THE JUVENILE ORAT.OR; OR, EVERY SCHOLAR'S BOOK. BEING A SERIES OF SIMPLE RULES IN THE ART OF READING; SHOWING THE PROPER APPLICATION OF THE PRINCIPAL MODULATIONS OF THE VOICE TO THE ENUNCIATION OF EVERY SPECIES OF SENTENCE, WITH APPROPRIATE EXERCISES IN PROSE AND VERSE. By M: R. BARTLETT, AUTHOR OF *' THE Y. L. ASTRONOMY," &C., &C. " Rise, youth, exalt thyself and human nature." PHILADELPHIA: '\ yy-:00^ R. Wilson Desilveb, 4 South Fourth Street, 1839. iK> 4> Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1839, by M. R. Bartlett, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 3 fe ^ Philadelpliia: T. K. «Sc P. G. Collins, Printers, No. 1 Lodge AlJey. TO THE PUBLIC. This little work is offered to the consideration of the Public, not because there-are no reading books for our schools, nor that the author has the vanity to suppose he is able to select better matter for our youth, than any who have gone before him; but because he holds that, next to choice matter, the manner of delivery claims consideration. The MANNER, therefore, of pronouncing every species of sentence in the English Language^ is the principal aim of the compilation. The production is an attempt to apply, by a few simple rules, the True Principles of Reading AND Speaking, as they are laid down in all treatises on Elocution, to a variety of Exercises adapted to juvenile capacity and youthful conception; for what is not clearly conceived, cannot be justly read. The nice modulations of the voice, and shades of tone, called into action by the excitement of the passions, are here principally omitted, because they are deemed too in- tricate for the comprehension of ordinary youth; and but little more than the absolute and leading modulations are explained and applied. These, however, will suffice to prepare the pupil for more extended works on the subject, and enable him to adapt these first principles to general Reading. The work is submitted to the Public, with the full conviction that the principles, as far as they go, are per- IV PREFACE. feclly correct; that they will introduce the scholar success- fully into the great field of Elocution, and that, i/ justly followed, they will gready improve the general style of Reading and Speaking throughout the country. THE AUTHOR. Philadelphia^ July ith, lSd9. INDEX TO THE RULES. PART FIRST. Introduction, Inflections of the voice, Circumflex, - Emphatic Stress, Monotone, CHAPTER I. Rule ] . Interrog^ative Sentence and Reply, • Illustrations, &c., - - . Rule 2. Direct question disjoined, Rule 3. Indirect question and reply, Illustrations, &c., ... Questions for the pupil to answer, - CHAPTER IL Rule 4. Parenthetic Sentence, Ruld 5. Exercise (4 U a 4( No. 1. 2. 3. 4. differently pointed, Moss Rose, - Potted Sprats, Eliza and her Child, Spoiled Child, CHAPTER III. The Period and its Parts, Rule 6. The Simple Sentence, Rule 7. The Compound Sentence, Rule 8. The Direct Period, - Rule 9. The Loose Sentence, Rule 10. The Conditional Mernher, - Illustrations, &e., . - - Exercise No. 5. Our Father, 6. The Brothers, " 7. Faithful Companion, " 8. Hope and Memorj^ " 9. Education, " 10. Woman's Privilege, CHAPTER IV. Rule 11. The Complex Sentence, Remark. Case Absolute, &c., Page 9 9 10 10 11 12 14 15 16 18 20 21 22 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 34 34 36 37 38 40 42 43 44 4G VI INDEX TO THE RULES. Page Remark. Sympathy, Compassion, &c., - - 47 Rule 12. Surprise, Fear, Command, &c., - - - 48 Rule 13. Complex Sentence of Particulars, &c., - - 49 Illustrations, &c., - - - - Exercise No. 11. Social Intercourse, 12. The Human Form, " 13. Tobacco, " 14. The Contrast, - " 15. The Mother and Babes, " 16. Dying Infant, - " 17. The Cuckoo, - " 18. Ode to Peace, - CHAPTER V. 51 53 54 56 57 58 60 60 61 Rule 14. Affirmation and Negation, - - - - 62 Remark on the Circumflex, - - - 64 Illustrations, &c., ----- 65 Exercise No. 19. Letter Writing, - - - 66 " 20. True Politeness, - - 68 " 21. Fashionable Etiquette, - - 70 « 22. The Mountain Stream, - - 72 " 23. Affectation Denounced, - - 73 " 24. Americans and English Contrasted, 74 CHAPTER VI. Emphasis, Absolute Stress, - - - - 76 Rule 15. Mode of Applying Emphasis, &c., - - - 76 Rule 16. Relative Stress, - - - . - - 80 Double Stress, - - - - - 80 Rule 17. Monotone, its application, &c., - - - 81 Illustrations, romise fail forever more'? Halh God forgotten to be gracious'? Hath he in anger shut up his tender mercies'? Rule 2. When the direct question is followed by the disjunctive particle — or — adding a iurther question, the first member takes the rising slide, and the second, xhQ falling. Example 1. Didst thou see the robin feeding her young', or was she hid from the sun in the shade of the hazle^? I saw her abroad gathering food for her young\ 2. Did her example teach you to be gathering food for your mkid', or w^as her lesson lost upon you^? Alas! the lesson wasUost\ 3. Is it lawful on the Sabbath day to do good', or to do evil^; to save life', or to destroy life^? And they answered him nothing\ 4. Shall we crown the author of the public calamities', or shall we destroy him^? We wnll destroy him\ Note 3. It may be proper to observe here, that the — or — is not al- ways disjunctive, but often conjunctive. In order to disjoin, it must connect opposite sense, as in the above examples. But in cases where it joins opposing- terms, without changing the sense, it is conjunctive, and the above rule will not apply. Take a former example — Can splendid robes, or beds of down', Or costly gems that deck the fair^; Can all the glories of a crown^, Give health', or soothe the brow of care^? Here the sense is, none nor all of these give health, nor soothe care; hence the — or — is conjunctive. To give the sentiment a disjunctive character, the question would run thus: — Can all these secure health or soothe care^, or are they impotent'? Hence the sense must always determine the connecting character of the particle. 5. Each for his hearth and household fire^; Father for child, and son for sire^; — Lover for maid belov'd^! — but why'— Is it the breeze effects mine eye'? Or dost thou come, ill-omen'd tear, A messenger of doubt or fear^? 16 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. Rule 3. Where the question cannot be answered by yes or no, it is said to be indirect, and adopts the falling slide of the voice; and the answer take^ the same slide. Example 1. Watchman, what o' the cloclO? Half past three\ and a star-light morning\ 2. Whom seekest thou^? And she said, ''I seek my pa- rents\" 3. Who can bring a clean thing outof an unclean^? Noone\ 4. Where is boasting then^? It is excluded\ Boast not thy self \ 5. The governor answered and said unto them, ** Whether of the twain will ye that 1 release unto you^?" They say unto him, " Barabbas\" Pilate said unto them, *' What shall I do then with Jesus, who is called Christ^?" They all say unto him, " Let him be crucifiedV' And the go- vernor said, " ^ hy^? what evil hath he done^?" But they cried out the more, saying, " Let him be crucified\" Remark 5. The above questions, it will be observed, commence with the terms — what, whom, who, where, whether, and why — which, in grammar, are called interro- gative pronouns and adverbs; and it will be seen, they all require the falling slide of the voice. From these premises, in connection with the first remark under the first rule, two general principles seem to be established, namely — L That all questions beginning with a verb are termed direct, and can be answered by yes or no; and that they close with the rising slide of the voice. And 2. That the questions beginning with an interrogative pro- noun or adverb, are called indirect, and cannot be answered by yes or no; and that they close with the falling slide of the voice. Hence, in reading and speaking, all ques- tions may be placed under one General '■ Rule. All questions that can be answered by yes or no, close with the rising slide, and all others adopt ihe falling slide. One example will show the use of this rule. 6. Observe the other now, in the first place, sallying forth on a sudden from his casde^; for what reason^? — in the even- ing^; what urged him^? — late^; to what purpose, especially THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 17 at that season^? He calls at Pompey's palace^; with what view^? To see Pompey'? He knew he was at Alsium\ To see his house'? He had seen it a thousand times\ What then coukl be the reason of his loitering and shifting about^? He wanted to be upon the spot when Milo came np\ Remark 6. It may here be observed that as emphasis fixes the sense of language, so, of right, it controls all the other principles of reading. It sometimes requires that where, by the rules here laid down, the rising inflection obtains, the falling be applied; forming one exception to the first rule. For, let it be remembered, that strong emphasis always in- clines the voice downward. Thus: No occasion can offer for your charity, more worthy of a generous mind. Would you do a handsome thing, without a return'? do it for an infant insensible of the obli- gation\ Would you do it for the public goocM do it for one who will be an honest artiticer\ Would you do it for the sake of H€aven>l give it then for one who will be school- ed in the worship of Him for whose sake you give\ Remark 7. There is also another exception to the first rule, which may probably be referred to emphasis; it is this: when the direct question is repeated for any cause, the re- petition closes with the falling slide. Thus: Are you going to town to-3ay'? Now suppose the person addressed does not hear or understand the question distinctly, and inquires, by another question, what was said; thus. Did you speak to me'? Yes\- I said, are you going to town to-day^? Remark 8. The third rule is subject to a similar excep- tion; that is, v/hen the indirect question is repeated, it closes with the rising slide. Thus: What was the price of your knife^? A dollar\ Now suppose the questioner does not hear the answer distinctly, and asks again- — what was the price of your knife'. Note 4. Writers on elocution do not say, so far as I have been able to learn, on what principle tliese peculiarities in the interrogative sen- tence depends; but I have, with some hesitancy, referred them to the requisitions of emphasis; I may, however, be mistaken. 18 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. ILLUSTRATIONS. Exercises illustrating the foregoing Rules, 1. Why are the young ladies of our rising republic, so generally content to live as mere drones in the domestic hive^? It is supposed to arise principally from a desire to ape the English nobility; from false notions of true gentility, or from the misplaced kindness of parents. Who can assure such drones, that they may not be driven, by a reverse of fortune, or the commands of stern necessity, to the health- ful exercise of daily labor, and learn, though late in life, and difficult in the extreme, the habits of industry, and the sweets of rest arising from temperate and useful employment^? 2. It is night; and, weary with listless inaction, one of these fashionable drawing-room drones, retires to rest, and presses her pillow in quest of repose. Who hears her ask herself how she has passed the day^? Who has shared her kindness', or acknowledged her bounty^? Whose comfort she has promoted', or whose grief she has assua^ed^? What she has learned that she knew not before"^? What she has said in commendation of others^? What she has done to pro- mote the welfare of her neighbors^? What have been her thoughts, her designs, her washes, and the results of hours gone to make their report to the recording angel^? 3. To which of the thousand female drones, who, in a bright and joyous morning, while the bee, emblem of in- dustry and provident forecast, is out on the wing gathering his sv/eets for approaching winter, roll in their gilded cha- riots through the spacious streets, as though '* all were made for one, not one for all," can any parent point, and say she nightly asks herself the above ennninerated questions, and finds in her bosom a pleasing response to iheni^? 4. Nor let soft slumber close your eyes' Before you've recollected thrice — 4 The train of actions through the day\ Where have my feet pursu'd the way^? What have I learn'd', where'er I've been'. From all I've heard', and all I've seen^f What know I more', that's worth the knowing^? What have I done', that's worth the doing^? THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 19 What have I sought', that I should shun^? What duties have I left undone^? Or into what new follies run^? These self-inquiries are the road', That leads to virtue — and to God\ 5. Sister, will you go to the dance with me on the village green'? — the dance round brother's May-pole'? Where is the wreath of fresh flowers for the May-queen's head^? Where are the buds of the sweet scented shrub, and the knot of blue violets^? Has the minstrel boy arrived with his pipe'? The village lasses, with their rosy cheeks and flowing tresses, are they all assembled', or is it yet too early^? Haste ye, — haste ye, — to the merry May-dance on the village green\ 6. Who is the beautiful maiden that comes from the sunny south, dressed in a robe of lively green^? She has a garland of flowers about her waist, a wreath of roses adorn her head; and flowers spring up wherever she sets her feet. Can you tell me her name', or has she none^? what is her parentage^? when was the period of her birth^? who can answer me these questions'^? 7. But should these credulous infidels, after all, be in the right, and this pretended revelation be a fable, from believ- ing it, what harm could result^? would it render princes more tyrannical, or subjects more ungovernable'? — the rich more insolent, or the poor more disorderly'? would it make worse husbands or wives', — parents or children', — masters or servants', friends or neighbors'? Or would it not make men more virtuous and happy in every situation^? 8. Is it such a fast that I have chosen'? — a day for a man to aflliet his soul'? Is it to bow down his head like a bull- rush, and to spread under him sackcloth and ashes'? wilt thou call this a fast,' — an acceptable day of the Lord'? Or is not this the fast that I have chosen^? To loose the bonds of wickedness\ — to undo the heavy burden\ — to let the oppressed go free\ — and to break every yoke^? Can storied urn, or animated bust, Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath'? Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust, Or flatt'ry soothe the dull, cold ear of death'? 20 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. Brief Questions on the Introduction^ and First Chapter, What is the first step towards being an orator? What is reading? What is remarked of reading? What of being an orator? What must be understood and applied? Perfection in these, implies what? What are the modulations of the voice? How many and what are the inflections? How are the slides represented? What do these characters indicate? What is remarked of these slides? Describe the circumflex? When may it be properly applied? What is its use? What is remarked of the emphatic stress? What the efl^ect? Whatof the seat of emphasis? What of a given sense? What is remarked of the stress? What the consequence? What fol- lows? What of the stress in most cases? How is emphasis marked? The consequence? How marked here? What is monotone? What its object? What of its use? What if badly used? How is monotone marked? Of what does the first chapter treat? What kind of sentence first? What the first rule? What the example? Explain the note. What the first remark? The second remark? The seventh example? The third remark? Eighth example? The fourth remark? Explain by example. What of the note? Relate the second rule. Explain by examples. What of the note in relation? What the example? What the fifth example? Relate the third rule. Explain by examples. What remark follows? What is drawn from the premj^ses? What the general rule? Explain by the sixth example. W^hat is re- marked of emphasis? Explain by example. What of the other exception? Explain by example. What is remarked of the third rule? Explain by example. What of the rule that follows? THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 21 CHAPTER. 11. THE INFLECTIONS OF THE VOICE APPLIED TO SENTENCES BY DEFINITE RULES. SECOND. The Parenthetic Sentence in all its forms of Pointing, as connected with the Inflections. This sentence is usually distinguished by two small curves bounding the extremes of the phrase or member which does not legitimately belong to the sentence, but is thrown in as a reflection, an explanation, or a collateral remark. Such phrase or member is not essential to the sense of the sentence in which it is embodied, and must therefore be read w^ith a depressed tone of the voice, and in a hurried movement, lest it divert the mind from the proper construction of the sen- tence. This figure of rhetoric, if but seldom employed, and correctly managed, adds both beauty and variety to delivery, especially when united with the inflections. Rule 4. When the curved lines are set off* by commas, or are introduced without points, the rising &Y\(\e of the voice obtains, just before each of these lines. Example 1. I would not enter on my list of friends', (though graced with polished manners and fine sense, yet wanting sensibility',) the man who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. 2. The father of young Colburn, who had given the boy no other instruction than what was obtained at a small school in the remote parts of Vermont', (and at which neither writ- ing nor cyphering was taught',) was surprised to hear his son repeat the product of several numbers\ 3. The boy was then tried as to the involution of other numbers of one figure each, all of which he immediately raised' (by actual multiplication') to the tenth power\ Note 5. In illustrating the rules of reading-, the pupil should be led by the teacher, who should go forward, read first, explain the rule, &c. then let the child follow; — and follow until he conquers every ob- stacle. 3 22 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 4. This wonderful faculty enabled the young prodigy to refer at once to a pure number', (a number incapable of division by any other number',) for the solution of which, there does not now exist among men any practical rule. 5. Thus nature gives us' (let it check our pride') the virtue nearest to our vice allied\ 6. Or why so long' (if long on earth can be') lent heaven a parent to the poor and me^? 7. That man loves nobly' (I speak of friendship') who is not jealous when he has partners in love\ Rule. 5. When the curved lines are set off by higher pointing than the comma, such as the semicolon, the colon, or period, then the falling slide obtains just before each line. Example. 1. Then went the captain with the officers, and brought the apostle without violence^; (for they feared the people lest they should have been stoned^;) and when they had brought them, they set them before the council 2. By means of the atmosphere, we enjoy the sun's lighi^; (this light is reflected to us from the aerial particles contained in the atmosphere"^;) without which, in every part of the heavens', (except that in which the sun might appear for the time being',) the stars and planets would appear^. 3. The next consideration is, the means by wliich the different strata of the earth, have been elevated above the bed of the ocean\ (for he looks upon it as a fact that the highest points of our land, have been for ages at the bottom of the sea\) and concludes that the land on which we dwell, has been elevated from a lower station by the same great agent which has been employed to consolidate the strata\ 4. And delivered just Lot, vexed with the filthy conver- sation of the wicked^: (For that righteous man, dwelling among them, in seeing and hearing their enormities, vexed his soul from day to day with their unhallowed deeds^:) 5. And who, I pray, is to judge of their necessity^? Why, the King\ — (and with all due deference to his sacred majesty, he understands the real wants of his distant sub- jects as little as he does the language of the Choctaws\) Remark 9. The foregoing examples, show that the same pointing and slide of the voice are had at each extremity THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 23 of the parenthetic clause; and this will hold good in all cases except when that clause closes with an interrogation point, or an exclamation point. The proper slide of the voice at the former point, has been determined under the head of interrogative sentences; the latter point may be referred, with respect to the inflec- tions, to the following general distinction. When the exclamation point excites the emotion of sur- prise, wonder, fear, or distress, or deep sorrow, it adopts the falling slide; but the tender, pathetic, and pity-moving emotion, takes the rising slide. 6. While they wish to please', (and why should they not wish ii^?) they disdain to practise dishonest means\ 7. The most happy', (strange to say'!) convince me most of human misery\ 8. It was represented by an allegory', (O, how unequal'!) which was borrowed from the pagan religion\ 9. Whither shall I turn^? (wretch that I am'!) — to what place shall I betake myself^? Shall I go to the capitol'? alas'! it is overflowed with my brother's blood^! Or shall 1 go to my house^? there I behold my mother, plunged in misery, and weeping in despair^! 10. Oh the dark days of vanity^! (Few, alas! are with- out them'!) When here, how tasteless^! and how ter- rible when gone^! Gone'! ihey ne'er go^ — when past, they haunt us still\ 11. What wilt thou give, my boy^? — Fearinor a lie, I sobbed out truth most sadly\ Edgar Mi^; Pardon'd my folly^; (for he lovM my tears\) Then gave what sooth'd the poor man's n)isery\ Remark 10. Some writers are opposed to the use of the curved lines, believing they disfigure the page^ and these employ commas only, leaving the sense to dictate to the reader the changes both in tone and movement. Tiie same inflections, however, obtain, whether commas only, or the curved lines are used. 12. If, amidst the frosts of winter, you behold a cliild poorly clad and chilled with the cold' — O how many such there are in our great cities'! — know ye your duty toward him'? Give a part of your last mite to administer to his wants. 24 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 13. So I went forth a third time into the fields, and be- hold I met a beautiful flaxen-haired boy, who was weepings I spoke kindly to him', though I seldom notice bawling boys', and asked him why he wept. He replied, "My father went to the w^ar, fought in the great battle, and was slain; no more will he return to comfort his lonely son." Well might the beautiful boy weep. 14. I have been of some use in my day and generation, said a book' — books, you know, talk very eloquently some times'— -and now I wish to preserve my good name. Tell me how this may be done; for I am drawing to the close of my brilliant career. 15. Then', as we have often heard him', he says, " I have a richer farm at the West than any in New England^; it is a wonderful growing country. My house is larger than Doctor Perry's, or General Grout's'," the palaces of his native village', " but, dear me'! it wants the pleasant look of the old place." 16. But when he spoke of the blessed issues of that pain- ful business — of the gentle Ruth and faithful Jacob', — these were the names by which he designated Harry and Emily', who had been trained under our roof in the t' nurture and admonition of the Lord," all hearts were touched. EXERCISES. Brief Paragraphs illustrating the foregoing Rules. EXERCISE I. The Moss Rose. 1. The bright and beautiful angel, who attends upon Flo- ra's fair garden, and who', in the silence of the night', sprin- kles all her flowers with the dew of heaven, fell asleep one fair May-morning', (for angels doubtless sleep',) under the shadow of a budding and blooming rose bush, where he rested through the day. 2. As the sun declined low in the distant West, and the shades of night began to rise in the East, he awoke from his slumbers, and arose from his lowly rose-bed. Having rubbed his eyes, and brushed his locks, he said', (addressing himself to the rose which had shaded him',) Loveliest of THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 25 flowers'! I thank thee for thy cooling shade and thy sweet perfume. I am refreshed and ready for fresh employment. 3. And now, most beautiful rose, in return for thy kind- ness to me, ask of me, if it please thee, what thou wilt have, and I will give it thee. And the rose, with a sweet modesty, and a shower of sweeter smiles and blushes, said to him, confer upon me, if thou wilt, some furifier aiiraciion — some new charm — and I will be content. 4. I will, said tiie angel; I will increase thy beauty — I will add to thy loveliness fresh adornment. And, thereupon, this angel of the flowery world, kindly adorned the peerless flower with a dress of his simple moss. Henceforward, the moss rose', the most lovely of the whole kingdom of roses', went forth to the world, in her charming, modest, moss attire, winning her way to the love and favor of all the fair and virtuous. 5. Daughters of our Republic — the roses of the western world', (and for you I pen this simple story',) learn from the example of the moss rose, in what true loveliness of adornment consists. Learn to avoid all gay and flaunting attire and gaudy finery. Learn also to apply the inflections of the voice, with taste and beauty, to all your lips utter. — Then my writing, and your reading, will not be as water spilled on the ground. EXERCISE II. The Potted Sprats. 1. Before a very meagre, family dinner was over, the lady of the house placed upon the table a dish of potted sprats. While she dwelt', with many words', upon their excellence, she urged her guest' (a young and handsome, but very timid house-keeper',) to partake of her sprats. They were as good', to speak the truth', as much salt and little spice could make them; but they were greatly over- charged with garlick — an ingredient to which the handsome liouse-keeper had a mortal dislike. 2. But', as was before observed', she was a young lady of great timidity, and her good breeding said to her, '* Per- severe this once in despite of your aversion to garlic, and swallow a few sprats." But her oflended palate said, "In- 3* 26 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. deed'! I cannot." "Are they not most excellent'?" (said the hostess'.) **Very^" (faultered out the half-strangled visitor\) (Here, reader, we record the Jirst lie\) "Did you ever eat any thing like them before'?" " Never\" And she probably wanted to add, I hope never to eat any thing like them again. 3. " But you do not eat'," said the querulous hostess', "as though you liked them." "O yes, I do'," replied the young lady', " very much." (Here is the second lie\) " You probably forget', madam', that I had already eaten a very good dinner." (The third lie\) Alas! what a bundle of lies had timidity and good breeding' (falsely so called,') to answer for on account of the poor sprats^! 4. On the following day, they left the town in a carriage for the country cottage of the obliging hostess. At some distance on the road, they alighted to refresh their horses; and here the pretty house-keeper expected they would take refreshments at the public inn, provided by other hands than those of her travelling companion. But the provident matron had provided for their banquet before she left her city home. She brought from the box of her carriage a stone jar, which, from the effluvia it sent forth', as the cover was removed', apprised the hungry house-keeper that there was still an- other pot of potted sprats. 5. " Alas'!" the pretty traveller mentally exclaimed, " another pot of Sprats'? Pandora's box was a more trifle compared with these pots; — there', at the bottom', hope was said to be found; here, seems nothing but salt and garlick." In vain did the unhappy fair one declare', (lie the fourth',) that she had no appetite; and that', (lie the fifth',) she never ate in the morning. The hostess would take no denial; and the pretty house-keeper was compelled to swallow a sprat; but her stomach rebelled, and she threw it upon the carpet of the " Ladie's Parlour." EXERCISE III. Eliza and her Child, — near the Battle Ground of Linden. 1. And one fair child, amid the loud alarm, Slept on her 'kerchief, cradl'd by her arm, THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 27 While round her brow, bright beams of horror dart, And love's vi^arm eddies circle round her heart, 2. Near, and more near, the interpid beauty press'd Saw through the driving smoke, his daring crest, Heard the exulting shout, — " they run^! they run^!" *' Great God^l" (she cri'd',) " he's safe^! the battle's won." 3. A ball now hisses through the airy tides', (Some fury speeds it, and some demon guides') Parts the fair locks, her peerless beauty deck. Wounds her fair ear, and sinks into her neck. 4. The red stream gushing from her azure veins, Dies her white veil, her ivory bosom stains; '' Ah me'!" (she cri'd',) then sinking on the ground, Kiss'd her dear babe, regardless of the wound. Woman'' s Love. EXERCISE IV. The Spoiled Child, 1. It is some >^here said, that a parent once asked a sage philosopher, what lesson was proper to teach a child first; and the sage replied, teach him — obedience. — This is said to have been one of the first lessons taught to the great and venerated George Washington, by his excellent mother. Let all mothers go and do likewise. 2. What is the matter, my child^? Who has offended you^? Will you have anything'? What* can I do for you^? Come, my dear child, wipe off your tears; they will hurt your eyes. Will you tell me, my love, what has vexed you'? You know I will not allow any one to vex you. Come, my dear, tell me what ails you. 3. This was the language of a very weak, but a very fond mother to her only daughter, a child of some six or eight years. AVhat was its natural effect^? Did it cure the girl's ill humor''? — win her over to good nature'? — prompt in her emotions of obedience'? Nothing of the kind\ Silent pout- ing was the only return she made for all her mother's kind expressions. 4. Was it not very natural that the anxiety of the mother 28 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. should rise still higher, as the sobs of the child increased'? Very natural; — and such in fact was the case. The servants were summoned into her presence, and inquiry made. — " Rosa'," said the mother to her seamstress', '* what has offended this poor chiki^?" ''Indeed, madam," replied Ro- sa, "I am not able tosay\" ** Nancy, have you vexed this injured darling'?" " 1 have not, madam\" The cook said ** the little miss insisted on washing her hands in a kettle of boiling water, and I prevented her." 5. The fond parent could not reasonably blame the pru- dence which had saved the child from scalding her hands; but she assured the servants that the poor child should always have her will and way, when they would not harm her, and that she would not have her vexed for the whole world. 6. What effect had all this foolish indulgence, and mis- placed fondness upon the sulky, graceless child^? It undoubt- edly served to make her still more sulky and graceless\ The same hour, bent upon having '* her will and way," harm or no harm, and unable to judge of consequences, she run to the fatal kettle, while the cook was out of the room', plunged her hands to the wrists into the boiling water, and was an invalid for life. CHAPTER III. THE INFLECTIONS APPLIED TO SENTENCES BY DEFINITE RULES. THIRD. The Period and its Parts, 1. A period is an assemblage of words which makes complete sense, or it embodies a distinct proposition; as, Man is born to die. The wages of sin is death. Time cures all our malidies. Hope keeps the heart whole. These are called simple sentences, because they combine but one subject and one verb. 2. When two or more subjects are combined in the same period, whether expressed or merely implied, the sentence THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 29 is termed compound, or it is composed of two or more sen- tences, united by one or more connective particles, which may also be expressed or implied. As, man is born to die, but his spirit survives the grave. The wages of sin is death, those of righteousness are eternal life; and all men are kindly invited to come to this hfe. 3. Compound periods are of several kinds; each of which must be distinctly marked and understood, or it will be ex- tremely difficult to apply the slides of the voice to them with any degree of correctness even by the aid of the follow- ing rules. 1. THE SIMPLE SENTENCE. Rule. 6. The simple sentence should always close with the grammatical point called the period, at which the fall- ing inflection generally obtains. Examples. Life is short\ Eternity is long\ No man is ever perfectly and permanently happy\ To do our duty is our highest and most binding obligation\ Remark 11. The subject of a verb has often many words connected with it, which make it long, and a point is gene- rally placed just before the verb. At this point, the rising slide obtains, and (he falling at the close, as above. Examples. The meek and lowly spirit of true piety', is undoubtedly the spirit of love\ The house of unbridled feasting', is too often made the avenue to the house of mourninor\ o The happiness of almost every man', depends principally upon the state of his own mind\ The flattering appearances of our own safety and success'^ are very often strangely deceitful. To maintain a steady serenity of mind, amidst all the shocks of the world', marks a great man^. To be wise in our own eyes', to be wise in the opinion of the world', and to be wise in the sight of our Creator', are three things so very diflferent as rarely to coincided 30 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 2. COMPOUND SENTENCE. Rule 7. The members of a compound sentence orenerally adopt the rising inflection, but close with the falling, as above. Example. 1. And when Joseph came home', they brought him the present which was in their hands', and bowed themselves before him to the earth\ 2. But a certain Samaritan', as he journied, came where he was', and when he saw him', he had compassion on him', and went to him', and bound up his wounds', pouring in oil and wine', and sat him on his^horse', and brought him to the inn', and took care of him\ 3. An-d we said unto my Lord', we have a father', an old man', and a child of his old age', a little one', and his brother is dead', and he alone is left of his mother', and his father loveth him\ 4. Whoever shall hereafter draw a portrait of murder', if he will show it as it has been exhibited in an example', where such an example was last to have been looked for' in the very bosom of our New England society', let him not give it the grim visage of Moloch', — the brow knitted by revenge', — the face black with settled hate', and blood-shot eyes emitting livid fires of malice', but rather let him draw a decorous', smooth faoed', bloodless deamon\ 5. What visions of glory would have broken upon his mind', could he have known that he had indeed discovered a new continent', equal to the whole of the old world in magnitude', and separated by two vast oceans from all the earth hitherto known to civilised man^I 6. How would his magnanimous spirit have been con- soled', amidst the chills of age and cares of penury', the neglect of a fickle public, and the injustice of a treacherous king', could he have anticipated the splendid empires which were to spread over the beautiful world he had discovered', and the nations and tongues and languages which were to fill its lands with his renown', and to revere and bless his name to the latest posterityM THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 31 3. THE DIRECT PERIOD. The Direct Period is a compound sentence, divided into two great, constructive members, the latter of which com- pletes the sense of the former. Thus; — As death leaves the sinner, so the judgment finds him. Rule 8. The rising slide closes the first great member, and the falling slide, the second. Example 1. A.s in the Direct Period, the rising inflection is applied to the first great division', so the sense and the ear demand the application of the falling inflection at the close of the second division^ 2. Now every man who reasons', is a logician', though he may never have studied logic in books\ 3. As the contemplation of the lives of good men', is a pleasing and profitable study', so biography should always make a portion of every man's reading^ 4. Now as these men evidently mistake the love of virtue for the practice of it', they are consequently more the friends of goodness, than really good men\ 5. He who is slow to anger is better than the mighty', and he who ruleth his spirit', than he who taketh a city\ Remark 12. Sometimes the great members of the Direct Period are composed of several minor members, each of which usually takes the rising slide of the voice. 6. As the author of all good', whose eye prevades the spirits of all flesh', happily nourishes much virtue and piety in hearts unknown to us', so he often beholds the germ of repentance springing up in the very bosoms of those whom we regard as reprobates\ 7. As sickness', one of the ills to which flesh is heir', is', sooner or later', the lot of all', so it were proper that all should seasonably learn how to treat the sick\ 8. Now all are not happy who reach the distinctions in life towards which their towering spirits aspire', for every day's experience shows that', while they imagine their freshest roses bloom', they are gathering nothing but briers which wound the flesh\ 32 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 4. THE LOOSE SENTENCES. The Loose Sentence is nothing more than a compound period, whether direct or otherwise, with one or more loose members appended, adding some collateral reflection, or further idea. Thus : As death leaves the sinner, so the judgment finds him; there is no repentance in the grave. Rule 9. Sentences to which loose members are appended, are read according to rules regulating the application of the inflections; but every additional loose member adopts the falling slide. Example 1. As in my former lecture', I endeavored to extinguish the passions of arrogance and pride', so in this', I shall attempt to recommend meekness and humility^; with what success', must depend on yourselves\ 2. Persons of good taste', expect to be pleased at the same time they are informed^; and they think the best sense', deserves the best language^; — but their chief regard is to perspicuity\ 3. Nothing is more becoming in the eyes of man', or dignified in human nature', than a strong and steady pie'ty^; but bigotry seems the utter weakness of man^; it exposes the professor to the scorn of the infidel\ 4. As you advance', in habits of thinking', and in maturity of judgment', you will be able to examine for yourself the evidences of the Christian Religion^ and you will undoubt- edly feel a full conviction of its divine origin^; no one has ever made the trial and been disappointed\ 5. And now', inasmuch as you will find in the bible, all moral truths necessary to be believed', and all precepts for the regulation of your conduct in life', you will find, at the same time", all proper directions for the discharge of every duty^; then make this book the rule of all your actions; — the companion of all your prayers and meditations^; — it will prove your best friend through all your pilgrimage\ 6. Most men are strangely inclined to consider what they have lost', rather than what they possess^; they foolishly keep their eyes fixed upon the few who stand above them^; THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 33 this draws their attention from the many who stand below them^; hence, they are always repining at their lot\ Remark 13. These loose members must not be confound- ed with the penultimate, or last member but one, of an ordinary sentence, for that member always adopts the rising slide of the voice, except when forbidden by strong empha- sis. 7. The soul', considered abstractly from its passions', is of a remiss and sedentary nature^; — slow in its resolves', and languishing in its execution\ 8. Some writer says, the world is a transcript of the ideas which are in the mind of the Creator"^; and the ideas which are in the minds of men', are a transcript of the world"^: — He might also have said that words are a transcript of the ideas in the minds of men', and writing a transcript of those words\ 9. The minor longs to be of age\ — then to be a man of business^; — then to make up an estate"^; then to arrive at honors', and then to retired 10. If they do not acquiesce in my judgment', which has never happened above once or twice', at??iosr, they appeal to his\ 11. I must therefore desire the reader to remember', that', by the pleasures of the imagination', I mean those only which arise from sighf", and that I divide them into two kinds\ 12. The person whom he chanced to meet', was', to ap- pearance, an old, decrepid, and blind man^; but upon follow- ing him from place to place', he at last discovered him to be Plutus^, the god of riches^, and that he had just left the house of a miser\ 5. THE CONDITIONAL MEMBER. This member implies contingency in construction. It commences generally with some suppositive word or phrase, such as, if, since, when, though, yet, thus, what- ever, &:c., expressed or implied; as, — If you love me, keep my commandments. 