Book . Gsl SMITHSONIAN DEPOSIT 7 NEW RHETORICAL READER AND . \, / " 5- • ELOCUTIONIST; CONTAINING} NUMEROUS PIECES EOR READING AND DECLAMATION, SELECTED FROM THE CHOICEST WRITINGS OF BRITISH AND AMERICAN AUTHORS, AND DESIGNED FOR THE USE OF SCHOOLS AND COLLEGES. [jnBILDEB, A.M. ^° WITH AN INTRODUCTION, ° 1>" IN WHICH THE ESSENTIAL PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION ARE SIMPLIFIED AND EXPLAINED IN ACCORDANCE WITH THE INSTRUCTIONS OF THE BEST MODERN ELOCUTIONISTS. NEW YORK: PUBLISHED BY J. C. RIKER, i?9 FULTON STREET. 1852. 'PH-fa-oX r* c — ! Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, by J. C. R I K E R , In the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New York. PREFACE. When a new school book is ushered into the world, it is customary for the author or publisher to claim for it supe- riority over all its predecessors, or to present it to teachers as necessary to meet a want that has long been felt and acknowledged. The compiler of the New Rhetorical Reader, unfortunately, it may be, cannot come before the public under circumstances so favorable. His work is probably no better than some others, nor does he know that the interests of education are suffering from the want of it : but his long experience as a teacher has qualified him, he believes, to prepare a reading book, which will be found valuable to those to whom is confided the training of the rising generation. The selections have been made with the greatest care ; and it will be seen, that while those who are generally regarded as the standard writers of our language have been liberally made use of, these pages are enriched by names not heretofore found in works of this class. In meeting with old and favorite extracts the teacher will bear in mind, that what is familiar to him must be new to every successive generation ; and, therefore, that all books of selections should contain a portion of such pieces as have been sanctioned by the taste and judgment of those who have gleaned from the same rich field. In regard to the remaining portions of the " Reader," the propriety of their Vlll PREFACE. selection will be abundantly justified by a careful examina- tion of their merits. To some this may prove the most valuable feature of the work ; for while its literary excel- lence is by no means affected thereby, its moral tone will be seen to be vastly improved. In the Introduction will be found all the essential rules o£ elocution. These are few and simple. A complicated treatise might present the appearance of profound erudition, and make a stronger impression of the literary value of the " Reader" upon the mind of the pupil, but every experienced teacher knows how entirely useless it would be for any practical purpose. "Nothing," says James Sheridan Knowles, "should be allowed to supersede Nature. Let her therefore stand in the foreground. The reader abuses his art, who betrays, by his delivery, that he enunciates by rule. Emotion is the thing. One flush of passion upon the cheek — one beam of feeling from the eye — one thrilling note of sensibility from the tongue — one stroke of hearty emphasis from the arm — have a thousand times the value of the most masterly ex- emplifications of all the rules, that all the rhetoricians, of both ancient and modern times, have given us for the government of the voice, when that exemplification is un- accompanied by such adjuncts." It may be well to state, in concluding these few prefa- tory remarks, that a Juvenile Reader and one for the use of young ladies, on the same plan, are in preparation, and will appear as soon as circumstances shall justify their pub- lication. ■Flushing, L. I. 1 852 CONTENTS PAGE Principles of Elocution, 15 I. Articulation, 16 II. Inflection and Modulation, 17 Table of Inflections, 19 Exercises on the Inflections, 21 Modulation, 22 Examples, 23 Shift of the Voice, 26 Imitative Modulation, 28 Pauses, 29 III. Emphasis, SO IV. Gesture, 32 General Rules, 34 Interrogation, 34 Exclamation 36 Compact Sentence, 37 Negative Sentence, 38 Concession, 39 Parenthesis, 40 Series, 41 Commencing Series, 41 Concluding Series, 42 Emphasis,. 43 Climax, 45 Anti-Climax, 46 Echo, or Repetition, 46 Circumflex, 47 Monotone, 47 LESSONS IN" PROSE. [The names of American writers are in small capitals.'] IiESSON PaGK 1. Responsibilities of the Young, Dr. Olin 49 2. The Two Pictures, Horace Mann 51 3. Sea-Sickness, Rev. Dr. Fisk 53 1* X CONTENTS. Lesson age 4. Future Prospects of the American Continent, Encyclopaedia Britannica 55 5. Human Progress, Chapin 57 6. Damon and Pythias, Brooke 59 7. On the Abuse of Genius, with reference to the Works of Lord Byron, Knowles 62 11. Against the American War, Lord Chatham 68 12. Reply to the Duke of Grafton, Lord Thurlow 71 13. Speech in Favour of the War of the Revolution, Patrick Henry 72 14. Supposed Speech of John Adams in favour of signing the Declaration of Independence, D. Webster 74 15. Character of Napoleon Bonaparte, Channing 77 16. Character of Washington, Lord Brougham 79 20. Eloquence and Logic. From an Eulogy on H. S. Legare, of South Carolina, W. C. Preston 84 21. A Visit to Holyrood Palace, Rev. George Peck, D.D. 87 22. The Complaining Spirit, Rev. C. F. Deems 89 24. A Christian viewing Death, Dewey. 91 25. In favour of acknowledging the Independence of Greece, Henry Clay 92 27. In favour of the American Revolution, Josiah Quincy 96 28. Dignity of Human Nature Dewey. 98 29. An Exhortation to the Study of Eloquence Cicero 99 32. The Lumberer's Story — A Forest on Fire,. . .J. J. Audubon 102 33. The Heavenly Bodies, Chalmers 105 34. The same Subject continued, Chalmers 108 35. The true Source of Reform, Chapin 110 37. Employment of Winter Evenings by the Young,. .Prentice 112 40. Character of Pitt, Grattan 116 41. Decision of Character, Rev. D. Wise 118 42. Story of the Siege of Calais, Brooke 119 43. The same Story continued, Brooke 121 45. America and Ireland, C. Phillips 127 46. Tribute to Washington, C. Phillips 1 29 47. Self-Government, Bishop Hedding 131 48. Christianity disarms Death, Rev. Dr. Winans 133 49. The Seen and the Unseen, Ephraim Peabodv. 134 50. The Dignity of Labour, Rev. Dr. McClintock. 137 51. Danger of -Prematurely Tasking the Mental Powers of the Young, A. Brigham 1 39 52. Early Historv of Kentucky, N. A. Review. 142 53. The Fall of Napoleon, C. Phillips 144 57. Byron and his Poetry T. B. Macaulay 150 58. Origin of the French Revolution, Channing 153 62. Our Obligations as American Citizens, D. Webster 158 63. In favour of Permitting the Return of the British Refugees, Patrick Henry 160 65. Eulogistic of Adams and Jefferson, Edward Everett 163 66. In Commemoration of the Completion of the Bunker-Hill Monument, , D. Webster . 164 C0N1ENTS. XI l.Ksst. m Page 69. Fulton and his Invention, ..Mr. Justice Stoey 170 70. On being installed Rector of the University of Glasgow, Lord Brougham 1*71 12. Bigotry, Rev. G. G. Cookman 175 73. Duty, Rev. R. Emory, D.D. 177 74. Errors in Family Government, Bishop Andrew 179 76. The Harbor of Rio de Janeiro, Rev. Dr. Kidder 184. 81. Character of Schiller, Thomas Carlyle 190 82. Law, Stevens 192 83 Contributions of the New World to the Old, D. Webster 194 84. Peroration to the Invective against Warren Hastings, Sheridan 196 85. Panegyric on the Eloquence of Sheridan, Burke 197 86. Death of Little Nell, Charles Dickens 198 91. Young Men, Rev. Dr. Olln 20S 92. The Proper Object of Ambition,. .... .W. H. Allen, LL.D. 210 94. Moral and Religious Culture,. Rev. E. W. Sehon, D.D. 213 96. Rolla to the Peruvians, Sheridan 215 99. Night, Rev. Abel Stevens 218 100. Infancy Rev. E. Thomson, D.D. 219 101. On Aiming for War with England, 1811 H. Clay 221 106. Rainy Weather, . . . .W. H. Simmons 227 107. Hannibal to his Soldiers, Livy 228 111. Learning not unfavorable to Religion, Bishop Emory 235 112. Originality in Literature, . .James Strong 286 114. Character of Columbus, W. Irving 239 115. A Ship under Full Sail, R. H. Dana, Jr. 241 116. From his Inaugural Address on Entering upon the Presi- dency of the United States, Jefferson 242 117. Repudiation of the Charge of French Influence during the War of 1812, H. Clay 245 118. Indifference to Popular Elections, G. McDuffie 247 119. Brutus on the Death of Cassar, ShaJcspcare 249 120. Cuntentment, Bishop Morris 250 121. Education Promotive of Happiness, Bishop Janes 251 122. On Increasing the Army, preparatory to the War of 1812, " J. C. Calhoun 252 127. Exhortation against Subjection to Foreign Influence, George Washington 259 128. Adams and Jefferson, W. Wirt 260 129. Anecdote of Napoleon, Duchess d'Abrantes 262 130. The Baptism of Jesus, Rev. Dr. Durbin 264 131. The Dignity of Music, Rev. B. F. Tefft, D.D. 265 132. A Belief in God, Rev. Dr. Wightman 267 133. Christianity the Basis of Civilization, Rev. R. Watson 269 137. The Jubilee of the Constitution, J. Q. Adams 275 138. A Literary Dinner, Irving 277 142. The Voice of the Past, Professor Larrabee 284 143. Truth and Error, Rev. Leroy M. Lee, D.D. 286 144. Edmund Burke, Blackwood's Magazine 287 145. Character of Lord Bacon, T. B. Macaulay 289 Xll CONTENTS. Lesson Page 349. On Legal Reform, G. C. Verplanck 296 150. Capabilities of Humanity, S. S. Randall 298 158. Christian Courtesy, Summerfield 311 159. The Falls of Niagara, Rev. J. Dixon, D.D. 312 1 60. The Poetry of the Bible, Rev. Dr. Bangs 315 161. Popular Education,. Rev. Dr. Bethune 316 163. The Triumph of Christianity, Bishop Basoom 319 164. On the Public Worship of God, Rev. Dr. Summers 321 165. Pepper Dust. From the Life of Samuel Budgett, William Arthur, AM. 322 167. The Bible, Rev. Dr. G. F. Pierce 325 168. The Indifference of the World toward its Benefactors, Rev. Dr. Kennaday 327 110. The Women of Germany, Anonymocs 329 172. The Employment of Leisure Hours, Rev. Daniel Smith 332 1.73. The Value of Integrity in Business, Rev. D. Wise 333 LESSONS IN VERSE 8. The Rainbow, Campbell 64 9. The Battle-Field, W. C. Bryant 65 10. The Broken Heart, ! Percival 67 17. Washington's Monument, Anonymous 81 18. Corn Fields Mary Howitt 82 19. Abou Ben Adhem, Leigh, Hunt 84 23. To One Departed T. K. Hervey 90 26. The Statue of the Belvidere Apollo, Rev. H. H. Milman 94 30. The Muse's Hopes for America, Bishoj) Berkeley 101 31. Cleopatra Embarking on the Cydnus T. K. Hervey 101 36. A Psalm of Life, .H. W. Longfellow 111 38. Books, Robert Southey 1 14 39. Helvellyn,. Walter Scott 1 15 44. Elegy in a Country Churchyard, Gray 123 54. God is Every Where, Hugh Hutton 146 55. The Destruction of Sennacherib, Byron 147 56. Hymn before Sun-rise, in the Vale of Chamouni, . .Coleridge 148 59. The Might with the Right, Anonymous 155 60. Art, Charles Sprague 1 56 61. Old Ironsides, O. W. Holmes 157 64. To a Child Anonymous 162 67. Ode to the Saviour, Milman 166 68. The Ocean, Barry Cornwall 168 71. Lochiel's Warning. Campbell 173 75. Discontent. — A Vision, Rev. Mark Trafton. 181 77. The American Flag, J. R. Drake 18fi 78. To a City Pigeon, N. P. Willis 187 79. The First of March, Horace Smith 188 80. Where is He ? , Henry Neele 189 87. The Eternity of God, JST.C. Brooks 202 CONTENTS. Xlll Lesson Page 88. Not on the Battle Field, J. Pierpont 204 89. Hours of Idleness, Wordsworth 206 90. Fame Joanna Baillie 207 93. On the Being of a God,. , Young 211 95. Henry V.'s Speech before the Battle of Agincourt, Ibid 214 97. Cato's Soliloquy on the Immortality of the Soul,. .Addison 216 98. The Coral Grove, J. G. Percival 217 102. Love, Southey 222 103. America to Great Britain, Washington Allston 223 104. Cardinal Wolsey's Speech to Cromwell, Shakspeare 224 105. The Mariner's Dream, Dimond 225 108? Marco Bozzaris, Halleck 229 109. Hymn to the Stars, Anonymous 231 110. The Passions, Collins 232 113. Van Artevelde's Defence of his Rebellion, Ibid 237 123. The Antiquity of Freedom, Bryant 254 124. Charade on the Name of the Poet Campbell,. . W. M. Praed 256 125. Confidence in God, Addison 257 126. To One in Affliction, J. Montgomery 258 134. Consumption, Percival 270 135. Heaven in Prospect, H. Vaughan 273 136. Address to the Ocean, Byron 274 139. Melancholy Fate of the Indians, C. Sprague 280 140. The Future Life, Bryant 282 141. Satan's Reproof of Beelzebub, Milton 283 1 46. On the Downfall of Poland, Campbell 291 147. Saturday Evening, Bulwer 292 148. God, Bowring 293 151. The Poet of Solitude, Shelley 299 1 52. Quarrel Scene from Douglas, Rev. John Home 301 153. The Child of Earth, Caroline Norton 304 154. The Soul's Glimpses of Immortality, Jane Taylor 305 155. Rienzi's Address to the Men of Rome, Miss Mitford 306 156. The Missing Ship, '. .Epes Sargent 307 157. Napoleon and the British Sailor, Campbell 309 162. God in his Works, William Ford 318 166. Tears, O. J. Victor 324 169. The Sunset Hour, Rev. H. P. Andrews 328 171. Our Village, .W. J. Kearney 330 174. Jesus at the Tomb of Lazarus, Mrs. R. S. Nichols 334 NEW RHETORICAL READER, PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. Elocution, as a department of ornamental education, i% the art of speaking and reading according to a certain established standard of elegance. Instruction in the art may be said to have two objects, good colloquial or con- versational speech, and the power of reading aloud and making formal addresses with effect. Some persons, when called upon to read or speak before a considerable multi- tude, deliver themselves in an ungainly manner ; while others charm all who are present. It must be obvious, that to bring out the best powers of the voice, and extend the gift of agreeable speaking beyond the comparatively small circle in which it is usually found, are objects of considerable importance. Elocution is divided into — I. Articulation and Pronunciation ; under which are comprehended, distinctness, force, and freedom from pro- vincialisms. II. Inflection and Modulation, w T hich have a regard to the slides, shifts, and pauses of the voice, natural to cer- tain constructions of language, and suited, with other modifications of the voice, as to force, height, and time, to the expression of certain sentiments and passions. III. Emphasis, which is to be guided by the compara- tive importance of words in a sentence. IV. Gesture, comprehending those attitudes, motions, and looks, which are suitable to certain passions, and j.end force or embellishment to the meaning of the speaker 16 NEW RHETORICAL READER. I. ARTICULATION. " Speech," says Channing, "is one of our grand dis- tinctions from the brute. A man was not made to shut up his mind in itself, but to exchange it for other mind Our power over others lies not so much in the amount of thought within us, as in the power of bringing it out. A man of more than ordinary intellectual vigour may, for want of the faculty of expression, be a cipher, without significance, in society. And not only does a man influ- ence others, but he greatly aids his own intellect, by giv- ing distinct and forcible utterance to his thoughts. Our social rank, too, depends a good deal on our power of utterance. The principal distinction between what are called gentlemen and the vulgar, lies in this : that the lat- ter are awkward in manners, and are especially wanting in propriety, clearness, grace, and ease of utterance." A good articulation consists in giving every letter in a syllable its due proportion of sound, according to the most approved custom of pronouncing it, and in making such a distinction between the syllables, of which words are com- posed, that the ear shall, without difficulty, acknowledge their number, and perceive, at once, to which syllable each letter belongs. Where these points are not observed, the articulation is proportionally defective. Correct articulation is the most important exercise 01 the voice and of the organs of speech. A public speaker, possessed only of a moderate voice, if he articulate cor- rectly, will be better understood, and heard with greater pleasure, than one who vociferates without judgment. The voice of the latter may, indeed, extend to a consider- able distance ; but, the sound is dissipated in confusion ; of the former voice, not the smallest vibration is wasted ; every stroke is perceived at the utmost distance to which it reaches, and hence it has often the appearance of pen- etrating even farther than one, which is loud but badly ar- ticulated. In just articulation the words are not to be hurried over, nor precipitated syllable over syllable: nor, as it PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 17 were, melted together into a mass of confusion : they should be neither abridged, nor prolonged, nor swallowed, nor forced, and, (if I may so express it,) shot from the mouth -, they should not be trailed, nor drawled, nor let to slip out carelessly, so as to drop unfinished ; no, they are to be delivered out from the lips, as beautiful coins, newly issued from the mint, deeply and accurately impressed, perfectly finished, neatly struck by the proper organs, dis- tinct, sharp, in due succession, and of due weight. The difficulty of acquiring a correct articulation being unusually great in the English language, the foundation should be laid at that early age when the organs are most tractable. Pronunciation points out the proper sounds of vowels and consonants, and the distribution of accent on sylla- bles. As pronunciation is better, because more amply, taught in Dictionaries, it is unnecessary to attempt to give any rules for it in this place. IT. INFLECTION AND MODULATION. An inflection is a bending or sliding of the voice either upwards or downwards. There are two inflections ; the one, called the Upw T ard, or Rising Inflection ; the other, the Downward, or Falling Inflection. In more simple terms — there is one inflection, which denotes that the sense, or meaning of the sentence is suspended, as, To be carnally minded' ; t nd another, which denotes that the sense is completed, as, is death\ To be carnally minded' — is — death\ To give a practical example, that must be understood by the dullest comprehension : — I am to give a person, two, three, four, five, or ten dollars — say, I am to give him five dollars. In counting, I must pronounce up to the fourth number with the rising inflection ; that is, with the inflection denoting incompletion, thus : — One'— Two'— Three'— Four"— Five\ The numbers up to four are pronounced with the rising 18 new RHETORICAL READER. inflection ; and nature dictates, that the numbers, one, two and three, which merely imply continuation, shall be pronounced with a less degree of the same inflection, than number " Four,' 7 which not only denotes continuation, but, it must denote, at the same time, by the greater ele- vation of the voice, that the next number completes the sum to be given. Let us apply this principle to sentences : — The knowledge' — power' — wisdom' — and goodness of God" — must all be unbounded. v Here is a sentence, w T hich consists of five divisions, or t roups ; up to the fourth is pronounced with the rising in- ection ; the fourth, with a greater degree of the same in- flection than the previous divisions, to denote that the next closes the enumeration. They, through faith, subdued kingdoms' — wrought righteousness' — obtained promises' — stopped the mouths of lions' — quenched the violence of fire' — escaped the edge of the sword' — out of weakness, were made strong' — waxed valiant in fight" — and turned to flight the armies of the aliens\ This sentence contains nine groups, that fall within our rule ; the terminating words of which are ; Kingdoms — righteousness — promises — lions— fire — sword — strong — fight — aliens. Up to the eighth is pronounced with the rising inflection : "fight" the last word of the eighth division, is not only uttered with the rising inflection, but with such an additional degree of it, as to make the hearer aware, that the next grouping will finish the subject. * Before the pupil begins to study the rules of inflection, it is absolutely necessary that he understand distinctly the nature of the slides, and be able to inflect with ease, and in a full and sonorous voice. Many who instruct them- selves, are apt, when they see the mark of the rising in- flection on a word, to pronounce that word with loudness merely ; and when they see the falling mark on a word, to give that word in a weak voice. Now, one may slide the voice to a great height, and yet not speak in a loud tone ; and to a great depth, and not speak in a weak or PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 19 soft tone. It is as well, in the first attempts in inflection, to give it, whether rising or falling, in a loud tone ; but care must be taken that the slide of the voice take place If the pupil is apt to imagine, from a deficiency of tune, that he rises when he speaks loud, then his inflections ought to be given with great softness. When there is a tardiness, as in such cases, in apprehending the inflection, the pupil may find it the more readily in expressions of surprise, where it is more marked and produced, than in any other situation, as is heard in the word indeed, when anything remarkable is mentioned. A violin may be made to inflect, by sliding the finger up and down the same string, while the bow is drawn across. This will explain to those who have not the benefit of a master, the true nature of an inflection, and the difference between an in- flection, and a sudden elevation or depression of the voice. TABLE OF INFLECTIONS. The acute accent (') denotes the rising r inflection ; and the grave accent ( v ) the falling inflection. One'— Two'— Three'— Four'— Five'— Six'— Seven'— Eight'— Nine' — Ten' — Eleven" — Twelve\ One\ One', two\ One', two', three\ One', two', three', four\ One', two', three', four', five\ One', two', three', four', five', six\ One', two', three', four', five', six', seven\ One', two', three', four', five', six', seven', eight\ One', two', three', four', five', six', seven', eight', nine\ One', two', three', four', five', six', seven', eight', nine', ten\ One', two', three', four', five', six', seven', eight', nine', ten', el* even\ One', two', three', four', five', six', seven', eight', nine', ten', el- even', twelve\ Did you give me one'? I gave you two\ Did you give me two'? I gave you three\ Did you give me three'? I gave you four\ Did you give me four'? I gave you five N . Did you give me five'? I gave you six\ Did you give me six'? I gave you seven\ Did you give me seven'? I gave you eight'. 20 NEW RHETORICAL READER. Did you give me Did you give me Did you give me Did you give me You must You must You must You must You must You must You must You must You must You must You must eight'? nine'? I gave you nine u . I gave you ten\ ten'? I gave you eleven\ eleven'? I gave you twelve\ not say one', but two\ not say two', but three', not say three', but four\ not say four', but five\ not say five', but six', not say six', but seven\ not say seven', but eight\ not say eight', but nine\ not say nine', but ten\ not say ten', but eleven\ not say eleven', but twelve\ The Rising, followed by the Falling Inflection* Does he talk rationally', or irrationally'? Does he pronounce correctly', or incorrectly v ? Does he mean honestly', or dishonestly'? Does she dance gracefully', or ungracefully'? Do they act cautiously', or incautiously'? The Falling, followed by the Rising, He talked rationally', not irrationally'. He pronounces correctly', not incorrectly'. He means honestly', not dishonestly'. She dances gracefully', not ungracefully'. They acted cautiously', not incautiously'. The following plate may denote the manner of the up- ward and downward slide or inflection : onr JMEuslcaZ r fj$fcaZe> Inflection is merely the outline of Eloquence. Feeling and passion fill up the picture ; and to these alone, must be attributed that variety, which adorns, and renders PRINCIPLES OF LOCUTION. 21 speech impressive. Such is the power of the intellectual, ever the material part of our nature, that all our bodily or- gans are influenced by their powerful agency. In parti- cular, the voice is attuned, and the eyes are impregnated by the feeling or passion, which engrosses the soul. EXERCISES ON" THE INFLECTIONS. Blessed' are the poor in spirit\ Blessed' are the meek\— Blessed' are the peace-makers\ Let your light so shine before men', that they may see your good works', and glorify your Father" which is in heaven\ And now abideth faith', hope", charity v ; these three : but, the greatest of these' — is — charity\ When all thy mercies', my God', My rising soul surveys' — Transported with the view', I'm lost In wonder', love", and praise\ Correct articulation', is the most important exercise of the voice', and of the organs of speech\ The sorrow for the dead', is the only sorrow' from which we refuse to be divorced\ Age', that lessens the enjoyment of life', increases our desire of living\ Christianity' bears all the marks of a divine original\ It came down from heaven', and its purpose is to carry us up thither\ Year' steals upon us' after year\ Life' is never still for a moment', but continually', though insensibly', sliding into a new form\ Infancy' rises up fast to childhood^ — childhood' to youth x — youth passes quickly into manhood', and the gray hair' and the fading look', are not long in admonishing us", that old age is near at hand\ MODULATION. The modulation of the voice is the proper management of its tones, so as to produce grateful melody to the ear. Upon the modulation of the voice depends that variety, which is so pleasing and so necessary to refresh and re- lieve the ear in a long oration. The opposite fault is mo- notony, which becomes at last so disagreeable as to defeat altogether the success of a public speaker, — as far as to 22 NEW RHETORICAL READER. please is any part of his object, — by exciting the utmost impatience and disgust in his audience. To the variety, so grateful to the ear, net only changes of tone are requi- site, but, also, changes of delivery. According to the subject, the rapidity of the utterance varies, as the time of the different movements in music. Narration proceeds equably ; the pathetic, slowly ; in- struction, authoritatively ; determination, with vigour ; and passion, with rapidity ; all of which are analogous to the andante, the cantahile, the allegro, the presto, and other musical expressions. The modulation of the voice is one of the most impor- tant requisites in a public speaker. Even to the private reader, who wishes to execute his task with pleasure to others, it is a necessary accomplishment. A voice which keeps long in one key, however correct the pronunciation, delicate the inflection, and just the emphasis, will soon tire the hearer. The voice has been considered as capable of assuming three keys, the low, the high, and the middle. This va- riety is undoubtedly too limited ; but for the first lessons of a student, it may be useful to regard the classification. A well trained voice is capable of ranging in these with va- rious degrees of loudness, softness, stress, continuity, and rapidity. Modulation includes also the consideration of time, which is natural in the pronunciation of certain passages. The combinations, then, of pitch, force, and time, are ex- tremely numerous : thus, we have low, loud, slow ; low, soft, slow ; low, feeble, slow ; low, loud, quick, &c. ; mid- dle, loud, slow ; middle, soft, slow ; middle, feeble, slow, &c. Thus, we have a copious natural language adapted to the expression of every emotion and passion. The application of these qualities of the voice in the ex- pression of emotion, would lead us into a field of inquiry too wide for a volume such as this : the taste of the teach er will readily suggest to the pupil what is wanting here. A few passages, however, may be given here as fit exer- cises for particular combinations of these qualities. PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 23 EXAMPLES. ADORATION — ADMIRATION — SOLEMNITY — SUBLIMITY. — LOW, LOUD, SLOW, CONTINUOUS. Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name. — Thy kingdom come. Thy will he done in earth, as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. — And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil; for thine is the kingdom, and the poAver, and the glory, for ever. Amen. In addresses to the Deity, little deviation should be made from the key note. The inflections should be little varied — even emphasis should not be strikingly marked. thou that rollest above, round as the shield of my fathers ! whence are thy beams, O sun! thy everlasting light? Thou comest forth in thy awful beauty; the stars hide themselves in the sky; the moon, cold and pale, sinks in the western wave. But thou thyself movest alone : who can be a companion of thy course ? The oaks of the mountains fall ; the mountains them- selves decay with years: the ocean shrinks and grows again ; the moon herself is lost in the heavens; but thou art for ever the same, rejoicing in the brightness of thy course. When the world is dark with tempests, when thunders roll and light- nings fly, thoulookest in thy beauty from the clouds, andlaugh- est at the storm. But to Ossian "thou lookest in vain ; for he beholds thy beams no more; whether thy yellow hair flows on the eastern clouds, or thou tremblest at the gates of the west. But thou art, perhaps, like me, for a season : thy years will have an end. Thou wilt sleep in thy clouds, careless of the voice oi the morning. MOURNFULNESS — DESPONDENCY. — LOW, SOFT, MIDDLE TIME, TREMULOUS. Had it pleased heaven To try me with affliction; had it rained All kinds of sores and shames on my bare head ; Steeped me in poverty to the very lips ; Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes ; I should have found in some part of my soul A drop of patience; but, alas ! to make me A fixed figure, for the time of scorn To point his slow unmoving finger at — Oh— FEAR WITHOUT GUILT. — VERY LOW, SLOW, THE TONE SUSTAITfEBi How ill this taper burns ! Ha ! who comes here ? I think it is the weakness of mine eyes 24 NEW RHETORICAL READER. That snapes this monstrous apparition — It comes upon me : Art thou any thing ? Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil, That mak'st my blood cold, and my hair to stand ? GUILTY FEAR. — LOW, SLOW, HARSH, THE VOICE AT TIMES ASPIRATED. Oh, coward conscience, how dost thou affright me ! The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight; Gold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh. DEEP EMOTION. — LOW, QUICK, BROKEN. Farewell, farewell, farewell ! She does not feel, she does not feel ! Thank heaven, She does not feel her Fazio's last, last kiss ! One other ! Cold as stone — sweet, sweet as roses ! CONVERSATIONAL VOICE. — MIDDLE TONE, LIGHT, MIDDLE TIME. Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you* trippingly on the tongue : but if you mouth it, as many of oui players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. — And do not saw the air too much with your hands, but use ah gently ; for in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, whirlwind of your passions, you must acquire and beget a tem- perance that may give it smoothness. 0, it offends me to the soul, to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings ; who. for the most part, are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb show and noise. DIGNITY. — MIDDLE TONE, LOUD, SLOW. While there is hope, do not distrust the gods, But wait at least till Caesar's near approach Force us to yield. 'Twill never be too late To sue for chains and own a conqueror. EARNESTNESS. — MIDDLE TONE, LOUD, TIME QUICKER. Whom are we to charge as the deceiver of the state ? Is it not the man whose words are inconsistent with his actions ? On whom do the maledictions fall, usually pronounced in our assemblies ? Is it not on this man ? Can we point out a more enormous instance of iniquity in any speaker, than this incon- sistency between his words and actions ? - REVENGE. — MIDDLE TONE, LOUD, ASPIRATED. O, that the slave had forty thousand lives ! One is too poor, too weak for my revenge ! Arise, black vengeance, from thy hollow cell ! Yield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. To tyrannous hate ! swell, bosom, with thy fraught, For 'tis of aspics' tongues. COURAGE — CHrVALROUS EXCITEMENT. — HIGH, LOUD, SLOW Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall up with our English dead ! In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man, As modest stillness, and humility ; But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger ; Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard-favoured rage. On, on, you noblest English, Whose blood is fetched from fathers of war-proof! Fathers, that, like so many Alexanders, Have, in these parts, from morn till even fought, And sheathed their swords for lack of argument. I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game's afoot ; Follow your spirit : and, upon this charge, Cry — Heaven for Harry ! England ! and St. George ! COURAGE — DESPERATE EXCITEMENT — HIGH, LOUD, SLOW, MORE ASPIRATED. Fight, gentlemen of England ! fight, bold yeomen ! Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head : Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood ; Amaze the welkin with your broken staves ! — A thousand hearts are great within my bosom : Advance our standards, set upon our foes ; Our ancient word of courage, fair St. George, Inspire us with the spleen of fiery dragons ! Upon them ! Victory sits on our helms. FONDNESS, MIXED WITH SORROW. — HIGH, SOFT, SLOW. Oh, my long lost hope ! If thou to giddy valour gav'st the rein, To-morrow I may lose my son for ever. The love of thee before thou saw'st the light, Sustained my life when thy brave father fell. If thou shalt fall, I have nor love, nor hope, In this wide world. My son, remember me ! Wilt thou be gone ? It is not yet near day: It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear; Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree: Believe me, love, it was the nightingale. 26 NEW RHETORICAL READER. SHIFT OF THE VOICE. In the examples given above, the prevailing tone of the voice was pointed out; but in passionate composition, and even in that of reasoning and narrative, there is fre- quently in the same sentence, and, generally, at the begin- ning of a new sentence and paragraph, a marked variety of tone. The right assumption of these keys constitutes what may be termed the. feeling of a composition ; with- out it, acting is lifeless, and argument tiresome. It is a want of this variety which distinguishes the inanimate speaker ; his inflection may be correct, and have even what has been termed a musical cadence ; but without this va- riety of key, he must tire his audience. The effect of a transition from the major to the minor key in music is not more striking than the variety which the voice will occa- sionally assume. A change of key is generally necessary at the com- mencement of a new sentence. When in the preceding sentence the voice has sunk down towards the close, in the new sentence it sometimes recovers its elasticity, and some- times it continues in the depressed note on which the pre- ceding sentence terminates. This is generally the case when the second sentence is illustrative or expository of the first : No blessing of life is comparable to the enjoyment of a dis- creet and virtuous friend. It eases and unloads the mind, clears and improves the understanding, engenders thoughts and know- ledge, animates virtue and good resolutions, soothes and allays the passions, and finds employment for most of the vacant hours of life. Here the second sentence beginning, It eases, assumes the low note, which terminates the preceding sentence. In the remaining clauses the voice is varied, in order to rivet the attention on each particular. Speciality, in the same sentence, has a similar effect : The flying Mede — his shaftless broken bow. The fiery Greek — his red pursuing spear. Opposition, variety, modification of the sense, interrup- tion of the thought, whether in one sentence or in separ- ate sentences, produce a change of key : PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 2T Oh, blindness to the future ! kindly given, That each may fill the circle marked by Heaven, Who sees, with equal eye, as God of all, A hero perish, or a sparrow fall ; Atoms or systems into ruin hurl'd ; And now a bubble burst, and now a world. Mountains above, earth's, ocean's plain below, Death in the front, destruction in the rear. Age in a virtuous person, carries in it an authority which makes it preferable to all the pleasures of youth. To die — to sleep — to sleep ! perchance to dream ; Ay, there's the rub. If thou be'st he — But oh! how fallen. ' In passionate composition, the changes of key are more frequent than in argument, as the mind is more restless ; in the latter case, it is principally at the b e ginning of sen- tences or paragraphs that a change is necessary. In or- der to keep the minds of an audience awake to an argu- ment, it is necessary that the speaker should at times use the artifice of sincerity, wonder, &c; indeed, they are not artifices, but the feeling which must occupy the breast of every one who speaks with intensity. Even the read- ing of a narrative partakes of the mood of the speaker's mind, and will be relieved at times by those modifications of voice, which are in accordance with his natural temper. If, then, a mere narrative assumes these modulations, a public address, such as is given from the pulpit, should be greatly varied in its tones; for then, pity, hope, and other passions, must animate the mind of the speaker ; nay, even in the closest reasoning, there must be an earnestness, in which must be exhibited, by varying tones, the natural impatience of a mind which, convinced itself, wonders at the tardiness of conviction on others, the relapse into the calmness of appeal natural after such impatience, and the assumption of confidence in the statement of arguments' that appear manifest to all. It is on several of the most remarkable of these moods of the mind that the figures of rhetoric are founded ; their pronunciation, then, must be 28 NEW RHETORICAL READER. intimately connected with the modulation of the voice, and with the shift which forms so prominent a part of mod- ulation. IMITATIVE MODULATION. Immensity, sublimity, are naturally expressed by a pro- longation and swell of the voice : Roll on thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll, Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain. The adoption of a tone little varied in the inflection is necessary in such passages, the wave of the voice not ex- ceeding a half note : Thou glorious mirror ! where the Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time, Calm or convulsed, in breeze or gale or storm, Icing the pole ; or, in the torrid clime, Dark, heaving ; boundless, endless, and sublime. The reader's admiration of a passage is conveyed to another by a subdued imitation, and a long interval be- twixt the words. I notice this, although it does not come within the legitimate sphere of ornamental reading, as it is a practice of daily occurrence, and as it is frequently employed by the intelligent reader to convey to others the full beauty, force and sublimity of a passage. In such reading, there is a tone of wonder and admiration ; and the frequent pauses are made, that the hearer may have leisure to see the composition in all its meaning. Motion and sound in all their modifications, are, in des- criptive reading, more or less imitated. To glide, to drive, to swell, to flow, to skip, to whirl, to turn, to rattle, &c, all partake of a peculiar modification of voice. This ex- pression lies in the key, force, and time of the tones, and the forcible pronunciation o,f certain letters which are supposed more particularly to express the imitation. True ease in writing comes from art, not chance ; As those move easiest, who have learned to dance. 'Tis not enough, no harshness gives offence — The sound must seem an echo to the sense. Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows, And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows ; PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 29 But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, The hoarse rough verse should like the torrent roar. When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw, The line too labours, and the words move slow; Not so, when swift Camilla scours the plain, Flies o'er the unbending corn, and skims along the main. See from the brake the whirring pheasant springs, And mounts exulting on triumphant wings. The rhythmus of speech is significant of various kinds of motion. LABORIOUS MOTION. Up the high hill he heaves a huge round stone. The pauses which must necessarily occur betwixt high, lull, huge, round, and stone, are eminently descriptive of slow motion. The necessity of these pauses is shewn in what follows on the measure of speech. REGULAR MOVEMENT. First march the heavy mules securely slow , O'er hills, o'er dales, o'er crags, o'er rocks they go. The regularity of the cadence here, is peculiarly ap- propriate. '"' PAUSES. Besides the pauses of passion, and those which are de- noted by grammatical punctuation, there are short pauses at the termination of those clusters of words which have been termed oratorical, and others which are regulated by the rhythmus of speech. The latter are explained elsewhere ; the former, which have obtained the name of Rhetorical Pauses, may be quickly understood by the fol- lowing rule and examples. Pause before the nominative, if it consists of several words, or if it is one important word ; before and after an immediate clause ; before the relative ; before and after clauses introduced by prepositions ; before conjunctions ; and before the infinitive mood, if any words intervene be- twixt it and the word which governs it. 30 NEW RHETORICAL READER. The experience of want | enhances the value of plenty. Truth | is the basis | of excellence. Trials | in this state of being | are the lot of man. Death I is the season | which brings our affections to the test. From the right exercise | of our intellectual powers | arises J one | of the chief sources | of our happiness. We applaud virtue | even in enemies. Honour | and shame | from no condition rise. A public speaker | may have a voice that is musical | and of great compass ; but it requires much time and labour j to at- tain its just modulation | and that variety of flexion and tone j which a pathetic discourse requires. These pauses are generally shorter in their duration than those at the grammatical points. Grammatical punc- tuation does not always demand a pause, and the time of the pauses at various points is not correctly stated in many books on reading. In some treatises, the pause at the period is described as being uniformly four times as long as that at a comma ; whereas, it is regulated entire- ly by the nature of the subject, the intimacy or remoteness of the connection between the sentences, and other causes. I III. EMPHASIS. By emphasis is meant that stronger and fuller sound of voice, by which, in reading or speaking, we distinguish the accented syllable of some word, on which we design to lay particular stress, in order to show how it affects the rest of the sentence. On the right management of the emphasis depend the whole life and spirit of every dis- course. If no emphasis be placed on any word, not only is discourse rendered heavy and lifeless, but the meaning left often ambiguous. If the emphasis be placed wrong, we pervert and confound the meaning wholly. To give a common instance ; such a simple question as this, " Do you ride to town to-day V 9 is capable of no few- er than four acceptations, according as the emphasis is dif- ferently placed on the words. If it be pronounced thus : Do you ride to town to-day ? the answer may naturally be, No ; I send my servant in my stead. If thus : Do you ride to town to-day? Answer, No; I intend to walk. PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 31 Do you ride to town to-day 1 No ; I ride out into the fields. Do you ride to town to-day ? No ; but I shall to- morrow. In order to acquire the proper management of the em- phasis, the great rule, and indeed the only rule possible to be given, is, that the speaker or reader study to attain a just conception of the force and spirit of those sentiments which he is to pronounce. For to lay the emphasis with exact propriety, is a constant exercise of good sense and attention. It is far from being an inconsiderable attain- ment. It is one of the greatest trials of a true and just taste ; and must rise from feeling delicately ourselves, and from judging accurately of what is fittest to strike the feel- ings of others. Next to emphasis, the pauses in speaking demand at- tention. These are of two kinds ; first, emphatical pau- ses : and next, such as mark the distinctions of sense. An emphatical pause is made after something has been said of peculiar moment, on which we want to fix the hearer's attention. Such pauses have the same effect as a strong emphasis, and are subject to the same rules ; es- pecially to the caution of not repeating them too frequent- But the most frequent and principal use of pauses is to mark the divisions of the sense, and at the same time to allow the speaker to draw his breath ; and the proper ad- justment of such pauses is one of the most difficult arti- cles in delivery. In all reading and public speaking the management of the breath requires great care, so as not to be obliged to divide words from one another which have so intimate a connection, that they ought to be pronounced in the same breath, and without the least separation. Many sentences are miserably mangled, and the force of the emphasis totally lost, by divisions being made in the wrong place. To avoid this, every one, while he is read- ing or speaking, should be careful to provide a full supply of breath for what he is to utter. It is a great mistake to imagine, that the breath must be drawn only at the end of a period, when the voice is allowed to fall. It may 32 NEW RHETORICAL READER. easily be gathered at the intervals of the period, when the voice is only suspended for a moment ; and, by this man- agement, we may have always a sufficient stock for car- rying on the longest sentence without improper interrup- tions. IV. GESTURE. Gesture regulates the looks, movements, and attitudes, which are supposed natural in certain passions and emo- tions. In strong excitement, there is a similarity of ges ture among all nations ; but the extent and variety of its employment in common conversation, and in formal ad- dresses to the public, are greatly regulated by the temper, taste, and intellectual improvement, of each individual na- tion. The gesture of the actor is more violent and pro- fuse than that of the orator, who is supposed to be more under the influence of reason, and to address himself to the understanding of his audience. In civilised and pol- ished countries, a profusion of gesture is to be avoided in public discourses ; it should neither be minute nor violent. The first is inconsistent with that absorption of thought which is supposed necessary in an intellectual address ; the second is an outrage on the taste and feelings of the audience, and is apt to raise indignation and aversion. Many modern speakers offend by the vehemence of their gesticulation ; indeed, the instruction which is given on gesture should often be occupied in reducing within the limits of grace, extravagant positions and movements. The ancients were more chaste in their gesture than is commonly imagined. Although, in seasons of great ex- citement, they adopted, at times, a bold and striking ges- ture, they were generally more restrained in their move- ments than many modern speakers. Gesture regulates the position and movement of the body, the eye, the limbs, and, indeed, the whole deport- ment. In oratory, the regulation of the hand is of pecu- liar importance, not only as it serves to express passion, but to mark the dependence of clauses, and to express PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 33 the emphasis. In the suspension of a sentence, for in- stance, the hand may take an upward slide ; while at the completion, the hand may sink in a line with the breast. In the stroke of emphasis, the hand rests in the same posi- tion, but comes down with a combined jerk of the elbow and wrist. The arm in its movements must not be much curved, but come freely from the shoulder. A volume might be written on the subject of gesture ; but as the great proportion of students in Elocution do not require this accomplishment, and as it can be learned more quickly and efficaciously by a few instructions from the living model, it has been deemed unnecessary to swell this volume by a detail of its numerous laws. We will only enumerate a few of the most obvious modes of gesture. The Head and Face. The hanging down of the head denotes shame, or grief. The holding it up, pride, or courage. To nod forward, implies assent. To toss the head back, dissent. The inclination of the head implies bashfulness, or languor. The head is averted in dislike or horror. It leans forward in attention. The Eyes. The eyes are raised in prayer. They weep in sorrow. Burn in anger. They are cast on vacancy in thought. They are thrown in different directions in doubt and anxiety. The Arms. The arm is projected forward in authority. Both arms are spread extended in admiration. They are held forward in imploring help. They both fall suddenly in disappointment. The Hands. The hand on the head indicates pain, or distress. On the eyes, shame. On the lips, injunction of silence. On the breast, it appeals to conscience, or inti- mates desire. The hand waves, or flourishes, in joy, or, contempt. Both hands are held supine, or clasped, in prayer. Both descend prone in blessing. They are clasped, or wrung, in affliction. They are held forward, and received, in friendship. The Body. The body, held erect, indicates steadiness and courage. Thrown back, pride. Stooping forward, 34 NEW RHETORICAL READER. condescension or compassion. Bending, reverence, or re- spect. Prostration, the utmost humility, or abasement. The Lower Limbs. Their firm position, signifies cour- age, or obstinacy. Bended knees, timidity, or weakness. Frequent change, disturbed thoughts. They advance in desire, or courage. Retire in aversion, or fear. Start, in terror. Stamp, in authority, or anger. Kneel, in submis- sion and prayer. *' GENERAL RULES. INTERROGATION. Rule 1. — When a question commences with an interro- gative adverb or pronoun, it terminates with a falling in- flection. EXAMPLES. How can he exalt his thoughts to anything great' and noble', who only believes that after a short turn on the stage of this world', he is to sink into oblivion", and to lose his conscious- ness forever v ? If I'm design'd yon lordling's slave', By nature's law design'd', "Why was an independent wish' E'er planted in my mind v ? If not, why am I subject to His cruelty^, or scorn v ? Or, why hath man the will', and power" ! To make his fellows mourn v ? Who can look down upon the grave', even of an enemy', and not feel a compunctious throb', that he should ever have warded with the poor handful of earth", that lies mouldering before him N ? Who can hold a fire in his hand', By thinking on the frosty Caucasus v ? Or, wallow naked in December's snow', By mere remembrance of the summer's heat v ? PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 35 Rule 2. — When a question commences with a verb, it *erminates with the rising inflection. EXAMPLES. Shall dust and ashes stand in the presence of that uncreated glory', before which principalities and powers bow down, trem- ble, and adore'? Shall guilty and condemned creatures appear in the presence of Him, in whose sight the heavens are not clean, and who chargeth his angels with folly' ? What is the happiness that this world can give ? Can it de- fend us from disasters' ? Can it preserve our hearts from grief, our eyes from tears, or our feet from falling' ? Can it prolong our comforts' ? Can it multiply our days' ? Can it redeem ourselves or our friends from death' ? Can it soothe the king of terrors, or mitigate the agonies of the dying' ? Is the chair empty' ? Is the sword unsway'd' ? Is the king dead' ? the empire unpossess'd' ? What heir of York is there alive but we x ? And who is England's king but great York's heir v ? Can Rolla's words add vigour to the virtuous energies', which inspire your hearts" ? Can such things be', And overcome us like a summer cloud', Without our special wonder" ? EXCEPTIONS. Emphasis breaks through this rule. Was ever woman in this humour wooed' ? Was ever woman in this humour won N ? "When a series of questions is long and terminates a paragraph, the last member may take the falling inflec- tion, as : Was the hope drunk Wherein you dress'd yourself? Hath it slept since'? And wakes it now, to look so green and pale, At what if did so freely' ? From this time. Such I account thy love. Art thou afear'd To be the same in thire own act' and valour', As thou art in desire"? Would'st thou have that' Which thou esteem'st the ornament of life', And live a coward in thine own esteem", Letting J dare not' wait upon i" would', Like the poor cat i' the adage v ? 36 NEW RHETORICAL READER. Rule III. — Questions introduced by verbs, containing two or more particulars connected by the conjunction or, terminate sometimes with the rising, and sometimes with the falling inflection. If the question affects the objects disjunctively, the falling inflection is used ; if conjunc- tively, the rising. EXAMPLES. Thus, if I say, Is he in London, or Paris ? meaning, that I know he is in one of the towns, but that I do not know which one of the two, the rising inflection is on London, and the falling on Paris ; but if I ask the question, not knowing that he is in either of the towns, the rising inflection takes place on both. The same inflection would take place, though there were more than two connected by the conjunction or, — thus. Is he in London', or Paris', or Madrid', or Rome' ? meaning, in which one is he; or, Is he in London', or Paris', or Madrid', or Rome'? meaning, is he in any of the towns. Do the perfections of the Almighty lie dormant', or, are they not rather in continual exercise' ? Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust'? Or, flatten'' soothe the dull, cold ear of death ? Is there a heart, that could drive back the wife, that seeks her bleeding husband' ? or, the innocent babe', that cries for his imprisoned father' ? Disjunctive. — But shall we wear these glories for a day', Or, shall they last', and we rejoice in them'? Conjunctive. — Thou fool, will thy discovery of the cause Suspend the effect', or heal' it. EXCLAMATION. Rule IV. — The inflection which terminates an ex- clamation is regulated by the common rules of inflec- tion. This rule is of course broken through by passion, which has slides and notes of its own. As a general rule, it may be stated that exclamations of surprise and indignation take a rising slide in a loud tone ; those of sorrow, distress, pity, and love, the rising slide in a gentle tone ; and those of adoration, awe, and despair, the fall- ing inflection. PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 37 EXAMPLES. Oh ! we shall be so happy'. What' ! am I braved in my own house' ? Oh, that those lips had language' ! Newton was a Christian. Newton'! whose mind burst forth from the fetters cast by nature on our finite conceptions. 0, world' ! 0, life' ! 0, day' ! 0, misery" ! COMPACT SENTENCE. A compact sentence is one, that consists of two princi- pal constructive parts, but which cannot be understood until both are pronounced. Rule V. — The first 'principal division of a compact sen- tence requires the rising inflection ; in the second, the voice gradually declines into the falling inflection, as the sense forms.* examples. Such is the construction of man', that labour may be styled its own reward\ As we discover the shadow moving along the dial-plate', so the advances we make in knowledge are only perceived by the distance gone over\ If to do were as easy as to know what were good' to do — chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottages princes' palaces\ While dangers are at a distance, and do not immediately' ap- proach us — let us not conclude that we are secure, unless we use the necessary precautions against v them. As the beauty of the body always accompanies the health' of it — so is decency of behaviour a concomitant to virtue\ Sympathising with the hatred and abhorrence which other' men must entertain for him — the murderer becomes in some measure the object of his own hatred and abhorrence\ Formed to excel in peace as well as in war' — Ceesar was en- dowed with every great and noble quality, that could give a man the ascendant insociety\ * Mr. Walker's rule of the loose sentence is altogether superfluous. The in- flection is governed by the completeness of the sense; and that is all we have to take into consideration.— J. S. Knowles. 38 NEW RHETORICAL READER. To all the charms of beauty and the utmost elegance of ex- ternal form', Mary added those accomplishments which render their impression irresistible\ Your enemies may be formidable by their numbers and by their power', but He, who is with you, is mightier than they\ No man can rise above the infirmities of nature', unless as- sisted by God\ NEGATIVE SENTENCE. Rule VI. Negative sentences, and negative members of sentences, when they do not conclude a paragraph, re- quire the rising inflection. EXAMPLES. You are not left alone' to climb the arduous ascent — God is with you ; who never suffers the spirit which rests on him to fail, nor the man who seeks his favour to seek it in vain. v I tax not you, ye elements, with unkindness'; I never gave you kingdoms' ; call'd you children'' ; You owe me no subscription^ ; why, then, let fall Your horrible pleasure^: here I stand — your slave — A poor', infirm', weak", and despised old man\ Virtue is of intrinsic value' and good desert N ; not the crea- ture of will', but necessary and immutable^ ; not local', or, tem- porary', but of equal extent' and antiquity with the divine mind' ; not a mode of sensation', but everlasting truths ; not dependent on power', but the guide of all power. I'll say, yon grey is not the morning's eye', — 'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow v : I'll say, 'tis not the lark, whose notes do beat The vaulty heaven, so high above our heads": Come, Death ! and welcome ! Juliet wills it so\ Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death', I will fear no evil", for, thou art with me\ Let us walk honestly', as in the day v ; not in rioting', and drunkenness', not in chambering' and wantonness', not in strife', and envying" ; but put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make not provision for the flesh', to fulfil the lusts thereof\ Seems, madame' ! nay, it is N ; I know not seems\ 'Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother', Nor customary suits of solemn black', Nor windy suspiration of fore 'd breath', No, nor the fruitful river in the eye', Nor the dejected 'haviour of the visage', PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 39 Together with all forms', modes', shows of grief", That can denote me truly': these, indeed, seem', For they are actions, that a man might play' ; But I have that within which passeth show' : These, but the trappings', and the suits of wo\ Rule VII. WJien a series of negative sentences con* tludes a 'paragraph, the last member of the series takes the falling inflection. EXAMPLES. In death', the poor man' lays down', at last', the burden of his wearisome life\ No more shall he hear the insolent calls of the master', from whom he received his scanty wages". No more shall he be raised from needful slumber on his bed of straw/, nor be hurried away from his homelv meal", to undergo the repeated labours of the day\ Duncan is in his grave' ; After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well"; Treason has done his worst' : nor poison, Malice domestic', foreign levy', nothing" Can touch him further" ! CONCESSION. Rule VIII. A concession should take the rising in* flection. examples. Painting', poetry', eloquence', and every other art, on which the genius of mankind has exercised itself, may be abused', and prove dangerous in the hands of bad men" ; but it were ridicu- lous to contend', that, on this account', they ought to be abol- ished". One' may be a speaker', both of much reputation', and much influence', in the calm', argumentative manner" ; to attain the pathetic' and the sublime of oratory', requires those strong sen- sibilities of mind', and that high power of expression', which are given to few\ This', however', I say concerning the Greeks" — 1 grant them learning', and the knowledge of many sciences" ; I do not de- ny that they have wit', tine genius', and eloquence"; nay, if they lay claim to many other excellences', I shall not contest their title" ; but this I must say ; that nation' never paid a proper regard to the religious sanctity of public evidence', and are total strangers to the obligation', authority", and import- ance of truth\ B2 40 NEW RHETORICAL READER. PARENTHESIS. Rule IX. A 'parenthesis must be read more quickly, and in a lower tone of voice, than those parts of the sen- tence, which precede and follow it. EXAMFLES. Know ye not, brethren' — for, I speak to them that Know the law'— that the law' hath dominion over a man' as long as he liveth" ? If envious people were to ask themselves', whether they would exchange their situations with the persons envied', (I mean their minds', passions', notions', as well as their persons', fortunes', and dignities',) I believe the self love common to human nature', would, generally, make them prefer their own condition\ If there's a God above us' — And that there is', all nature cries aloud', Through all her works" — He must delight in virtue* ; And that which He' delights' in, must be happy \ But to my mind — though I am native here And to the manner born, — it is a custom More honour'd in the breach than in the observance. For God is my witness' — whom I serve with my spirit in the gospel of his Son' — that without ceasing" I make mention of you in my prayers, making request' — if by any means now at length I might have a prosperous journey, by "the will' of God — to come unto you. A ball now hisses through the airy tides, (Some i'ury wings it, and some demon guides) Parts the fine locks her graceful head that deck, "Wounds her fair ear, and sinks into her neck. Then went the captain', with the officers', and brought them without violence (fyr they feared the people, Jest they should be stoned" ;) and when they had brought them', they set them before the council'. Let us (since life can little more supply Than just to look about us and to die), Expatiate free o'er all this scene of man ; A mighty maze ! but not without a plan. Should you fall in the struggle, should the nation fall, yon will have the satisfaction (the purest allotted to man) of having performed your part. PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 4! Tell them, though 'tis an awful thing to die' — ('Twas even to thee v ) — yet, the dread path once trod, