 image of the I'm ,M,' as the Mediator of the new covenant, that he 
 
 is seated on the throne. Of this thro.ie, to winch tin- pretensions of a crea- 
 ture were mail and blasphemous, the majesty is, indeed, maintained by his 
 divme power; but the foundation is laid in his Mediatorial chancier. I 
 need not prove to this audience, that all his gracious offices and all his re* 
 deeming work originated in the love and the election of his Father. Obedi- 
 ent to that will, which fully accorded wiili his own, lie came down from heaven; 
 tabernacled in our clay ; was ' a man or sorrows and acquainted with griefs ;* 
 submitted to the 'contradictions ot sinners,' the temptations of the old 
 Serpent, and the wrath oi'an avenging God. In the merit of his obedience, 
 which threw a lustre round the divine law; and in the atonement of his 
 death by which ' he ottered himself a sacrifice without spot unto God,' re- 
 pairing the injuries of man's rebellion, expiating sin through the blood of his 
 cross ; and conciliating its pardon with infinite purity, and unalterable truth ; 
 summarily, in his performing those conditions on which was suspended all 
 God's mercy to man, and all man's enjoyment of God, in these stupendous 
 < works of righteousness* are we to look for the cause ot his present glory 
 ' He humbled himself and became obedient unto death, even the death ot 
 the cross ; wherefore God also hath highly exalted him, and given him a 
 name which is above every name ; that at the name of Jesus every knee 
 should bow, of things in heaven and things in earth, and things under the 
 earth ; and that every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the 
 the glory of God Father.' 'Exalted,' thus, 'to be a Prince and a Saviour, 
 he fills heaven with his beauty, and obtains from its West inhabitants, th- 
 
purest and most reverential pr.i "thy,' ciy the mingled voices of 
 
 his angels and his redeemed, ' worthy is the Lamb t!. 
 
 power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honour, and glor\, and 
 blessing* ' Worthy,' again cry his redeemed, in a song wh'ch belongs not 
 to the angels bu* in which with holy ecstucy, we will join, i thou, 
 
 lor thou was slain, and hast redeemed us to fiod ! v thy bio 
 
 Delightful, brethren, transcendently delightful were it to dwell upon this 
 theme. But we must refrain; and i .-n a transient glance at our 
 
 IJedeemer's personal glory, let us turn to the 
 
 II v',e\v which the text exhibits the view of 1 
 THHOSE, O God, i$ for tvei' andever. 
 
 The ,1 kingdom of Christ Jesus, directed and upheld by his diri- 
 
 nity, is now the object of our contemplation. To ad vane-. glory 
 
 in the salration of men, is the purpose oi its erection Th , 5 ihc 
 
 scene and human life the limit, of the 
 intero- ;d prepared for its o>. 
 
 its provisions, its issues are eternal. When it rises up h 
 grandeur of design, collecting and conducting .. mil- 
 
 f immortals, in com ic destruction of 
 
 the material universe were a thir... the carnal niiiiii 
 
 -ent, shniii. > nothing. 
 
 i the nattir -n t'- 
 
 .huttruihii, and the / ien to 
 
 the church o 
 
 10 is not one of t! h arr reared by vanity 
 
 and overthrown by Time : it is fixed of old: it is stable and cannot 
 
 (I.) It is the throne of'Gon. He who sitteth on 
 
 n his hand. king- 
 
 dom, . i' n.ean-n^. Hie un in l 
 
 .th thee the whole m ?h the ruin 
 
 yf wli 1 in this little V plucl: 
 
 kin out of his place and roll the volume of di i thr 
 
 iturrvworld---NVir.it hast thou done unto him? It is t of a 
 
 worm against Him whose frown is perdition. ' ' hea- 
 
 vens shall laugh " 
 
 (2-) With the stability which '.Iicad communicates to his 
 
 throne, let us connect the stability result. ng from his Kuther's covenant. 
 
 is founded not merely in strength, but in right, liod hath laid 
 the government upon the shoulder of his holy child .lesus, and set him upon 
 mount Zion as his king for ever. He has promised, and s\\orn, to 'build 
 up his throne to all generations;' to * make it endure of heaven * 
 
 to ' beat down his foes before his face, and plague them Uiat hate him But 
 my faithfulness,' adds he, 'and my mercy shall be with him, and in my num" 
 shall his horn be exalted. Hath he said it? and will lie not do it? Hath he 
 spoken it, and shrill it not come to pass^ Whatever disappointments rebuke 
 the visionary projects of men, or the more craf\ schemes of Satan, 'the 
 counsel ot the Lord, that shall stand.' The blood ot sprinkling, which 
 sd all the pi onuses made to Messiah, and binds doun hi- 'uthfulness 
 
 to their accomplishment, witnesses continually in the heavenly sanctu 
 
07 
 
 f He must,' therefore, ' reign till he have put all his enemies under his feet.' 
 And although the dispensation of his authority shall, upon thi:> event, be 
 changed; and he shall deliver it up, in its present form, to the Father, he 
 shall still remain, in his substantial glory, ' a priest upon his throne,' to be 
 the eternal bond of our union, and the eternal medium of our fellowship, with 
 the living God. 
 
 Seeing that the throne of our King is as immovable as it is exalted, let us 
 'with joy draw water out of that well of salvation' which is opened to us in the 
 
 Administration of his kingdom. Here we must consider its general charac- 
 'crs, and the means by which it operates. 
 
 The general characters which I shall illustrate, are the following. 
 
 (1.) Jlfy-ifent. He is the unsearchable God, and his government must be 
 like himself. Facts concerning both, he has graciously revealed. These we 
 must admit upon the credit of his own testimony; with these we must satisfy 
 our wishes, and limit ou;- inquiry. ' To intrude into those things which he 
 hath not seen' because God 1ms not disclosed them, whether they relate to 
 his arrangements for this world or the next, is the arrog*.ce of one ' vainly 
 puffed up by his fleshly mind.' There are secrets in our Lord's procedure 
 which he will not explain to us in this life, and which may not, perhaps, be ex- 
 plained in the life to come. We cannot tell how he make*, rvil the minister 
 of good: how he combines physical and moral agencies of different kind and 
 order, in the production of blessings. We cannot so much as conjecture 
 what bearings the system of redemption, in every part of its process, may 
 have upon the relations of the universe; nor even what may be all the connec- 
 tions of providence in the occurrences of this moment, or of the last. * Such 
 knowledge is too wonderful tor us! it is high, we cannot attain it.' Our Sove- 
 i-eign's ' way is in the st-n. and his path in the deep waters; and his footsteps 
 are no! known.' When, therefore,- we are surrounded with difficulty; when 
 we crmnot unriddle his conduct in particular dispensations, we must remem- 
 ber thut he is God; that we are to * walk by faith;' and to trust him as im- 
 plicitly.when we are in ' the valley of the shadow of death,' as when his * can- 
 lie shines upon our heads.' We must remember thut it is not for us to be 
 admitted into the cabinet of the King of kings; that creatures constituted as 
 we are could not sustain the view of his unveiled agency; that it would con- 
 found, and scatter, and annihilate our little intellects. As often, then, as he 
 retires from our observation, blending goodness with majesty, let us lay our 
 hands upon our mouths, and worship. This stateliness of our King can afford 
 us no just ground of uneasiness. On the contrary it contributes to our tran- 
 :juility: For we know, 
 
 (2.) That if his administration is mysterious, it is also wise- 
 
 < Great is our Lord, and of great power; his understanding is infinite.' 
 That infinite understanding watches over, and arranges, and directs all the 
 affairs of his church and of the world. We are perplexed at every step; 
 embarrassed by opposition; lost in confusion; fretted by disappointment; 
 r.nd ready to conclude, in our haste, that all things are against our own good 
 and our Master's honour. But ' this is our infirmity;' it is the dictate of 
 impatience and indiscretion. We forget the * years of the right hand of the 
 Most High.' We are slow of heart in learning a lesson which shall soothe 
 our spirits at the expence of our pride. We turn away from the consola- 
 tion to be derived from believing that though we know not the connections 
 
 13 
 
98 
 
 and results of holy providence, our Lord Jesus knows them perfectly, 
 him there is no irregularity, no chance, no conjecture. Disposed, before his 
 eye, in the most luminous and exquisite order, he whole series ot events 
 occupy the very place and crisis where they are most effectually to subserve 
 the purposes of his love. Not a moment of time is wasted, nor a fragment 
 of action misapplied. What he does, we do not, indeed, know at present, 
 but, as far as we shall be permitted to know hereafter, we shall see that his 
 most inscrutable procedure was guided by consummate wisdom; that our 
 choice was often as foolish as our petulence was provoking; that the ^uc 
 cess of our own wishes would have been our most painful chastisement: 
 vould have diminishedour happiness, and detracted from his praise. Let us 
 tudy, therefore, brethren, to subject our ignorance to his knowledge; instead 
 of prescribing, to obey; instead of questioning, to believe: to perform our part 
 without that despondency which betrays a fear that onr Lord may neglect 
 his; and tacitly accuses him of a less concern than we feel tor the glory of his 
 own name. Let us not shrink from this duty as imposing too rigorous 
 condition upon our., obedience, for a 
 
 (3.) Character of Messiah's administration is rightcoutnett. The sceptre 
 of bis kingdom is a right sceptre.' It Clouds and darkness are round 
 about him, righteousness and judgment are the habitation of his throne.* 
 In the times of old his redeemed ' wandered in the wilderness in a solitary- 
 way; but, nevertheless, he led them forth by the right way, that they might 
 go to a city of habitation ' He loves his church and the members of it too 
 tenderly to lay upon them any burdens, or expose them to any trials, which 
 tre not indispensible to their good. It is right for them to * go through 
 fire, and through water,' that he may oring them out into a wealthy place' 
 right to endure chastening,' that ' they may be partakers of his holiness' right 
 to have the sentence of death in themselves/ that they may trust in the living 
 God, and that his strength may be perfect in their weakness.' It is right 
 that he should 'endure with much long suffering the vessels of wrath fitted 
 to destruction:' that he should permit iniquity to abound, the love of many 
 to wax cold,' and the dangers of his church to accumulate, till the interpo- 
 sition of his arm be necessary and decisive. In the day ,>f final retribution not 
 one mouth shall be opened to complain of injustice. It will be seen that 
 ' the Judge of all the earth has done right; that the works of his hands have 
 been verity and Judgment,' and done, every one of them, in ' truth and up- 
 rightness.' Let us, then, think not only respectfully but reverently of his 
 dispensations, repress the voice of murmur, and rebuke the spirit of discon- 
 tent, wait, in faith and patience, till he become his own interpreter, when 
 ' the heavens shall declare his righteousness, and all the people see his 
 glory.' 
 
 You will anticipate me in enumerating the mecuis which Messiah employs 
 in the administration of his kingdom. 
 
 (1.) The Gospff; of which himself, as an all sufficient and condescending 
 Saviour, is the ^reat and affecting theme. Derided by the world, it is, 
 nevertheless, effectual to the salvation of them who believe. ' We preach 
 Christ crucified, to the Jews a stumbling-block, and to the Greeks foolish- 
 ness; but to the.n who are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power 
 of God, and the wisdom of God.' The doctrine of the cross connected with 
 evangelical ordinances the ministry of reconciliation; the holy sabbath; the 
 
99 
 
 Ments ofhis covenant: briefly, the whole system of instituted worship, 
 is the ' rod of the Redeemer's strength* by which he subdues sinners to 
 fcimself; rules even in the midst ofhis enemies;' exercises his glorious au- 
 thority in his church, and exhibits a visible proof to men and angels, that he 
 Is King 1 in !2ion. 
 
 (2 ) The efficient means to which the gospel owes its success, and the 
 name of Jesus its praise, is the agency of the Holy Ghost. 
 
 Christianity is * the ministration of the Spirit.* All real and sanctify - r 
 ing knowledge of the truth and love of God is from his inspiration. It was 
 the last, and best promise which the Saviour made to his afflicted disciples 
 at the moment of parting, * I will send the Comforter, the Spirit of truth; 
 lie shall glorify me, for he shall take of mine and shall show it unto you.' 
 It is he who convinces the world of sin, of righteousness, and ot judgment' 
 who infuses resistless vigour into means otherwise weak and useless. * For 
 the weapons of our warfare are not Carnal, but mighty through God,' God 
 the Spirit, ' to the pulling down of strong holds ' Without his benediction 
 the ministry of an archangel would never ' convert one sinner from the error 
 ofhis way.' But when he descends, with his life-giving influence from God 
 jut of heaven, then * foolish things of the world confound the wise; and weak 
 tilings of the world confound the things which are mighty; and base things 
 of the world, and things which are despised, yea, and things which are not, 
 bring to nought things which are.' It is this ministration of the Spirit which 
 renders the preaching of the gospel to ' men dead in trespasses and sins' a 
 reasonable service. When I am set down in the * valley of vision,' and view 
 the bones, ' very many and very dry,' and am desired to try the effect of my 
 Own ability in recalling them to lite, I will fold my hands and stand mute in 
 astonishment and despair. But when the Lord God commands me to speak 
 in nis name, my closed lips shall be opened; when he calls upon ' the breath 
 from the four winds to breathe upon the slain that they may live,' I will pro- 
 phesy without fear, O ye dry bones, Hear the word of the Lord,' and, 
 obedient to his voice, they * shall come together, bone to his bone; shall be 
 covered with sinews and flesh;' shall receive new life: and 'stand up upon their 
 feet, an exceeding great army-' In this manner, from the graves of nature, 
 and the dry bones of natural men, does the Holy Spirit recruit the ' armies of 
 the living God.' and make them, collectively and individually, ' a name, and 
 a praise, and a glory,' to the ' Captain of their salvation.' 
 
 (3 ) Among the instruments which the Lord Jesus employs in the adminis- 
 tration ofhis government, are the resources of the physical and moral -world. 
 
 Supreme in heaven and in earth, ' upholding all things by the word ofhis 
 power,' the universe is his magazine of means . Nothing which acts, or exists, 
 is exempted from promoting, in its own place, the purposes of his kingdom. 
 Beings rational and irrational; animate and inanimate; the heavens above and 
 the earth below; the obedience of sanctified, and the disobedience of unsano 
 tified men; all holy spirits; all damned spirits: in one word, every agency, 
 every element, every atom, are but' the ministers of his will, and concur in 
 the execution ofhis designs. And this he will demonstrate to the confusion 
 ofhis enemies, and the joy ofhis people, in that great and terriable day* 
 when he ' shall sit upon the throne of his glory,' and dispense ultimate judg- 
 ment to the quick and the dead. 
 
 Upon these hills of holiness, the stability of Messiah's Throne, and the 
 
100 
 
 perfect ach; - kingdom, let us take our station, and survey the 
 
 Prospects which rise up before the Church of (iod. 
 
 \\hen I look upon the magnificent scene, I cannot repress the salutation, 
 Hail thou that urt highly favoured 1 ' 
 
 She has the prospect of preservation, of increase, and of triumph. 
 
 (1 ) The prospect ol preservation. 
 
 The long existence of the Christian church would be pronounced, upon 
 common principles of reasoning, impossible. She finds in even- mar, 
 tural and inveterate enemy. To encounter and overcome the unanimou* 
 tility of the world, she boasts no political stratagem, no disciplined legions, 
 no outward coercion of any kind. Vet her expectation is that she shall live 
 for ever. To mock this hope, and blot out her memorial from under heaven, 
 the most furious efforts of fanaticism, the most ingenious arts of statesmen, 
 the concentrated, strength of empires, have been frequently and persevering 
 ly applied. The blood of her sons ^nd her daughters ha streamed like water, 
 the smoke ot the d the stake, \v!, on the crown of mar- 
 
 tyrdom in the cause of Jesus, lias ascended in thick volumes to the 
 The tribes of persecution have sported over her uoes, and erected monun 
 as they imagined, of her perpetual ruin. But where are her tyrants, and \ 
 their empires? the tyrants have long since gone to their own place; 
 names have descended upon the roll of infamy; their empires have passed, 
 like shadows over the rock they have successively disappeared, and left not 
 a trace behind! 
 
 Hut what became of the church? She rose from her ashes f-esh in beauty 
 and in might. Celestial glory beamed around her; she dashed down the 
 monumental marble ot her foes, and they who hated her fled before her. She 
 has celebrated the funeral of kings and kingdoms that plotted her destruc- 
 ,u- inscriptions ot their pride, has transmuted to posterity the 
 record of their shunne. How shall this phenomenon be explained? We are 
 at the present moment, witnesses of the fact; but w. o can unfold the myste- 
 ry. This blessed book, the book of truth and life, has made our wonder to cease. 
 TBE LORI MIGHTT.' His presence is a foun- 
 
 tain of health, and his protection a *wtdl ot fire.' He has betrothed her, in 
 eternal covenant, to himself. Her living head, in wuom slu hove, 
 
 and his quickening Spirit shall never depart from her. Armed \virh Divine 
 virtue, his gospel, secret, silent, unobserved, enters the hearts of men and 
 sets up an everlasting kingdom. It eludes all the vigilence, and baffle- all 
 the power, of 'he adversary. Bars, and bolts, and dungeons are no obstacle 
 to its approach: Bonds, and tortures, and death cannot extinguish its influ- 
 ence. Let no man's heart, tremble, then, because of fear. Let no man des- 
 pair, in these days of rebuke and blasphemy, of the Christian cause, 
 ark is launched, indeed, upon the floods; the tempest svreeps along the deep; 
 the billows break over her on every side. But Jehovah-Jesus has promised 
 to conduct her in safety to the haven of peace- She cannot be lost unless the 
 pilot perish. \\'\i\ then do the heathen rage, and the people imagine a 
 vain tiling?' H/ar, O Zion, the word of thy God, and rejoice for the conso- 
 lation. ' No weapon that is formed against thee shall prosper, and even- 
 tongue that shall rise against thee in judgment thou shalt condemn. This is 
 the heritage of the servants of the Lord, and their righteousness is of me 
 saith the Lord.' 
 
101 
 
 Merc preservation, however, though a most comfortable, is not the 
 hope of the Church; she Iris 
 
 (2.) The prospect of increase. 
 
 Increase from an effectual blessing upon the means of grace in places 
 \vhere they are already enjoyed: tor thus saith the Lord, 'I will pour water 
 upon him that is thirsty, and floods upon the dry ground: 1 will pour my 
 spirit upon thy seed, and my blessing upon thine offspring; and they shall 
 spring up as among tlie grass, as willows by the water courses.' 
 
 Increase from the diffusion of evangelical truth through Pagan lands. 
 4 For behold, the darkness shall cover the earth, and gross darkness the peo- 
 ple; but the Lord shall arise upon thee, and his glory shall bo seen upon thee. 
 And the Gentiles shall come to thy light, and kings to the brightness of thy 
 rising. Lift up thine eyes round about and see: all they gather themselves 
 together, they come to thee: thy sons shall come '.'. >m far, and thy daughters 
 tthall l>e nursed at thy side. Then thou shall see, and flow together, and 
 thine heart shall fear, and be enlarged; because the abundance of tUe sea shall 
 be converted unto thee, the forces of the Gentiles shall come unto thee.' 
 
 Increase from the recovery of the rejected .Tews to the faith and privileges 
 of God's dear children. ' Blindness in part lias happened unto Israel' they 
 have been cut off, for their unbelief, from the olive tree. Age has followed 
 age, and they remain to this hour, spread over the face of the earth, a fear- 
 ful and affecting testimony to the truth of God's word. They are without 
 their sanctuary, without their Messiah, without the hope of their believing an> 
 cestors. But it shall not be always thus. They are still beloved for the Fa- 
 ther's sake.' When the * fullness of the Gentiles shall come in,' they too shall 
 be gathered, They shall discover, in our Jesus, the marks of the promised 
 Messiah; and with tenderness proportioned to their former insensibility, shall 
 cling to his cross. (. n into their own olive tree, 'all Israel shall 
 
 be saved.' It was through their fall that salvation came unto us Gentiles.' 
 And, ' if the casting away of them IK- the reconciling of the world, what shall 
 the receiving of them be but life from the dead?' What ecstacy, my brethren' 
 the Gentile and the Jew taking ' sweet counsel together, and going to the 
 house of God in company!' the path of the swift messenger of grace marked, 
 
 sry direction, by the 'fulness of the blessing of the gospel of Christ' 
 4 a nation born at once' the children of Zion exclaiming, ' The place is too 
 strait for me: give place to me that I may dwell.' The knowledge of Jeho- 
 vah overspreading the earth as the waters cover the seaj' and all flesh enjoy- 
 ing the salvation of God! 
 
 This faith ushers in a 
 
 (3 ) Prospect of the Church the prospect of triumph. 
 
 Though often desolate, and afflicted, tossed with tempest and not com- 
 forted,' the Lord her God will then make her an eternal excellency,' and 
 repay her sorrows with triumph. 
 
 Triumph in complete victory over the enemies who sought her hurt. 
 the nation and kingdom,' saith the Lord, < that will not serve thee shall 
 perish; yea those nations shall be utterly wasted. The sons also of them that 
 afflicted thee shall come bending unto thee; and all they that despised thee 
 shall bow themselves down at the soles of thy feet; and they shall call thee 
 the city of the Lord, the Zion of the Holy One of Israel. ' That great enemy 
 of her purity and her peace, who shed the blood of her saints and her pro- 
 
10* 
 
 , ihe MA* OF ' Sis who has exalted himself above all that is called Coil,' 
 hall appeur, in the whole horror of his dodm as the son of perdition, whom 
 the Lord shall consume with the spirit of his mouth, and shall destroy with 
 the brightness of his coming.' The terrible, but jo\ous event shull be an- 
 nounced by an angel from heaven 'crying mightily with a strong 1 voice, Baby- 
 lon the great is fallen, is fallen!" ALLELVIA,' shall be the response of the 
 Church universal, Salvation, and glory, and honour, and power, unto the Lord 
 
 nir GnH, for true and righteous are his judgments; for he hath judged the 
 great whore which did corrupt the earth with her fornication, and hath aveng- 
 ed the blood of his servants at her hand 1 ' Then, too, ' the accuser of the bre- 
 thren'' that old serpent which is the Devil/ shall be cast down, and 
 hound a thousand years that he shall deceive the nations no more* This 
 will introduce the Chu 
 
 Triumph in the prevalence of righteousness and peace throughout the 
 world. 
 
 ' Her people shall be all righteous.' The voice of the blasphemer shall no 
 longer insult her ear. Iniquity as ashamed shall stop its mouth, and hide its 
 head. ' All her officers shall be peace, and all her exactors, righteousness.' 
 
 * The kings of the earth bringing their glory and honour unto her,' shall ac- 
 complish the gracious promise, ' The mountains shall bring peace to the 
 people, and the little hills by righteousness.' Her prince whose throne is 
 for ever and ever, shall udge among the nations, and shall rebuke many peo- 
 ple; and they shall beat their swonls into plow-shares, and their spears int 
 pruning hooks: nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall 
 they learn war any more!' Kvery man shall meet, in every oilier man, a bro- 
 ther without dissimulation. Fear and the sword shall be far away, ' they 
 shall sit every man under his vine, and under his fig-tree, and none shall make 
 them afraid.' For thus saith the Lord, Violence shall no more be heard 
 in thy land, wasting nor destruction within thy borders; but thou shall call 
 
 ^alvation, and On .ise.' 
 
 :mph in the presence of God, in the communion of his love, and the 
 signal manifestation of his glory. * Behold the tabnernacle of God shall be 
 with men, and he will dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and 
 11 be wi'h them, and be their G(xl.' Then shall be seen, 
 the holy Jerusalem descending out of heaven from God,' which 'shall 
 no need of the sun, neither of the moon, to shine in it; for the glory of 
 God shall lighten it, and the Lamb shall be the light thereof. And the na- 
 tions of them which are saved shall w:ilk in the light of it, and they shall 
 bring the glory and honour of the nations into it; and there shall in no wise 
 enter into it any thing that defileth, neither whatsoever worketh abomination, 
 or maketh a lie: but thev which are written in the Lamb's book of life.' 
 
 Such, according to the sure word of prophecy, will be the triumphs of 
 Christianity: and to this issue all scriptural efforts to evangelize the heathen 
 contribute their share That mind is profane, indeed, which repels the sen- 
 timent of awe; and hard is the heart which feels no bland emotion But let 
 us pause You exult perhaps, in the view of that happiness which is reserv- 
 ed for the human race; you long for its arrival; and are eager, in your place, 
 to help on the gracious work. It is well. But are there no heathen in this 
 assembly ? Are there none who, in the midst of their zeal for foreign missions, 
 ir own souls; nor consider that they themselves ' neglect the great 
 
103 
 
 Salvation?' Remember, my brethren, that a man may be active in measured 
 which si. all subserve the conversion of others, and yet perish in his own ini 
 quity That very gospel which you desire to send to the Heathen, must be 
 the gospel of your salvation; it must turn yon from darkness to light, from 
 the power ot Satan unto God;' it must make yon * meet for ihe inheritance 
 of the saints,* or it shall fearfully aggravate your condemnation at last. 
 You pray, ' Thy kingdom come.' But is the 'kingdom of God within you? 9 
 Is the Lord Jesus ' in you, the hope of glor>?' Be not deceived. The name 
 of Christian will not save you. Better had it been for you ' not to have 
 known the way of ' righteousness' better to have been the most idolatrous 
 Paganbetter, infinitely better, not to have been born, than to die strangers 
 to the pardon of the Redeemer's blood, and the sanctifying virtue of his Spirit. 
 From his throne on high he calls; calls, my brethren to you, ' Look unto me, 
 and be ye saved, for I am God, and there is none else. Seek ye the Lord, 
 while he may be found; call ye upon him while he is near; Let the wicked 
 forsake his way; and the unrighteous man his thoughts; and let him return 
 unto the Lord, and he will have mercy upon him; and to our God, for he will 
 abundantly pardon.' 
 
 On the other hand, such as have fled for refuge to lay hold on the hope 
 set before them,' are commanded to be 'joyful in their king.' He reigns, O 
 believer, for thee. The stability of his throne is thy safety. The administration 
 of his government is for thy g >od; and the precious pledge that he ' will per- 
 fect that which concerneth thee.' In all thy troubles and in all thy joy 
 'commit thy way unto him.' Fie will guard the sacred deposit. Fear not 
 that thou shall ' lack any good thing' Fear not that thou shalt be forsaken 
 Fear not that thou shait fall beneath the ' arm of the oppressor.' He went 
 through the fires of the pit to sa-ce thee; and he will stake all the glories of 
 his crovrn to keep thee.' S' .ig, then, thou beloved, ' Behold, Cud is my sal. 
 ration; I will trust, and not be afraid; for the Lord Jehovah is my strength 
 and my song; he also is become my salvation.' 
 
 And if we have ' tasted that he is gracious:' if we look back with horror 
 and transport upon the wretchedness and the wrath which we have esc: 
 with what anxiety shall we not hasten to the aid of our fellow men, who are 
 'sitting in the region and shadow of death' What zeal will be too ardent; 
 what labour too persevering; what sacrifice too costly, if, by any means, we 
 may tell them of Jesus, and the resurrection, and the life eternal! Who shall 
 be daunted by difficulties, or deterred by discouragement? If but one Pagan 
 should be brought, savingly, by your instrumentality, to the knowledge of 
 God, and the kingdom of heaven, will you not, my brethren, have an ample 
 recompence? Is there here a man who would give up all for lost because some 
 favourite hope has been disappointed? or who regrets the worldly substance 
 which he has expended on so divine an enterprise? Shame on thy coward 
 spirit and thine avaricious heart! Do the Holy Scriptures, does the experi- 
 ence of ages, does the nature of things justify the expectation, that we shall 
 carry war into the central regions of delusion and crime, without opposition, 
 without trial? Show me a plan which encounters not fierce resistance from 
 the Prince of Darkness and his allies in the human heart, and I will show you 
 a plan which never came from the inspiration of God. If Missionary effort 
 suffer occasional embarrassment: if impressions on the heathen be less speedy, 
 and powerful, and extensive; than fond wishes have anticipated; If particular 
 
101 
 
 n great system of operation be, at times, disconcerted: if i 
 the ' ministers of grace' fall a sacrifice to the violence of those whom they go 
 to bless 'in the name of the Lord;' these are events which ought to exercise 
 tience; to wean us from self-sufficiency; to teach us where 
 where our dependence must be fixed; but not to enfee- 
 ble hope, nor relax diligence, Let us not 'despise the day of small things.' 
 I^et us not overlook, -as an unimportant matter, the very existence of that 
 t which has already awakened Christians in different coun- 
 tries from their long and dishonourable slumbers, and bids fair to produce, 
 in due season, * a general movement of the church upon earth.' Ix?t us not, 
 for one ir.itant, harbour the ungracious thought, that the prayers, and tears, 
 and wrestlings of those who ' make mention of the Lord,' form no link in that 
 vast c its by which he ' will establish, and will make Jerusalem a 
 
 in the earth.' : u which of all others is most repn 
 
 I blood,' the violent death of faithful Missionaries, should ani- 
 mate ' -,ew resolu in the sight of the Lord U 
 the death of liis - : :.e cry of martyred blood ascends the heave 
 enters into the ear* of the 1 'It will give him no rest till he 
 lown righteousness* upon the land where it has been shed, and which it 
 has sealed as a future conquest for him who *inh : .Jes prosperous- 
 ly because of truth, and meekness, and righteousness.' 
 
 For the world, indeed; and perhaps for the church, many calamities and 
 trials are in store, before the glory of the Lord shall be so revealed, that ' all 
 flesh shall see it together, ' I will shake all nations/ is the divine declaration, 
 ( I will shake all nations; and the desire of all nations shall come.' The vials of 
 wrath which are now running, and others which remain to be poured out, 
 must be exhausted. The ' supper of the greut God,' must be prepared, and 
 his ' strange work,' have its course. Yet the Missionary cause must ultimately 
 succeed It is the cause of God, and shall prevail. The days, O brethren, roll 
 rapidly on, when the shout of tli 11 the thunder of the Conti- 
 
 nent: when the Thames and the Dunulx?, when the Tiber and the Hhine, shall 
 call upon Euphrates, the Ganges, and the Nile; and the loud concert shall 
 be joined by the Hudson, th pi, and the Amazon, singing with one 
 
 heart and one \oice, Alleluia! Salvation! The Lord God omnipotent reigneth 
 v,rt one another with this faith, and with these words. 
 
 essed be the Lord God, the God of Israel, who only doeth won- 
 drous things. And blessed be his glorious name for ever: And IT.T 
 ;:AHTU BE riiLM WITU HIS GioRi! Amen! and Amen!' 
 
Ml 
 
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