4 34 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. Rule 10. The suppositive member adopts the rising slide of the voice; but, as in other cases, the slide is subject to the control of strong emphasis. Example 1. For if ye forgive men their trespasses', your heavenly Father will also forgive you^; but if ye forgive not men their trespasses', neither will your Father forgive your trespasses\ 2. Whatsoever thou resolvest to do', do it quickly^; — de- fer not till the evening what the morning may accomplish\ 3. Since the days that are passed, are gone forever', and those that are to come, may not come to thee', it behoves thee to employ the present lime', without vainly regretting the loss of that which is past', or too much depending on that which is to come\ 4. Whatever contributes to promote and strengthen the principles of virtue'; whatever tends to calm and regulate the passions', is confessedly a source of happiness\ 5. If some of the branches be broken off, and thou', being a wild olive-tree', w^ert grafted in among them', and with them partakest of the root and fatness of the olive tree', boast not against the branches\ ILLUSTRATIONS. Brief Paragraphs illustrating the Inflections, "^ 1. Respect ye the aged\ Cherish an increasing love for the truth\ Live in lively obedience to your parents\ Suffer no act of your life to dishonor their gray hairs\ Most of the pretended friendships of youth', are mere combinations in pleasure\ Fortunately', the good taste of the present age', has not suffered the English language to fall into neglecl\ A violent and ungovernable passion for unlimited praise', produces very ridiculous effects, even in women of good sense\ * Let it be remembered that these exercises, in connection with all the examples, are designed, not only as reading lessons, but as illus- trations of the rules to which they refer. If therefore the scholar would profit by reading- them, he must carefully and critically com- pare each with the rule illustrated, and thereby fix each principle in his mind, that all may be correctly applied when he reads books in which there is nothing but the naked language. THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 35 2. We had a hoary-headed guide in our service', who pointed to a wall', quite below the ripple of the wave', and said, '*Here stood the famous tower', to which the unfor- tunate Leander', by swimming the Hellespont', made his nightly visits to the beautiful Hero', until swallowed up by the an^ry waves\ 3. Happy would the poor man think himself, if he could enter at once upon all the treasures of the rich^; and happy', for a season', he probably might he\ but he would soon find his possessions lessen', and his cares increase\ 4. Poverty usually tends to turn men's thoughts too in- tently toward supplying their present wants^; and riches', toward the best means of enjoying their superfluities^ — the middle station in life', therefore, is undx)ubtedly, the best suited to rational happiness', and true enjoy ment\ 5. Every degree of guilt', incurred by yielding to tempta- tion', contributes to debase the mind^; it impairs the moral sensed it weakens the benevolence of hmn.m nature^; it blunts the best sympathies of the soul', and clouds the un- derstand in g\ 6. Therefore', all things whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you', do ye even so to them^; — for this is the law' and the prophets\ 7. Youth', you're mistaken if you think to find', In shades', a med'cine for the troubl'd mind'; There, haggard grief will haunt you with his woe^; Sigh in the breeze', and in the streamlet flow^; There, naked frenzy', laughing wild with pain', Bares the barb'd blade', or plunges in the main^; There, superstition broods o'er all her fears', And yells of demons, in the zephyr hears\ 8. Though in a bare and rugged way', Through devious, lonely wilds', I stray', Thy bounty shall my pains beguile^ — The barren wilderness shall smile', (With sudden greens and herbage crown'd',) And streams shall murmur all around\ 9. So when the faithful pencil has design'd'. Some bright idea of tlie master's mind'; 36 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. When a new world leaps out at his command', And ready nature waits upon his hand'; When the ripe colors soften and unite', And sweetly melt into just shade and light'; When mellowing years their full perfection give', And each bold figure just begins to live', The treacherous colors', the fair art betray'. And all the bright creation', fades away\ 10. Dear Chloe' , while the busy crowd', The vain', the wealthy', and the proud', In folly's maze advance'; Though singularity and pride', - Be call'd our choice', we'll step aside', Nor join the giddy dance\ Though fools spurn Hymen's gentle powers', We', who improve his golden hours', By sweet experience know'. That marriage', rightly understood', Gives to the tender and the good', A Paradise b6low\ Brief Exercises^ in which the Inflections refer to all the foregoing Rules and Remarks, Let the pupil point out each reference, and name the Rule, EXERCISE v. Our Father. 1. A Jew', with a long, snowy beard,' which swept low upon his breast', once entered a Parsee temple in Asia', and beheld the sacred fire\ " What'!" said he to the priest', " do you worship the fire'?" " No''; we do not worship the fire\" said the priest^; '' but the fire is to us an emblem of the sun\ and his genial warmth\" "Then do you worship the sun'?" said the Jew', "as your god'? Know ye not that the bright and cheering sun is only a work of the still more bright and bountiful Creator'?" 2. " To be sure I know ii\" said the priest^; "but the great mass of the untaught world', require some sensible sign^; without which', they form no proper idea of the greai / THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 37 Creator\ And is not the sun an image of the invisible and incomprehensible source of light'? — an image of that Being who preserves and blesses all things'?" 3. The white bearded Isrealite', thereupon observed', '* Do your people then jusdy distinguish the type from the origi- nal'? They call the sun their god^; and', descending even from this to a still baser object', they kneel down before an earthly flame', (the work of their own hands',) and do hom- age\ You amuse your people with the outward show', but blind their inward eyes^; and while you hold forth to them this gross and earthly object', you withdraw from them the Heavenly light\" 4. '* How, then'," said the Parsee priest', ** do you dis- tinguish the Supreme Creator^?" *' VYe'," answered the Jew', ** call him Jehovah Adonai^; — that is', the Lord who is', who was', and will bo\" The Parsee priest said', ** your appellation is grand and sublime^; but it is also very awful\" 5. Then a Christian', who had heard the discourse', drew near to them', and asked them', — '' Are these the emblems, and the names by which you distinguish your god'? To me they seem to shut out all idea of love\ We call our God — Father^; — Our Father\" The Parsee priest and the Jew look wistfully at each other', and then exclaimed': — '* Here is at once the image and the reality\ It is a name direct from the heart^l" They then unitedly raised their hands toward Heaven', and said': with reverence and love', '* Our FatherM" EXERCISE VI. The Brothers, — Cain and Mel. 1. And Abel', (who was the first born of woman',) was a keeper of sheep^; but Cain was a tiller of the grounds And in process of time', it came to pass', that Cain brought of the fruit of the ground, an offering to the Lord\ And Abel also brought of the firstlings of his flock', and of the fat thereof\ And the Lord had respect to Abel and his offering', but to Cain and his offering', he had not respect\ And Cain was very wroth^; and his countenance fell\ 4* 38 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 2. And the Lord said unto Cain', " why art thou wroth^! — and why is thy countenance fallen^'? If thou doest well', shalt not thou be accepted'? and if thou doest not well', sin lieth at the door^: — A.nd to thee shall be his desire', and thou shall rule over him\" And Cain talked with his brother Abel\ And it came to pass', when they were in the field', that Cain rose up against his brother Abel', and slew hirn\ 3. And the Lord said unto Cain', " Where is Abel thy brother'?" And he said', " I know not^: — am I my brother's keeper'?" And he said', " what hast thou done^? The voice of thy brother's blood', oryeth to me from the ground\" 4. And now art thou cursed from the earth', which has opened her mouth to receive thy brother's blood\ When thou tillest the ground', it shall not henceforth yield to thee its strength\ A fugitive and a vagabond', shalt thou be in the earth^' 5. And Cain said unto the Lord', *' my punishment is greater than I can bear\ Behold thou hast this day', driven me from the face of the earth^; and from thy face shall I be hid\ And it shall come to pass', that every one who findeth me', shall slay me\" 6. And the Lord said unto him', therefore', '* whoever slayeth Cain', vengeance shall be taken on him sevenfold^ And the Lord set a mark upon Cain', lest any finding him should slay him\ So Cain went out from the presence of the Lord\^ EXERCISE VII. The Faithful Coinpanion, I. Almost all young people are very fond of company\ A solitary room', but ill accords with their flow of spirits', * I seldom hear of the sentence or execution of a poor culprit, with- out thinking of this passafi^e. Here, the legislative and executive power were united in the hands of the judge; — the case was one of deep aggravation, nothing less than the wilful murder of the first born of the human family; a record for the eyes of all posterity. Did the judge seize the murderer and choke him to death? no; — he not only spared him to repent of his crime, but marked him, that others should spare him also. This certainly ought to be a serious lesson to the law maker and the judge, who affect to take the life of a fellow creature without blame. THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 39 and freshness of feeling\ For a lonely evening', they have seldom any relish\ They are most generally willing to bear the fatigue of a walk', the heat of a summer sun', or the cold of a winter storm', to meet and enjoy the chat of a pleasant companion\ 2. Thousands of these do not reflect that it is possible to find such a companion without any fatigue, or the risk of expo- sure. To these it may be a matter of some suprise to learn that there is', in fact', a most pleasant companion always near their side\ — One who is more faithful than a mere associate'; — and who will stick closer than a brother\ 3. WiU^it please the young reader to know who this com- panion is'? It may be of some service to you\ When once acquainted', you will find her a friend. And should you ever be separated from your present ordinary companions', — from your brothers and sisters', and from your kind parents', and should you have no neighbors at hand', then you will find her of the highest value to you\ 4. Now shall I give you a description of her'? well, then^: — She is just like yourself^! Have you rosy health'? So has she\ Have you a kind and benevolent disposition'? So has she\ Is yours a soft-toned and sweetly winning speech'? Such too is hers\ Whenever you are happy', and wear a smiling face', she then is also happy and full of smiles\ But if you are shrouded in sorrow', and drowned in tears', then she too sorrows deeply', and weeps bitterly\ Your joy', makes her joy^: and your grief, is her griefs. Are you not then very like'? 5. If it be your wish', she will say to you as Ruth said to her friend^: — '* Where thou goest', I will go^; where thou lodgest', I will lodge^; — thy people', shall be my people^; and thy God', shall be my God\ Where thou diest', I will die', and there will I be buried^; — the Lord do so to me', and more also', if aught but death part thee from me\" 6. Though this kind companion', will not demand of you all your time and attention', yet she will be pleased to hold frequent intercourse^; and, moreover, there will be a small part of the time', (say half an hour just before you go to rest',) that she will want you wholly to herself\ To this appointment you must bo religiously punctual; for she will 40 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. then commune with you of the hours of the closing day which have passed to the angel of record. 7. At that lone interview', — the world shut out', — you will hear her " still, small voice'," like the soft breath of a passing zephyr', saluting your enraptured ear', and saying', *' did you rise early this morning'? Was your thank-offer- ing made to Him who guarded your pillow through the night'? have you marked the worth of the precious hours that have passed to those beyond the flood'? Have you been dutiful to your parents', — kind to your brothers and sisters', — and respectful to the aged'? Have you taught the ignorant', fed the hungry', and nourished the sick'?" And if to these kind inquiries', you make a happy reply', she will cover you with the mantle of content', and your repose will be sweet\ 8. And now', my young reader', let me apprise you that this kind companion is your own hean\ And let me request that you make it your constant monitor^; trust it with all your wants^; all your wishes^; all your secrets\ It is no tattler^; no traitor^; but faithful to death\ You will find it a safe counsellor^; a prudent guide', and an abiding friend\ It will aid you in the race of virtue', and crown all your law- ful efforts with success\ EXERCISE VIII. Hope and Memory. 1. Once there was a smiling little babe', with dimpled cheeks and golden curls', reposing in his polished cradle\ And there came a beautiful being', with bright tresses and clear blue eyes', and drawing near', stooped and kissed him\ Her name was hope\ By and by', the nurse refused the baby cake^; for which it cried\ And then hope kindly soothed him', and told him of a cake in store for the coming day\ Then his litde sister brought him a knot of flowers\ And at these he clapped his hands most joyfully\ Then hope appeared and promised him many fairer flowers', gather- ed by his own hand\ 2. In time', the babe grew to be a lusty boy^; and as he was sitting and musing in the summer twilight', another THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 41 bright being', with a sweet and serious face', came and seated herself by his side\ Her name was memory\ Then she turned and said to the boy', " Look behind thee', and tell me what thou seest\" And the boy answered', ** I see a short path bordered with many flowers\ There the butter- fly spreads its golden wings', and the sparrow sings among the shrubbery^. It seems to be the path which my feet have trod^; for at the distant end, stands my own little cradle\" 3. *' What art thou holding in thy hand^?" asked memory\ And the boy answered', " a book which my mother gave me\" And memory said', with a gentle, winning voice', *' come sit by me', and I will teach thee how to draw honey from thy book', which', when thy hairs are gray', shall be sweet and wholesome to thee\ 4. In subsequent times', the boy grew to be a young man\ And as he one evening retired to rest', hope and memory both came to his pillow\ Then hope sang him a merry song\ — it was as sweet as the song of the lark when she rises from her nest to carrol in the skies'^. And when she closed', she said', "young man', follow me', and thou shah always have music in thy heart as sweet and soothing as the lay I have just given thee." 5. But memory said', "his music must be seasoned with the incense of the past"^; he must follow me also\ Hope', we need not contend which of us shall have him exclusively', for we must both have him^; and while he keeps virtue in his heart', we can be to him as twin sisters^; — even all the days ofhislife\" 6. Then the younsf man embraced these bright and beau- tiful beings', and promised to entertain them both^; — and by both was he long and tenderly beloved\ And when he reached the stature and strength of a man', hope was by his side every morning', and nerved him for the labors and trials of the da)\ and at night', he supped at the table of memory', and knowledge, prosperity, and content, were their guests\ 42 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. EXERCISE IX. Education. What constitutes a good Education? Mrs. L. H. Sigourney. 1. What is a good education^? How very much we hear about ii^! Who will tell the world what it is^? Every child who enters school', undoubtedly expects to obtain it\ And it is undoubtedly very proper that every child should know something of what it consists\ Let us inquire\ 2. It is to get lerisons well', and to excel in every study'? This is indeed a part', but not all\ Some scholars make great progress for a time', and give large hope^; — but after air, fall away and become indorent\ Others are distinguished while they go to school', but afterwards', they relinquish all improvemeni\ 3. Does it consist in a knowlodge of books'? Yes^;— and something more\ It seems morally impossible to possess learning', and still be ignorant of other necessary things\ Yet there was once a lady who read many books', though she knew not when her dress was in a proper condition^; — nor could she always find her way home when she went abrofrd\ 4. Is it to cultivate the intellect'? This is not enough\ It must also strengthen the moral principles', and regulate the affections\ It must fit the scholar for the duties of life\ It must preserve in a just balance', and train to health- ful action', all the powers which the Creator has given him\ 5. Look at the man who can neither read nor write^; and in our young Republic you may find hundreds'; can a much greater evil befall hiiii'? Who has more confused notions^? — more narrow conceptions^? — more fixed preju- dices^? — a more stubborn mind^? more errors of opinion^? — more groveling propensities^? Has he respect for truth'? Does he shrink at dishonesty'? Is he a kind parent'? — a good citizen'? — a useful man'? — Or is he not the very op- posite of all these^? 6. A 2:ood education is only another name for happiness^; and shall we grudge any time or toil to learn how to be happy'? It is a science upon which the young may very THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 43 properly enter', but of which even the aged should never be weary\ If we attain to much knowledge', and the fame of great learning', and yet f^iil in that which makes the heart good', and the life useful and happy', our learning will be as the " sounding brass and the tinkling symbal\" 7. The different parts of a good Education', may be re- garded as the alphabet of human happiness^; — and from this alphabet, is formed a language for the Ii[)sof angels\- — For that is but a lame education which stops short of a higher world\ 8. And now do you ask me when a good Education is finished'? Shall we have it when we are done going to school', or when we are grown to be men and women'? Let me inform you', that the whole of life is a schooh learning ends only with the end of existence\ He alone who bids the pulses cease', — the heart lie still and cold', is able to say', — ** It is finished\" EXERCISE X. Woman's Privilege, 1 . There was a time once, when the *' Temple of Science," was firmly barred against the foot of woman', and she was ^ thee I priz'^ct; For thee I gladly sacrific'd Whate'er I lov'd before^; And shall I see thee start away\ And helpless', hopeless', hear thee say' Farewell', we meet no more'?* CHAPTER V. THE EMPHATIC INFLECTIONS AND CIRCUMFLEX APPLIED BY DEFINITE RULES. Fifth. The Jlffirmation with the Opposing Negation. This kind of sentence is read very differently from any heretofore considered. The slides of the voice are gene- rally quite intense, and the emphatic stress is distinct and prominent. Rule 14. That member of this sentence which affirms, adopts xhe falling slide, and that which denies or disaffirms, has the rising: and it is not material wliich member occurs first in the sentence. * To the three last exercises I have marked a few words with such emphasis as the sense seemed to require, and without whicli the language would appear lifeless and unintelligible. TKE JUVENILE ORATOR. 63 Example 1. Faith begets repentance'' not hardness of heart'. Or Faith does not beget hardness of heart', it begets repent- ance\ 2. Therefore let us keep the feast', not with the old leaven', not with the leaven of malice', and wickedness', but with the unleavened bread of sincerity and truth\ 3. The sun makes a small revolution round the centre of gravitation of all the planetary bodies\ and is not, as many suppose, fixed in the very centre of the system'. 4. This vast mass of heterogeneous matter', being totally unfit for the support of animal or vegetable life', was not instantly formed into a habitable globe', but was formed progressively^ 5. Dr. Woodward observes', that the marine shells and fossils', which are found remote from the sea', are the remains of the animals which they resemble\ and not the immediate productions of the earth'. 6. What though short thy date^? Virtue^, not rolling Sims', the mind matures'. How', you say', are we to accomplish it"*? How accom- plish M most assuredly not by fearing to attempt it'. Remark 16. The principle illustrated under the 14th rule, is said to be founded on the influence which emphatic force and antithetic sense always exert on the voice; for it obtains, not only where negation stands opposed to affirmation, but in comparison and spirited contrast. 7. He is more a knave^ than /oo/'. A countenance more in sorroiv^ than in anger'. It is not so easy to hide our faults', as it is to mend them\ It were altogether more becoming in the scholar to strive to acquire knowledges than seek to show it'. 8. Here, a regard to virtue', opposes insensibility to shame^ — purity' to pollution^ — integrity' to injustice^ — virtue', to villany^ — resolution', to rage^ — regularity', to riot\ 9. The struggle lies between wealth' and wani^; — between the true dignity of reason', and its degeneracy'; — 64 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. the force of the souF, and its phrenzy^; — between well grounded hope\ and wide spread despair^. Remark 17. When, in the negative member of this species of sentence, there is irony, scorn, sneer, or contempt implied, the Circumflex obtains, it is always associated with the rising slide of the voice, and gives to the senti- ment a force and significancy that can hardly be mistaken. . 10. The fault', dear Brutus', is not in stars that we are underlings', but in ourselves^. The fault', dear Brutus', that we are underlings', is in ourselves^, not in our staVs'.* 11. When a Persian soldier vented his spleen by railing against Alexander the Great', his officer reproved him by saying'. Sir', you are paid to Jight against Alexander\ not to rail at him'. 12. I said an elder soldier\ not a better'. Did I say a better'? If you dicO, I care not'. What'! durst not te'mpt him'? For your life you durst noi\ 13. My boast is not that I educe my birth , From loins enthro'n'd', and rulers of the eaVth ; But higher far my proud pretensions rise\ — The son of parents pass'd into the skies\ Remark 18. The Circumflex is often used in conditional or hypothetic sentences, even where there is neither negation nor comparison implied. 13. If men see our faults', they will talk among theni' selves', though we refuse to let them talk to W6\ The baptism o^ John>^ — was it from Heaven-', or of men^? and they said', if we say from heaven', he will say, why then did ye not believe him^? 14. And it came to pass, at noon', that Elijah mocked them', and said', cry aloud^! — for he is a GoM'; — eitlier he is talk'ing', or he is pursu'ing', or he is in a jour'ney', or peradventure he sleep'eth', and must be awaked\ 15. And Jesus knew their thoughts', and said unto them', * The peculiar twist of the voice, or its fall and rise at the point in pronouncing the word Stars conveys a sense of the sneer or scorn which CdSdius ielt when Brutus imputed his low estate to his stars. tHE JUVENILE ORATOR. 65^ Every kingdom divided against its>If\ is brought to deso- lations and every city or house divided against itu'elf, shall not stand\ And if Satan> cast out Satan', he is divided against himseU^; how ihen shall his kingdom stand^? and if I by Beetzebiib cast out devils', by whom do your children cast them oui^? — therefore they shall be your judges\ -16. He seeks no safety in his po'sf Whate'er he may in honoris van^; And if the field of fa me be lost,' It won't be by an Irishman.^ Remark 19. The scholar will see by the foregoing re- marks on the character and use of the circumflex, that it refers, principally, to three different forms of sentiment or sentence, — the ironical, the comparative, and the conditional. Thus:— Ironically. They tell it's to be moderate'', while tKey\ tKey\ are to revel in profusion>. Comparatively. 'I'he beggar was more blind^f than lame\ They said he was more knave^ than fo'ol'. Conditionally. If thou hast performed an act of dis- interested virtue,' make it a secret in thine own bosom\ illustrations. Exercises illustrating the Rules in the Fifth Chapter, 1. True charity is not a me'teor which now and then brightens the hopes of the wretched', but it is a luminary that dis[)enses cheerfulness through all the ranks of life^; — it blesses alike both the giver', and the receiver\ 2. Cesar', who would not wait the conclusion of the con- sul's speech', generously replied', that he came into Italy', not to in'jure the liberties of Rome and her citizens', but to restore "the ni\ 3. But this is not the time for a tribuual o( justice', but a time for showing mercy^; — not for accusation', but for kindness^; — not for trial', but for pardon^; — not for sentence and execution', but for clemency\ 4. If any man sin', we have an advocate with the Father^ — Jesus Christ the righteous^ — and he is the propitiation 66 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. for our sins\ — and not for owV^ only', but also for the sins of the whole worlds 5. An elegant writer observes', that pleasure is to wo- men', what the sun is to the rose^; — if moderately enjo'yed^ it beautifies them^; if irnmo'derately\ it withers them\ 6. I would much rather be myseffihe slave\ And wear the bonds^^ than fasten them on h'im'. We have no slaves at ho^me' — then why abroad>1 Slaves cannot breathe in England' — if their lungs Inhale our air', that moment they are free^; — They touch our country', and their shackles fall\ 7» It chanc'd three boys', in city bred,' . Who knew to eat\ not ra'ise their bread,' YoY pleasure' s sake', had rambled there', To see the fields', and snuff the air\ 8. Eternal Hope'! when yonder sphere sublime', Peal'd her first note to sound the march of time', Thy joyous youth began^; — but not iofd'de,' When all the sister plants have decay 'd\ EXERCISES. Brief Exercises which refer to all the foregoing Rules* EXERCISE XIX. Remarks on Letter Writing, 1. Probably every youth,' whether male or female', who may read these remarks', will find it convenient', at some period or other', to write a letter^ — They may, therefore, wish to know something about bringing forth such a pro- duction in proper style\ It is not a very grave matter to write an ordinary epistle', nor is it a matter which every one performs with intelligence and perspicuity\ There are indeed very few', either young' or o/t/\ compared with the great mass of manknd', who are able to write a letter of per- fect good sense', elegance of diction', and beauty of exeeu- tion\ 2. No attempt will be here made to describe the matter that may be brought into a letter^; that must depend princi- THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 67 pally upon circumstances which exist at the moment of writing.^ The manner of the execution will be more par- ticularly consideretl. In this respect', letter writing', like almost every other useful accomplishment', has its fashion\ There is a form and a style to be observed', established by those who are masters of the subject', which every one', who has any pretensions to good breeding', will be ambitious to follovv\ H. The first important object that merits attention', is the choice of proper terms and phrases as the medium through which the sentiments are to be conveyed\ The next ob- ject is, to place the terms chosen.' in a clear, concise, and easy arrangement of sentences^; — not intensely labored', nor yet careless or liacknied^ — but in a familiar, uncramped flow', with proper respect to variely\ 4. The date should be placed on the left of the page', and at the close of the letter', as the last particular to which the reader's attention is directed\ The register or margin upon which the lines commence', should be even and uni- form^; — and the lines perlecdy equi-distani^; — but the first .word of each paragraph should be smally indented^; — very much like a primed margin^. The writing or autograph should also be fair and legible', and as free from abbreviations and interlineations as possible^; and then the superscription or address', which should be placed along the middle of the folded letter', should be fully and distinctly spelled out\ 5. When you can frank your letters', or send them free of postage', it is a mark of politeness to envelope them in blank paper of some fancy color\ Much taste and neatness can be displayed in folding a letter^; — manner', in this re- spect', stands for the whole character of the writer\ It must be remembered also that they can be so folded as to manifest great distaste\ rudeness\ and awkwardness^; and even in such a style as to warrant the refusal of a reply\ Now there are very few other considerations that will warrant any person to withhold an answer to a letter\ 6. It has been a very general practice to use wafers in sealing letters^: — but now this is held not only vulgar', but unsafe^; — for the letter so sealed', is liable to be opened and 68 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. closed again at pleasure\ A lady of some taste in these matters', and also of some Utile spirit of independence', was once handed a letter from her suitor fastened with a wafer', and she threw it into the^re unopened^; then', as an excuse for what she had done', she observed', *' the clown has sent me his saliva\" 7. Those who are aware that these little niceties in etiquette, go to make the distinction between a mere clown and a man of taste and true politeness', are always careful to seal their letters with wax\ — and if practicable, stamp them with some appropriate device, or pretty motto\ It was once customary to affix the title of Esquire to the names of those gentlemen only who were officially en- titled to the rank^; but now it is given to almost every man\ — not as a matter of right', but by courtesy\ 8. When you address a letter to a gentleman through the mail', on matters of mutual concern', the postages are mutually paid\ But if the business is wholly or principally your own', then you pay the postage both ways\ Should you however have occasion to address a lady through the mail', it is proper to pay the postage in all cases^; it is a respect to which ladies are justly entilled\ EXERCISE XX. True Politeness, 1. This is a subject in which every one has some inte- rest', and to which the attention of the young should be early directed^ It is not like many other attainments that adorn life', — far-fetched and costly', but grows in every soil, and in every climated — among the snows of the North', and the sands of the Souths on the plains of Asia', and in the wil- derness of America\ He who cultivates it not', may have the consolation of reflecting that the fault, with all its conse- quences, lies at his own door\' 2. True Politeness is jusdy ranked among the real Chris- tian graces^; for it is formed on Christian principles\ It is like benevolence^; — it is full of the milk of human kind- ness', and aims at the ease and comfort of the whole human familv\ It does not consist in a certain set of forms, bows, THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 69 and ceremonies', but is made np of those kindly attentions and nameless services', which make every one easy', — and which sweetens the whole of social intercourse^ He who would throw around himself, and around all with whom he meets', the pure sunshine of true politeness', must begin with the golden rule\ — he must do to others', as he would have others do to him\ This is the foundation not only of true politeness', but of all real excellence\ 3. There is indeed another kind of politeness among some people', and some too who profess to have drawn their rules of action from the pure Christian fountain^ Its object is not to make others easy and happy', but to gratify pride and vanity\ It is known by its frequent efforts to buy golden opinions at the price of truth\ It loves goodness not for the blessing it confers', but for the praise it brings^ — not for the ease and comfort of others', but for the food it furnishes to the spirit of pride\ Self-love is the root of such benevolence', and therefore dishonors the name of polite- ness\ 4. The truly polite man', may not indeed be familiar with all the forms of etiquette with which the idle and vainly fashionable surround themselves', any more than with the formalities observed in a burrow of otters^; — this however detracts nothing from his claim to true politeness\ He stands in aid of no such frivolities^ he employs no disguise^; his actions express his feelings^; — his language speaks the thoughts of his soul^; he exercises good will toward all^; he desires the happiness of all^; and he puts forth his best efforts to confer such happiness\ 5. With the truly polite man', flattery is a coin too base for his use^; — -and detraction a crime too dark for his com- prehension\ The light of heaven brightens all he says', and blesses all be does\ The counterfeit of true politeness', is a mere artificial contrivance', planned by the vain, the weak, and the wicked', to impose upon the thoughtless and the unwary\ It cleaves to the little senseless forms and ceremonies of the idle and frivolous^; but it never drinks of the spirit or feeling of high souled benevolence^ All the mere apers of true politeness', are as the Pharisees of past 7 70 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 2Lges\ — they are wonderfully careful of the forms and cere- monies of the law', but know nothing of its spirit\ 6. Elegant manners', prompted by true benevolence', carry with them the approbation of the heart^; but artificial forms are only the disguise of some dark design', or some human frailty\ The one is a polish that improves and dignities human nature^; — the other is a varnish wliich merely hides some deformity\ The one ornaments the whole man^; the other covers only his blemishes\ 'I'he one endears the possessor to the hearts of all the good and wise', and the other makes the ape of a favorite only to fools\ EXERCISE XXI. Mn Illustration of fashionable Etiquette, 1. Some one writer relates a story of an interview which took place between two French gentlemen^ one was the Abbe Cosson,' — a professor of Belle Leltres, and a man of fine intellect and polite learning'; and the other was the Abbe De Lille^; — a man of true French polileness\ 2. Professor Cosson had been at a dinner party', where the elite of the Court of St. Cloud surrounded the table', and subsequently feeling pleased with his own performance', quaintly boasted of his proficiency in the etiquette of the table\ De Lille', who had also been at the dinner', assured the professor he had made more than twenty blunders ; — that in fact he had done nothing in the true style of table poliieness\ 3. First of air, (said the Abbe De Lille',) what did you do with your napkin^? What did I do with my napkin', answered the professor', — I opened it\ then spread it on my breast^ and then fastened it by one corner to the button hole of my coat\ And let me tell you, my dear sir, said De Lille', you were the only man at the table that did so\ A polite gentleman makes no display of his napkin', but lets it lie upon his knee^. Well', said De Lille, how did you eat your soup^? Why as every body else ate theirs\ replied the professor^; — I took my spoon in one hand', and my fork in the other\ THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 71 What'? a fork'! — no body eats soup with 2^ fork'. And what after the soup^? asked De Lille\ I took a new egg^; said the proressoi\ What did you do with the shelP? What every one else did\ — I left it for the servant who waited, without breaking it^? Yes\ — said the professor^ But', my dear sir, does any man eat an egg without first break- ing the shell'? And what after the egg"^? I asked the Abbe Radorville to send me a portion of a very nice fowl\ A nice fowl'! unfortunate man^! — polite people ask for a pullei\ — a capon\ or a chicken\ The word fowl is never heard except in the hall of the ser'^'v ants'. But what did you drink^? — asked De Lille\ What other people drank^; replied the professor\ I called for Bor- deaux\ — and for Champaigne\ Now', my dear sir', returned De Lille', polite people call for B(^rdeaux wine\ and for Champaigne wine\ But how did you eat your bread^? Why I ate it as other folks ate theirs\ — I cut it with my knire\ O horribleM exclaimed De J^ille^; every polite man', breaks the breads he never cuts it'. You see', continued De Lille', all you said, and all you did at the dinner', were in direct violation of the established rules of polite etiquette\ Here the poor professor became alarme(l\ He felt for a few moments , as though he had been guilty of some base crime\ But after a little reflection', his reasoning powers began to operate', and he was relieved\ He began to turn the tables upon his accusing friend^ — all to whi(!h you have so boast- ingly referred', said he', as substitutes for what I did and said at the dinner', is the silly contrivance of idle puppies', who have learned nothing but these senseless forms\ Every great city swarms with these human vermin\ This kind of tinseled etiquette', — this libel upon true polite- ness', — is all the food with which they feed their minds\ They have no other knowledge\ 'J'heir highest ambition is l(» be distinguished for their dexterity in these little trifles\ All their real worth', either to tliemselves', or to the world in which they live', would not weigh a hair in the scale of general usefulness', or in the cause of benevolence^ 72 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. EXERCISE XXII, The Mountain Stream. Note 6. This and a few following pieces are designed as exercises for the scholar in the application of the inflections, according to his understanding of the foregoing rules. The slides, &c, are to be made in pencil mark, and the rule repeated or entered upon the margin. — Much time and perplexity will be saved to the young scholar, if the teacher would read the piece with him, or with a class of twenty, and prompt the learner, — directing his steps and removing all difficulties from his path. One lesson thus faithfully conducted, will do more to advance the child in the true principles of reading, than one thousand where the choice of the lesson and the manner of reading it, are left solely to the unaided judgment of the pupil. Teachers, try it and see if I exaggerate. 1. Early in the month of June, 1823, Philo Philebrown and his teacher, took a ramble in the fields. They crossed the stile, the pasture, and the meadow, and came to the Mountain Brook. It was a limpid stream, and made many crooks ami curves ; but then it was rapid, and its ripple fell on the ear like the notes of a music box. 2. Whence runs this noisy stream over its bed of bright and beautiful pebbles and golden sands? asked Philo. It runs through the silent valley, watering the hedge and the copse, and enlivening the grass grown meadow ; said his teacher. On its sparkling bosom, you may observe mir- rored forth to the light of day, the beautiful blue of heaven and the green of tha waving grass. 3. How prettily it dances along! said Philo; — it seems to hurry forward as though it were on an errand of special moment. What are the important uses of such a stream ? For I suppose a stream so lovely must do some good as it passes on. It does; replied the teacher. It moistens the earth, nourishes the roots of the shrubs and plants that grow upon its banks, and it sends up line exhalations which cool the air and refresh the flowers that droop in the rays of the sun. 4. And are these its kind offices through all its long jour- ney? inquired Philo. Not all its journey, probably, for it may pass through baren wilds and sandy wastes where there are no shrubs, no plants, no flowers to receive its nourish- THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 73 ment, or drink its exhalations. Still, however, it cools the air, and retains much of its sparkling beauty. 5. Philo reflected a few minutes, and then asked where the water which fed the brook came from. Look yonder; said the teacher; — do you see those ragged hills, just in the verge of the horizon? They are crowned with gray rocks, beneath which there are deep, dark caverns, and gaping fis- sures. In the former, cool and gurgling springs arise, and through tlie latter, they find their way out of the hills, form little rills, and feed this ceaseless flow of the brook. Now, as the source of these springs never fails, so the Uttle rills run, and so the brook runs. The rains of autumn, and the showers and thaws of spring may swell it, but it never runs dry. 6. How wonderful! exclaimed Philo. But, pray sir, where does all this water finally lodge itself. It falls into the deep, blue ocean, replied the teacher. There it mingles its pure and sparkling wave, with the dark and briny fountain of all the streams of the earth. From that vast reservoir, it may again be exhaled, float in clouds upon the bosom of the air, fall in gentle showers, driving storms, or fleecy snows, sink into the earth, and form new springs to feed other brooks. — This is only a small part of nature's operations: the whole would fill many volumes. EXERCISE XXIII. Affectation Denounced, 1. Affectation is one of those strange blots upon the excellencies of human nature, lor the indulgence of which, no one ever found, or ever will find any good reason. It is termed the wisdom of fools, and the folly of the wise. All agree that nature is the most lovely, and that its counterfeit is actual deformity. "Affectation," says Dr. Johnson '* is an artificial show, a false pretence, a deceitful appearance." Most infirm indeed must be that judgment, and perverted that taste, which chooses falsity to reality; which employs both labor and art, to dress in a suspicious garb, that basely belies and deforms the simplicity of human nature. 2. AflTectation is very much like Joseph's celebrated coat. 7* 74 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. It is certainly composed of many colors or shades, and probably of many pieces. But if the young favourite's gar- ment fitted the form of its owner, no better than affectation sets* upon those who assume the garb, it is a wonder that the gaudy garment excited the envy of the patriarch's family. There is probably no doubt but that the weakness which prompted the gift of the party colored coat, is less repre- hensible than the folly of affectation. 3. It almost alwajs happens, that he who puts on this low disguise, is the only person who is fairly deceived by it. He is weak enough to imagine that every man is as blind as himself; — that the flimsy web which clouds his vision, clouds also the vision of others. He does not dream that his labor is all lost; that the part he assumes is dishonest, and that he renders himself an object of pity or contempt to all who witness his folly. If all this was plain to him, his weakness would be cured. 4. It is generally understood that affectation is less offen- sive in a woman than in a man. At the same time, all good men denounce it as the contrivance of narrow and disingen- uous minds; — too offensive, both in male and female, to merit, even for a moment, the approbation of a sound and well balanced intellect. Those who venture upon this foolish expedient, are generally supposed to be prompted by a desire to magnify themselves. But they ignorantly present the telescope wrong end foremost; and the consequence is, they appear, to all but themselves, as little contemptible pigmies. EXERCISE XXV. The Americans and the English Contrasted, 1. We, say the English, are an old people. The Ameri- cans are a young people. We value ourselves on our an- cestry: — on what we have done; — they, on their freedom, and what they intend to do. We look to the past; they, to the future. They respect Old England because it was once the home of their forefathers; we respect America because it is the abiding place of Western Englishmen. As a people, they are but of yesterday. They are descended from those whose graves are yet green. We sprung from those whose THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 75 burial places have been invaded by the Romans, the Saxons, the Danes, and the Normans, until they are blotted from memory. 2. As a whole people, the Americans speak a better En- glish than we do. But there are men among us, who speak a purer English than any American, if we exce^u Mr. Pinck- ney, Mr. Wirt, and few other public speakers. I have heard an English lady complain of the vulgarity of the Americans for spitting in the fire. And I have heard an American lady express her disgust of an Englishman who spit in his handkerchief. 3. In the form of his face, the texture of his mind, and in the cast of his temper and constitution, the Englishman is more of the Roman; — the Americans, more of the Greek. Of the two, the Englishman is the prouder, and the Ameri- can the vainer. The American is volatile, adventurous, talkative, and chivalrous; the Englishman is thoughtful, de- termined, brave, and a little sullen. An Englishman has more courage, and the American more spirit; — The former is better in defence, and the latter in attack. 4. The American woman is more childish, more attractive,. more perishable; the English woman is of a healthier mind,, more dignified, and more durable. The former is a flower,, the latter, a plant; — the one sheds perfume, and the othet^' sustenance. An English woman is better suited for a friend^ a counsellor, and a companion; for the mother of many chil- dren, and the partnership of life; but the American woman^ is better filled for love; — she has more wit, more spirit, — more sentiment. Either would go to the scafl^old with the man of her choice; but the American lady would go in a delirium of joy. 5. While the manners, — while the arts, Which mould a nation's soul, Still cling around our hearts, Between, let ocean roll, — Our joint communion breaking with the sun; Yet still from either beach, The voice of blood shall reach. More audibly than speech, We are one. 76 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. CHAPTER VL EMPHASIS AND THE MONOTONE. Emphasis. So much has already been said of this principle of Elo- cution, that little more can be done here than merely dis- tinguish the different kinds of stress, and offer a few rules for placing the force correcdy. Emphasis may be distinguished into three varieties; — Absolute stress, antithetic or Relative stress, and the Double stress. First. The Absolute Stress. Absolute emphasis, is governed principally by emotion and does not suggest contrast or antithetic relation. It is generally the most intense and distinctive, and combines loudness of note, and duration of time. Now, as the seat of this force is governed wholly by the laws of sentiment, no directions but such as are of a very general character can be given to aid in fixing its true seat. Under lliis head, therefore, but one direction will be given. Rule 15. The word or words in a sentence, which are especially significant, or which express strong emotion, should be uttered with such force as will place their mean- ing in the best light. Example 1. The governor answered and said unto them', whether of the twain will ye that I release unto you^? They said', Barrabbas^, Pilate said unto them', what shall I do then with Jesus^, who is called Christ^? They all say unto him'. Let him be crucijied^. And the governor said', why\ what evil hath he done^? Hut they cried out the more', saying', Let him be cruciji€d\ Note 7. In referring^ this example to the above rule, the teacher, with the learner, should compare each clause, place the force on THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 77 other words, and see if that will improve the reading. It is com- parison that ripens the judgment and strengthens the reasoning powers. 2. Of all the causes that conspire to blind Man's erring judgment', and mislead the mind'. What the weak head with strongest bias rules', Is pride^f the never failing vice of fools^. Observation I. By repeating this example, and, in lieu of making the word pride emphatic, the stress is laid on some other word, or on several words, the learner will see whether the true sense is given. 3. Of o// the causes that conspire to blind Man's en'mg judgment and mislead the mind, What the weak head with strongest bias rules, Is pride, the never failing *vice of fools. Observation 2. Now if this marking is not satisfactory, go back to the second example, and with a pencil, mark other words, and judge if the emphatic force is not properly placed in the first reading. It is true, indeed, that several of the other words are uttered with more force than the little limiting and connect- ing particles. But this is not always the case; sometimes these small particles are the very hinges on which the sense turns, and are therefore strongly emphatic. This will appear from the following example. 4. If you did know to whom I gave the ring', If you did know/or whom I gave the ring', And would conceive for what I gave the ring', And how unwillingly I gave the ring'. When naught would be accepted but the ring', You would abcite the strength of your displeasure\ Observation 3. The application of the emphatic force seems to lift up the terms on which it falls, and present them distinctly to the mind. Thus: 78 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. What the weak head with strongest bias rules, -a Is "<;, the never failing vice of fools. to If you did know whom 1 gave the ring, for Ifyou did know whom I gave the ring, what And would conceive for I gave the ring. 5. He woke to hear his centries shriek', To arms''! they come''! the Greek"! the Greek! 6. There are tears for his love\ joy for his fortune^ honor for his valor', and death for his anibitioii\ Observation 4. Absolute stress, when repeated, be- comes more intense and earnest. To show this distinction place the moderate force on the following Italicised words, the strong force on the small capitals, and the intence force on the large capitals. 7. If we do not mean to abandon the noble struggle in Avhich we have been so long engaged', and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon', until the glorious ob- ject of our contest shall be obtained', we must fight^! I repeat ii\ sir\ we must FIGHT"^! He woke to hear his centries shriek', To armn^! they come''! the GreekM the GREEKM 8. What'! shear a wolf? Have you considered the difficulty', the danger^ of the attempt'? iVV, said the mad- man^; I have considered nothing but the right^; man has a right of dominion over the beasts of the forest', and there- fore I WILL shear the woif\ Observation 5. The moderately emphatic force, is not incompatible with the rising slide of the voice; especially in the emphatic inflection and the circumflex. But with the intense force, it is very difl^erent; that always inclines THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 79 the voice downward. An emphatic word has about twice the time of one that is not emphatic, and the intense force has probably more. 9. He did not atrike tiie tyrant from hatred'; nor from ambition^. His motives were admitted to be good\ but was not the action^ nevertheles^s, bad^? 10. Hence''! home''! you idle creatures! get you home""! You block^^y you stoneii'! you worse tlian senseless thingsM Observation 6. When the emphatic stress interferes with the suspended or risinjj shde of the voice, the slide yields to the demand of fon^e if very strong, if not, slight emphasis accords with the rising slide. 11. Though I have the gift o^ prophecy\ and understand all mysteries', and all knowledge'; and though I have all faith', so that I could remove mountains', and have not charity', I am nothing\ Or, Though I have the gift of prophecy\ and understand all MYSTERiEs\ and all knowledge^ and though I have all FAiTu\ so that I could remove mountains^ and iiave not char^'itij', I am nothing. 12. The pains of getting', the fear of losing', and the inability of enjoying his wealth', have made the miser a mark of satire in all ages of the world\ Observation 7. If the strongly emphatic succession of force could be fairly represented to the eye, these terms would appear strangely out of line, thus: — '^ ^ 13. I tell you', though % though all the ^ though % ^ ^ an angel from <^ should declare the truth of it', I would ^ - not believe it\ Note 8. Tlie Absolute force, to be justly applied, requires the exercise of cure, nice discrimination and good judgment. In this application, men of learning and taste have been known to differ. Garrick, the great English player, in the Ninth Commandment. 80 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. " Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor," — placed the stress on — shalt. — Mr. Johnson, his contemporary, and one of the best writers of that age, placed it on — not. Now the prohibition is not, \ Thou shalt not bear witness against thy neighbour, but thou shalt not I bear false witness: — and ^this probably is the proper seat of the em- 1 phatic force. — If the position is not well taken, let the teacher and the learner prove to the contrary, I SECOND. Antithetic or Relative Force. This kind of force shows contrast, and rests upon oppos- ing terms, both of which may be expressed, or one may be simply implied. Antithetic stress is not so intense, gene- rally, as to turn the voice downward when the reading demands the rising slide. Rule 16. Words that express contrast or opposition in sense, are pronounced with comparatively strong force. Example 1. We are bound to take heed, not only to wliat we say\ but to what we do\' — for our example affects the conduct of hundreds\ 2. Almost all of us think less of the injuries we inflict on others'^ than we do of those inflicted on ourselves^ this exemplifies the nature of selfishness\ 3. Where is the man who does not take more pains to hide his faults', than he does to mend them"^? 4. Cassius, in his quarrel, says to Brutus: — " I, who denied thee gold', will give my heari\ — Strike as thou didst at Cesar^.^^ Note 9. Here Cesar is emphatic, because the term impliedly stands opposed to Cassius, that is — Strike Cassius as thou didst strike Cesar, THIRD. The Double Stress. Sometimes the antithetic relation is expressed in pairs of contrasted terms, and the emphatic stress becomes double, though seldom very intense. This is called double em- phasis. Example 1. And why belioldest thou the mote that is hi THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 81 thy brother'' s eye', but considerest not the beam that is in thine oivn eye^? 0. If his principles are false', no apology of his\ can make them righi^; but if founded in iriith', no censure of ours', can make ihem wrongs. 7. The wise man is hapyy when he gains his aim ap- plause, and ihe fool', when he gains the apphiuse o( others^. 8. Though deep', yet clear\' though gentle', yet not dull^; Strong without rage', without o\'rJIoicing',fuIl^. LASTLY. The Monotone, or Sameness in Utterance, It has already been observed, that the Monotone is of but rare occurrence; and it foHows that whenever it is used, it sliould be done with taste and discrimination. The proper application of it, when a fit occasion occurs, may be learned from one general direction, with a few appropriate examples. Rule 17. All the terms that come under the Monotone, should be pronounced in a perfectly imiform tone, upon the same key or pitch of the voice, with a slow movement, and in a solemn, impressive manner. Example 1. Lucius', in the Roman Senate', while urging submission to Cesar', remarks': — " What men could do', is done already; heaven and earth will bear witness', if- Rome-must fall, — we are innocent. Note 9. At the close of the plirase — if Rome must fall — the voice neither rises nor falls; but proceeds until utterance ceases in a point resembling a dash running to a point. 2. Cast away from you all your transgressions whereby you have transgressed', and make you a new heart and a new spini'';'—for-why-wiU-yoi('die, O house of Israeli 3. Could we but climb where Moses stood', And view the landscape o'er'. Not Jordan's streams' — nor-deatW s-cold-jlood-^ Could fright us from the sliore\ 8 82 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 4. And now like blazing target red', He rushes to his burning bed^: Dies the wide wave with fiery light', I'hen sinks to rest' — and'all-is-night — . 5. Man', starting from his couch' — shall-sleep-no-more — The day is broke', which never more shall closeM Above', around', beneath' — amazement — allM Terror and g\ory\ joined in their extremes^! Our God in grandeur', and-our-world-on-Jire — . 6. If I were an American', as I am an Englishman^ while a foreign troop remained in my country', I-never- would-lay'down-my-arms — never — never — never — . Note 10. In the monotone delivery, the voice resembles the tolling of a bell or the slow striking of a clock at the still midnight v^atch. The words seem to be resolved into their separate syllables, and these almost into letters; while the voice, in a grave tone and with bold force, paces over them in the movement of the death march. Observation 8. Sometimes the monotone is confined to a single word — which, in the delivery, may be divided into syllables, but the accent is lost in the grave monotony. 7. Bui yeS'ter-day, and England might have stood against the tvorld^; now', none-so-poor as to do her revererice\ 8. At mid-night, when mankind are wrapp'd in sleep', And worldly fancy', feeds on golden dreams'. The solemn pomp shall burst upon the world\ 9. Wave succeeding wave, they go', A various journey to the deep'. Like human life — to-end-less-sleep — . ILLUSTRATIONS. Afew Examples referring to the Rules under the Sixth Chapter, to which the scholar will apply the Inflections^ the Emphatic Force, and the Monotone, in pencil marks; and then read them for the approbation of the teacher, 1. Gentlemen may cry peace! peace! — but there is no peace; — the war is actually begun! Our brethren are already THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 83 in the field ! Why stand ye here idle? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased with chains and slavery? Forbid it. Almighty God! I know not what course others may take, but, as for me, give me liberty, or give me death! 2. Human happiness has no perfect security but free- dom;— freedom has none but virtue; — virtue none but know- ledge; — and none of these have any vigor, or any lasting hope, unless seasoned with the salt of Divine faith. Men of Massachusetts! Citizens of Boston! Descendants of the early pilgrims! consider your blessings; — consider your duties. 3. By honor and dishonor; by evil report and good re- port; as deceivers, and yet true; as unknown, and yet well known; as dying, and behold we live; as chastened, but not killed; as sorrowful, yet always rejoicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, and yet possessed of all things. 4. Better is a dinner of herbs, where love is, than a stalled ox, and hatred therewith. A wise son maketh a glad father, but a foolish son is the heaviness of his mother. 5. High above the sacred band, There, in light, unfading set — Like twin stars of glory, stand Washington and La Fayette. 6. Days, months, years, and ages, shall circle away, And still the vast ocean above thee shall roll; Earth loses thy pattern forever and aye; — Oh! sailor-boy! sailor-boy! peace to thy soul. EXERCISES. A few brief Exercises, referring to all the fore going Rules. EXERCISE XXVI. Henry Francis, or the man of might. " O what a piece of workmanship is man !" 1. I looked', and beheld a man standing in the pride of life', and the glory of his strength\ He was built like the sturdy oak that strikes its roots deep in the earth', stretching 84 THE JUVENILE ORATHR. its branches forth to the breeze', and like the tall cedar that lifls its head liigh above the trees of the foresl\ He felt no want"; he feared no dan^^er''; he knew no disease'^; and he wondered why any should groan with pain', or sigh with sorrow^. His mind' , also', was as vigorous as his body^. He was perplexed by no intricacy^; he was daunted by no obstacle''. Into hidden things he searched with ease', and what was doubtful', he rendered plain^. 2. He went forth boldly upon the face of the mighty waters^; he looked upon the nations of the earth^; he measured the stars of the firmament', and called them by their names\ He gloried in the depth of his knowledge''; — in the powers of his mind^; — the greatness of his intellect^ and the excellence of jiis understanding'^:— ^wi^ he tried to search out even the hidden things of the AlmightyM And Avhen I looked upon him', I said with the poet', " O what a piece of loorhnanship is manM How noble in reason^! How various m faculties^! In form and moving', how ad7nirable\' In action', how like an angel^! in appre- hension'^ how like a God^!" 3. But when I returned and beheld again', his look was no more lofty', nor was his siep proud^. His broken frame resembled some ruined tower\ His hairs were white and scattered', and his eyes gazed vacantly on the passers by\ The vigor of his intellect was wasted', and of all he had gained by study', nothing remained\ He feared when there was no danger', and wept when there was no sorro2v\ His wasting memory had grown treacherous^; it showed him broken images only', of all the glory which had departed\ 5. His house to him', was as a strange land^; — and his kindred were accounted as enemies^. He thought himself strong and healthful', even while his feet tottered on the borders of the grave\ He said of his son', *' he is my brother^V^ and of his daughter', '* I know her not^:" — and he asked even for his own name^! And as I looked mournfully upon him', one who sup- ported his feeble frame', and ministered to his wants', said to me', — " Now let thine heart receive instruction''; — behold thine eyes have witnessed the weakness of a man of mighi\ THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 85 EXERCISE XXVII. The Delights of the Morning Air^ and the Music of Summer, 1. There is something in the air of a bright summer morning', which', while it defies the penetration of phi- losophy'^ adds -hrightness to the blood', freshness to life', and vigor to the soul\ All these stand for health'' — both of body and mind\ if, therefore, you would wear a rosy cheek', and a coral lip': — if you would have your heart dance like an April breeze', and your blood flow like an April brook', rise with the lark', and breakfast on the morn- ing air^ ; — fresh with the odor of opening flowers', and redolent with summer's fragrance\ 2. It is not all mere poetry' to talk about the voices of spring', and the songs of summer'. The season of flowers', is the daytime of the year\ and all its thousand influences', are awake and audibly at work\ Even in the stillness of night', if you place your ear upon the ground', you will hear that faintest of all sounds' — the sweet- and soothing murmur of growing things\ This murmur is summer's voice"" — it is fairy music\ If you have been in the habit of rising early', you must have observed how the stillness of the hour', has seemed to be increased by the timid note of the first bird of song\ But', by and by', all the birds are up and out\ — and the deep holiness that surrounds you', sensibly declines\ 3. But what a world of music', do the first rays of the glorious sun rest upon^! The deep toned lowing of the sluggish hind', blended with the sweet and fitful warble of a thousand happy creatures'- — and the stir of industry', rising on the ear like the under tones of a chosen choir' — and the voices of men', heard in the distance overall', like the voice of a singer among instruments', giving them language and meaning' — and all pouring like a mingled flood upon the buoyant spirits', fill the soul with rapture"". And then', if you have possessed a nicely attuned ear', and a delicate sense of change', you have observed', as the sun climbed up the azure vault of heaven', how all these sounds grew fainter'^ — softer"" — sweeter^, as the exhalations from the dew floated 8* 86 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. upward', and the vibrations loosened in the lighter almos- phere\ 4. While beauty clothes the fertile vale', And bhizons on the spray', And fragrance breathes in every gale'. How sweet'l how siveet'\ the c/aj6?n of dayM O let my wandering heart confess'. With gratitude and love', Thy bounteous hand that deigns to bless', The garden\ field', and grove\ Inspir'd to praise', 1 then shall join', Glad nature^ s cheerful song^; And love and gratitude divine', Attune my joyous tongue\ EXERCISE XXVIII. The Domestic Circle, 8. One of the siceetest', most delicate^ and most touching features in the picture of the domestic circle', is that in which the mother^s solicitude is discovered, in a thousand little nameless attentions to infant innocence^. No pen can picture', no pencil paint', the deep and soul-stirring look of her whose heaving bosom beats with tender love for the sin- less boon just lent her from the skies\ He who can behold such sweetness', hanging upon maternal beauty', and draw- ing its nourishment from the fountain of her6rm5^', without feeling that " of such is the kingdom of heaven',^^ is not a man', but a monster^, 2. Heaven has planted in the mother'' s face', a look that allies her to things beyond this world' — to things which claim kindred with the skies^. The angelic smile', the tender look', the wakeful, watchful eye that keeps its vigils by the slumbering babe', are all beyond the finest strains of poetry', and the boldest flights o( fancy^. They are felt only in the heart of man^; — they live in his sympathies^; they reign in his afrections\ His eye roves in vain through all the earth to find a counterpart beyond his own bosom^; it lies there in sweet repose', holding its empire', until the tide of life is frozen by the touch of death\ THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 87 3. The opening charms of spring', dressed in their livery of green'; the harmony of inspiring sounds', poured from the unfettered brook'; the woods and groves', peopled wiih new life', and bursting forth with new song', — are like the unfolding beauties of infant loveliness\ It is the con- templation of these', which awakens the train of tender emotions', imaged in the mother's smile', as she lifts her babe to her embrace', and feels that all her cares^, her tears^, and deep anxieties', are more than lialf repaid\ None but a mother knows these holy emotions^ — this holiday of the soul\ 4. Such moments are the most delicious of her existence\ They are moments of sweet delight', on which her memory feasts with unmingled emotions of holy joy\ It is not a frenzy of delight in which she revels'; for although all her feelings are awake', there is a soft and pensive shade that sweetens every expression^; and each pulsation of the heart', seems as tremulous as the aspen leaf when kissed by the whispering zephyi\ But these are feelings beyond the reach of language'; they are known only to the mother'^; —and man must forever be a stranger to tiiem\ 5. *' Lo'! at the couch', where infant beauty sleeps'. Her silent watch', the anxious mother keeps\ She', while the lovely babe', unconscious lies'. Smiles on the slumbering child with pensive eyes', And weaves a S07ig of sweet delirious joy\ — Sleeps, image of thy father'^ — sleeps, my boy\ Note. This and a few following exercises are left for the learner to apply the inflections, 4^c. in pencil mark, EXERCISE XXIX. The Indians of America, Both as our forefathers found them, and as vi^e know them. C. Sprague. 1. Not many generations since, where you now sit,* the rank iTiistle nodded in the wind, and the fox of the forest * The old South Church, in Boston. 88 THE JUVENILE ORATOR, dug his hole unscared. Then there here lived another race of beings. Beneath the same sun that rolls over your heads, the Indian hunter chased the fallow deer; gazing on the same moon that smiles on you, the Indian lover wooed his dusky mate. Here the wigwam blaze, beamed on the young and helpless, and the council fire, glared on the wise and daring. Now they dip their noble limbs in yonder sedgy lake, and now they paddle their bark canoe along yon craggy shore. Here they warred; — the echoing whoop, the defying death, the bloody grapple — all were here; and when the tiger strife was done, here curled the smoke of peace. 2. Here, too, they worshipped; — and from many a dark bosom, went up to the Great Spirit, a pure and fervent prayer. He had not written laws for them on tables of stone, but he had traced them on the tablet of their hearts. The poor child of nature, knew not the God of Revelation, but the God of the universe he acknowledged in every thing around him. He beheld him in the star that sunk in beauty be- hind his lowly dwelling; — in the glowing orb that flamed upon him from a noonday throne; — in the blossom that opened to the morning breeze; — in the towering pine that defied a thousand whirlwinds; — in the timid warbler that never left his native grove; — in the fearless eagle whose un- tired pinions cleft the nether cloud, and in his own matchless for^u, animated by a spark of that light to whose mysterious source he bowed in humble adoration: — But all this has passed away. 3. Across yon rolling ocean, came a pilgrim bark, freighted with the seeds of life and death. The former were sown for you; — the latter sprung up in the path of the simple native. Two hundred years have changed the character of a great continent, and blotted forever from its face a whole peculiar people. Art has usurped the bowers of nature, and the anointed child of education, has been too mighty for the untaught man of the woods. Here and there a stricken few remain, but how unlike their bold, untamed, and untameable progenitors! The Indian of eagle glance, and lion bearing — the theme of the touching ballad, and the hero of the pa- thetic tale, is forever gone! And his poor degraded offspring, crawl upon the soil where he walked in majesty, to remind THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 89 US how miserable is man when the foot of the conqueror is upon his neck! 4. As a race, the Indians have withered from the land. Their arrows are broken; their springs are dried up; their council fires have gone out, and their war-cry is dying in the untrodden west. Slowly and sadly they climb the dis- tant hills, and read their final exit in the setting sun. They are sinking beneath the mighty tide that is pressing them away, and they will soon hear the roar of the last v/ave that hides them from earth. Some ages hence, some philosophic white man, standing near some mighty city, planted where the panther now prowls, and the raven builds her nest, and, pondering on the structure of some Indian's disentombed remains, will wonder to what manner of persons they belonged. They will be known only in the songs and chronicles of coming times: — O may these be faithful to their rude virtues as men, and to their unrighteous fate as a noble pco:)!e. EXERCISE XXX. The Blessings of Peace, 1. Lovely art thou, O Peace! — and lovely is thy voice in all the land; — lovely are thy uninaimed children, and lovely their footsteps among the green herbs of the valley. Wreaths of curling smoke arise above the leafy grove, and point to the quiet cottage, half hidden by the spreading branches. The eye of the husbandman rests with content on the well thatched hay-rick, and the corn-crib filled with the gathered harvest, and he laughs at the approach of hoary winter. 2. Smiling hamlets decorate the face of the country, and thrifty cities pour their wealth into the lap of the metropolis. The lowing hind stands midway in the cooling pool, and the bleating flock crop the tender grass in quiet. The case- ment of the farm-house, is covered with the creeping honey- suckle, and the stately green-house sends forth the perfume of tropical climes. 3. Little children climb the grassy mound of the massy fortress, and creeping ivy holds together the half demolished buttress. Old men and matrons sit by their hearth, enjoy- 90 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. ing the fruits of their industry. The gossip leans upon her distaff and chats of the village news, while young men and maidens enjoy the promise of coming felicity. 4. The housewife's stores of household linen, as white as the untrodden snow, lie packed away with fragrant herbs, and the thrifty merchant's wares are spread abroad, un- harmed, to every buyer's eyes, while the labor of each gives profit and plenty to all. The men of the North drink the tea of China, and the coffee of Arabia, and the daughters of the West wear the web of Hindostan. 5. The Jame, and the halt, and the blind, repose in quiet hospitals, and the blessed and blessing charities of life, cir- culate from the prince to the peasant. The rich succor and help the poor, and the poor in turn esteem and aid the rich. Justice pervades all the borders of the land, and is meted out alike to all conditions of life. Law sits on her throne wielding a sceptre supreme, and the sword is her servant. Lovely art thou, O, Peace! and lovely is thy voice in all the land. Welcome in the eastern cloud, Messenger of mercy still ! Now, ye winds, proclaim aloud, *' Peace on earth, to man good will!" EXERCISE XXXI. The Horrors of War. L Terrible art thou, O War, and fearful is thy voice among the children of men: By thee, death reigns triumph- ant, and glories in the w^ork of carnage. The bannered hosts go forth to devastate, and gory are their footsteps on the rugged turf of the tented field. They pass like the storm, and, like a cloud of locusts, they devour the sub- stance of the earth. The honors of the grave are forgotten, the hearth of the cottage is forsaken, the village is wrapped in flames, and smouldering ruins bestrew the desolate plain. 2. Surrounded by thy ravages, man looks upon man in wild dismay. The fruits of the toil of all his years, are swept from before him, and, in the evening of his days, he is left to wander and want. His spirit mourns, like the THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 91 captive Israelite by the stream of Babylon, because the temple of his God is profaned; the soldier's curse resounds in the house of prayer; the marble isle is tramped by iron hoofs, and a troop of horse neigh by the side of the altar. Under thy banner, all law and all order are forgotten; vio- lence and rapine go abroad unchecked — and the golden cords of life are loosed and lost. 3. On one side, are heard the cry of anguish and shrieks of wo, while, on the other, suppressed indignation bursts the heart in silent despair. Behold that lingering youth! — He is the first born of maiden beauty. — But yesterday, he bounded like the roebuck, and glowed like summer fruit; — active in sports, and strong in labor; — but he has passed in a moment to helpless infirmity. He is more feeble than his grand-sire upon whose head have descended the snows of eighty years; — but his were the snows of nature; — the youth's are the ravages of war. 4. Under thy cover, O War! things unholy and unclean come forth from their lurking places, and deeds of dark pol- lution are perpetrated in the face of broad-eyed day. The ear of maiden delicacy no longer feels a shock at the tale of outrage and brutal wrong, and her eyes ha^e grown familiar with scenes of abomination. These, O child of reason! are some of the balefid horrors of war. Contrast them closely with the blessings of peace, and say to which of the two thou inclinest; — choose thee therefore the cause to which thou wilt yield thy future in- fluence. 5. But Linden saw another sight, When drums did beat at dead of night, Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of the scenery. By torch and trumpet, fast array 'd, Each horseman drew his battle blade, And furious every charger neigh'd To join the dreadful revelry. 6. Then shook the hills with thunder riv'n; Then rush'd the steed to battle driv'n; 92 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. And louder than the bohs of heaven, Far flash'd the red artillery. Ah! few shall part where many meet; The snow shall be their winding sheet; And every turf beneath their feet, Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. EXERCISE XXXII. The destruction of the City of Herculaneum, about Jl.D, 79; large portions of which have lately been dug open, and revealed to the world the fashions qnd arts as they were 2000 years ago, 1. Herculaneum was a large, populous, and splf^'vlj*] rity of Southern Italy, situated amidst all that nature con Li f)ro- duce of beauty and profusion, and all that art could collect of science and magnidcence. These were the accumulations of many ages; — the birth and abiding place of enlightened multitudes; the seats of fashion, of festivity, and of merri- ment. But in a fatal moment, as by the waving of a wizard's wand, the whole was obliterated from the face of day. 2. Its palaces, its temples, adorned with weaUh and beauty; — and its gardens, glowing with unceasing spring; — and its inhabitants, reveling in the dance, the song, and the enjoyment of life's luxuries, were swept at once and forever from their places in the universe. It was not by disease — not by famine — not by war — but they vanished, as by magic, in a single night, amidst the conflagrations of nature her- self; — -presenting to ihe world a spectacle of desolation, upon which the wildest flights of fancy might grow weary in attempting to ape the terrible reality. 3. The eruption of Mount Vesuvius, by which this beau- tiful city, and that of Pompeii were overwhelmed, is chiefly described in the interesting letters of Pliny, the younger, relating to the fate of his unfortunate uncle, and the situation of himself and his mother. His uncle, the elder Pliny, who had just returned from the bath and entered his study, observed a dark speck, like a cloud, which seemed to ascend from the summit of Mount Vesuvius. 4. This cloud gradually increased; until it assumed the THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 93 figure and appearance of a newly withered pine tree; — the trunk composed of dust and dense vapor, and the leaves of red cinders. The startled philosopher became deeply ex- cited; he ordered his galley to be manned, and pushed for- ward to examine the wonderful phenomenon. On nearing the shore, he very humanely, and most venturously em- ployed iiis boat in saving the wretched inhabitants who were flying from the beautiful villas that adorned the, enchanting coast. 5. This memorable catastrophe commenced about mid- day — but a far deeper darkness than that of an Egyptian night, had closed round the ill-fated inmates of this devoted city. In this portentous gloom, Herculaneum and the whole neighboring region, was perfectly enveloped for the space of nearly three days; — and when the sun again looked npon the spot where this lovely city stood, his broad beam fell npon an ocean of molten lava! 6. There was no plant, no shrub, no dwelling, no spot of earth, no living creature, not even a remnant of any tiling that the hands of man had reared, to meet his smile and welcome his return. One black, unbroken surface, still teeming with mephitic vapor, and swelling into calcined waves by the force of heat and the undulations of the earth- quake, was all that met the eye of the astonished multitudes wlio, from other cities, gathered to the spot to witness the frightful ruin. EXERCISE XXXIII. A Dialogue on Dancing. School Boys, Henry and Thomas. Henry. Tom', when are you going to begin dajicing^? You will be so old in a short time, that you will be ashamed to be seen taking your five steps^. Thomas. I don't know', Henry', as I shall begin at all\ Father says he don't care Tijig whether 1 learn io jump any better than I do now\ and as I am to be a tradesman', he is determined', at present', to keep me at the reading and writing schools\ Hen. That must be very dull and dry for you\ And 9 94 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. what good will all such learning do you', so long as you make the awkward appearance you do at present? I am surprised at your father's folly\ So', because you are to be a tradesman^ you are not to learn the gracesM I expect to learn a trade /oo\ But my papa says', I shsiW first learn the dancing trade^; and then', if I never learn any other', I shall make my way through the world well enough\ Thos. I don't know which discovers the most folly\?/owr father or mine^. Old folks certainly know more than young ones\ And my father is much the older man\ Hen. I don't believe that doctrine\ There is Jack Up- start knows more than his father and mother hoth>. And he is but nineteen yet', and he says the present generation', under five and twenty years of age', knows more than fifteen generations that have gone before us\ Thos. I don't know how that is'; but father early taught me this proverb^ — *' Young folks think old folks are fools\ but old folks know young ones to be so'." But to return to schools^. Pray how far have you gone in your arithmetic^? Hen. Arithmetic'! I have not begun that yet'; nor shall 1 till I have completed dancing\ That is a dry study ^; I know I shall never like it\ Thos. Writing I suppose you nrefond of^? Hen. 1 can't say I am,^ Thomas\ I once had a tolerable fondness for it', but since I began dancing', I have held it in utter contempt\ It may be well enough for a person to write a legible hand' — but it is no mark of a gentleman to write elegantly'. Thos. You would have a gentleman spell well I sup- pose'? Hen. I would have him spell so well as to be urider- stood^; and that is enough for any man\ Thos. What do you say to Grammar and Geography^? Hen. Don't 7iame them\ I entreat you\ There is no- thing I so much abhor', as to hear your learned school boys', jabbering over their nouns', their pronouns', their verbs', their parables', their congregations', their imperfections', and their confluctions\ I'll tell you what', Thomas', I would rather be master of one hornpipe', than to understand all the THE^ JUVENILE ORATOR, 95 grammars which have been published since the art of print- ing was discovered\ Thos. I am sorry\ friend Henry', to hear you speak so contemptuously of the soliil scien('es\ I hope you don't mean to neglect them entirely'. If you do\ you must expect to live m poverty^^ and die the derision and scorn of all wise men\ Hen. Never fear that^, Thomas\ I shall take care o^ my- self, I warrant you\ You are much mistaken in your prog- nostications\ W hy ', there's Tom Fiddlefaddle', he can't even write his name''; and as for reading, he scarcely knows B from a broomstick'; and yet he can dance a minuet with any master of the art in Christendom\ And the ladies all love him dearly\ He is invited to their balls, routes, assem- blies, card-parties', &c.', &c/, and he diverts them like any inonkey\ Thos. And does he expect it will be the same through life'? How is he to be maintained when he becomes old'^l and how is he to amuse himself after he is unable to dance^? as you say he can neither read nor vvrite\ Hen. Why', in fact', I never thought of those things before'. I confess there seems to be some weight in your queries\ I don't know but it will be best for me to spare a day or two in a week from my dancing, to attend to the branches you are pursuing\ exercise xxxiv. The Battle of Lexington. Captain McFuse, Mr, Sage, and young Lincoln. Capt. McF. What may be your o[)inion of these doings\ as you call them, Mr. Sage^? You', w^ho are a man of ob- servation', should understand your countrymen^; — will they fight'? Sage. A rat will fight, if the cats pen him'. Capt. McF. But do the Americans conceive themselves . penned'? Sage. Why, that is pretty much as people think, Cap- tain\ the country was in a great toss about the stamps and feci"; but /always said', such folks as don't give their notes- 96 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. o/'hand', and had no great relish for any thing more than plain country food' , wouldn't find themselves cramped by the laws', after a//^" Capt. McF. Then you see no great oppression in being asked to pay your bit of tax', Mr. Sage', to maintain such a worthy fellow as myself, in a decent equipment', to fight your battles'. Sage. Why', as to that', Captain', I suppose we can do pretty much the whole of our fighting\ when occasion calls', though I don't think there is much stomach for such doings among the people', without jieed^. Capt. McF. But', what do you think the Committee of Safety\ and your Sons of Liberty^, as they call themselves', really mean by their parades of rni7iut e-men^, their gathering of provisions^, their carrying ofl^ the cannon^, and such other formidable and appalling preparations^; — hal honest Seth'l Do you think to frighten British soldiers with the roll of the drum', or are they amusing themselves', like boys in the holidays', with playing war^? Sage. I should conclude', Captain McFuse', that the people know what they are about^; and that they are pretty much engaged and in earnest^, Capt. McF. To do what^? To forge their own chains^, that we m^Y fetter them in truth>l Sage. Why', seeing they have burnt the stamps', and thrown the tea into the harbor'; and since that', have taken the management into their own hands', I should rather con- clude they had pretty much determined to do what they think best\ Young Lincoln. [Laughingly,) You appear to come to conclusions' , Capt. McFuse', without your hosV", notwith- standing so mucli is d€termined\ It is well understood', Mr. Sage', that large reinforcements are coming to the colonies^; — and to Boston, in particular^. Sage. Why, yes^; it seems to be pretty generally con- templated on\ Lin. And what is the result of those contemplations^? Sage, Why', as the country is considerably engaged in business', there are some', who think if the ministers don't THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 97 open the port', that it will be done', without much further words', by the people^. Lin. Do you knoiv that such an attempt would lead di- rectly to a civil war'? Sage. I suppose it is safe to conclude that such doings would bring on disturbance''. Lin. And you speak it', sir', as a thing not to be depre- cated', and averted by every possible means in the power of the nation\ Sage. If the port is opened', and the right to tax given np', I can find a man in Boston', who will engage to let them draw all tfie blood that will be spilt', from his own veins for nothinor^. exercise XXXV. The Tyrant Gesler, and William TelL [The Scene is laid in Switzerland.] Gesler. Why speak^st thou not^? W. Tell. For wonder^. Ges. Wonder'? Tell. Yes\ that thou should'st seem a man''. Ges. What should I seem^? Tell. A monster-'^! Ges. Ha'! Beware^: — think on thy chains'". Tell. Though they were double^, and did weigh me down', prostrate to the earth^, methinks I could rise up erect', with nothing but the honest pride of telling thee', usurper', to the teeth', thou art a monster^! Think upon my chains'! show me the link of them', which', could it speak', would give its evidence against my word\ Think of my chains'! — think of my chains'! How came they on me^? Ges. Barest thou question me'? Tell. Barest thou answer^? Ges. Bo I hear'? Tell. Thou dost^, Ges. Beware of my vengeance''. Tell. Can it more than kill'? 9.^ 98 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. Ges. Enough^ — it can do tliat^. Tell. No\ — not enoughs — It cannot take away the grace of life' — the comeliness of look vviiich virtue gives'; its port erect with consciousness of truth' ; its rich attire of honorable deeds'^ its fair report'^ that's rife on good men's tongues'; it cannot lay its hand on these\ no more than it can pluck his brightness from the sun>; or', with polluted finger', tarnish ii\ Ges. But it can make thee writhed Tell. It may\ Ges. And groait. Tell. It may\ and I may cry', go on>, though it should make me groan again"^. Ges. Whence contest thou^? Tell. From the mountains'^. Would'st thou learn what news from them'? Ges. Canst tell me any'? Tell. Av\ — they watch no m.ore the avalanche^ Ges. Why so^? Tell. Because they look for thee^. The hurricane comes unawares upon them\ from its bed', the torrent breaks', and finds them in its track\ Ges. What do they then^? Tell. Thank heaven it is not thou^l Thou hast perverted nature in them\ The earth presents her fruits to theiii', and is not thanked"^; the harvest sun is constant', and they scarce return his smile\^ their flocks and herds increase', and they look on as men who count a loss^; they hear of thriving children born to them', and never shake the teller by the hand^; while those they have, they see grow up and flourish', and think as little of increasing them', as they were things a deadly plague had smit\ There is not a blessing Heaven vouchsafes them', but the thought of thee doth wither to a curse', as something they must lose', and richer were the lack\ Ges. That's right\' I'd have them like their hills', which never smile', though wanton summer tempt them e'er so much\ Tell. But they do sometimes smile'. Ges. Ay 'I— when is thai^? THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 99 7'ell. ^Yhen they do talk of vengeance^, Ges. Vengeance'! Dare they talk of that'? Tell. Ay^; and expect it', too\ Ges. From lohence^? Tell. From Heaven""! Ges. From Heaven'? 'J'ell. And the true hands are lifted up to it', on every hiir, {ox justice on thee\ CHAPTER YII. THE MODULATIONS APPLIED TO READING VEPtSE BY DEFINITE RULES. general remarks. It is more difficult to read poetry well, than prose. The language is more elliptical, and the sense more obscure. The charm of poetry is made up, principally, of delicacy of sen- timent and brevity of expression; and, in reading, these characteristics must be specially considered. When the language of poetry awakens the emotion of dignity, reverence, or deep devotion, the voice assumes a corresponding character; it has less variety and less intensity in the slides, and it runs almost insensibly into the regions of the monotone. But when the language awakens the gende, the delicate, the plaintive, or the tender emotions, the voice becomes softened, and runs easily into the rising slide. But tlie emphatic stress and the inflections have their claims, and must be regarded even at the expense of the affectionate and sympathetic emotions. liCt it be remembered that the pauses, and the inflections, and all the other principles observed in reading prose, must also be observed in reading poetry; and to these must be added a few others which are peculiar to the delivery of this species of composition. They will be explained in the fol- lowing directions. Rule 1. A pause and a consequent slide of the voice, 100 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. must be observed at the close of every line; but the duration of the pause must be governed by the sense. Example 1. While conscience', like a faithful friend', Shall through the gloomy vales attend', And cheer our parting breath^; Shall', when all other comforts cease', Like a kind angel', whisper peace'. And smooth the bed of death\ 2. Now the pine tree's waving top', Gently greets the morning gale^; Kidlings now begin to crop'. Daisies on the dewy vale\ Sweet — O siveet'J — the warbling throng', On the white emblossom'd spray^; Nature's universal song', Echos to the rising day\ Now, he se^s behind the hill'. Sinking from a golden sky^; Can the penciVs mimic skill'. Copy the refulgent die'? 3. Where the beauteous Niger roll'd', Through the land of slaves and gold', On the bank a Tiger lay'. Slumbering through the sultry day\ Stately palms their branches spread', Cool and verdant o'er his head^; Deeply murmuring in iiis ear'. Rippling ran the river clears 4. While the sim', in noon of light'. Like an eagle in his flight', Borne upon the wings of time', Tower'd in majesty sublime^; Earth and ocean' — air and sky' — Basking in his boundless eye\ THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 101 5. Soft as the desert fowitains flow% Sweet as ocean breezes blow', Came fair NiUa\ matchless ma id\ "Where the sleeping monster laid\ O what wild, enchanting grace\ Sparkled o'er her dimpl'd faceM Observation 1. Sometimes the relation between the last word in the line, and the first of the following, is so very close, that the pause is nothing more than a brief suspension of utterance, and the slide very slightly turned upwards. When it so happens that the article which limits the noun, the adjective which qualifies it, and the preposition which governs it, are so separated — which is very seldom, the pause must be very slight, and yet perfectly distinct, w^hile- the voice continues suspended; that is, slides neither up nor down. 6. O'er their heads a crystal firmament', Whereon^a saphyre throne', inlaid with pure Amber'^, and colors of the show'ry bow\ On a sudden', open fly', With impetuous recoil', d^nd jarring sound', Th' infernal doors'^ and', on their hinges', grate Harsh thunder^, 7. And if each system in gradation roll', Alike essential to th' amazing whole', The least confusion but in one', not all That system only', but the whole must fall\ Here lies the substance''. And I thank thee', king'. For thy rare bounty', which not only gives Me cause to weep', but teaches me the way To lament that cause."^ Note 1. In almost every kind of verse, a suspension of utterance* called the cesural pause, must be made; and where it occurs in the third line, or the last but one in a verse of several lines, it adds greatly to the beauty and variety of delivery to accompany that pause v/ith a slight downward slide of the voice; it serves to throw the two last 102 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. lines into a series of four compound members; the effect of which will appear from an application of the following- direction to a few examples where the pause is marked by a slender dash. Rule 2. ^When the measure will admit of the cesnral pause, the last but one, or the penult cesura, has a slight, falling slide of the voice, and the last, the rising slide. Ex. 1. But darkness and doubts' — are now flying away^; No longer I roam', in conjectures forlorn^; So break on the traveller^ — faint and astray', The bright and the balmy' — eflulgence of morn\ See truth, love, and mercy' — in triumph descending^! And nature all glowing' — in Eden's first bloom^; On the cold cheek of deatli" — smiles and roses are blending', And beauty immortal', awakes from the tomb\ 2. But what was the cause""- — of that tranquil enjoyment^? Not the hou'se'j not ihejie'lds' — not the pro'spect so rare'; Not the orchard', wot pond^ — nor rural employment; But the dearly low d friends' — of my bosom were there\ And the day that we parted' — the heart-rending anguish'. No pen can describe' — nor the pencil portray^; To me', all the beauties around^ — seem'd to languish'. And all the hnghi prospect' — to fade and decay\ 3. There's a bold, bald bird' — with a bended beak', With an angry eye'— and a startling shriek', That inhabits the crag"- — where the clift flowers grow', On the precipice-top' — in perpetual snow\ He's the bird of our banner^ — the eagle that braves', When the battle is there' — the wrath of the waves^; He rides on the storm^ — in its hurricane march', 'Mid lightning's broad flash' — through heaven's blue arch\ 5. I have pass'd o'er the hills' — of the stormy North\ And the larch has hung' — all his tassels forth^; The fish-boat is oul^ — on the soft sunny sea'. And the rein-deer bounds' — through the forests free^; THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 103 Now the pine wears a fringe^ — of softer green', And the moss looks bright' — where I have been\ EXERCISES. *^ few brief Exercises, referring to the Rides in the 1th Chapter, EXERCISE XXXIV. Addressed to a knot of Daffodils. 1. Fair daffodils', we weep to see' You haste away so soon^; As yet', the early rising sun', Hath not attained his noon\ StayM stay^l Until the rising day', Has run', But to ev'ning song', And', having prayed together', we Will go with you along\ We have short time to stay as yov>$ We have as short a spring^; As quick a growth to meet decay As yoy>; — or any other thing\ We die — As your hues die^; — and dry Away', Like the soft summer rain^; Or like the pearls of morning dew', Ne'er to return again\ The Snail and his House. 2. To grass, or leaf, or fruit, or wall',' The Snail sticks close', nor fears a fall', As if he greiv ihere^ — house and all — Together\ Within that house', secure he hides', W^hen danger, imminent', betides' — Of storm', or other harm besides' — Of weather\ 104 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. Give but his horns the slightest touch', His self-collecting power is such', He shrinks into his house v^^ith much' Displeasure\ Where'er he dwells', he lives alone^; Except himself, has chattels none^; Well satisfied to be his own' Whole treasure\ Thus', hermit-like', his life he leads^; 'Nor partner of his banquet needs^; And if he meets one', only feeds' The fast er\ Who seeks him', must be worse than hUnd>, (He and his house are so combin'd',) If, finding it\ he fails to find' — Its master\ EXERCISE XXXVII. The Chime of St. Marks.'' I. Those evening bells' — those evening bells', How many a tale' — their music tells', Of youth', and home^ — and native clime'. When I last heard' — their soothing chimeM Those pleasant hours' — have pass'd away^; And many a heart' — which then was gay', Within the tomb^ — 7iow darkly dwells'. And hears no more' — those evening bells\ And so 'twill be' — when / am gone^; l^hat mournful peal' — will still ring on', When other bards^ — shall walk those dells'. And sing youv praise'' — sweet evening bells\ * These sweetly touching lines are said to have been occasioned by the following incident : — A bell-maker who had cast, and hung, and attuned the chime at St. Marks, wandered far into distant climes, and after many years returned to his own home. As he approached the city toward evening, in a small boat across the bay, the chime burst upon his ears and nearly overpowered all his faculties. THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 105 The Song of the Spheres. 2. When the radient morn' — of creation broke', And the spheres in the smile' — of Jehovah 'woke', And the empty realms' — of darkness and death', Were mov'd thro' their depths' — by his mighty breath'; And worlds of light' — and orbs of flame', From the void abyss' — in myriads came'; In ihejoy of youth' — as they roU'd away'. Thro' the winding wastes' — of space, to play', U'heir silver notes^ — in chorus rung'. And this is the song' — which the bright worlds sung\ ^n .Address to the Stars. 3. Ye 2iYefair^, ye are/airM — and your pencil rays' — Steal down like the light' — of departed days\ But have sorrow and sin' — never wander'd o'er', The green abodes' — of your sunny shore'? Hath no frost been there' — no withering blast' — Cold, cold o'er the flowers' — and {he forest pass'd'? Does the playful leaf — neither fall nor fade'? The rose never droop' — in the silent shade'? Does there come no cloud' — on your morning beam'? On your night of repose' — no troubled dream'? The Departure of the Pilgrims— £.D. 1620. 4. When crown and crosier' — rul'd a coward world', When mental darkness"" — o'er the nations curl'd', When wrapt in sleep' — earth's torpid children lay'. Hugged their vile chains'— and dream\l their age away'; 'Twas then', hy faith impell'd' — hy freedom fir'd', By hope supported' — by God inspir'd'; — 'Twas then the Pilgrims' — left their fathers' graves' — To seek a home' — beyond the waste of waves^ — And where it rose' — all rough and wintry here'. They swell'd devotion's song' — and dropt devotion's tear\* * The scholar will hardly fail to observe that the cesural pause fre- quently occurs where the grammatical point is placed; — and also that the falling cesural slide is often controlled by higher considerations than simple harmony. 10 106 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. EXERCISE XXXVIII. Our Days pass as a tale that is told. The last days of my youth' — why, indeed, ye are come'^l And the tints of life's morning' — will soon fade away^; I 07ice vainly fanci'd'— -my cheek's purple bloom' — Immortal as angels' — would never decay\ — Nor can I believe' — the cold words of my tongue' — When it falters' — that I am no more to be young\ But yesterday' — I was a boy^, and I wore' — My jacket of blue^, and my bow round my neck^; And I danc'd', and I sung' — and I laughingly bore' To my little mates' — wreaths of flow'rs to deck — Our rosy foreheads' — where clusters of gold Hung so bright^: — could you think they would ever grow old'? Bless'd years of the past'! How I love to trace', With memory's pencil' — your images dear^! Like a painter' — call'd late' — to take the sweet face Of a beautiful babe' — lying dead on the bier\ But oh'! as your picture'—I fondly pursue', A soft-stealing /ear-drop' — -my eyelids bedew\ No wonder'^ — for who can\ unmov'd', bid adieu'. To mysterious raptures' — warm youth only knows^? And on the world's dim' — dreary threshold to view — The opening scenes' — of his joys and his woesM Who gazes' — nor sighs' — with a heart deeply wrung'. Why can we not always'' — be blooming and young^? Remark. — Here follows a few exercises in which the scholar will carefully apply all the foregoing characters in pencil mark, and then read as his judgment and taste, aided by his teacher's skill, shall best dictate. It must not, it cannot indeed, be expected that, with all his care, he will succeed perfectly at the first or even at the fiftieth trial; perfection, in this respect, must be the result of patient practice: — but every effort will give him new thought, fresh confidence, and renewed resolution to per- THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 107 severe. A good mind is rarely crushed by little trifles; — and very few American youths have bad minds. exercise xxxix. The Threat Recalled. The Cottager's Address to Winter. Well, old Gentleman — thou hast come again To give poor man another cold embrace; But still, I see, in thy forbearing mien, Some smiles of comfort in thy frosty face. Extend thy snowy mantle o'er the world; And, with thy icy sceptre, tyrant, reign; O'er nature's face thy tempests may be hurl'd, And northern blasts may sweep along the plain. Thou wilt not hurt my little thatched cot — As thou rid'st low'ring on the passing gale; But pause, delighted wiib my happy lot. And, whistling, listen to the evening tale. But if thou cap'rest round my house, and storm, And troub'lest widi thy chills an honest soul, I warn thee now; beware thy grissly form; I'll l3urn thee, like a wood-chuck, from thy hole. Stay, stay! old fellow; I recall that threat; 1 feel my powers are weaker far than thine; Should I attempt to make thy noddle sweat, I fear one smack from thee might shiver mine. "• exercise xl. The Burial Place. The Grave brings all to one level. . Earth to earth, and dust to dust; Here the evil and the just; Here the youthful and the old; Here the timid and the bold; 108 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. Here the matron and the maid; In one common grave are laid. Here the vassal and the king, Side by side, lie mouldering; Here the sword and sceptre rust; Earth to earth, and dust to dust. Age on age shall roll along, O'er this pale and ghastly throng; Those who wept them, those who weep, All shall, with these sleepers, sleep. Trump of peace nor clarion's roar, Ne'er shall break their slumbers more; Death shall keep his silent trust, Mingled with its mother dust. EXERCISE XLI. A Parent's Reflections. Address of a Mother to her departed Infant. Light of my life! Quenched is the vital flame so soon! Or ere thy joys were rife, Or thou hadst reach'd youth's flow'ry noon! Thy days how few! How swifter than an eagle's -flight — Amid yon heaven of blue! Thy course, like his, soon wrapt from sight. Light of my life! And art thou gone! — forever gone? O grief! to thee the strife— I yield. Flow, then, my tears, flow on. Ah! fatal flight- To thee and thine! — Yet why deplore! Anon, in fields of light — We meet again — to part no more. THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 109 exercise xlii. The Seasons. These^ as they change^ are but the varied God. I mark'd the Spring as she pass'd along, With her eye of blue, and her lip of song; While she silently stole o'er the green earth's breast, And the streams gush'd out from their icy rest; The buds bent low to the zephyr's sigh, And their breath went up to the scented sky; Then the fields look'd fresh in their sweet repose, And the young dew slept on the new-bora rose. I look'd upon Summer; — the golden sun Pour'd joy over all the Spring had begun; His rays were cast as a bounty abroad. Like the boundless smile of a merciful God: The streams rejoic'd in their magic play. While fleecy clouds on the green hills lay; Over rich, dark woods their shadows went, As they floated in light, through the firmament. The scene was changed; — it was Autumn's hour; A frost had discolor'd the Summer bovver; The blast wail'd sad 'midst the canker'd leaves, While the reaper mused by the gaiher'd sheaves; The mellow pomp of the rainbow woods, Was stirr'd by the rush of the rising floods; And I knew by the clouds, and the wild wind's strain, That Winter was near, with his snow-clad train. I stood by the Ocean; — its deep waters roll'd. In their changeful hues of saphyre and gold; And the Day look'd down with its radiant smiles, When the blue waves danc'd round a thousand islee; Then ships went forth on the trackless seas, And their white wings play'd on the joyous breeze; Their prows rush'd on 'midst the parted foam. While the sailor was wrapt in a dream of home. 10* no THE JUVENILE ORATOR. EXERCISE XLIII» A Death Scene. The Good Mart's Departure to a Better World. How bright the scene where God-like virtue dies! Where crumbling nature looks up to the skies! Where sister spirits call the soul away, From earth to heav'n! — from night to endless day! How bright the hour that sees the good man soar — To heights where sin shall vex his soul no more! Where praise and prayer delights his ravish'd ear, And fellow angels wipe his last shed tear. When heav'n's fires around this world shall gleam, And close this tinsel'd shadow of a dream; When Gabriel's trump shall cleave the affrighted skies. And bid the dust of sleeping millions rise; Then, far from fear, and from the cries of wo, From shades that darken, and from fires that glow. The good man's spirit, like a spotless dove, Shall reign in glory, happiness, and love. exercise xliv. The Death of a Tiger. Nilla escapes his jaws hy plunging into the Niger. Sudden as the lightning's stroke. Glances on the splinter'd oak. At her touch, the tiger springs; With his voice, the forest rings. One wild moment Nilla stands. Then seeks the wave across the sands. With the roar of thunder, hollow. As the monster leaps to follow, Quick and keen a venom'd dart. Quivers in his cruel heart. Round he reels in mortal pain; Bites the barbed shaft in twain; Groans, and falls, and pours his breath, In a hurricane of death. PART SECOND. Select pieces^ both in prose and poetry^ for the exercise of the scholar in the application of the modulations of the voice. These are to be made in pencil mark, agreeably to the Rules exhibited in the foregoing pages, before the scholar attempts to read. CHAPTER I. PIECES IN PROSE. exercise i. Mary of the Valley. The Miseries resulting from the late Wars of Europe. 1. Of the millions that went out to the battles of the am- bitious Emperor of the French, but comparatively few ever returned to the homes of their nativity. The mkery of the myriads who perished — their groans, their sigh;?^ their tears, with all the pangs of dissolving nature — has never been told; — the ears of the world have never been wounded by the report, nor the sympathies of the soul awakened by its sad recital. The wastes of war come to the page of history only in round numbers; they seldom awaken a thought of the detail, or bring before the mind a case of individual suffering. 2. The wretchedness of the few who survive those wastes, (almost all of whom drag out a diseased or maimed existence,) excite but few sympathies, and then pass to almost total forgetfulness. If all their sufferings were penned, as was the story of the return of La Martch, with the fate of the beautiful *' Mary of the Valley" and her brave 112 THE JUVENILE ORATOR, Bellrune, there would be some ground upon which a judg- ment might be formed of the weight of misery in a thousand similar cases. 3. " At the close of the war," says La Martch, " I re- turned by brief stages, to my own country, and the village of my nativity. It was a sunny spot, and right lovely to look upon; but I had not seen it for thirteen tedious years, and my name began to be forgotten by the very households for which I had done battle: — it was a bitter thought. I went forth, and sat down by the fountain, where, in the careless days of boyhood, I had reclined upon the bank, and broken up the mirror-faced pool with the water polished pebbles; but it no longer delighted my heart. 4. The cold winds of the north roared around me, and whistled through the ancient grove in hollow murmurs; all nature looked desolate, and my soul was sad and sick within me. I moistened my thirsty lips at the bubbling spring that fed the fountain; but the sweetness of the waters was gone. The pang of bitter remembrance entered my soul, and the blistering tear rolled down my cheek. I wished for the war again, that I might bury myself in its toils and turmoils, and remember the past no more. 5. As I raised my head from a second draught at the spring, I saw by a copse of white thorns, a fair maiden dressed in the habiliments of a mourner. She was lovely to the eye, though she gladdened not my heart. As I ap- proached her, she raised her e^es, and showed me a face finely moulded and as touching as beauty in tears. ' Where,' said I, ' is the abode of the young and beautiful Mary of the Valley? — Of her who once glided through this stately grove with the nimbleness of the fawn; — whose raven tresses floated upon the breath of the breeze; — and whose eyes beamed the cheerfulness of spring?' ' 6. ' Mary of the Valley,' said the maid in weeds, with a sweet and tremulous voice, * was indeed young and beau- tiful ; — she was fair as the lily; sweet as the rose; and she had dove's eyes. But she sleeps beneath yon sodded mound, where the tall and seared grass waves to the moaning wind. Ten dreary winters have crumbled the bounty of as many sumnaers upon the lowly spot, while the unchanged cypress THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 113 has watched and shaded the place of her dreamless repose. This grove that once knew her, will know her no more for- ever. She is gathered to the resting place of her fathers,' 7. * And where,' said I to the maid in mourning, ' is her betrothed; — the brave and beloved Bellrune?' ' Her be- trothed,' said the maid, * went to the war. His arm was strong in battle; — he was terrible to the foe, and victory perched on his brow. But he too has gone to his rest. — As his Mary faded and fled to the grave, so he also sunk to the silent tomb. The trump of war breaks upon his ear no more; — he no more gathers to the banner of the mighty, for he has been gathered to the place of his rest. 8. When the war clarion had sounded the note of victory, and the pipe of peace was again heard in the land, the brave Belhrune returned to the home of his youth, covered with honors, and loaded with spoils. But his Mary was gone; the hopes of his early love had vanished; the bitterness of wormwood was in his cup ; the canker-worm lay at the * silver chord,' and in heaviness of soul he gave up the ghost.*' Compiler. 9. ** what is life, but some dark dream, From which man wakes to sigh! Some false, deceitful, meteor beam, That sheds a wandering, cheerless gleam. And brightens but to die! Or what are man's fleet joys below. But cares bedeck'd with smiles! The pageants of an empty show. That fain would hide a latent wo, From him it oft beguiles! And what the secret, pensive tear. But kindly dews of ev'n! Each drop, pellucid, sparkling, clear, To sympathy — to virtue, dear. Is soon exhaled to heaven!" 114 the juvenile orator. exercise ii. , Health and Beauty. Ways and Means to preserve Health and prolong Beauty. 1. Though all agree that good health is a blessing, and that it is greatly desired by almost every one; it is not so generally believed that great personal beauty, however fer- vently desired, is more a blessing than a curse. Beauty of form and comeliness of features, are always agreeable; but an extremely beautiful face is esteemed by many too dan- gerous to be seriously coveted. With the fairer portion of the human family, however, beauty is generally a first choice; • — it is the subject of their first prayer; and the loss of it, the object of their last sigh. 2. Whatever may be the rage for beauty, or whatever its fascinations, its reign is generally brief; — like the rose, which it aptly resembles, it lasts but a season, and then goes back to the earth. Short however as its date naturally is, the fashions and customs of the age are by no means calculated to prolong its stay: — -nay, they evidently accelerate its de- cay: — How strangely infatuated ! Those however who possess bearuty, and would carry it with them even beyond ** three score years," will not be displeased 1o learn that the happy secret of preserving it, is expressed in three little words: Temperance, Exercise, and Cleanliness. Now, without these, nothing can be beautiful; — and with theni, hardly any thing can be less than lovely. 3. Temperance forbids not only excess in drinking, but excess in eating; not only excess in pleasure, but excess in labor: — it forbids excess in all that belongs to life; — to every thing that is done between the cradle and the coffin. A beauty, were she as bright as a cherub, and as elegant as the graces, would soon lose her charms by a course of excess in any thing that gives existence a relish. To accomplish the ruin of her beauty, she need be neither a toper nor a glutton; she need not dissipate a whole week nor a whole year. The evil lies not less in the quantity of w^hat her stomach receives, than in the quahty; — not less in the choice THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 115 of her pleasures, than in the lengths to which she pursues them. All that is done, must be settled with strict reference to temperance, — if not, the prize of beauty is lost. 4. She — who every morning breaks her fast with a cup of strong coffee or a bowl of chocolate, with a hot roll and butter, or a dish of greasy sausages — will soon lose both her beauty and her health. The hot grease clogs the stomach; generates an excess of bile; runs into the pores of the skin, and gives it a jaundice tinge. When this meal is over, a fast ensues; — which, to be fashionable, runs to four in the afternoon. Then comes the dinner hour; — and to this the charming creature repairs with an appetite pampered and sharpened for the occasion. But her craving is finally satisfied after a round of cayenne soups, buttered fish and flesh, roasted canvass-backs with garlic sauce, tainted game with peppered catsup, pasted osyters fried in butter, pud- dings, pies, tarts, sweet-meats, fruit, and ice-creams; — a feast ample indeed to make amends for all her mid-day fast. 5. What must the delicate stomach suffer in the diges- tion of this crude mass? How promptly does the flushed face bear witness to the fierce combustion that rages within the loaded bosom? To assuage the consequent fever, the thoughtless beauty dilates the warring medley, not with water, nature's beverage, but with poisoned cordials, long- corked claret, Biddle champaigne, and sparkling Madeira. Now all this is rash, fatally rash excess, not temperance; and the only beauty that can long withstand its influence, is the beauty of the cold chiseled marble. 6. But to this fearful over charge, and fevery action with- in, there is still to be added, what every lady adds, the pressure of steel and whalebone without: — The pressure of trebly laced corsets over the distended region of the digestive organs so intensely called into action. And when all this is done, count up the cost (if you can) of this excessive fast and feast, to the stock of any lady's beauty; subtract, and find the balance. Well might the admirers of pretty faces, ask with con- cern, *' Can beauty, under such a load, long survive?" and 116 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. the answer comes back like an echo of their own convic- tion: — " Never!" 7. By such excesses, the healthful texture of the delicate frame is broken up; the plan of nature is deranged; the elements of beauty are destroyed; the fine shading and color-. ing portions fly off; the dregs only remain; and what was once so lovely to the eye, so pleasant to the touch, so fasci- nating to the soul, soon gives place to a shrivelled leanness, or a gross fatness. The skin becomes discolored, and as- sumes a rigidity which is at once oflfensive both to the touch and the sight. Will elixirs, cosmetics, composts, or essences, restore the fearful waste? Will padding give shape to that which is shapeless? Will corsets and screws com- press into loveliness of form a chaos of flesh? Then will the Ethiopian change his color, and the leopard his spots. If intemperance, in any form, has once destroyed the fair fabric of female beauty, no human art can ever repair the dilapidation ; her charms, like stars that fall, go down to rise no more. 8. But mere temperance will not always secure to the charming fair, the highest perfection of beauty. When once possessed, it must be fanned by the morning breeze, and housed from the evening damps. It must have exercise and nourishment or it soon perishes. This exercise must be had, not at summer mid-day, nor at winter mid-night; but in the free air — in the forest, field, or garden — on foot or on horseback — in an open carriage, or round, the flower wreathed May-pole. The evening atmosphere, charged with fetid exhalations, where *' Fever hangs brooding in the air," should never be inhaled by a beautiful woman. It saps the healthy action of the lungs, gives jaundice to the liver, clogs the secretions, choaks the circulation of life's fluids, and mars both health and beauty. '* Fly, if you can, the two extremes of air — The moist, the dry — They're canker to the fair." 9. Next to temperance and exercise, may be ranked the duty of cleanliness; — for what those gain in health and beauty, this preserves in freshness and vigor. It gives pliancy to the limbs; softness to the skin; lustre to the com- THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 117 plexion; brightness to the eyes; beauty to the teeth; and increased nerve to the whole system. For this purpose, frequent the tepid bath; — it is not less grateful to the feel- ings than salutary to beauty". The soft sponge, charged with clear suds, and followed by the polishing flesh-brush, when a bath cannot be had, is the best substitute for daily ablu- tion; — it affords a half hour's seasonable exercise. The brush opens the pores of the skin; aids perspiration; re- moves all impurities, and leaves the scarf surface as soft and as delicate as that of a little child. If you have health, this will preserve it; — if you have beauty, this will brighten it, and prolong it into old age;— and if you have neither, this will soon establish the one, and render you lovely without the other. Compiler. EXERCISE HI. The Famous Upas. The Story of the Poison Tree of Java. 1. One of the most sunny spots in the world, is the beau- tiful Island of Java — one of the cluster of Spice islands, lying in the Indian Ocean, called the Eastern Archipelago. Al- though the Dutch, who were the early navigators of those seas, have a foot-hold upon it, yet it is principally in the hands of the native tribes, and but slightly known to the great mass of mankind. It is described by travellers as being remarkable for the fertility of its soil, the vast growth and size of its timber, the boldness and sublimity of its scenery, and for its deep and dense dingles, or forest entanglements, which are almost impervious, not only to man and beast, but even to the rays of the sun. '1 hese are said to be gready infested with every species of deadly serpents, some of which are of frightful size and length. 2. On this island is said to grow the famous poison tree called the Upas; the deadl}'' qualities of which, have often been made the subject of touching effusions both in prose and verse. It was a matter of some doubt for many years, 11 118 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. and probably still continues so in the minds of many, whether such a tree as the " Poison Upas" ever grew upon the Island of Java, or upon any other spot of earth. Some late traveller, however, professes to have seen the tree, and to have witnessed the effects of its poison upon two females suspected of treachery toward their prince. From the touch of a particle of the poison matter held on the point of a fine steel rod, to a puncture on the arm less even than the sting of a fly, almost instant death ensued, and with spasms, contortions, and convulsions too frightful for description. 3. The tree is said to stand in a valley, surrounded on all sides by lofty hills; and that no plant nor shrub, nor other tree grows near it: that it instantly destroys the life of every thing that ventures within its tainted influence. Even inr nocent and unsuspecting birds, flying near its pestilential boughs, have been seen to drop dead beneath its shade. 'J he Javian chiefs have long been in the practice of send- ing their convicts to this tree, as the most expeditious and certain means of execution; and, of the untoUl thousands that have been doomed to expiate their guilt by such foul embrace, no one has ever returned to recount his horrors, or describe the bleaching bones that whiten the ground amid the withered leaves of the Poison Upas, 4, Upon the presumption that the story of the poison tree is no fiction, the poet has immortalised its memory, as well as his own poetical genius, in the following beautiful lines : — . Where seas of glass, with gay reflection smile. Round the green coast of Java's balmy isle. Soft zephyrs blow, eternal summers reign, And showers prolific, kiss the soil in vain. No spicy nutmeg, scents the vernal gales; No towering palm-tree, shades the mid-day vales; No flow'ry chaplet, crowns the limpid rills; No grassy mantle, shades the sable hills: — THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 119 No step, returning, on the sand impress'd, Invites the visit of a second guest;— For there, in silence, on the blighted heath, Fell Upas grows: — the Hydra tree of death. Compiler. exercise iv, The Cataract. A Description of the Falls of Niagara. 1. The Cataract of Niagara is probably one of the most sublime spectacles in the known world. There are few falls that have a more extended pilch; and none of such vast volume — that presents such an unbroken sheet from such a giddy heiglit. The river which feeds this fall, and which is the dividing line between the United States and Upper Canada, drains all the waters of the great northern lakes, into that of Ontario, which lies about two hundred feet below the w^aters of Lake Erie, the last in the upper chain; the whole fall, therefore, is about that distance.! 2. The river, a little above Goat Island^ which divides the stream into two parts, and which, at its head, marks the first bend of the water from a perfect level, and an accelerated motion forward, is about a mile over; but much the largest portion of the stream runs west of the island, and along the Canada shore. From this first dropping of the water from a level, the fall actually commences; and it continues for lialf a mile, constantly falling, constantly increasing in mo- tion, and constanUy progressing in agitation, until, from a smooth placid face, in which the heavens are clearly mir- rored, the whole surface assumes a most splendid foam, piled like a thousand little snowy mounds, constantly burst- ing and varying like a magic lantern. t The height of the fall, the breadth of the river, and some other particulars here stated, rest for accuracy upon mere estimate from observation, and not on actual admeasurement or a resort to other sources of information. 120 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 3. This is the most beautiful and fascinating part of the splendid panorama; the play of the water toward the head of the island, takes deep hold of the spectator's senses; — ite activity begets corresponding emotions, and he feels almost impelled to plunge in and mingle with the whirl. Follow- ing the stream, he comes at last, amidst a shower of spray and a thundering roar, to the great pitch. Here, looking into the broad curve, or horse-shoe, toward which the stream, maddened into fury, seems to have collected its whole ma- jesty, he sees the waters piled up, on the very verge of the giddy precipice, and, like a thing of life, apparently looking into the abyss, before it takes the leap. Then down it plunges, and carries with it a vast amount of atmospheric air, which, as the water in its deep descent separates into columns, becomes released, and plays the fitful storm with- out control. 4. No human eye can follow the stream into the gulf where the pitch is stayed; but it soon reappears in froth and foam, rolling off in sullen and slackened force, as though all its energies had been expended in making the frightful plunge. The spray rises to the clouds, and falls in gentle showers, in which, when the sun shines, myriads of rain- bows dance, and mock suns hold their court. But the most splendid spectacle is presented in the winter season, when the spray falls and freezes upon the surrounding woods. Then each limb and twig, is gemmed with counUess glitter- ing globes, which sparkle in the sun like so many radiant worlds. 5. But words are too poor to give the picture its due effect. The efforts of the pencil are lost upon it. If sketched in parcels, the effect is divided and identity endangered; and if taken as a whole, proportion fails and space becomes too limited. To know the whole, to behold its majesty, and to feel its full effect, it must be seen and compared with the other things of nature. But then in the presence of this stupendous display of rushing waters, bellowing winds, dashing froth and foam, and spattering spray, no man can at once realise his feelings; — no one can portray the deep sensations that thrill his soul, and awaken his ap- THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 121 prehensions for his personal safety, or his own comparative littleness. 6. The deep and dark gulf, through which the river, when tlie leap is over and the march renewed, rolls off to the lower lake, lias evidently been made by the force of the water. The cataract was originally about seven miles lo the north of its present location; but through the lapse of many ages, the force of the water has washed the soil, and its ceaseless friction has worn the rock, to where it now holds combat with beautiful Goat Island. But the stream will un- doubtedly conquer; — for every day takes something from the crumbling battlements, and ages hence, the place of the fall will be where Buffalo now stands. 7. The wearing of the channel through the solid rock is beautifully described by the poet Brainard in the following excellent lines, supposed to have been written while his eye rested on the *' Bold Babbler." The thoughts are strange that crowd into my brain, While I look up to thee. It would seem As if God pour'd thee from his '' hollow hand," And hung his bow upon thy awful from; — And spoke in that loud voice, which seem'd to him Who dwelt on Patmos for his SaviouVs sake. The ** sound of many waters;" and bade thy flood To chronicle the ages back, and Notch His centuries in the eternal rock. Deep calleth unto deep. And what are we That hear the question of that voice sublime? Oh what are all the notes that ever rung From war's vain trumpet, by thy thundering side! Yes, what is all the riot men can make In this short life, to thy unceasing roar! And yet, bold babbler, what art thou to Him, Who drown'd a world, and heap'd the waters far Above its lofty mountains? A light wave, That breaks and whispers of its Maker's praise. Compiler. II* 12^ THE JUVENILE ORATOR. exercise v- Menalcus and Justus, The calm Content of a ShephenVs Life, 1. Menalcus was a youthful shepherd; — Temperance marked his life, and health glowed in his face. The morn- ing lark cheered him with her early note, and the nightin- gale lulled his evening repose. Through the day he guarded his flocks, which speckled the hill and the vale, and at night he gathered them to their fold. As he was one day looking for a lamb that had strayed from his care, he saw, lying at the root of a tree, deep in the thick and shady wood, a hunter, pale with hunger and fatigue, and ready to Aiint. 2. The shepherd immediately stepped forward, and raised the sufferer's head. "Alas! my friend," said the pale man, '* three days since I entered this wood in pursuit of game, and have lost my way. I have not been able to find one vestige of human footsteps, nor the least portion of food to answer the demands of nature; and I had lain down by this tree to die alone in this frightful solitude. I am faint with hunger, and my lips are parched with thirst; — O give me relief, or 1 die!" 3. Menalcus raised the famished hunter in his arms, and refreshed him with bread from his scrip, and milk from his pewter canteen. He afterwards led the bewildered invalid through the mazes of the forest, and placed him in safety on the high road which led to the city. When the hunter saw that Menalcus was about to take his leave, he stopped him. *' Shepherd," said he, '* you found me bewildered, faint with fasting, and ready to die; you raised me up, sup- plied my wants, and saved my life; now let me make yours happy. Go with me to the city. You shall live no longer in a cottage, but in a palace; the coarse bread in your scrip, shall give place to dainty viands on plates of silver, and the milk in your pewter canteen, shall be exchanged for spark- ling wine in goblets of gold." 4. " Why should I go to the city^" said Menalcus. *' My little home shelters me from the rains of summer, and the THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 123 winds of winter. To be sure, it has no marble pillars about it, but then it has plenty of fruit trees; and from these I gather my morning repast; — And can any thing be more pure and sparkling than the little brook that ripples by my door? From my garden I cull roses, and from the valley I bring lilies, and with these I decorate my table. Are they not sweeter than costly viands upon plates of silver, and more beautiful than wine in goblets of gold? I eat my brown bread and drink my new milk; my flocks supply me with covering, and my life is sustained without the sacrifice of the blood of any creature." 5. ** But, Shepherd," said Justus, '' if you will go with me to the city, I will lead you through gardens bedecked with flowers and cooled with fountains; you shall behold women whose dazzling beauty the sun never tarnished, and who glitter in silks and diamonds; and you shall hear music, whose mellow notes shall soothe and enchant you." "Our sun-burnt girls," said Menalcus, ''are very hand- some. How lovely they look on holidays, when, wreathed wath garlands of flowers, they dance to the pipe beneath the shade of the broad-branched oak, or retire to the w^oods to hear the song of the thrush! Is your music better than the song of the linnet, the robin, or the nightingale? Ah! no — 1 cannot go to the city." 6. '*Then," said Justus, *'take this bag of gold, and sup- ply all your wants," " Your gold," returned the shepherd, '* is of no use to me. My fruit trees, my graden, my brook, and my flocks, supply all my wants. What use have I for gold?" "But you have saved my life," said the hunter, "and I wish to reward your kindness; — what will you ac- cept?" "Give me the horn that hangs at your belt," said Menalcus; " it will be more durable than my earthen pitcher." Justus took the horn from his belt, with a smile of benignity, and, presenting it to the shepherd, wished he might be al- ways happy. Menalcus took the present with a low bow, and turned on his heel toward his cottage. 7. At that moment. Contentment came up, and whis- pered in the ear of the astonished hunter, the following lines: — 124 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. Far from the city, I reside, And my white cot, is all my pride; True to my choice, I never roam. For all my joys, lie round my home. I ask myself, at fall of night, If all my deeds, by day, are right; If right, re{)lies an honest breast, I smile, and close my eyes to rest. Then, with the sun, or with the dawn, I rise, and pace the dewy lawn; My early gift, on morn's young breath, Ascends to Him who gives me health. Then, in a round of duties sweet, That day, and all life's days, I meet; And when stern fate shall bid me die, I'll leave my cot without a sigh. Compiler. exercise vi. The Summer will return; but to whom? Is there not an appointed time to Man upon earth? 1. Then thou art gone, bright and beautiful Summer! — gone with all thy green leaves, and fragrant roses; — gone to visit the regions of the earth, and be summer to other climes. Thou hast cast thy flowery honors to the winds, and they are withering on the lap of earth. But thoii wilt return again in renewed sweetness; thou wilt gather thy beauties afresh, and adorn our valleys and groves with a renovated dress. But shall I be here when thou shalt again fan the world with thy soft southern breath? Oh! who may tell. 2. And thou, bright and joyous Spring, shall I again look upon thy sunny hours? Shall I see thee when thy soft breath shall break up the rude frosts of winter — unlock the icy fetters that binds the river in his course, and let loose the wild and gushing brook from its marble prison? Shall . THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 125 I then be here to pkick thy first blossoms, and wander over the moor and the meadow^ Ah! who can tell! Yes, who can look into the secrets of coming time, and assure me that I shall be here? Some hidden blow from without, some secret disease within, or some unseen shaft from the hani^ of Him who fashioned this frail frame, may bear me hence, to behold no more the brightness of spring or the beauties of summer. 3. The spring and the summer may return; the song of the bird may again cheer the grove; and the hum of the bee may be heard in the breeze; but they will not meet the eye nor greet the ear of thousands who now feel that the spring and the summer are once more gone. And those who thus depart — those who once go down from the song of the bird, the hum of the bee, and the beau- ties and sweets of the seasons, return not till the heavens be no more; — they shall not awake, nor be raised out of their sleep. They go as all the friends of my youth have gone; — they pass as the fond partners of my early hopes and hap- piness have passed; — and they will leave the bosoms of thousands desolate, even as mine is lone and forsaken. Man cannot live forever; for to him there is an appointed time on the earth, and his days are numbered. 4. Who then would not rather choose to die than to live, when all the ties that bind him to this world have been cruelly severed? When affections are blasted; when the stream of life is chilled by the frost of years; when the brow is channelled with the furrows of age; when the rude hand of time has plucked all the flowers of beauty, and whitened the hairs for the tomb, why do we cling to the earth? why do we fear the cold embrace that sets us free, and bids us live in a better world? "I would not live always; I wish not to stay Where storm after storm, rises dark o'er the way; The ^ew lurid moments that dawn on us here, Are enough for life's woes — full enough for its cheer." 126 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. EXERCISE VII. The Four Seasons, " The Seasons have voices which summon us to thought." 1. The revolving year, the change of seasons, and the wax and wane of moons, touch the reflecting mind with | serious awe, and are felt as a warning voice designed to . summon thought and sober reflection. Each season as it rises, seems to admonish man of the complexion of the thoughts and feelings which its presence should inspire, and of the food upon which his mind should feed. From the first openings of spring, to the dreary desola- tions of winter, each day is a striking emblem of the con- dition of man and the duties that devolve upon him; and whatever maybe the stage of his journey — whether in youth, manhood, or declining age, he can seldom look up into the heavens and mark the march of the sun, the moon, or the stars, without feeling something to animate him in his course, or to reprove him for his delay. 2. When the spring appears; — when the tree puts forth its bursting buds — the earth is clothed with tender green, and the song of happiness is heard in every shade — it calls him to thought — to true devotion, to sober joy, and to holy hope. Over the infant year, the balmy breath of heaven, blows with refreshing sweetness and paternal softness, and the heart of man were marble, did it not partake in the joy of awaking nature. Then too when summer reigns; — when every element is filled with life; — when all nature is rife with beauty and redolent with perfume; — when the sun, with sturdy march, pursues his course along the azure firmament, and fills the world with a lioly jubilee, then is the season of adoration. Man then looks upon the majesty of a present Deity; and M'herever he turns his eye, the glory of the Lord seems to cover the earth as the waters cover the deep. 3. When autumn comes, and the annual miracle of nature is completed, when the nodding sheaf is gathered, the golden ear is plucked, and the harvest is home, then is the season THE JUVExMLE ORATOR. 1:27 of thanksgiving and song; then the sonl bends with in- stinctive gratitude before Him whose bounty has no stint, whose care never sleeps, and who, from the habitation of his glory, remembers the wants of the things upon the earth. And then the season of winter, with all its frowns, and frosts, and fleecy snows, has also its peculiar lessons. To the man of thought and feeling, iliey are read not in vain; the winds bring blessings on their wings, and scatter down upon the naked and the needy. In this dark and cheerless season, the fountains of the heart are opened, and charity goes forth to bless the suffering sons of want. • 4. I love the Spring; — its breath of balm, Gives garden, field, and wood a charm; And hangs the pearly dew of morn. Like sparkling gems on leaf and thorn. Vll would not choose a year of bloom. Though violet beds were made my home. Summer I love; and love to rove. At early day, mid leafy grove; Sit in the shade near babbling brook. And see the trout evade the hook. Yet would not choose a year to pass. Mid scorching rays from skies of brass. I love the Fall; — its soft blue sky, And yellow leaf, delight the eye; Its golden quince, and purple grape. Rejoice the soul — in every shape; Yet would not choose, though mild and gay, A year of unrenew'd decay. Winter I bear; — its bellowing breath, Drives myriads to a frosty death; Its noon-tide sun scarce shows his face. Then shrouds his beams in dark disgrace. - I could not bide, the live-long year, A polar sky and frosty sphere. Compiler, 128 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. EXERCISE VIII. AWKVTARDNESS. Affectation^ not native ease, constitutes Awkwardness, 1. Man, says Professor Wilson, is the most awkward animal that inhales the breath of life. There is nothing-, however simple, which he performs with any tolerable de- gree of ease or gracefulness. If he walks, he jiwups, limps, or creeps; if he sits, he fidgets, locks his legs under his chair, or his arms over tlie back of it, and puts himself in a fever trying to be at ease. We sometimes go to a ball, rather to see and be seen than to act. And there behold a man, of some tliirty-five or forty years of ag-e, with legs like gate-posts, standing in the middle of the room, twirling his glove, gaping to the right and left, and looking very much like a mourner at his grandmother's burial. 2. Then, at a given signal, this unwieldy animal puts himself in motion. He throv/s out his arms, crouches up ?iis shoulders, and, without moving a muscle of his face, kicks out his legs, like a frolicksome hind, to the imminent danger of all the by-standers. After ten or fifteen minutes sprawl and shuffle, he gets back to the place of his first starting, puffing and blowing like a plough-poney at a scrub ^ race. Now is this what you call dancing? — Can this be a specimen of that art which gives elasticity to the very clown? Which sends the blood in full flow? — the heart in extatic palpitation? and which makes beauty float before us, ravish- ing our very senses — stealing our admiraiion — and thrilling the soul with new delight, and new love? No; — it is not dancinjT, but the wild gambols of a large baboon. 3. Man meets his fellow-man, and as a token of friendly recognition, they shake hands. In doing this, can he not withdraw his hand and let it fall by his side where nature and good breeding both direct it? Does he imagine the pocket of his small clothes, the only proper place into which his daddle may be pushed? Or does he thrust it there to guard his last half-crown from the rapacity of a creeping tip-staff*? One would suppose that it were not too much to expect THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 129 that a man miorht learn to drink a glass of wine with a fair lady'with a tolerably good grace. But does lie ever do il? See! — in the first place, how he grasps the decanter to fill his glass; — leaving the misty marks of all his sweaty fingers on the glittering crystal, which should be left as pure and spotless as Cornelia's hime. 4. Mark [low the animal seizes his glass! Were it not flint, he would break it into a thousand fragments. See how he bows his lubberly head to meet the sparkling draught half way! See how he gugj^les the precious beverage down his rattling gullet, and chucks down tlie glass as though its contents had been jalap! Call you this the polite way of taking a glass of wine with a lady? — Indeed it is too aw- fully piggish. It has been said that every man behaves with some degree of awkwardness when he is in love; and that the absence of the one is a fair warrant that the other does not exist. But w^hen the passion rages, it undoubtedly creates embarrassment; it is nevertheless wonderful to ob- serve, how soon the most nervous, regain their accustomed ease, after marriage has concluded all their hopes and fears, exercise ix. The Prisoner. The Contrast hetioeen Liberty and Slavery. 1. Disguise thyself as thou wilt, still, slavery, still thou art a bitter draught; and although thousands, in all ages, have been made to drink of thee, thou art not the less bitter on that account. It is thou, Liberty, thrice sweet and gracious goddess, to whom all bend the knee, in public or in private; whose taste is grateful, and ever will be so, until nature herself shall change. No tint of words can spot thy showy mantl^ or chemic power, turn thy sceptre into iron. With thee, to smile upon him as he eats his crust, the swain is happier than his monarch, from whose court thou art exiled. Gracious heaven! grant me but health, thou great bestovver of it, and give me this fair goddess for my com- panion, and shower down thy mitres, if it seem good to thy Divine Providence, npon those heads that ache for them. 12 130 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 2. Pursuing these ideas, I sat down close to my table, and leaning my head upon my hand, began to figure to my- self the miseries of confinement. I was in a right frame of mind for it; and so I gave full scope to my imagination. I was going to begin with the millions born to no other in- heritance but slavery; but finding that however afTecting the picture might be I could not bring it near me; the multitudes of sad groups in it, merely distracted me. 3. I took a single captive, and, having first shut him up in a dungeon,! then looked through the twilight of jiis grated door, to take his picture. I beheld his body half wasted away with long expectation and confinement, and felt what that sickness of heart is, which arises from hope deferred. Upon looking nearer, T saw him pale and feverish: in thirty years, the western breeze had not once fanned his blood; he had seen no sun — no moon in all that time, nor had the soothing voice of friend or kindred, once breathed through his iron lattice. His children — — But here my heart be- gan to bleed, and I was forced to go on with another part of the portrait. 4. He was sitting upon the ground, in the farthest corner of his dungeon, on a little straw, which was alternately his chair and his bed; a little calendar of small sticks was laid at the head, notched all over with the dismal days and nights which he had passed in this dreary cell; he had one of these little sticks in his hand, and, with a rusty nail, was etching another day to augment the heap. As I darkened the little liglit which reflected through his only grate, he lifted a hopeless eye toward the door, then cast it down, shook his head, and went on with his work of affliction. I heard his chains upon his legs, as he turned his body to lay his little stick upon the bundle. He gave a deep sigh; — I saw the iron enter his soul, and I burst into tears. I could not sus- tain the picture of confinement which my fancy had drawn. 5. And this place our fathers made for man! This is the process of our love and wisdom, 'J'o catch poor Brother, who oflfends against us — Most innocent, perhaps: — and what if guilty? Is this the only cure? O merciful Gud ! THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 131 Each pore and natural outlet shriveU'd up, By ignorance and pinching poverty, His energies roll back upon his heart, And stagnate and corrupt, till chang'd to poison. They break out upon him like a loathsome plague-spot. Here he lies, circled wiih evil, till his Very soul unmoulds its essence; — hopelessly deform'd, By fellowship with desperate deformity. Sterne, EXERCISE X. Love of Immortality, " All wish to l*ave behind them some remembrancer." 1. Upon the tree whose spreading branches have screened him from the rays of the sun, or sheltered him from the summer shower, the lowly peasant carves his name, as a register for his successors. The passing traveller, etches his, in rude lines, upon the rock from whose lofty pinnacle he has looked down with awe upon woods, and fields, and meandering streams. It is registered there for the eyes of those, whose venturous foot, when he is gone, shall dare the giddy height. Thus, too, the loiterer and the traveller on life's brief journey, would gladly leave some memorial be- hind ihem, which shall show the world that comes after them, that they once had a part. 2. This desire of perpetuating a name — of giving it im- mortality — and w^hich, if not natural, seems to be universal, is, when rightly directed, of highly important results to the welfare of mankind; for, although names are not always rendered immortal by such efforts, the efforts themselves ofien render much good. The perpetuity given to a name, by the possession of riches, is generally the least effective; that which is conferred by titles, is but little better: — '* Go search the tombs where monarchs rest, Who once the greatest titles bore; The wealth and glory they possess'd, And all their honors are no more," 133 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 3. Wealth may help to gratify the passions, and pamper the flesh, upon which, in the end, the earthworm feeds; weaUh may build palaces and castles, and rear towers; but the next generation levels them with the dustj — they are all ^one like monuments in Potter's Field. He therefore who boasteih himself in riches is soon forgotten; — in the very strife for a division of his hoarded treasures, his name and his memory are trampled under foot ! ** But yesterday, and Cesar's name would stand against the world; — now none so poor as to do him reverence.'"' And what was true of Cesar, is true of all men who build on wealth or honor. 4. How then shall man perpetuate his name and make his memory blessed? Let him write I^s history in deeds of beneficence and mercy, and his name shall live after the marble that covers his clay shall have fretted to dust. While there are the sick to be healed, the naked to be clothed, the ignorant to be taught, the vicious to be reclaimed, or the heathen to be converted, every man may rear a monument to his name which shall flourish like a green bay-tree, when the memory of heroes shall have passed off like the morning cloud. The laurel of the victor withers; but the wreath of the philanthropist blooms forever. 5. The memory of Napoleon, one of the mightiest of the mighty, is fast fading from human recollection; — and year after year, is rapidly erasing the lines he drew upon the des- tinies of Europe; but the memory of Robert Raikes, is every year growing brighter; — for his deeds are written ia the moral history of the world. The glory of Bonaparte, like a flaming meteor, glared wildly at the battle of Austerlitz, but it sunk at the island of St. Helena, and the light which marked its path, is rapidly vanishing into darkness. The glory of Robert Raikes, rose mildly and lovely as the morning sun; — it is still rising; — and ages will roll away before it reaches its meridian height. There, fixed like the sun of Joshua, it will stand until the trump of the archangel shall proclaim that " Time shall be no more." Compiler. THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 133 exercise xi. Precepts for Youth. The Teacher'' s Address to his Scholars. 1. My young friends, this is the proper season for the cultivation of the benevolent and humane affections. Should you, at tliis period of life, neglect these, be assured that those of an opposite character will take root, and introduce a train of vices whose effects will follow you through life and beyond the grave; aye, into eternity. 2. With the affections of benevolence, cultivate also the social affections; — they lighten toil, alleviate care, sweeten enjoyments, and double every blessing. All your hopes of social happiness must rest principally on the connections you form in society; — the domestic relations you hold, and the quiet of your own fireside. Hence, it will be of vast importance, that you early acquire an equanimity of temper, an easy and pleasing address, and a fund of useful know- ledge, all of which will contribute to give you a fair claim to an eligible choice, and a reasonable prospect of happiness. 3. Let a deep sense of integrity, a constant regard to pro- priety, and an unbending love of justice, be the broad found- ation of all your social and moral qualities. Engrave on your minds — once for all — the sacred rule of doing to others as you would that others should do to you. In the strict observance of this '' Golden Rule," you will derive great assistance by establishing in your mind the belief of the original and natural equality of man; — then whatever ad- vantage of education or fortune you may chance to possess, will never be displayed for mere self-gratification. 4. Remember how utterly unknown to you are all the vicissitudes of life. How often those, upon whom ignorant and contemptut)us youth have looked down with scorn, have, in after life, risen above them in all that makes existence useful, and society desirable. What a lesson should this consideration be to thoughtless arrogance and supercilious pride ! Compassion is an emotion of the soul, of which you 12* 134 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. should never be ashamed. Graceful in youth is the tear of sympathy, and the heart that melts at the tale of wo: — then stop noi your ears against the cries of want, nor harden your heart ao^ainst the calamities of the innocent. 5. When the fatherless, in the day of distress, call upon you for relief — when the widow's heart sickens and sinks witliln her, and she lifts up the voice for aid — put on the bowels of tenderness toward them; — reach forth your hand to the deposite of Him who has given you all things, and draw thence for their succor and support. Let neither ease nor indulgence contract your affections, nor warp your mind to mere selfish enjoyments. Waste not life in idle vagaries of fancy, but direct the energies of both body and mind to the improvement of your talents, the promotion of piety and the happiness of mankind. 6. Happy the youth whose cautious steps, Still keep the golden mean; W hose life by wisdom's rule is form'd; Whose heart and hands are clean. He, of himself, ne'er highly thinks, Nor acts the boaster's part; His modest lip the language speaks, Of his more modest heart. The wealth which Providence bestows, He takes with thankful heart; With temperance he eats and drinks, And gives the poor a part. His love is not on this world placed; — . His treasures lie above; And nought below the greatest good, Can claim his highest love. exercise xii. The Objects of Study. Remarks on the Objects of Study. 1. Studies serve for delight, for ornament, and for utility. THE JUVENILE ORA.TOR. 135 Their chief use for delight, is confined lo tlie closet and to privaie life; for ornament, it refers to instructive conversa- tion; and for utility, it aids the judgment, and ripens for the despatch of business. For expert men can execute, and perhaps judge of particulars, one by one; but the deep coun- cils, the intricate plots, and the arrangement of affiiirs, are best executed by men of learning. 2. 'J'o spend too much time in studies, is a species of sloth; to use them too much for ornament, is mere affecta- tion; and to form a judgment wholly by their rules, is no- thing more than the whim of the scholar. Studies which are perfected only by severe application and long experience, contribute, in every respect, lo perfect nature; for natural abilities are like natural plants, they need pruning by disci- pline and duty; and studies, unless directed by experience and prudence, often take an unprofitable direction, or a gene- ral promiscuous scope. 3. Crafty men despise studies; simple men admire and applaud them, and wise men use them: — for they teach not their own use, but they teach what it is to be wise without them, and even wise above them: — A wisdom which is only to be won by observation and reflection. Studies, therefore, have a higher object than simply to arm abilities to dispute and refute; or to believe and receive all that is said to be true; or to furnish them with the means of agreeable and brilliant conversation: — Their great aim is to clothe abilities with the power of weighing, comparing, adjusting, arranging, and digesting, the insulated morsels of wisdom which lie scattered through all past ages. 4. Some books are to be read only in detached parts; — some only in a cursory manner; — while a few must be read wholly and slowly — with diligence, fixed attention, and deep, broad thought and reflection. Reading makes a full man, conversation makes a ready man, and writing makes an exact man — therefore, if a man read but little, he should possess much cunning; — this will enable him to seem to know things of which he is in reality > entirely ignorant; — if he converse but Hide, he should have a great share of present wit, which will give him a similar 13G THE JUVENILE ORATOR. advantage; — and if he write but little, he should possess a good memory; — for it will save him an age of labor. 5. Remote from cities liv'd a swain, y Unvex'd with all the cares of gain: His head was silver'd o'er with age, And long experience made him sage. A deep philosopher, whose rules Of moral life were drawn from schools, The shepherd's homely cottage sought. And thus explor'd his reach of thought. "Whence is thy learning? Hath thy toil O'er books, consum'd the midnight oil? Hast thou old Greece and Rome survey 'd, And the vast sense of Plato weigh'd? Hath Socrates thy soul refin'd? And hast thou fathom'd Tully's mmd? The shepherd modestly replied, I ne'er the paths of learning tried; Pride often guides the author's pen; Books as affected are, as men. Lord Bacon. exercise xiii. Ways of Getting Knowledge. The different modes of acquiring human knowledge. 1. There are Five principal methods by which man ac- quires knowledge: — Reading, Observation, Lectures, Con- versation, and Meditation. Each of these has its peculiar advantages, but all of them may be employed to profitable purpose; — indeed all of them are necessary to form a gene- ral mind accomplished in particular and general knowledge. Reading is the method by which we become acquainted with what others have thought and written. This is a source of vast importance, and may be drawn upon without stint. The arts of writino^ and reading have had a wonderful in- fluence in "the improvement of the condition of man and his advancement in knowledge. 2. By observation, we learn that fire burns, the sun shines, THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 137 the grass grows, the body dies, and that one generation suc- ceeds another. All those things wfiich we see, hear, taste, and feel, or which come to the understanding without the help of retiection, or the reasoning powers, are derived through tliis channel. Hence, observation is nothing more than the notice we take of the objects around us, and the occurrences of life. It brings us a greater number and a richer variety of ideas, proportions, words, and phrases than either of the other modes; and it also operates earlier and continues later than either of the others. 3. Lectures are the verbal instructions given by a teacher while the haarer remains silent. Such is the knowledge conveyed from the pulpit, the forum, and the professional chair; and, to an attentive hearer, it is a source of rich im- provement. Conversation i^^ also a prolific source from which the mind draws improvement, and the stock of ideas is increas- ed. By mutual discourse and inquiry, we learn the senti- ments and opinions of others, and communicate our own; — hence, the benefit is mutual, and often the means of high rational entertainment. It is also cheap, and but for the vain pride of man, might be more generally enjoyed. 4. Meditation includes those exercises of the mind by which we render the other modes of acquiring knowledge more extensively useful. It helps to perfect our attainments, mature the mind, and ripen the judgment. Through this medium, we adjust, class, arrange, and compare the assort- ment which constitutes our stock; and we confirm our re- membrance of incidents, and our acquaintance with particu- lars. By this, too, we draw certain inferences, fix certain principles, and establish certain conclusions; and by this, we extend the thread of reason, search and find out deep and difficult truths, and lay hitlden things open to the compre- hension of ordinary intellect. 5. There was a man, large of understanding, Of memory infinite, of judgment deep; — He knew all learning, and all science knew; And all the phenomena of heaven and earth, Traced to iheir causes; traced the labyrinths 138 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. Of thought, association, passion, will; And all the subtle, nice affinities Of matter, traced its virtues, motions, laws; And most familiarly and deeply talked Of mental, moral, natural, divine. Leaving the earth at will, he soared to heaven, And read the glorious visions of the skies; And to the music of the rolling spheres, Intelligendy listened; — and gazed far back, Into the awful depths of Deity; — Did all that mind, assisted most, could do; — And yet in misery he lived, and miserably died — And why? — he wanted holiness of heart! Watts. exercise xiv. The Sabbath Day of Freedom. Oration^ July 4th, 1825, at Boston, 1. Why, on this day, lingers along the sacred wall, the spirit kindling anthem? Why, on this day, waits the herald of God at the altar, to utter forth his holy prayer? Why, on this day, congfregate the wise, the good, and the beautiful of the land? Fathers, Friends, it is the Sabbath Day of Freedom! The race of the ransomed, with grateful hearts and exulting voices, have again come up, in the sunlight of peace, to the Jubilee of Independence! 2. To the pious, who, in these once deserted regions, built a city of refuge, no less than to the brave, who, around that city, reared a wall of safety, do we owe the blessings of this day. To enjoy and perpetuate religious freedom, the sacred herald of civil liberty, they forsook their native land, where the f(ml spirit of persecution was up in its fury, and where many had long wept at the enormities pepetrated in the abused names of Jehovah and Jesus. Resist unto blood blind zealots had found in the Bible, and lamentably indeed did they fulfil the command. 3. With ''Thus saith the Lord," the engines of cruelty were set in motion, and many a martyr's spirit, like the THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 139 asv-^.ending prophet from Jordan's bank, escaped in fire to heaven. It was in this night of time, when the incubus of bigolr3^sat heavy on the human soul; — "When crown and crosier rul'd a coward world, And menial darkness o'er the nations curl'd; When, wrapt in sleep, earth's torpid children lay, Hugg'd their vile chains, and dream'd their age away; 'Twas then, by faith impell'd, by freedom iir'd, By hope supported, and by God inspir'd: 'Twas llien the Pilgrims left their fathers' graves, To seek a home beyond the waste of waves; And where it rose, all rough and wintry here, They svvell'd devotion's song, and dropp'd devotion's tear. 4. Can we sufficiently admire the firmness of that little brotherhood, thus self-banished from their country? Un- kind and cruel, it is true, but still their country! There they were born, and there, when the lamp of life was lighted, they had hoped it would go out. There a father's hand had led them, a mother's smile had warmed them. There were the haunts of their boyish days — their kinsfolks, their friends, their recollections, their all. Yet all was left; even while their heart-strings bled at the parting, all was left; — and a stormy sea, a savage waste, and a fearful destiny, were encountered — for heaven and for you! 5. The breeze has swell'd the whitening sail; The blue waves curl beneath the gale; And, bounding with the surge and wind, We leave Old England's coasts behind. We leave behind our native shore, And homes, and all we lov'd before. For we would rather never be. Than dwell where mind cannot be free; But bows beneath a despot's rod. E'en where it seeks to worship God! Ye blasts of heaven, onward sweep, And bear us o'er the stormy deep. 140 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 6. Eeliold what wonders meet our eyes! Another land, and other skies! CoUimbia's monntains catch our view! Adieu! Old England's shores, adieu! For here at last, our feet shall rest, Our minds be free, our homes be blest. Now to the King of kings we'll raise A paean loud of sacred praise; — Louder than sounds the swelling breeze; Louder than roars the rolling seas! For f^iirer lands have met our view: — Old England's shores — a long ^^dieu! C. Sprague, exercise xv. General La Fayette. A Tribute to La Fayette's Visit to America. 1. When we bring our offerings for the mighty of our own land, shall we not remember the chivalrous spirit of other shores who shared with them the fiours of weakness and wo? Pile to the clouds the majestic columns of giory; let the lips of those who can speak well, hallow each spot where the bold repose; but forget not those who, with your bold, went out to the battle. Among those men of noble daring, was one, a young and gallant stranger, who left the blushing vine-hills of his own delightful country, and bared his arm with our bold and brave. 2. The people whom he came to succor, were not his people; he knew them only in the story of their oppressions and the weight of their wrongs. lie was no mercenary wretcli, striving for the spoils of the vanquished; the palace owned him for its lord, and the vallies gave him their in- crease. He was no nameless man, staking life for reputa- tion; he ranked among nobles, and looked una wed upon kings. He was no friendless outcast, seeking a grave to hide his cold heart; — he was encircled by the companions THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 141 of his youth; his kinsmen were about — his wife was before him. 3. Yet from all these, he turned away and came. Like ihe lofty tree that shakes down its green glories to battle with the winter storm, he flung aside the trappings of place and pride, and crusaded for freedom in freedom's holy land. He came; — but not in the day of successful rebellion; — not when llie new-risen sun of independence had burst the cloud of time, and careered to its place in the heavens. He came when darkness curtained the hills and the tempest was abroad in its anger; when the plough stood still in the field of promise, and bri::rs encumbered the garden of beauty; — when fathers were dying, and mothers were weeping over them; — when the wife was binding up the gashed bosom of her husband, and the maiden was wiping the death damp from the brow of her lover. — He came when the brave be- gan to fear the power of man, and the pious to doubt the favor of God. 4. It was then that this one joined the ranks of a revolted people. Freedom's little phalanx bade him welcome. With them he courted the battle's rage; with them his arm was lifted; with them his blood was spilled. Long and doubtful was the conflict. At length kind heaven smiled on our good cause, and the foiled invaders fled: — the profane were driven from the temple of liberty, and at her pure shrine, the pil- grim warrior with his beloved commander knelt down and worshipped. Leaving his oflering there — the incense of an iincorrupted spirit, he at length rose up, and, crowned with ihe benedictions of a grateful people, he turned his soldier tread toward his long-neglected home. 5. Now, after nearly fifty years, that one has come again. Can mortal tongue tell — can mortal heart feel, the sublimity of this coming? Exulting millions rejoice in it, and their loud, long, transporting shout, like the mingling of many waters, roll on undying to freedom's distant mountains. A congregated nation come round him; — old men bless him and children reverence him; — the lovely come out to look upon him — the learned deck their halls to greet him — and the rulers of the land rise up to do him homage. 6. How his full heart labors! He views the rusting 13 / 142 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. trophies of departed days, or treads the high places where his brethren moulder. He bends before the tomb of his *' Father": — his words are tears; — the speech of sad re- membrance. He looks round upon a ransomed land, and a joyous people; he beholds the blessings which those trophies secured; — for which those brethren died — for which that Father lived; — and again his words are tears — the elo- ' quence of gratitude and joy. 7. Spread forth creation like a map; bid earth's dead mul- titudes revive; — and of the pageant splendors that ever glit- tered to the sun, when looked his beaming eye on such a sight as this? Of all the myriads that have come and gone, what cherished hero ever reigned an hour like this? Many have struck the redeeming blow for their own free- dom, but who, like this man, has bared his bosom in the cause of strangers? Others have lived in the love of their own people, but who, like this man, has drunk his sweetest cup of welcome with a foreign nation? 8. Matchless chief! high in the temple of the mighty; and, among glory's immortal tablets, there is one for him;— one for him alone! The dust of time shall not light upon it; — the shroud of oblivion shall not hide its splendor: — for the everlasting flame of Liberty shall guard it — and the generations of men shall rise up and look upon it, and shall behold the beloved, the honored name of LA FAYETTE. 9. Lo! the brave — the gallant — is passing by; His proud plumes shade his princely brow; Myriads of voices are rais'd on high, And joyously rings the welkin now. Beauty presents him her most lovely smile; Lily hands wave him cheerily on; With flowers they bedeck his path the while, All by white-rob'd innocence strown. The knees of the young bend heside his way, A wreath of laurel crowns his b^ow; The aged uncover their locks of gray, And loveliness makes him her bow. C, Sprague. THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 143 EXERCISE XVI. The Decay of the American Indians, 1. What can be more melancholy than the history of the American Indians. By a law of their nature, they seem destined to a slow but certain extinction. Every where, at the approach of the wiiite man, they fade away. We hear the rustling of their footsteps, like that of the leaves of autumn, and they are gone forever. They pass mournfully by us, and they return no more. 2. Two centuries ago, the smoke of their wigwams, and the fires of their councils, rose in every valley from Hud- son's Bay to the farthest Florida, from the Ocean to the Mississippi and the Lakes. The sliouts of victory and the war dance, rung through the mountains and the glades. The thick arrows and the deadly tomahawk, wrestled through the forests; and the hunter's track, and the dark encamp- ment startled the wild beasts in their lairs. The warriors stood forth in their glory. Braver men never lived; truer men never drew the bow. 3. They had courage, and fortitude, and sagacity, and perseverance, beyond most of the human race. 'I'hey shrunk from no dungeons, and they feared no hardships. If they had the vices of savage life, they had the virtues also. They were true to their country, their friends, and their homes. If they forgave no injury, neither did they forget kindness. If tlieir vengeance was terrible, their fidelity and generosity were unconquerable. Their love, like their hate, cooled not on this side the grave. 4. Where are they? Where are the villages, and war- riors, and youth? — the sachems and the tribes? — the hun- ters and their families? They have perished. They are consumed. The wasting pestilence has not done the mighty work. No; nor war, nor famine. There has been a miglitier power, a moral canker, which has eaten into their heart- cores; a plague which the tooth of the white man commu- nicated; a poison which betrayed them into lingering ruin. The winds of the Atlantic, fan not a single region which they can now call their own. Already the last feeble rem- 144 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. nant of their race, are preparing for their journey beyond the Mississippi. 5. I see them leave their miserable homes, the aged, the helpless, the women, and the warriors, "few and faint, but fearless still." The ashes are cold on their native hearths. 'J'he smoke no longer curls round their lowly cabins. They move on with a slow, unsteady step. 'J'he white man is upon their heels, for terror or despatch, but they heed him not. They turn to take a last look of their native villages. They cast a last glance upon the graves of their fathers. They shed no tears; they utter no cries; they heave no groans. 6. There is something in their hearts, however, which passes speech. There is something in their looks, not of vengeance or submission, but of hard necessity, which stifles both; which chokes all utterance; — which has no aim — no method. It is courage absorbed in despair. Tliey linger but for a moment. Their look is onward. They know and feel that there is for them, but one removp farther, — not distant, — not unseen. It is to the general burial-ground of their race. Story. EXERCISE XVII. l^he Intemperate Husband. 1. My Friends, it is in the degradation of the husband by intemperance when she, who has ventured every thing, feels that all is lost. Who shall protect her, when the husband of her choice insults and oppresses her? What shall de- light her, when she shrinks from the sight of his face, and trembles at the sound of his voice? The hearth is indeed dark, that he has made desolate. There, through the dull midnight hour, her griefs are whispered to herself; her bruised heart bleeds in secret. 'J'hen, while the cruel author of her distress is drowned in distant revelry, she holds her solitary vigils, waiting, yet dreading his retirrn, that is only to wring from her, by unkindness, tears even more scalding than those she sheds over his heartless ne- glect. THE JUNVEILE ORATOR. 145 2. To fling a deeper gloom across the present, memory turns back, and broods upon the past. The joys of other days come over her, as if only to mock her grieved and weary spirit. She recalls the ardent lover, whose graces won her from the liome of lier infancy; the enraptured father who hung with such delight over his new-born children; and she asks, if this be the same; this sunken being, who has now nothing for her but the sot's disgusting brutality; — nothing for those abashed and trembling children, but the sot's disgusting example! 3. Can we wonder that, amid these agonising moments, the tender cords of violated affection should snap asunder? — that the scorned and deserted wife should conless, *' there is no killing like that which kills the heart?" — that, though it would be hard to kiss, for the last time, the cold lips of a dead husband, and lay his body forever in the dust, it is harder still to behold him so debasing life, that it even would be greeted in mercy? 4. Had he died in the light of his goodness, bequeathing to his fimiily the inheritance of an untarnished name, and the example of virtues that should bloom for his sons and daughters from the tomb, though she would have wept bit- terly indeed, the tears of grief would not have been also the tears of shame. She beholds him fallen from the station he once adorned, degraded from eminence to ignominy; at home, turning his dwelling to darkness, and his holy en- dearments to mockery; abroad, tlirust from the companion- ship of the worthy, a self-branded outlaw. C, Sprague. EXERCISE XYIII. The Pleasures of Old .%e. 1. The young, who all wish to live, but who, at the same time, have a dread at growing old, may not be dis- posed to allow the justice of the representation I am now about to make. They regard old age as a dreary season, that admits of nothing that can be called pleasure, and very little that deserves the name even of comfort. They look forward to it, as in autumn, we anticipate tlie approach of 13* 146 THE JUNENILE ORATOR. winter; but winter, though it terrifies us at a distance, has nothing in it, when it arrives, that is very formidable. Its enjoyments are of a different kind; but we find it not less pleasant than any other season of the year. 2. Old age, in like manner, frightful as it may be to the young, who view it afar off, has no terror to them who see it near; and experience proves that it abounds with conso- lation, and even delights. We should look, therefore, with pleasure on many aged men, whose illuminated faces and hoary heads, resemble one of those pleasant days in winter, so common in this climate, when a bright sun darts its beams on a pure field of snow. The beauty of spring, ihe splendor of summer, and the glory of autumn are gone; but the pros- pect is still lively and cheerful. 3. Among other circumstances which contribute to the satisfaction of this period of life, is the respect with which old age is treated. There are, it must be acknowledged and lamented, some foolish and badly educated young persons, who do not pay that veneration which is due to hoary hairs; but these examples are not numerous. The world in general bows down to age, gives a precedence, and listens with deference to its openness. Old age wants accommodations; and it must, in justice lo man, be allowed that they are furnished with cheerfulness. Who can deny that such reverence is soothing to the human mind? And that it compensates us for the loss of many pleasures which are peculiar to youth? 4. The respect of the world, in general, is gratifying; but the respect of man's own offspring, must yield heartfelt de- light. Can there be a more pleasing sight, than a venerable old man, surrounded by his children and grand-children, all of whom are emulous of each other in testifying their homage and affection? His children, proud of their honored father, strive who shall treat him with the most attention, while his grand-children hang on his neck, entertain him with their innocent prattle, and convince him that ihey love their grand-father, not less than they love their own father. After viewing such a scene, can we possibly believe that it is not a blessing to live long?-^and yet no spectacle is more common. Freeman. THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 147 EXERCISE XIX. Reflections on Water. 1, Let us notice what we call water — a liquid, clear and transparent body. Now it escapes from our grasp, and now it lakes the form of whatever surrounds it, having none of its own. If the water were a liitle more rarified, it would become a species of air, — the whole face of nature would be dry and sterile. He who lias given us this fluid, has dis- tributed it with care through the earth. The waters flow from the mountains. They assemble in the valleys, and they flow in the rivers, winding their way through the coun- try, that they may more efl^eclually water it. At last they empty themselves into the sea, where they find a common level, and swell this mighty pathway of the commerce of nations. 2. This ocean, what seems an eternal separation of all countries, is, on the contrary, the great centre of all nations. It is over this trackless way, across this profound abyss, that the Old World has put forth its hand to the New, and that the latter supplies the former with treasures. This vast body of limpid water is to the earth, what the blood of man is to his body. It circidates through its caverns and secret channels. Besides this constant circulation, there is the ebbing and flowing of the whole mass, called the tides; this keeps it pure and healthful. We see the overwhelming flood rise upon the land, and retire at given times, and to a given extent. Who has commanded this flux and reflux? Who controls this world of waters, and gives neither too little, nor too much? And says to the rivers come thus far and no farther? 3. He that made the earth and the heavens, and fashioned our frames curiously and wonderfully. His unerring finger marked the boundaries of the deep, bade the waves roll, and fixed a habitation for the mighty Leviathan. And the waters roll at his bidding, and have rolled through countless ages, and have remembered the mandate, '* Here shall thy proud waves be staid." We look into the heavens, and behold clouds flying upon the wings of the wind; these are bodies of water suspended over our heads to temper the air 148 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. and refresh the thirsty soil. If they were to fall all at once, they would overwhelm and destroy every herb and living thing. What mighty arm suspends them in the heavens, shakes them as a sieve, and they fall in small drops and gentle dews? Fenelon, ** God from his cloudy cistern pours. On the parch'd earth, refreshing showers; The grove, the garden, and the field, A thousand cheerful blessings yield." EXERCISE XX. The Visible Firmament, 1. If the sun, at the distance from us at which he now rolls, were a good deal larger, he would light our whole world; but then he would consume, too, with devouring heat. If he were a good deal smaller, the earth would be- come covered with ice, and could not be inhai^ited by man or beast.' What compass has been stretched from heaven to earth, to take these measurements, and poise the spheres in just relations? Now but half of our world is lighted at once, and this serves the day and the night. Then the changes of the earth, in relation to the sun, cause the seasons, the seed time and harvest, the heat and the cold. 2. The spring checks the cold winds, wakens the flowers, and gives the promise of fruit. The summer cherishes the fruit, and brings the riches of harvest. Then the autumn perfects the spring's promise and the summer's bounty, and gives to man the fruition of his hopes. Winter is the night of the year, the season of rest. The treasured riches of autumn cheer the hearts of the frost-bound thousands, who preserve the seed for a future harvest, to be scattered amidst the beauty of spring. Thus nature, so variously adorned, presents alternately her beautiful changes, that man may admire and rejoice. 3. Let us look up again to the immense concave above us, where sparkle the countless stars. If it be solid, who is the builder? Who is it that has fastened in it, at regular distances, such grand and luminous bodies? Who gives this bright and beautiful arch the appearance of turning THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 149 round ns with such exactness? If, on the contrary, the heavens are only an immense space, filled with fluid bodies, like the air that surrounds us, how is it that so many solid bodies float in it without interfering one with another? 4. After so many ages of unwearied labor, in which man has been making astronomical observations and calculations, how is it that they have discovered no derangement of the heavens? Can a fluid body give such a constant and regular direction, — such permanent order, — to substances that float in them, or that sail on their bosom? But for what purpose are the countless myriads of stars? The Creator has sown them in the heavens as a magnificent prince would his gar- ments with precious stones. Fenelon. EXERCISE XXT. George Washington. 1. The history of the Old World records the names of those whose deeds and daring cast a passing glare upon the age in which they lived, and whose memory yet survive the waste of time; but to the New World was reserved the glory of giving existence to one, the lustre of whose virtues lighted the habitable globe with a noon-tide splendor, that can subside only with subsiding nature. Upon the broad page of the history of man, George Washington stands in unclouded sublimity, an unmatched model of self-created greatness. The scene of his glory, was the spot of his birth; with the very milk of his mother, he drank in tlie principles of a pure morality, the spirit of a divine religion, an unquenchable love of freedom, and a mortal dislike to tyrants and to tyranny. 2. Nature, as if pledged to set before the world a perfect finish of her best production, bestowed upon him a tall and manly frame, of surprising symmetry of form, and iron cast; an arm of giant nerve; a face of awful majesty, softened by lines of God-like benignity, and an eagle's eye, from which corruption, cowering, shrunk abashed; and, to crown her gift, and make the boon to man complete, she introduced him to his country's wishes, in the dark and trying hour of his country's need. 150 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 3. A foreign foe, the arbiter of nations, with coffers full of gold, an army millions strong, and ships of war that whitened every sea, came hovering on our shores, with fire and sword, to make us slaves, and bow our necks to wear the yoke cf royally. The eyes of all the world were turned upon us; and our eyes were turned on Washington. He, his country's shield, with chosen comrades, few, in- deed, but undrsmayed, met the invader in the tented field, and boldly mingled in the unequal fight. 4. The dubious strife, of near octennial age, w^ore ever varying shades; — the blood of heroes fertilised the soil, — whole cities, wrapped in flames, bore ample witness of the tyrant's dire intent; and the startling yell of savage hordes, commingling with the war-trump's hoarser note, proclaimed his allies in the work of death. But he, who drove the car of war, and poised his country's sword, in whose capacious mind, the springs of resource never felt an ebb, — whose energy of soul no disaster ever shook, and whose devotion to his country's cause no vicissitude could change, rolled back the cloud that hung upon the scene, and led his little band to victory, and a nation to glory. Compiler. EXERCISE XXII. The Union of the United States. 1. What has the Constitution left undone, which any government could do for a whole country? In what con- dition has it placed us? Where do we stand? Are we elevated or degraded by its operation? What is our condi- tion under its influence at the very moment when some talk of arresting its power and breaking its unity? Do we not feel ourselves on an eminence? Do we not challenge the respect of the whole world? What has placed us thus high? What has given us this just pride? What else is it but the unrestrained and free operation of that same Federal Con- stitution which it has been proposed to hamper — to manacle —to nullify? 2. Who is there among us that should find himself on any spot of earth, where human beings exist, and where the existence of other nations is known, that would not be proud to say, I am an American? I am a countryman of Wash- THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 151 ington? Our country, at the present time, stands on com- manding ground. Older nations, with diflerent systems of government, may be somewhat slow to acknowledge all that justly belongs to us. But we may feel, without vanity, that America is doing her part in the great works of improving human affairs. There aie two principles, strictly and purely American, which are now likely to overrun the civilised world. Indeed, they seem the necessary result of the pro- gress of civilisation and knowledge. ^ 3. These are, first, popular governments; and, secondly, universal education. Popular governments and general edu- cation, acting and reacting, mutually producing and repro- ducing each other, are the mighty agencies which, in our days, appear to be exciting, stimulating, and changing civi- lised societies. On the basis of these two principles, liberty and knowledge, our American systems rest; and thus far we have not been disappointed. 4. Our existing institutions, resting on these foundations, have conferred on us almost unmixed happiness. Do we hope to better our condition by change? When we shall have nullified the present Constitution, what are we to re- ceive in its place? As fathers, do we wish for our children a better government, or better laws? As members of society, as lovers of our country, is there any thing that we can de- sire for it, better than that, as ages and centuries roll over it, it may possess the same invaluable institutions which it now enjoys? — the same smiles of heaven under which it has long rested? And, oh! may it never be less prosperous. B, Webster, . EXERCISE XXIII. Increase of Human Knowledge, 1. What are great and beneficial discoveries in their origin? What is the process which has led to them? They are the work of rational minds operating upon the materials existing in nature, and observing the laws and properties of the physical world. The Creator of the universe has fur- nished us the matter; it is all around us, above us, and be- neath us; in the ground under oar feet; in the air we breathe; and in the various subjects of the kingdom of nature. We 152 THE JUVENILE ORATOR, cannot open our eyes, nor stretch out our hands, nor take a step, but we see, and handle, and tread upon the things from which the most wonderful discoveries and inventions have been educed. 2. What is gunpowder, which has changed the character of modern warfare? It is the mechanical mixture of some of the most common and least costly substances in nature. What is the art of printing? A contrivance less curious, as a piece of mechanism, than a musical box. What is a steam-engine? An apparatus for applying the vapor of boil- ing water. What is vaccination? A trifling oil, communi- cated by the scratch of the lancet, and yet capable of pro- tecting human life against one of the most dreadful maladies to which it is exposed. 3. And are the properties of matter all discovered? its laws all found out? the uses to which they may be applied all detected? I cannot believe it. We can hardly suppose but that truths, now unknown, are in reserve to reward the patience and labor of all future lovers of research; — truths which will go as far beyond the brilliant discoveries of the last generation, as these do beyond all that was known to the ancient world. In that great volume, written by the Hand Divine, the pages are infinite, and they are to be gra- dually turned, produced, and announced, to benefitted and grateful generations; but they must be turned by the hand of genius and patience; and especially by patience; by un- tiring, enthusiastic, self-devoting patience. 4. The progress that has been made in the arts and sciences, is indeed very vast; and we are ready to think a pause must follow; — that the goal must be at hand. But there is no goal; and, while mind is free, there can be no pause; — for art and science are, in themselves, progressive principles; they are moving powers; they are instinct with life; they are themselves the intellectual life of man. No- thing can arrest them which does not replunge the entire order of society into barbarism. There are no bounds to truth,— no limit to its discovery and application; and we might as well think of building a tower, and, from the top of it, grasp the Dog-star in our hands, as to prescribe an end to discovery, or set bounds to invention. E. Everett. I the juvenile orator. 153 Exercise xxiv. Objections urged against the Declaration of Independence in 1776, 1. Let us pause a momenl! — This step, once taken, can- not be retraced. — This resolution, once passed, will cut off all hope of reconciliation. If success attend the arms of England, we shall then be no longer colonies with charters and privileges; tliese will all be forfeited by this act, and we shall be in the condition of a conquered people — at the mercy of the conquerors! For ourselves, we may be ready to run the hazard; but are we ready to carry our country to that length? — Is success so probable as to justify ii? Where is the military force; — where the naval power, by which we are to resist the whole strength of the arm of England? — for we shall awake her power to the utmost. 2. Can we rely on the constancy and perseverance of the people? Or will they not act as the [)eople of other coun- tries have acted, and, weary with the war, submit to a worse oppression? While we stand on our old ground, and insist on a redress of grievances, we know we are right, and are not answerable for consequences. Nothing, then, can be imputed to us. But, if we now change our object, carry our pretensions further, and set up for absolute independence, we shall lose the sympathy of mankind. We shall no longer be defending what we possess, but struggling for what we never had, and what we have solemnly and uni- ftjrmly, from the outset of our troubles, disclaimed all inten- tions of pursuing. 3. Abandoning this, our old ground of resistance to arbi- trary acts of oppression, the world will believe the whole to have been a mere pretence, and will look on us, not as in- jured, but as anTbiiious subjects. I shudder before this responsibility. It will be on us, if, relinquishing the grounds on which we have so long stood, and stood safely, we now proclaim independence, and carry on the war for that object, while these cities burn, these pleasant fields whiten and bleach wiih the bones of their owners, and these streams run bloocL It will be upon us, if, failing to maintain this unreasonable and ill-judged declaration, a stern government, enforced by 14 154 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. military power, will be established over onr posterity, when we, ourselves, given np and exhausted, a misled, harassed people, shall have expiated our rashness and atoned for our presumption on the scaffold. EXERCISE XXV. Reply to the Objections to the Declaration of Independence. 1. Sink or swim, survive or perish, I give my hand and my heart to this vote! It is true, indeed, that in the begin- ing we did not aim at independence; but there is a Divinity that shapes our ends. The injustice of England has driven ns to arms, and, blind to her own interest, she has persisted until independence is within our grasp. We have but to reach forth to it, and it is ours. Why then should we defer the Declaration? Is any man so weak as to hope for recon- ciliation with England, that shall leave safety to his country, or safety to his own honor or his own life? Are not you, sir, who preside over our deliberations — and is not our venera- ble colleague near you — are you not both proscribed? — cut off from royal mercy, and a price set upon your heads? If we postpone this Declaration, do we mean to give up the war? Do we mean to submit to the Boston Port Bill, and all? Do we mean to consent that we ourselves shall be ground to powder, and our country and rights trod in the dusi? 2. I know we do not mean to submit. We never shall submit. Do we mean to violate that most solemn obliga- tion ever entered into by man — that plighting, before God, of our sacred honor to George Wasliington? When putting him forth to incur the dangers of the war, we promised to adhere to him to the last extremity, with our fortunes and our lives. I know there is not a man here who would not rather see a general conflagration sweep over the land— ^or an earthquake sink the country, than that one jot or tittle of our plighted faith should fall to the ground. 3. For myself, having twelve months since, in this place, moved you, that George Washington be appointed commander of the forces raised, or to be raised, for the de- fence of American liberty, may my right hand forget her THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 155 cunning — and my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, if I hesitate or waver in the support I give him. Tlie war, then, must go on. We must fight it through. And if the war must go on, why put off this Declaration? The measure will strengthen us. It will give us character abroad. Europe will treat with us as a nation. England herself will treat with us for peace on the footing of independence. Why, then, do we not change the strife at once from a civil to a national war? and, since we must fight, why not put our- selves in a position to enjoy the victory? 4. Sir, tliis Declaration will inspire the people with in- creased courage. It sets before them the glorious object of certain independence, and it will breathe into them a ne^v breath of life. Read this Declaration at the head of the army; — every sword will leap from its scabbard, and the solemn vows will rise to heaven, to maintain it, or perish on the bed of honor. Publish this Declaration from the pulpit ; religion will approve it, and the love of religious liberty, will cling round it, resolved to stand or fall with it. tSend this Declaration to the public halls; let them hear it who heard the first roar of British cannon; let them see it who saw their sons fall on the heights of Bunker Hill, and the plains of Lexington and Concord — and the very walls will cry out in honor of its support. 5. Sir, I know the uncertainty of human afl^airs; but I see clearly through the business of this day. You and I may rue it: we may die slaves; die on the scaffold. Be it so. But while we live, let us have a free country. It will cost us treasure — and cost us blood; but it will stand and richly repay both. We shall make this a glorious day; when we are gone, our children will honor it; they will keep it with thanksgiving, with festivity, and bonfires. Sir, be- fore God, I believe the hour is come — my head and heart approve this Declaration. All I have, all I am, and all I hope in this life, I now stake upon it; and I leave off as I began — sink or swim, survive or perish, 1 am for Inde- pendence now! and Indf.pendence Forever! John Adams. 156 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. EXERCISE XXVI. Gen. Marion, the Hero of the South, 1. No man, in whose bosom beats an American heart, can read the Tell-like daring of the heroes of the American Revolution, without feeling his pulse quicken, and his soul kindle in a cause so just in its object, and so glorious in its results. 'J'hat age was most prolific in the production of men who stamped the human character with a moral gran- deur which was wholly unknown to former times, and which casts a halo around it that is seen throughout the civilized world. Among those heroes, General Marion fills an entire niche. 2. He was a native of South Carolina, and the scene of his unparalleled daring, was the maritime regions of .the low and unhealthy country in the vicinity of Georgetown. In stature, the General was unusually diminutive, and his person was proportionably light. While in the service, he rode one of the fleetest and most powerful chargers that any country ever produced. Nothing escaped him in pursuit — and in retreat, it was fruitless to follow him; — and this his enemy had learned by sad experience. 3. This lion-hearted hero, was admirably fitted for the times in which he lived, for the station which he filled, and the part which he acted. His iron constitution, enabled him to endure fatigue, his cautious habits, fitted him for dan- gerous enterprise, and his perfect knowledge of his field and iiis foe, gave him the power of achieving more with the same means, than any other man of any age or any country, whose name has found a place in the history of the world. 4. The region of country over which, with his trusty few, he swayed the sceptre of dominion, with a skill and prowess tliat charmed his friends, but baffled and disconcerted his enemy, abounded in deep and dark swamps and dense thickets, whose passes and fastnesses were known only to himself and the creeping panther. To the dreary solitudes of these, when pressed by superior force, or fatigued with battling the foe, he would retire in safety, and shut himself THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 157 lip from the vigilance of his pursuers, and tlie prying eye of the world. 5. Then, as iinlooked for as a bolt of thunder from a cloudless heaven, and with the celerity of the lif/er's bou-id, he would again, at some remote point, and in an unguarded moment, [)ounce upon the enemy, like a falcon upon his prey, fold him in his toils, and bear him to the bush; — and to pursue him, were alike useless and dangerous. In no instance, was he ever overtaken in his course, surprised in his movements, or discovered in his hiding places. His followers were dear to him. In his eyes their blood was of high price — and therefore never wantonly spilled. When, however, the enterprise was possible, there was the stir of the storm; and his rapidity of motion, and boldness of front, often gave him the victory over ten times his own force. 6. On one occasion, the General found himself nearly sur- rounded by the assaulting enemy, and, to escape their snare, lie lept a fence, and entei'ed a cornfield. The British dragoons, in full pursuit, lept the fence also, and bore down upon him. There was no means of retreat, except over another fence . on the opposite side of the held. This barrier w^as erected upon a bank of earth thrown from a ditch on the outer side. It was elevated about seven feet, and within two feet of the ditch, which was four feet wide, and as many deep. 7. The dragoons, aware of the obstacle, and quite sure of their man, pressed on, shouting insult and exultation, and bidding the hero surrender or die. The General, regardless of their clamor, measured the fence with his eye, and, put- ting his horse to the charge, lit, like an; eagle, upon the outer margin of the ditch in perfect safety. He then wheeled and faced his pursuers, gave them the contents of his pis- tols, and, bidding them good morning, plunged into the neighboring thicket, whither they were loo wise to follow. EXERCISE XXVII. Commodore Perry'' s Victory on Lake Erie, 1. Were any thing wanting to perpetuate the fame of this victory, it would be sufficiently memorable from the singu- 14# 158 THE JUVENILE ORATOR.^ lar scene where it was fonght. This war has been dis- tinguished by new and peculiar characteristics. Naval warfare has been carried into the interior of a continent, and navies, as if by magic, launched from among the depths of the forest! The bosoms of peaceful lakes, which, but a short time since, were scarcely navigated by man, except to be skimmed by the light canoe of the savage, have all at once been ploughed by hostile ships. 2. The vast silence which has reigned for ages on those mighty masses of fresh water, was broken by the thunder of artillery, and the affrighted savage stared with amazement from his covert, at the sudden apparition of a sea-fight amid the solitudes of the wilderness. The peal of war has once sounded on that lake, but will probably never sound again. The last roar of cannon that died along her shores, was the expiring note of British dominion. Those vast internal seas will, perhaps, never again be the separating space be- tween contending nations; but will be enibosomed within a mighty empire; and this victory, which decided their fate, will stand unrivalled and alone, deriving lustre and perspi- cuity from its wonderful singleness. 3. In future times, when the shores of Erie shall hum with the stir of a busy population, when towns and cities shall brighten where now extend the dark and tangled forest; when ports shall spread their arms, and lofty ships shall ride where now the bark canoe floats; when the present age shall have grown into venerable antiquity, and the mists of fiible begin to gather round its history, then will the inhabitants of Canada go back to the battle we now re- cord, as one of the romantic acliievmenls of the days of yore. 4. It will stand first on the page of their local legends, and in the marvellous tales of tlie borders. 'I'he fisherman, as he loiters along the beach, will point to some half-buried cannon, covered with the rust of time, and will speak of ocean warriors, who came from the sliores of the Atlantic; while the boatman, as he trims his sail to the breeze, will ■chant, in rude diiiies, the name of Perry, and his early vic- tory on the wave of Lake Erie. THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 159 5. Hfirk! the martial drum hails the approach of the brave! The Hero who fought on the proud, swelling wave; To the homes he defended — the homes of the free — We greet his return with a grand jubilee. All hail! gallant soldier! thy fame shall extend, As Liberty's champion, as America's friend, Till all, in the light of its gh/y shall see A world disenthraird, independent, and free. W. Irving. EXERCISE XXVIII. JRolla^s Jiddress to the Peruvians. 1. My brave associates! partners of my toil, my feelings? and my fame! can Rolla's words add vigor to the virtuous energies that inspire your hearts? No; you have judged, as I have, the foulness of the crafty plea by which these bold invaders would delude you. Your generous spirit has com- pared, as mine has, the motives which, in a war like this, can animate their minds and ours. 2. They, by a strange frenzy driven, fight for power, for plunder, and for extended rule; we, for our country, our altars, and our homes. They follow an adventurer whom they fear, and obey a power which they hate; we serve a monarch whom we love — a God whom we adore. When- ever they move in anger, descHation tracks their progress. Whenever they pause in amity, aflliction mourns their friendship. They boast they come but to improve our state, enlarge our thoughts, and free us from the yoke of error! Yes; they will give enlightened freedom to our minds, wlio are themselves the slaves of passions, of avarice, and of pride! 3. They offer us their protection. Yes; such protection as vultures give to lambs — covering and devouring them! They call on us to barter all of good, which we have in- herited and proved, for the desperate chance of something belter, which they promise. Be our plain answer this: — the throne we honor, is the people's choice; the laws we reverence, are tlie legacy of our brave fathers; the faith w^e J 60 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. follow, teaches iis to live in bonds of charity with all man- kind, and die with the hope of bliss beyond the grave. Tell your invaders this; and tell them, too, we seek no change; and, least of all, such a change as they would bring us. 4. Harshly sounds the trumpet's clamor, While our warriors leap to arms; Beauty shrinks in fearful tremor. Snatching graces from alarms. Harsh to us the martial clarion, Who, with peace and freedom blest, Bade the desert, drear and barren, Smile a garden in the west. Sheridan. EXERCISE XXIX. , The Nature of True Eloquence. 1. When public bodies are to be addressed on momentous occasions, when great interests are at slake, and strong pas- sions excited, nothing is valuable in speech, farther than it is connected with high intellectual and moral endowments. Clearness, and force, and rousing earnestness, are the quali- ties which produce conviction, and win the ear. 2. True eloquence, indeed, does not consist in speech. It cannot be brought from far. Labor and learning may toil for it, but they will toil in vain. Words and phrases may be marshalled in every way, but they cannot compose it. It must exist in the man, in the subject, and in the oc- casion. Affected passion, intense expression, the pomp of declamation, all may conspire after it; they cannot reach it, 3. It comes, if it come at all, like the out breaking of a fountain from the earth, or the bursting forth of volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original, native force. The graces taught in the schools, the costly ornaments and studied con- trivances of speech, shock and disgust men, when their own lives, and the fate of their wives and their children, and their country hang on the decision of an hour. 4. Then, words have lost their power; rhetoric is vain, I THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 161 and all elaborate oratory contemptible. Even genius itself then feels rebuked and subdued, as in the })resence of higher qualities. Then, patriotism is eloquent; then, self-devotion is eloquent, 'ilie clear conception, outrunning the deduc- tions of logic, the high purpose, the firm resolve, the daunt- less spirit, speakino^ on the tongue, beaming from the eye, informing every feature, and urging the whole man onward, right onward, to his object. '1 his, — this is eloquence; or, rather, it is something greater and higher than eloquence;— it is action — noble, sublime, god-like action. D. Webster, exercise xxx. The Two Robbers. Alexander the Great and a Thracian Chief. Alexander. What! art thou that Thracian robber, of whose exploits I have heard so much? Chief. I am a Thracian, and a soldier. Alex. A soldier! — a thief, a plunderer, an assassin! the pest of the country! I could honor thy courage, but I must detest and punish thy crimes. Chief. What have I done, of which you complain? Alex. Hast thou not set at defiance my authority; vio- lated the public peace, and passed thy life in injuring the persons and prv)periies of thy fellow subjects? Chief. Alexander! I am jour captive — I must hear what you please to say, and endure what you please to indict. But my soul is unconquered; and if I reply at all to your reproaches, I will reply like a free man. Alex. Speak freely. Far be it from me to take the ad- vantage of my power, to silence those with whom I deign to converse. Chief. I must then answer your question by asking an- other. How have you passed your life? Alex. Like a hero. Ask Fame, and she will tell you. Among the brave, I have been the bravest; among sove- reiijns, the noblest; among conquerors, the mightiest. Chief. And does not Fame speak of me, also? Was 162 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. there ever a bolder captain of a more valiant band? Was there ever — but I scorn to boast. You yourself know I have not been easily subdued. Alex. Slill, what are you but a robber — a base, dishonest robber? Chief. And what is a conqueror? Have not you, too, gone about the earth like an evil genius, blasting the fair fruits of peace and industry; plundering, ravaging, killing, without law, without justice, merely to gratify an insatiable lust for dominion? All that I have done to a single district with a hundred followers, you have done to whole nations with a hundred thousand. If I have stripped individuals, you have ruined kings and princes. If I have burned a few hamlets, you have desolated the most flourishing kingdoms and cities on the earth. What, then, is the difference, but that, as you were a king and I a private man, you have been able to become a mightier robber than I? Alex. But if 1 have taken like a king, I have given like a king. If I have subverted empires, I have founded greater. I have cherished arts, commerce, and philosophy. Chief. I too have freely given to the poor what I have taken from the rich. I have established order and discipline among the most ferocious of mankind, and have stretched out my protecting arm over the oppressed. I know indeed little of the philosophy of which you talk, but I believe that neither you nor I shall ever atone to the world for half the mischief we have done it. Alex Leave me. Take off his chains, and use him well. Are we then so much alike? Alexander like a robber? Let me reflect. exercise xxxi. Flattery Reproved. Canute, the Dane — Offa and Oswell, Courtiers. Canute. Is it true, my friends, as you have often told me, that I am the greatest of monarchs? Offa. It is true, my liege; you are the most powerful of all kinffs. THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 163 OswELL. We are all your slaves; we kiss the dnsl of your feet. Offa. Not only we, but even the elements are your slaves. The land obeys you from shore to shore, and the sea obeys you. Cax. Does the sea with its broad and boisterous waves obey me? Will that proud element be still at my bidding? C)ffa. Yes, the sea is yours; it was made to bear your ships upon its bosom, and pour the treasures of the world at your royal feet. It is boisterous to your enemies, but it knows you to be its sovereign. Can. Is not the tide coming up? Os. Yes, my liege; you may perceive the swell already. Can. Bring me a chair, then; set it here upon the sands. Offa. Where the tide is coming up, my gracious lord? Can. Yes, set it just here. Os. [Aside.) I wonder what he is going to do. Offa. [Aside.) Surely he is not such a fool as to be- lieve us! Can. O mighty ocean! thou art my subject; my courtiers tell me so; and it is thy duty to obey me. Thus then I stretch my sceptre over thee, and command thee to retire. Roll back thy swelling waves, nor let them presume to wet the feet of me, thy royal master. Os. [Aside.) I believe the sea will pay very little regard to his royal commands. Offa. See how fast the tide rises! Os. The next wave will come up to the chair. It is folly to stay here, we shall all be covered with salt water. Can. Well, does the sea obey my commands? If it be my subject, it is a very rebellious subject. See how it swells, and dashes the angry foam and salt spray over my sacred person! Vile sycophants! did you think I was the dupe of your base lies? — that I believed your abject flatteries? Know there is but one Being whom the sea will obey. He. is sovereign of heaven and earth; King of kings and Lord of lords. It is he only who can say to the ocean — " thus far shalt thou go, but no farther; and here shall thy proud waves be stayed." A. king is but a man: — and a man is but a worm. Shall a worm assume the powers of the great 164 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. Creator, and think the elements will obey him? May kings learn to be humble from my example, and courtiers learn truth from your disgrace. exercise xxxii. Learning and Usefulness. Mr, Howard and Mr. Lester. Howard. Life is much like a fiddle: — every man plays such a tune as ^uits him. Lester. The more like a fiddle, the better! like it — any thing that makes a merry noise, suits me; and the man that does not set his house to music, has a (hill time on't. How. But, Lester, are there no serious duties in life? Ought we not to improve our minds, and prepare for use- fulness ? Lest. Why, in the present day, a man's preparing him- self for usefulness, is like carrying coals to Newcastle. Our country is full of useful men; ten, at least, to where one is wanted, and all of them ten times as ready to serve the public, as the public is to be served. If every man should go to Congress that is lit for it, the Federal city would hardly hold them. How. You mean, if all who think themselves fit for it. Lest. No; I mean as I said. How. Then what do you think fits a man for Congress? Lest. Why he must be flippant and bold. How. What good will these do him if he is without knowledge? liEST. O! he must have knowledge to be sure. How. Well, must he not be a man in whom the people can trust? must he not understand politics? and must he not be able and willing to serve his country? Lest. I agree to all that. How. Then you suppose that the Federal city could hardly hold all our men who unite eloquence with confi- dence, knowledge with integrity, and policy with patriotism. I fear that a counting-house could give them full accommo- dation. THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 165 Lest. I don't go so deep into these matters; but this is certain, that when the election comes, more than enough are willing to go. How. That, my friend, only proves that more than enough are ignorant of themselves. But are there no other ways of serving the public? Lest. Yes; one may preach, if he will do it, for little or nothing. He may practice law, if he can get any one to employ him; or he may be a doctor; or an instructor; but I tell you the country is crowded with learned men begging business. How. Then you intend to prepare yourself for the igno- rant herd, so that you may not be crowded. Lest. I have serious thoughts of it. You may take your own way; but I will never wear out a pair of fine eyes in preparing myself for usefulness, till this same public will give me a bond to employ me when I am ready to serve them. Until such a bond is signed, sealed, and delivered, I shall set my house to the tune of '* Jack's alive." To-day's the ship I sail in, and that will carry the flag, in spite of the combined powers of yesterdays and to-morrows. How. Well, Lester, you can take your choice. I shall set my house to a more serious tune. I ask no bond of the public. If my mind is well furnished with knowledge, and that same generous public, which has so uniformly called to her service the well-informed and deserving, should refuse my services, still I shall possess a treasure, which, after a few years dissipation, you would give the world to purchase: — the recollection of time well spent. exercise xxxiii. The Price of a Victory. Young Oswald and his Father. Oswald. Good news! great news! glorious news! cried the youth, as he entered his father's house. We have ob- tained a great victory, and have killed, I don't know how many thousands of the enemy, and we are to have bonfires and illuminations. 15 166 TPIE JUVENILE ORATOR. Father. And so, my son, do yon think, thai killing so many thousands of human creatures, is a thing to be very glad about? Oswald. No; — I do not think so, neither; but surely it is right to be glad that our country has gained a great ad- vantage. Father. No doubt it is right to wish well to our country, so far as its prosperity can be promoted without injuring the rest of mankind. But wars are very seldom to tiie real advantage of any nation; and when lliey are ever so useful, or necessary, so many dreadful evils attend them, that a humane man will scarcely rejoice in them, if he considers coolly on the subject. Oswald. But if our enemies would do us a great deal of mischief, and we prevent it by beating them, have we not a right to be glad of it? Father. Alas! we are, in general, incompetent judges which of the parties has the mischievous intentions. Com- monly, they are both in the wronor, and success will make both of them unjust and unreasonable. But putting that out of the question, he who rejoices in the event of a battle, rejoices in the misery of thousands of his species; and the thought of that should make him pause a little. Suppose a surgeon were to come in with a smiling countenance, and tell us, triumphantly, that he had cut off half a dozen legs that day — what would you think of him? Oswald. I should think him very hard-hearted. Father. And yet those operations are done for the benefit of the sufferers, and by their own desire. — But in battle, the probability is that none of those engaged on either side, have any interest at all in the cause they are fighting for; and most of them came there because they could not help it. In this battle that yovi are so rejoiced about, there have been ten thousand men killed upon the spot, and nearly as many wounded. Oswald. On both sides. Father. Yes — but they are men on both sides. Con- sider now, that the ten thousand sent out of the world in this morning's work, though they are past feeling themselves, have left probably, two persons each, on an average, to la- THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 167 ment their loss, either parents, wives, or cliildren. Here then are twenty thousand people made unhappy at one stroke, on their account. This however, is hardly so dread- ful to think of as the condition of the wounded. At the moment we are talking, eight or ten thousand more, are lying in agony, torn with shot, or gasjied with cuts, their wounds festering; some to die hourly a most excruciating death; others to linger in torture weeks and months, and many doomed to drag out a miserable existence for the rest of their lives, with diseased and mutilated bodies. Oswald. This is shocking to think of, indeed ! Father. When you light your candles, then, this even- ing THINK WHAT THEY COST ! exercise xxxiv. Mr. Barlow's New Colony. Mr, Barlow and his Sons, Mr. Barlow. Come, my boys, I have a new play for you. I will be the founder of a new colony; and you shall be the people of different trades and professions, coming to offer yourselves to go with me. What are you, Arthur? Arthur. I am a iarmer, sir. Mr. B. Very well ! The farmer puts the seed into the earth, and takes care of it when it has grown to the ripe corn; — without the farmer, we should have no bread. But you must work very hard; there will be trees to cut down, and roots to drag out, and a great deal of labor. Arthur. I shall be ready, sir, to do my part. Mr. B. Well, then, I shall take you willingly, and as many more such good fellows as you can find. We shall have land enough; and you may fall to work as soon as you please. Now for the next. Beverly. I am a miller, sir. Mr. B. a very useful trade! Our corn must be ground, or it will do us very little good; what must we do for a mill, my friend? Beverly. I suppose we must build one. 168 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. Mr. B. Then we must take a millwright with us, and a run of mill-stones. Who is the next? Charles. 1 am a carpenter, sir. Mr. B. The most necessary man that could offer. We shall find you work enough, never fear. There will be houses to build, fences to make, and chairs and tables besides. But all our timber is growing; we shall have hard work to fell it, to saw boards and planks, to hew timber, and frame and raise buildings. Charles. I will do my best, sir. Mr. B. Then I engage you; but you had better bring two or three able hands along with you. Delville. I am a blacksmith, and know my trade. Mr. B. An excellent companion for the carpenter, and the farmer; we can do very little without any of you. You must bring your great bellows, anvil, and vice, and we will set up a forge for you as soon as we arrive. By the bye, we want a mason for that work. Edward. I am one, sir. Mr. B. Though we may live in log houses at first, we shall want brick work, or stone work for chimneys, hearths, and ovens; so there will be employment for a mason. Can you make bricks and burn lime? Edward. I will try what I can do, sir, Mr. B. No man can do more — I engage you. Who is next? Francis. I am a shoemaker. Mr. B. Shoes we cannot do without; but I fear we shall get no leather. Francis. But I can dress skins also. Mr. B. Can you? then you are a clever fellow; and I will have you, though I give you double wages. Ceorge. I am a tailor, sir. Mr. B. We must not go naked; so there will be work for a tailor. But you are not above mending, I hope; for we must not mind wearing patched clothes, while we work in the woods. George. 1 am not, sir. Mr. B. Then I engage you, too. THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 169 Henry. I am a silversmith, sir. Mr. B. Then, my friend, you cannot go to a worse place than a new colony to set up your trade. Henry. But I understand clock and watch-making, too. Mr. B. We shall want to know how time goes, but we cannot afford to employ you. At present, you had better stay where you are. Jasper. I am a barber and hair-dresser. Mr. B. What can we do w^th you? If you will shave our men's rough beards once a week, and crop their hair once a quarter, and be content to help the carpenter the rest of the time, we will take you. But you will have no ladies' hair to curl, or gentlemen's to powder, I assure you. Lewis. I am a doctor. Mr. B. Then, sir, you are very welcome; we shall some of us be sick, and we shall be likely to get cuts, and bruises, and broken bones. You will be very useful. We shall take you with pleasure. Maurice. I am a lawyer, sir. Mr. B. Sir, your most obedient servant. When we are rich enough to go to law, we will let you know. Oliver. I am a schoolmaster. Mr. B. That is a very respectable and useful profession; as soon as our children are old enough, we will be glad of your service. Though we are hard working men, we do not mean to be ignorant; every one among us must be taught reading and writing. Until we have employment for you in teaching, if you will keep our accounts, and, at present, read sermons to us on Sundays, we shall be glad to have you among us. Will you go? Oliver. With all my heart, sir. Mr. B. Who comes here? Philip. lama soldier, sir; will you have me? Mr. B. We are all peaceable people; and 1 hope we shall have no occasion to fight. We are all soldiers, and must learn to defend ourselves; we shall have no use for you, unless you can be a mechanic, or a farmer as well as a sol- dier. Robert. I am a gentleman, sir. Mr. B. a gentleman! And what good can you do us? 15* 170 THE JUVENILE ORATOR, Robert. I expect to shoot game enough for my own eat- ing; you can give me a little bread and a few vegetables; and the barber can be my servant. Mr. B. Pray, sir, why should we do all this for you? Robert. Why, sir, that you may have the credit of say- ing you have one gentleman, at least, in your colony. Mr. B. Ila, ha, ha! A fine gentleman truly. Sir, when we desire the honor of your company, we will send for you. exercise xxxv. Our Northern Workmen. Taken from a Speech delivered on the floor of Congress, in reply to Mr. Ficken^s attack on Northern Laborers, while on the Sub-Treasury Bill, Mr. Chairman, it is with great reluctance that I rise for the first time in this hall. But I feel my seU obliged io rise; — I am impelled to speak; — I cannot remain silent. I voted for the introduction of this bill to our deliberations, on pur- pose to afford the Honorable Gentleman from South Caro- lina an opportunity to express his views on the subject. I saw his anxiety to speak, and felt a friendly disposition to gratify him. If I were surprised when 1 heard him draw into the vortex of discussion, the exciting topics of Aboli- tion, Texas, Slavery, and Loco-Focoism, topics which have nothing to do with the Sub-Treasury, what must have been my feelings, when I heard him denounce the institu- tions of the North as mercenary and slavish; and exalt those of the South as ancient, patriarclial, and almost perfect? — boldly avow that the laborers of the North were the subjects of Northern capitalists? — put the Northern Workman on a footing with the Southern Slave, and threaten to preach insurrection to the Jaborers of the North? — Yes; preach insurrection to Northern laborers! I am a Northern laborer. Aye, sir, it has been my lot to have inherited, as my patrimony, at the early age of nine years, nothing but naked orphanage and utter destitution; — houseless and homeless, friendless and pennyless, I was I THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 171 obliged, from that day forward, to earn my daily bread by my daily labor. And now, sir, — now, sir, — when I take my seat in this hall, as a free representative of a free people, am I to be sneered at as a Northern laborer, and degraded into a comparison with the poor, oppressed, and suffering Negro Slave? Is such the genius and spirit of our institu- tions? If it be, then did our forefathers fight, and bleed, and struggle, and die — in vain! Sir, the gentleman has mistaken the spirit and tendency of Northern institutions. He is ignorant of Northern cha- racter. He has forgotten the history of his country. Preach insurrection to Northern laborers! Preach insurrection to mel If, as the poet says, it was once preached successfully in Heaven, let me tell the gentleman, it will never succeed at the North. Who are the Northern laborers? The history of your country is their history. The renown of your country is their renown. The glory of their deeds is em- blazoned on every page of the past. Blot from your annals the bright achievements of Northern laborers, and the history of your country presents a mere blank. Sir, who was he that disarmed the thunder of its power lo harm? — wrested from his grasp the bolls of Jove? — be- came the central sun of the philosophical system of the age, and shed his effulgence on the whole civilised world? He was a Northern laborer! — the son of a Yankee tallow-chand- ler, — a printer's runaway apprentice boy! Who, let me ask, was he, who, in the days of the Revolution, led forth a Northern army; — yes, an army of Northern laborers, in aid of the Chivalry of the South, drove the spoiler from her firesides, and redeemed her fair fields from foreign invasion? It was a Northern laborer, — a Rhode Island blacksmith ! He left his hammer and his forge, and gloriously breasted the battles of our Independence! Will you preach insur- rection to men like these? Sir, let me tell the gentleman, that our whole country is full of the glorious achievements of Northern laborers ! Where are Concord, and Lexington, and Princeton, and Trenton, and Saratoga, and Hunker Hill — but in the North? And, Sir, what has shed an undying glory upon the very names of these hallowed places, but the high daring, the 172 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. patriotism, the sublime courage of Northern laborers? The whole North is an imperishable monument of the freedom, virtue, intelligence, and indomitable independence of North- ern laborers! Will you preach insurrection to men of this stamp? As well might you preach it to their everlasting granite hills. And, Sir, if such were the Northern laborers in past days, such are they now; they are a race of men corrupted by no bribe, purchased by no price; they are sons worthy of their bold and sturdy sires. Follow them to the Canada lines. Whose blood run more freely, or more profusely there in the late war than the Northern laborers? Who won the glorious victories on the Lakes, the victories of Perry and M'Donough, but Northern laborers? Who made our ships, and manned our ships, and went forth upon the wave, and, for the first time, in time's long tide, humbled the British Lion on his own element? Why, Sir, they were Northern Laborers! They are the very men whom the gentleman has here ranked with the degraded — the manaclecl slaves of the South, and to whom he is about to preach insurrection! Well, let him preach! — let him preach! — and then, to top the climax, let him preach to the sun in the heavens! — seduce that glorious orb from his appointed path, and bid him run along the dusty plains of our litde earth! Charles Naylor, EXERCISE XXXVI. The Political Demagogue. In our country, too many young men rush to the arena of public life, without adequate preparation. They go abroad, because their homes are cheerless. They fill their minds with the vulgar excitement of what they call politics, for want of a more general stimulant within. Unable to sustain the rivalry of more disciplined intellects, they persevere after distinctions which they can now obtain only by fraud or artifice. They, therefore, take refuge in leagues and factions, — they rejoice in stratagems, they glory in combinations, — weapons by which mediocracy revenges itself on the uncal- THE JUVENILE ORATOR, 173 cnlating manliness ofgenins, and mines its way into power. Their knowledj^e of tliemselves, inspires a low estimate of llie character of others. They distrust the intelligence and judgment of the community, on whose passions alone, they rely for advancement, and their only study is to waich the shifting currents of popular prejudice, and be ready, at a moment's warning, to follow them. For this purpose, their theory is, to have no definite prin- ciples, and give not positive opinions; never to do any thing so marked as to be inconsistent with doing the direct re- verse, and nev-ar to say any thing that is not capable of con- tradictory exphmations. They are thus disencumbered for the race — and, as the ancient mathematician could have moved the world had he anotlier place to stand on, so they are sure of success, if they have only room to turn. They worship cunning, because it has the semblance of wisdom, and they deem themselves sagacious only because they are selfish. Tliey believe that all generous sentiments and love of country, for which they feel no sympathy in their own breasts, are hollow pretences in others; — that public life is a game in wliich success depends upon dex- terity; and that government is a mere struggle for place. Such persons may rise to great official stations — for high offices are like the tops of pyramids which reptiles can reach as well as eagles. But though th.ey may gain place, they never gain honors; they may be politicians, but they never can become states- men. The pursuit of place alienates them, in time, from the walks of honest industry; — their anxiety for the public fortunes, dissipates all their own; — and with nothing left, either in their minds, or in their means, to retreat upon, having no self-esteem, and losing the esteem of others when they lose power, they soon acquire a servile love of sun- shine — a dread of being called unpopular; and this makes them the ready instruments of any chief who promises to be strongest. No matter with v*^hat bitterness they yesterday de- nounced, and calumniated, scorned him; and they will be ready to-morrow, with equal bitterness, to denounce, and calumniate, and scorn him. But while his short day acta- 174 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. ally lasts — from positive sunrise to undeniable sunset — so long as he commands a majority, their first duty is to rush to the standard of the conqueror; — iheir first impulse is to seek forgiveness, — and their sole object is to secure an office. They degenerate, at least, into mere demagogues — wan- dering about the poUtical common, without a principle or a dollar, and anxious to dispose of their remaining popularity to the highest bidder. If successful, they grow giddy with the frequent turns by which they rise, and wither into ob- scurity. If they miscalculate — if they fall into that fatal error — the minority, disgrace awaits them. They are eclipsed by some more fortunate rivals — some fresher and more expert demagogues — some more pliant and popular man of the people, who flourishes for a season in gaudy and feverish notoriety, and then drops among things that are soon forgotten. N, Biddle. EXERCISE XXXVII. The True American Statesman, Far above and beyond this crowd of the factious and faithless, stands the character of which my country proudly boasts and which she delights to honor — it is The True American Statesman. For the high and holy duty of serving his country, he begins by deep and solitary study of her constitution and laws, and all her great interests. These studies are extended over the whole circumference of know- ledge; — all the depths and shoals of the hum.an passions are often sounded, that he may acquire a mastery over them, and make them subervient to his country's good. Then the solid structure is strengthened and embellished by familiarity with ancient and modern tongues — with his- tory, which supplies the treasures of old experience — with eloquence, which gives them attraction — and with the whole of that wide range of miscellaneous literature, which spreads over them all a perpetual freshness and variety, and which imparts a grace and glory that are reached through no other path. Trained to the duties of life by this course of studies, THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 175 m and animated by the habitual contemplation of those who have gone before him, as a True American Statesman, he lays his liand on his country's aUar, and dedicates himself to her service. From that hour — swerved by no sinister purposes — swayed by no visionary motives — his whole heart is devoted to her happiness and her glory. And no country under the wide heavens could be more worthy of a statesman's care — a statesman's pride. On none has nature lavished so bountifully, the materials of happiness and of greatness — as fatal, if misdirected, as they must be glorious when rightly appUed. On the American Statesman, devolves the solemn obliga- tion of protecting his country from all her foes — from those who lie without, and those who lie within her own bosom — and this he will do most effectually, by preserving his own independence, and doing his duty to his country fearlessly. He will never flatter the people, but leave that olhce to those who mean to betray them. He will remember that the man who fed the Roman people most luxuriously, was the very man who destroyed their freedom. In the wide play of human interests and human passions, he will remember that the same causes always influence the same results — that what has been, will again be, and that all the past throws a warn- ing light on the future. The sam.e arts which seduced other states may not be unavailing in our states. A conspiracy of profligate men, pandering to the passions of the f^ople, may inflame them to their own ruin; and the country, betrayed into the hands of its worst citizens, may be enslaved even with all the ap- pearances of freedom. Should that day unfortunately come, the True American Statesman will never capitulate — never compromise — never yield to his country's enemies. He will feel that crime is not the less guilty, but the more dangerous, by success; and if he sees the cause betrayed by those who should defend it, he will only be the more faithful; and, as he lived for his country, so will he freely die for his country, and glory in a death so honorable. N, Biddle, 176 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. EXERCISE XXXVIII. South Carolina's Merits as a Member of the Federal Union^ stated in the Senate Chamber of the United States. If there be one State in the Union, Mr. President, and I say it in no boastful spirit, that may challenge a comparison with any other, for a uniform, ardent, and uncalculating de- votion to the Union, that State is South Carolina. Sir, from the very commencement of the Revolution up to this hour, there is no sacrifice, however great, that she has not cheerfully made — no service t'lat she has ever hesitated to perform. She has adhered to you in your prosperity; but, in your adversity, she has clung to you with more than filial afl^ec- tion. No matter what was the condition of her domestic aflfairs; though deprived of her resources, divided by par- ties, or surrounded by difiiculties, the call of her country has been to her as the voice of her God. Domestic discord ceased at the sound, every man became at once reconciled to his brother, and the sons of Carolina were all seen crowd- ing together to the temple, bringing their gifts to the altars of their common country. What, Sir, was the conduct of the South during the Revo- lution? Sir, I honor New England for her conduct in that glorious- struggle. But, great as is the praise that belongs to her, I think, at least, equal honor is due to the South. They espoused the quarrel of their brethren with a generous zeal which did not suffer them to stop to calculate their in- terest in the dispute. Favorites of the mother country, possessed of neither ships nor seamen to create commercial rivalship, they might have found in their situation a guar- antee that their trade would be forever fostered and protected by Great Britain. But, trampling on all consi(lerations, either of interest or safety, they rushed into the conflict, and, fighting for principles, perilled all in the sacred cause of freedom. Never were there exhibited, in the history of the world, higher examples of noble daring, dreadful suffering, and heroic endurance, than by the Whigs of Carolina in the THE JUVENILE ORATOK. 177 (lays of the Revolution. The whole State, from the moun- tains to the seaboard, was overrun by an overwhelming force of the enemy. The fruits of industry perished on the spot where they were produced, or they were consumed by the foe. The plains of Carolina drank up the most precious blood of her citizens! Black and smoking ruins marked the phices which had been the habitations of her children! Driven from their homes into the gloomy and almost im- penetrable swamps, even there the spirit of liberty survived, and South Carolina, sustained by the example of her Sump- lers and her Marions, proved by her conduct that, though her soil might be overrun, the spirit of her people was in- vincible. /. Hayne. EXERCISE XXXIX. Senate Chamber of the United States. Reply to Mr, Hayne's Picture of South Carolina, as being brighter than that of Massachusetts, Mr. President, I shall enter upon no encomium on Mas- sachusetts — she needs non^. There she is — behold her, and judge for yourself. There iS her history — the world knows it by heart — the past, at least, is secure. There is Boston, and Concord, and Lexington, and Bunker-Hill, and there ihey will remain forever. The bones of her sons, fallen in the great struggle for Independence, now lie mingled with the soil of every Slate from New England to Georgia, and there tliey will fie forever. And, Sir, where American liberty raised its first voice, and where its youth was nurtured and sustained, there it still lives, in the strength of its manhood, and full of its original spirit. If discord and disunion shall wound it- — if party spirit and blind ambition shall hawk at and tear it — if folly and madness, if uneasiness under salutary and neces- sary restraint, shall succeed to separate it from the Union, by which alone its existence is made sure, it will stand in the end by the side of that cradle in which its infancy was rocked; it will stretch forth its arm, with whatever of vigor it may still retain, over the friends who may gather at its birth place, and it will fall at last, if fall it must, amidst the 16 I 178 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. proudest monuments of its own glory, and on the very spot of its origin. I profess, Sir, in my career hitherto to have kept steadily in view, the prosperity and honor of the whole country, and the preservation of our federal union. It is to that union, we owe our safety at home, and our consideration and dig- nity abroad. It is to that union that we are chiefly indebted for whatever makes us most proud of our country. That union we reached only by the discipline of our virtues in the severe school of adversity. It had its origin in the necessities of disordered finance, prostrate commerce, and ruined credit. Under its benign influence, these great interests imme- diately awoke, as from the dead, and sprang forth with newness of life. Every year of its duration has teemed with fresh proofs of its utility and its blessings; and although our territory has stretched out wider and wider, and our population spread further and further, they have not outrun its protection nor its benefits. It has been to ns all a copious fountain of social happiness and national glory. D. Webster. EXERCISE XL. Senate Chamber of the United States, Reply to Mr. Hayne^s Picture of South Carolina's Merits. The eulogium pronounced on the character of the State of South Carolina by the Honorable Gentleman, for her Revolutionary and other merits, meets my hearty concur- rence. I shall not acknowledge that the honorable member goes before me in regard for whatever of distinguished talent or distinguished character South Carolina has produced. I claim part of that honor. I partake in the pride of lier great names. I claim them for my countrymen — one and all — the Laurens, the Rutledges, the Pinckneys, the Sump- ters, the Marions — Americans all — whose fame is no more to be hemmed in by state lines, than their talents and patriotism were capable of being circumscribed within the same narrow limits. In their day and generation, they served and honored the THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 179 country, and the whole country, and their renown is of the treasure of the whole country. Him, whose honored name the gentleman himself bears — does he suppose me less capable of gratitude for his patriotism, or sympathy for his sufferings, than if his eyes had first opened upon the light in Massachusetts, instead of South Carolina? Sir, does he suppose it in his power to exhibit a Carolina name so bright as 10 produce envy in my bosom? No, Sir, — increased gratification and delight rather than envy. Sir, 1 tliank God, that, if I am gifted with a little of the spirit which is said to be able to raise mortals to the skies, I have yet none, as I trust, of that other spirit which would drag angels down. When I shall be found, Sir, in my place here in the senate or elsewhere, to sneer at public merit, because it happened to spring up beyond the little limits of my own state or neighborhood; when I refuse for any such cause, or for any cause, the homage due to American talent, to ele- vated patriotism, to sincere devotion to liberty and country; or if I see an uncommon endowment of Heaven — if I see extraordinary capacity and virtue in any son of the South, and if, moved by local prejudice, or gangrened by state jealousy, I get up here to abate the tythe of a hair from his just character and just fame, may my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth! Sir, let me recur to pleasing recollections, — let me in- dulge in refreshing remembrances of the past, — let me re- mind you, that, in early times, no slate cherished greater harmony, both of principle and feeling, than Massachusetts and South Carolina. Would to God that harmony might again return. Shoulder to shoulder they went through the Revolution, — hand in hand they stood round the adminis- tration of Washington, and felt his own great artn lean on them for support. Unkind feeling, if it exist, alienation and distrust, are the growth, unnatural to such soils, of false principles since sown. They are the weeds, the seeds of which, that same great arm never scattered. D, Webster, I 180 the juvenile orator. exercise xli. Matches and Over Matches. Senate Chamber of the United States, . Reply to Mr. Haipie's Challenge of an Over-Match, Matclies and over Matclies! Those terms are more ap- propriate elsewhere than liere, and filter for other assemhlies than for this. Sir! the gentlem.m seems to forget where, and what, we are. This is a Senate; — a Senate o^ equals! — of men, of individual honor, and personal character, and of absolute independence. We know no master, — we ac- knowledge no dictator. This is a hall for mutual consul- tation and discussion, not an arena for the exhibition of champions. I offer myself, Sir, as a match for no man. I throw the challenge of debate at no man's feet. But then, Sir, since . the honorable member has put the question in a manner that calls for an answer, I will give him an answer. And I tell him, that, holding myself to be the humblest of the members liere, I yet know nothing in the arm of his friend from Missouri, either alone or when aided by the arm of his friend from Carolina, that need deter even me from espousing whatever opinions I may choose to espouse, — from debating whenever I choose to debate, or from speak- ing whatever I may see fit to say on the floor of the Senate. Sir, when uttered as matter of commendation or compli- ment, I should dissent from nothing which the honorable member might say of his friend; still less do 1 put forth any pretensions of my own; but when put to me as a matter of taunt, I throw it back, and say to the gendeman, that he could possibly have said nothing less likely than such a comparison to wound my pride or personal character, D, Webster. Note. — Mr. Hayne had charged Mr. Webster with having- passed by Mr. Bv^riton, in the debate, for the purpose of attacking him, because Mr. Benton was an " Over-match;" It is reported, that the charge produced an expression of withering scorn upon the features of Mr. Webster, and elicited the above cutting rebuke. THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 181 EXERCISE XLII. The Liberty and Union of the States. Sir, I have not allowed myself to look beyond the Union of the States to see what might lie hidden in the dark re- cess behind. I have not coolly weighed the chances of preserving liberty, when the bonds that now hold us together, shall be broken asunder. I have not permitted myself to hang over the precipice of disunion, to see whether, with my short sight, I can fathom the depth of the abyss below; nor could 1 regard him a safe counsellor in the atTairs of government, whose thoughts should be mainly bent on con- sidering, not how the Union could be best preserved, but how tolerable might be the condition of the people when it ^ shall be broken up and destroyed. While the Union lasts, we have high, inciting, gratifying prospects spread out before us and our children. Beyond that, I seek not to penetrate the veil. God grant that in my day, at least, that curtain may not rise. God grant that, on my vision, may never be opened what lies behind. When my eyes are turned to behold, for the last time, the sun in the heavens, may I not see him sljitiing on the broken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious Union; on states dissevered. — discordant, — belligerent; on a land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood! Let their last feeble and lingering gaze, rather behold the gorgeous ensign of the Republic, now known and honored throughout the earth, still full high advanced, its arms and trophies streaming in all their original lustre, — not a stripe erased or polluted, not a star obscured, — bearing for its motto no such miserable interrogatory as, — '* What is all this worth?'^ nor those other words of delusion and folly, ^'•Liberty First,^^ and '''Union ^^fterwards^^^ but every where spread all over- in characters ol living light, blazing on all its ample folds, as they float over the sea and over the land, and in every wind under the whole heavens, that other sen- timent, dear to every true American heart, — Liberty and Union, now and forever, one and inseparable! Note. — This speech was delivered in the Senate Chamber of the 16* 182 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. United States, in reply to Mr. Hayne^s inquiry as to the worth of the Union. Mr. Webster is said to have stepped forward, pushed his desk behind him, turned from the chair of the president, fixed his dark eyes on Mr. Hayne, and, in a tone and manner of irresistible eloquence, poured a torrent upon the Southern Nuliifier that silenced his inquiries s^iQ\\ii\lQ price of the Union. CHAPTER II. FIECES IN POETRY. exercise i. The American Sailor Boy. *' Their home is on the mountain wave." 1. Year after year, both far and near, He sails the blue seas o'er; He never dreads the wave's death-bed, Though far from every shore. 2. For in his prime he learn'd to climb, High up the reeling mast; And felt a pride safe there to ride. Heedlessly in the blast. 3. And father's fear, and mother's tears, For many a truant child. Have sadden'd life, till with the strife. Of hope and fear, grown wild. 4. They, side by side, have liv'd and died, By their own son forgot; Who, on the sea, half mad with glee. Blesses his happy lot. 5. And boys, I've seen, who'd never been Where ships could sail before, As if in quest of some bird's nest, Ransack the spars all o'er. THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 183 6. They'd shout as loud from top-mast shroud, Which rattl'd in the breeze, As if at play, on a summer's day, 'Midst boughs of apple trees. exercise ii. The Pirate Ship. *' Man's inhumanity to Man, makes countless thousands mourn." 1. Midnight reigns; — on the ocean, Cahnly sleeps the starry beam; Steady is the barque's proud motion; Peaceful is the sailor's dream. 2. Stealthy o'er the riv'n waves, Bounding swift, with murd'rous mien, Ploughing o'er its victims' graves, Lo! the Pirate Ship is seen. 3. Gorg'd from guilt's infernal womb, Lurk around the savage crew: On each brow, the fiend of gh)om Stamps his seal, to horror true. 4. Luxury of crime is theirs; Dead to pity, as to fear; Cruelty each bosom shares, Banquetino* on mis'ry's tear. 5. Gold's their idol: — to this god, Nightly, fearful orgies rise; Rites accursed, steep'd in blood,, Mark their human sacrifice. 6. Now, with crime, — low, fiendish mirth,— HellishMaughler, — shake the sky! Drunk with blood — the stain of earth — Lo! ihey join in revelry. 184 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 7. Sailor, waken! — death is near; Waken from alluring sleep! Else before the dawn appear, Thou shall with all sleepers sleep. Tappan. exercise iii. The Mariner's Dream. "Land's-man, hear a ShipwreckM Sailor, Tell the Dangers of the Sea." 1. In slumbers of midnight, the sailor-boy lay: His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind, But, watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away, And visions of happiness dane'd o'er his mind. 2. He dream'd of his home, — of his dear native bow'rs, And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn, While mem'ry stood sideways half cover'd with flow'rs, And restor'd ev'ry rose, but secreted its thorn. 3. Then fancy her magical pinions spread wide. And bade the young dreamer in ecstacy rise; — Now far, far behind him the green waters glide, And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes. 4. The jessamine clamber'd in flow'rs o'er the thatch; And the swallow sung sweet from her nest in the wall; All trembling with transport, he raises the latch, And the voices of lov'd-ones reply to his call. 5. A father bends o'er him with looks of delight; His cheek is impearl'd with a mother's warm tear; And the lips of the boy in a love kiss unite. With the lips of the maid, whom his bosom holds dear. 6. The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast; Joy quickens his pulse; — all hardships are o'er; And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest, — *•* Oh, Godi thou hast bless'd me, — I ask for no more." THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 185 7. Ah! whence is that flame, which now bursts on his eye? Ah! what is that sountl which now pours in his ear? 'Tis the lightning's red glare, painting hell on the sky! 'Tis the crashing of thunder! — the groans of the sphere! 8. He springs from his hammock; — he flies to the deck; Amazement confronts him with images dire; Wild winds and the waves, drive tlie vessel a wreck! The masts fly in splinters! — the shrouds are on fire! 9. Like mountains, the billows tremendously swell; In v&in the lost wretch calls on Mary to save; Unseen hands of spirits are wringing his knell, And the Death Angel flaps his cold wing o'er the wave! 10. Oh! sailor-boy, wo to thy dream of delight! In darkness dissolves thy gay frost work of bliss! Where now is the picture that fancy touch'd bright, Thy parents' fond pressure, and love's honi'd kiss? 11. Oh, sailor-boy! sailor-boy! never again Shall thy home or thy kindred, thy wishes repay; Unbless'tl and unhonor'd down deep in the main, Full m-any a score fathom, thy frame shall decay. 12. No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee; Or redeem form or frame from the merciless surge; But the white foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be, And winds, in the midnight of winter, thy dirge. 13. On beds of green sea flow'rs, thy limbs shall be laid; Around thy w^hite bones, the red coral shall grow; Of thy fair yellow hair, threads of amber be made. And ev'ry part suit to thy mansion below. 14. Days, months, years, and ages shall circle away, And still the vast waters above thee shall roll; Earth loses thy pattern forever, and aye! — Oh, Sailor-boy! sailor-boy! peace to thy soul! 186 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. exercise iv. The Coral Grove. " Ocean's mystic voice I hear! Peal of unwonted sound." 1. Deep in the wave is a coral grove, Where the purple mullet and gold-fish rove; Where the sea-flower spreads its leaves of blue, Which are never wet with the morning dew; But in bright and changeful beauty shine, Far down in green and glassy brine. 2. The floor's of sand, like the mountain drift, And the pearl-shells spangle the flinty snow; From coral rocks the sea-blasts lift Their boughs, where the tides and billows flow. 3. The waters are calm and still below; For the winds and the waves are absent there. And the sands are bright as the stars that glow, In the motionless fields of upper air. 4. There, with its waving blade of green. The sea-flag streams through the silent flood; And the crimson of its pulse is seen, To blush like a banner bath'd in blood. 6. There, with a light and easy motion. The Fan Coral sweeps through the deep blue sea; And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean, Are waving like corn on the upland lea. 6. There life, in rare and beautiful forms. Is sporting amid the bowers of stone; And is safe, when the wrathful spirit of storms. Has made the top of the wave his own. 7. And when the ship from his fury flies, Where the myriad voices of ocean roar. Where the wind-god frowns in murky skies. And the demons are waiting the wreck on shore; THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 187 Then, far, far below, in the peaceful sea, The purple mullet and the gold-fish rove; Where the vi^aters murmur tranquilly, Through the bending boughs of the Coral Grove. FercivaL EXERCISE V. The Blue Sea. During the late Turkish and Grecian war, a Greek Islander, who \vas a prisoner, was hurried from the sea shore into the interior, and, having reached "The Vale of Tempo," one of the most lovely spots in Europe, was ordered to admire its beautiful scenery; and, on looking up, he replied: — " Yes, all is fair; but the sea! where is thatl" From this hint, Mrs. Hemans gave the world the following beautiful verses: 1. Where is the sea? — I languish here! Where is my own blue sea, With all its barques of fleet career, And flags, and breezes free? 2. I miss the voice of waves; — the first Which brake my childish glee; The measur'd chime, the thund'ring burst:— Where is my own blue sea? 3. Oh! rich your myrtle's breath may rise; And soft your winds may be; Yet my sick heart within me dies: — Where is my own blue sea? 4. I hear the shepherd's mountain flute; I hear the whisp'ring tree: — The echos of my soul are mute:— Where is my own blue sea? 188 the juvenile orator. exercise vi. The Evening. " O for Evening's brownest shade!" 1. This is ihe hour when mem'ry wakes Sweet dreams which do not last; This is the hour when fancy takes A survey of the. past. 2. She brings before the passive mind, The deeds of earlier years: With friends that have been long consigned To darkness and to tears. 3. The few we lik'd, the one we lov'd, Appear, and then pass on; And many a well known form remov'd, And many a pleasure gone. 4. Connections that in death are hush'd; Affection's broken chain; And hopes which fate too early crush'd, In memory live again. 5. Now watch the fading gleams of day. And muse on prospects flown; Tint after tint, fades slow away; Night comes; — and all are gone. exercise VII. The Close of the Day. " *Tis night and fhe landscape is lovely no more.*' 1, Soft sink the summer evening hues, O'er stream and forest fair; And gently fall tlie cooling dews Upon the darkening air. THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 189 2. There's scarce a ripple in the tide; A breath aaiid the woods; In fragrance sweet the breeze has died Amid their solitudes. 3. Beside the water's silver wave, The gay acacia glows; Their boughs the weeping willows lave, In undisturb'd repose. 4. While darkness in the distance spreads, The darker forests rise; Waving their proud, majestic heads, O'er ev'ning's symphonies. 5. The feather'd songsters chant a strain, As loth to leave the scene; And sweetly yield to rest again, The shrubs and mounds of green. 6. Tides, forests, earth, the air, and shore, The shades of night obey; While, falling gloomier than before, Extends her ebon sway. 7. But soft a breathing breeze now wreaths Its cool note through the sky; — 'Tis evening's requiem; — coolly breathes The low-land's vesper sigh. exercise viii. The Common Lot. "And the places that know him now, shall know him no more.^ 1. Once in the flight of ages past, There liv'd a man: — and who was he? Mortal ! howe'er thy lot be cast. That man resembl'd thee. 17 l90 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 2. . Unknown the region of his birth; The land in which he died unknown; His name has perish'd from the earth; This truth survfves alone; — 3. That joy, and grief, and hope, and fear, Alternate triumph'd in his breast; His bliss and wo, — a smile, — a tear! Oblivion hides the rest. 4. The bounding pulse, the languid limb, The changing spirit's rise and fall; We know that these were felt by him, For these are felt by all. 5. He suffer'd; — but his pangs are o'er; Enjoy'd; — but his delights are fled; Had friends; — his friends are now no more; And foes; — his foes are dead. 6. He lov'd; — but whom he lov'd, the grave Hath lost in its unconscious womb; O she was fair! but naught could save Her beauty from the tomb. 7. The rolling seasons, day and night. Sun, moon, and stars, the earth, and main, Ere while his portion, life and light, To him exist in vain. 8. He saw whatever thou hast seen; Encounter'd all that troubles thee; He was wherever thou hast been; He is — what thou shalt be. 9. The clouds and sun-beams o'er his eye. That once their shades and glory threw. Have left, in yonder silent sky. No vestige where they flew. THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 191 10. The annals of the human race, Their ruins, since the world began, Of him afford no other trace Than this: — there liv'd a man! Montgomery, exercise ix. Human Life. " The present moments just appear, Then glide away in haste; So we can never say they're here, But only say they're past." 1. Oh! while we eye the rolling tide, Down which our fleety moments glide. So very fast, Let us the present hour employ, And deem each future dream of joy, Already past. 2. Let no vain hope deceive the mind; — No happier let us think to find To-morrow than to-day; Our golden dreams of youth were bright; Like them the present may be light, — Like them decay. 3. Our lives like hast'ning streams must be, Which into the ingulphing sea, Are doom'd to fall; — The sea of death, whose waves roll on. O'er kings and kingdoms, throne and crown. And swallow all. 4. Just like the river's rolling tide, Or like the humble riv'let's glide. To the salt wave, Death levels poverty and pride; The rich and poor sleep side by side. In the cold grave. 192 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 5. Our birth is but a starling place; — Life is the running of the race, And death the goal; There all our glittering toys are brought; That path alone, of all unsought. Comes to the whole. 6. Say, then, how poor and little worth, Are all the tinsel'd toys of earth. Which gull us here? Dreams of a sleep which death will break, Alas! before he bids us wake. Ye disappear! exercise x. George Washington. Composed by the Rev. Mr. Pierpont, and sung at the Old South Church, Boston, Feb. 22d, when the nation was fifty years old. 1. To Thee, beneath whose eye, Each circling century Obediently rolls, Our nation, in its prime, Look'd with a faith sublime, And trusted in " the time That tried men's souls:" — 2. When, from this gate of heaven,* People and priests were driven, By fire and sword, — And, where thy saints had pray'd, The harness'd war-horse neigh'd In harsh accord. 3. Nor was our fathers' trust. Thou Mighty One, and just, Then put to shame: — * The Old South Church was made a horse-stable, during the war, | by the British, f THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 193 ** Up to the hills" for light, Look'd they in peril's nio^ht, And, from yon guardian height,^ Deliverance came. 4. There, like an angel form, Sent down to rule the storm, Stood Washington! Clouds broke and roll'd away; Foes fled in pale dismay; Wreath'd were his brows with bay, When war was done. 5. God of our sires and sons. Let other Washingtons Our country bless; And, like the brave and wise Of by-gone centuries. Show that true greatness lies In righteousness. EXERCISE XI. Bunker HiLL.f Why should vain mortals tremble at the sight of Death and destruc- tion in a field of battle? 1. Stand! — the ground's your own, my braves! Will ye gi/e it up to slaves? Will ye look for greener graves? Hope ye mercy still? What's the mercy despots feel? Hear it in the battle peal ! Read it in yon bristling steel ! Ask it: — ye who will! * Dorchester height where Washington planted his cannon, and drove the British out of Boston. t The Rev. Mr, Pierpont put the followin^^ patriotic address in the mouth of the lamented General Warren at tue battle of Bunker Hill, June 17th, A. D. 1775. 17* 104 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 2. Fear ye foes who kill for hire? Will ye to your homes retire? * Look behind you! — they're on fire! And before you see Who have done it! From the vale Up they come! — And will you quail? Leaden rain and iron hail, Let their welcome be! 3. In the God of battle trust ! Die we may, and die we must; But, where can dust to dust, Be consign'd so well. As where the heav'ns their dews shall shed On the martyr'd patriot's bed? Where the granite rears its head, Of their deeds to tell!* exercise xii. Holy Ground. " That's Holy Ground, where lovM and bless'd, Freedom's first martyr's fell — and rest." 1. O! is not this a holy spot? 'Tis the high place of Freedom's birth! God of our fathers! is it not The Holiest Ground of all the earth? 2. Quench'd is thy flame on Horeb's side; On Sinai rests the robber's vow; And those old saints, thy seers, 'bide No more on Zion's mournful brow. 3. But on this Hill, thou, Lord, hast dwelt. Since round its head the war-cloud curl'd, And wrapp'd our fathers where they knelt, In prayer and batde for a world ! * June 17th, 1825, half a century after the battle, the corner-stone of a granite monument was laid by General La Fayette, on the spot where General Warren fell. THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 195 4. Here sleeps their dust: — 'lis Holy Ground ! And we, the children of the brave, From the four winds assemble round, To lay our off 'ring on their grave. 5. Free as the winds around us blow, Free as the wave below us spread, "VVe rear a pile that long shall throw Itr shadow on their hallow'd bed. 6. But, on their deeds, no shade shall fall. While, o'er their turf, thy sun shall flame; Thine ear was bow'd to hear their call, And thy right hand shall guard their fame. Fierpontf exercise xiii. The American Eagle. The Eagle, the American emblem, is said to have been taken from the family coat of arms of General George Washington. Jl. There is a bold, bald bird, with a bending beak, Wiih an angry eye, and a startling shriek, That inhabits the crag, where the clifl^-flow'rs blow, On the precipice top, in perpetual snow. 2. He sits where the air is shrill and bleak, On the splinter'd point of a shiver'd peak, Bold, bald, and strip'd, like a vulture torn, In wind and strife, his feathers worn. 3. All ruffl'd and stain'd, yet gleaming bright. Round his serpent neck, that's wrinkl'd and white, Winds a red tuft of hair which glitters afar, Like the crest of a chieftain thinn'd in war. 4. This bird of the clifl^, where the barren yew springs, Where the sun-beams play, and the wind-harp sings, Sits erect, unapproachable, fearless, and proud. And screams, flies aloft, and lights in the cloud. 196 THE JUVEMLE ORATOR. 5. He's the bird of our banner: — the Eagle that braves, When the battle is there, the wrath of the waves; — He rides on the storm, in its hurricane march, 'Mid lightning's broad blaze, across the blue arch. 6. He dips his bold wing in the blushes of day; Driuks noon's fervid light, and eve's parting ray; He visits the stars at their home in the sky, And meets the sun's beam, with an unquailing eye. exercise xiv. The Drunkard. " Two deep, dark stains, mar all our country's bliss: — Foul slavery one, and one loath'd drunkenness. 1. " Hand me the bowl, ye jovial band," He said; — " 'twill rouse my mirth:" — But conscience seiz'd his trembling hand, And dash'd the cup to earth. 2. He look'd around, he blush'd, he laugh'd; Then sipp'd the sparkling wave; — But in it read, " who drinks this draught, Shall dig a murderer's grave!" 3. He started up, like one from sleep! And shudder'd for his life; He gaz'd, and saw his children weep! And saw his weeping wife! 4. In his dark dream, he had not felt Their agonies and fears; But now he saw them as they knelt, To plead with prayers and tears. - 5. But the foul fiend his hateful spell Cast o'er his staggering mind; — In every hope, he fanci'd hell: To reason, deaf and blind. THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 197 He grasp'd his cup to seek relief; — And conscience no more said: — His charming wife sunk down with grief; His children begg'd for bread. ThrougK haunts of vice, and scenes of strife, He pass'd down life's dark tide; — He cursM his beggar'd babes and wife; He curs'd his God! — and died. exercise xv. The Tipler's Warning. " Be warn'd, O youth! — push back the bowl; Its draught has ruin'd many a soul.'* 1. Push back the bowl! its charms to-day Will vanish ere to-morrow; Its potent fumes will die away, And leave you wreck'd with sorrow. 2, What though it lights the sparkling eyes, With momentary pleasure; Lo! when the deadly poison dies, WtJ follows at its leisure. 3 Push back the bowl ! — the ruddy wine Is but a treacherous snare; Till serpents round thy goblet twine, And leave their poison there. 4. A blaze of rapturous joys may seem To issue from the bowl; You bask a moment in the gleam. Then drink and drown the soul. 5. Push back the bowl ! — its Judas kiss Soon lays the victim low; Why wallow in a brutish bliss, To find an age of woe? 198 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 6. Let reason's voice be heard supreme; Take temperance for your guide; Lest, launched on dissipation's stream, You sink beneath its tide. exercise xvi. The Gift of x\rt. Composed for the Massachusetts Charitable Mechanic Association, 1. When from the sacred garden driven, Man fled before his Maker's wrath, An angel left her place in heav'n, And cross'd the wand'rer's sunless path. 2. 'Twas Art! — sweet Art! — new radiance broke, Where her light foot flew o'er the ground: — And thus, with seraph voice, she spoke:— '* Tlie Curse, a Blessing, shall be found !" 3. She led him through the trackless wild, Where noontide sun-beams never blaz'd; The thistle shrunk — the harvest smil'd, And nature gladden'd as she gaz'd. 4. Earth's thousand tribes of living things. At Art's command, to him are given; The village grows, the city springs, And point their spires of faith to heaven. 5. He rends the oak, and bids it ride. To guard the shore its beauty grac'd; He smites the rock; — up heav'd in pride. Are towers of strength, and domes of taste. 6. Earth's teaming caves their wealth reveal; Fire bears his banner o'er the wave; He bids the mortal poison heal, And leaps triumphant o'er the grave! THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 199 7 He plucks the pearls that stud the deep, Admiring beauty's lap to fill; He breaks the stubborn marble's sleep, And mocks his own Creator's skill. 8. With thoughts that fill the glowing soul. He bids the ore illume the page; And, proudly scorning time's control. Holds converse with an unborn age. 9. In fields of air, he writes his name. And treads the chambers of the sky; He reads the stars, and grasps the flame, That quivers round the throne on high. 10. In war renowned, in peace sublime. He moves in greatness and in grace; His pow'r, subduing space and time. Links realm to realm, and race to race. C. Sprague, exercise xvii. The Soap Bubble. "We, like a field of sparkling bubbles, rise, Float on, expand, and all our beauty dies." Bright globe upon the sun-beam toss'd. Pure, sparkling — then forever lost! No crested wave that glittering breaks. No pearl that wealth admiring takes. No diamond from Golconda's coast. Can half thy changeful brilliance boast. Hast thou a voice to bid us see An emblem of our infancy? — Our reckless youth, our manhood's strife, And all the painted toys of life? Then say, thou bright and beautiful sprite, "Wherein our likenesses unite. 200 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 3. Hope spreads her wing of plumage fair; Re-builds her castle in the air; Its turrets crown'd with frost work bright; Its portals fiU'd with rosy light: — A breath of summer stirs the tree; — And Where's the princely dome? — With ihee! 4. Behold ! array'd in robes of light, Young beauty charms the gazer's sight; Fast in her steps the graces tread, And roseate chaplets deck her head; — But the frail garland fades away; The bubble bursts — and she's but clay. 5. Dilate once more thy proudest size, And deck thee in the rainbow's dies; Thy boldest flight aspiring dare; — Then vanisli to thy native air; — Love dazzles thus with borrow'd rays, And thus the trusting heart betrays. 6. Again it swells; — that crystal round Soars, shines, expands, and seeks the ground; Save! save that frail and tinsel shell ! Where fled its fragments? — who can tell? Thus when the soul from dust is free, Thus shall it gaze, O Earth! on thee. Mrs, Sigourney. exercise xviii. Americans and Britons. " The blue waves roll between us." Though ages long have past. Since our fathers left their home, Their pilot in the blast. O'er trackless seas to roam, THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 201 Yet runs tlie blood of Britons in our veins; And shall we not proclaim, That blood of honest fame, Which no tyranny would tame \Yiih its chains? 2. While the language, free and bold, By the Bard of Avon sung; As that which Milton told, How the vaults of heaven rung. When Satan, blasted, fell with all his host; While these, with reverence meet, Ten thousand echos greet. And from rock to rock repeat Round our coast; 3. While the manners, while the arts, 'I'hat mould a nation's soul. Still cling around our hearts, Between let ocean roll. Our joint communion breaking with the sun; Yet still from either beach. The voice of blood shall reach, More audible than speech. We are One. W. Alston. exercise XIX. The Soldier's Grave. General Joseph Warren was buried where he fell. 1. Blow light, thou gentle breeze, Where lies the soldier brave; Blast not a leaf upon the trees That stand around his grave. 2. No one should, on his sod, With rudeness dare to tread. Lest, with a nod, an angry God Should lay him with the dead. 18 202 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 3. Blow light, thou gentle breeze, And worth and virtue save: 'Tis not the remnants of disease That guards the soldier's grave; — Then let thy lay be heard to say: — " Sleep on departed brave." 4. Blow light, and let repose, The quiet of the tomb, And let the rose, which near it grows, In yearly beauty bloom. 5. I would not see his bones arise. For all that dwells on earth. With shroud unfurl'd, to curse the world That gave his being birth: — Then gently blow, forever so, And sing the soldier's worth. Washington Bard. exercise xx. The Blast of the Simoom. The fall of Sennacherib's Army before Jerusalem, 719 B. C. 1. The Assyrian came down, like a wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold. And the sheen of his spears was like stars of the sea, When the blue wave rolls lightly on deep Galilee, 2. Like the leaves of the forest, when summer is green. That host, with their banners, at sunset were seen; — Like the leaves of the forest, when autumn hath blown, That host, on the morrow, lay wither'd and strown, 3. For the "Angel of Death" spread his wings on the blast, And breath'd, in the face of the foe, as he passed; And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill. And their hearts but once heav'd, and forever grew still. THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 203 , 4. And there lay the steed, with his nostril press'd wide, But, through it, there roll'd not the breath of his pride; And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. 5. And there lay the rider, distorted and pale. With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail; And the tents were all silent, the banners alone; The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. 6. And the widows of Asher are loud in their wail; And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword. Hath melted, like snow, in the glance of the Lord. Byron. exercise xxi. The Winds. " The wind bloweth wheresoever it listcth." We come! we come! and ye feel our might, As we're hastening on, in our boundless flight. And over the mountains, and over the deep. Our broad, invisible, pinions sweep. Like the spirit of liberty, wild and free! And ye look on our works, and say 'tis we; Ye call us the winds; but can ye tell Whither we go, or where we dwell? Ye mark, as we vary our forms of power. And send the frost, or fan the flower; When the hair-bell moves, or the rush is bent. When the tower's o'erthrown, and the oak is rent; As we waft the bark o'er the slumbering wave. Or hurry its crew to a watery grave; And ye say it is we; but can ye trace The wandering winds to their secret place? And, whether our breath be loud or high, Or we come in a soft and balmy sigh, I 204 THE JUNENTLE ORATOR. Our threal'nings fill the soul with fear, Or our gentle whisperings woo the ear, "With music aerial — still 'lis we; — And ye list, and ye look; but what do you see? Can you hush one sound of our voice to peace. Or waken one note, when our murmurings cease? Our dwelling is in the Almighty's hand; We come, and go, at iiis command. Though joy or sorrow mark our track, His will is our guide, and we look not back; And if, ill our wrath, ye would turn us away. Or win us, in pleasantest airs, to play. Then lift up your hearts to Him who binds, Or frees, at will, the obedient winds. exercise xxii. The Snow Storm. It snows! it snows! from out the sky The feather'd flakes, how fast they fly, Like little birds, that don't know why They're on the chase, from place to place. While neither can the other trace. It snows! it snows! a merry play Is o'er us, on this heavy day! As dancers in an airy hall, That hasn't room to hold them all, While some keep up, and others fall, The atoms shift, then, thick and swift. They drive along to form the drift; That weaving up, so dazzling white. Is risino^ like a wall of lio^ht. But now, the wMud comes whistling loud, To snatch and waft it as a cloud, Or giant phantom in a shroud; It spreads! it curls! it mounts and whirls, At length, a mighty wind unfurls; THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 205 And then, away! but, where, none knows, Or ever will. — It snows! it snows! To-morrow will the storm be done; Then, out will come the golden sun; And we shall see, upon the run Before his beam.s, in sparkling- streams, What now a curtain o'er him seems. And thus, with life, it ever goes; 'Tis shade and shine! — It snows! it snows! Miss Gould, EXERCISE XXIII. The Beauty of the Deep. There's beauty in the deep: — The wave is bluer than the sky; And thouo^h the liofht shine briorht on \\W\\, More softly do the sea-gems glow That sparkle in the depths below; The rainbow's tints are only made When on the waters they are laid, And Sun and Moon most sweetly shine Upon the ocean's level brine. There's beauty in the deep. There's music in the deep; — It is not in the surf's rough roar, Nor in the whispering, shelly shore — They are but earthly sounds, that tell How little of the sea-nymph's shell, That sends its loud, clear note abroad. Or winds its softness through the flood. Echoes through groves with coral gay, And dies, on spongy banks, away. There's music in the deep. There's quiet in the deep: — Above, let tides and tempests rave. And earth-born whirlwinds wake the wave; 13^ 206 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. Above, let care and fear contend, With sin and sorrow to the end; Here, far beneath the tainted foam, 'j'hat frets above our peaceful home, We dream in joy, and wake in love, Nor know^ the rage that yells above. There's quiet in the deep. BrainarcL exercise xxiv. The Unknown Isles. Oh! many are the beauteous isles Unknown to human eye, That, sleeping 'mid the ocean smiles. In happy silence lie. The ship may pass them in the night, Nor the sailors know what a lovely sight Is resting on the main; Some wandering ship who hath lost her way, And never, or by night or day, Shall pass these isles again. There, groves that bloom in endless spring, Are rustling to the radiant wing Of birds in various plumage bright. As rainbow hues, or dawning light. Soft falling showers of blossoms fair, Float ever on the fragrant air. Like showers of vernal snow; And, from the fruit-tree spreading tall. The richly ripened clusters fall Oft as sea-breezes blow. The sun and clouds alone possess The joy of all that loveliness; And sweetly to each other smile The live-long day — sun, cloud, and isle. How silent lies each shattered bay! No other visitors have they 'Jo their shores of silvery sand, Than the waves that, murmuring in their glee, THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 207 All hurrying in a joyful band, Come dancino: from the sea. TVilson. exercise xxv. The Juvenile Orator. You'd scarce expect one of my age, To speak in public on the stage; And, if I chance to fall below Demosthenes or Cicero, Don't view me wiih a critic's eye, But pass my imperfections by. Large streams from little fountains flow; Tall oaks from little acorns grow: And thougii I now am small and young, Of judgment weak, and feeble tongue; Yet all great learned men, like me Once learned to read their A, B, C. But why may not Columbia's soil Rear men as great as Britain's isle; Exceed wliat Greece and Rome have done, Or any land beneath the sun? Mayn't Massachusetts boast as great As any other sister state? Or, Where's the town, go far and near. That does not find a rival here? Or, w here's the boy, but three feet high. Who's made improvements more than I? These thoughts inspire my youthful mind. To be the greatest of mankind; Great, not like Cesar, stain'd with blood; But like Washington, great in good. Everett. exercise xxvi. Human Love. Oh! if there is one law above the rest Written in wisdom — if there is a word 208 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. That I would trace as with a pen of fire Upon the unsunned temper of a child — If there is any thing that keeps the mind Open to angel visits, and repels The ministry of ill — 'tis human love! God has made nothing worthy of contempt. The smallest pebble in the well of truth Has its peculiar meaning, and will stand When man's best monuments have passed away. The law of heaven is love, and though its name Has been usurped by passion, and profaned To its unholy uses through all time, Still, the eternal principle is pure; And, in these deep affections that we feel Omnipotent within us, we but see The lavish measure in which love is given; And in the yearning tenderness of a child For every bird that sings above his head, And every creature feeding on the hills, And every tree, and flower, and running brook, We see how every thing was made to love. And how they err, who, in a world like this, Find any thing to hate but human pride. Willis. exercise xxvii. The Spirit of Beauty. The spirit of Beauty unfurls her light. And wheels her course in a joyous flight; I know her track through the balmy air. By the blossoms that cluster and whiten there; She leaves the tops of the mountains green, And gems the valley with crystal sheen. At morn I know where she rested at night, For the roses are gushing with dewy delight; Then she mounts again, and around her flings A shower of light from her purple wings, Till the spirit is drunk with the music on high, That silently fills it with ecstacy! 1 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 209 At noon, she hies to a cool retreat, Where bowering ehns over waters meet; She dimples the wave where the green leaves dip, And smiles, as it curls like a maiden's lip, When her tremulous bosom would hide in vain, From her lover, the hope that she loves again. At eve, she hangs o'er the western sky Dark clouds for a glorious canopy; And round ihe skirts of each sweeping fold, She paints a border of crimson and gold, Where the lingering sunbeam.s love to stay, When their god in his glory has passed away. She hovers round us at twilight hour, Where her presence is felt with the deepest power; She mellows the landscape, and crowds the stream With shadows that flit like a fairy dream; Still wheeling her flight through the gladsome air. The Spirit of Beauty is every where! Dawes. exercise xxviii. The Beggar Man. . Abject, stooping, old, and wan. See yon wretched beggar man; Once a father's hopeful heir, Once a mother's tender care. When too youno^ to understand, He but scorched bis little hand. By the candle's flaming light Attracted, dancing spiral, bright; Clasping fond her darling round, A thousand "kisses healed the wound: Now, abject, stooping, old, and wan. No mother tends the beggar man. Then nought too good for him to wear, With cherub face and flaxen hair, 210 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. In fancy's choicest gauds arrayed, Cap of lace with rose lo aid; Milk-white hat and feather blue; Shoes of red; and coral too, With silver bells to please his ear, And charm the frequent ready tear: Now, abject, stooping, old, and wan, Neglected is the beggar man. See the boy advance in age. And learning spreads her useful page; In vain; for giddy pleasure calls. And shows the marbles, tops, and balls. What's learning to the charms of play? Th' indulgent tutor must give way. A heedless wilful dunce, and wild. The parents' fondness spoiled the child; The youth in vagrant courses ran. Now, abject, stooping, old, and wan, Their fondling is the beggar man. Mrs. Leicester. exercise xxix. Youth and Age. With cheerful step, the traveller Pursues his early way. When first the dimly dawning east Reveals the rising day. He bounds along his craggy road; He hastens up the height. And all he sees and all he he?,rs Administer delight. And if the mist, retiring slow, Roll round its wavy white. He thinks the morning vapors hide Some beauty from his sight. THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 211 But when, behind the western clouds, DepaTts the fading day. How wearily the traveller Pursues his evening way! Sorely along the cragged road, His painful footsteps creep; And slow, with many a feeble pause. He labors up the steep. And if the mists of night close round. They fill his soul with fear; He dreads some unseen precipice, Some hidden danger near. So cheerfully does youth begin Life's pleasant morning stage; Alas! the evening traveller feels The fears of weary age! Soiithey, exercise xxx. The Shipwreck. ** Stay, angry ocean! for thy breast The beautiful now bears; Rock thy wild — tossing waves to rest. And calm their anxious cares." Hark! to the sullen answering roar — " Beneath my world of waves, Eartli's loveliest have sought before, The quiet of my caves!" " But manhood treads the reeling deck. With steps of pride and power; His stern, deep voice, man's rage could check, In passion's stormiest hour!" *' Speak ye of power! — the conqueror's boast Of fleets that awe the world, Lies shivered on my rockiest coast. Or in my depths is hurled !" 212 THE JUVEx^lLE ORATOR. ** If wealth could bribe thee, stormy sea!" — "My cells are paved with gold, With many an empire's treasury, In yellow heaps, untold; And pearls and gems tliat sham.e the round Upon a monarch's brow, Are cumbering the quiet ground Where monsters rest them now. " Nor youth, nor beauty, wealth nor power, Can calm me or delay; Resistless as the passing hour, Is my impetuous way. There is no flattery in my ruth. Capriciously I spare; Death and the ocean speak the truth — To hear it, listen there!" exercise xxxi. Picture of Life. Life hath its sunshine — but the ray, Which flashes on its stormy wave, Is but the beacon of decay — A meteor, gleaming o'er the grave. And though its dawning hour is bright With fancy's gayest coloring. Yet o'er its cloud-encumbered night Dark ruin flaps his raven wing. Life hath its flowers— and what are they? The buds of early love and truth, Which spring and wither in a day. The germs of warm, confiding youth; — Alas! those buds decay and die Ere ripened and matured in bloom — Even in an hour, behold them lie Upon the still and lonely tomb. THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 213 Life hath its pang — of deepest thrill — Tliy sting, relentless memory! Which wakes not, pierces not, until The hour of joy hath ceased to be; Then when the heart is in its pall, And cold afflictions gather o'er, Thy mournful anthem doth recall Bliss, which hath died to bloom no more. Life hath its blessings — but the storm Sweeps like the desert wind in w^'ath, To sear and blight the loveliest form "Wliich sports on earth's deceitful path. Oh! soon the wild heart-broken wail. So changed from youth's delightful tone, Floats mournfully upon the gale When all is desolate and lone. Life hath its hopes — a matin dream — A cankered flower — a setting sun, Which casts a transitory gleam Upon the even's cloud of dun. Pass but an hour, the dream halh fled. The flowers on earth forsaken lie — The sun hath set, whose lustre shed A light upon the shaded sky. exercise xxxii. The Angler's Song. From the river's plashy bank. Where the sedge grows green and rank, And the twisted woodbine springs, Upward speeds the morning lark I'o its silver cloud — and hark! On his way the woodman sings. 19 214 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. On the dim and misty lakes Gloriously the morning breaks, And the eagle's on his cloud: Whilst the wind, with sighing woos To its arms the chaste cold ooze, And the rustling reeds pipe loud. Where the embracing ivy holds Close the hoar elm in its folds, In the meadow's fenny land, And the windmg river sweeps Through its shallows and still deeps — Silent with my rod I stand. But when sultry suns are high, Underneath the oak I lie. As it shades the water's edge, And I mark my line, away In the wheeling eddy, play. Tangling with the river sedge. When the eye of evening looks On the green woods and winding brooks, And the wind sighs o'er the lea — Woods and streams — I leave you then, While the shadow in the glen Lengthens by the greenwood tree. Longfellow. EXERCISE XXXIII. A Field Flower. On finding one in full bloom on Christmas Day, 1802. There is a flower, a little flower. With silver crest and golden eye. That welcomes every changing hour, And weathers every sky. THE JUVENILE ORATOR. 215 The prouder beauties of the field, In gay but quick succession shine, Race after race their honors yield. They flourish and decline. But this small flower, to Nature dear. While moons and stars their courses run, Wreaths the whole circle of the year, Companion of the sun. It smiles upon the lap of May, To sultry August spreads its charms, Lights pale October on his way. And twines December's arms. The purple heath, and golden broom. On moory mountains, catch the gale. O'er lawns, the lily shades perfume, The violet, in the vale. But this bold flow'ret climbs the hill, Hides in the forest, haunts the glen. Flays on the margin of the rill. Peeps round the fox's den. W ith the garden's cultur'd round. It shares the sweet carnation's bed, And blooms on consecrated ground In honor of the dead. The lambkin crops its crimson gem. The wild-bee murmurs on its breast. The blue-fly bends its pensile stem. Light o'er the sky-lark's nest. 'Tis FlorcCs page — in every place. In every season, fresh and fair. It opens with perennial grace. And blossoms everywhere. >'J» 216 THE JUVENILE ORATOR. On waste and woodland, rock and plain, Its humble buds unheeded rise; The Rose has but a surnmer-reign, The Daisy never dies. Montgomery. THE END. D 55 9^ : t Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: Nov. 2007 PreservationTechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 (724)779-2111 Ak .LIBRARY OF H'mi'i 'V:-- i v:}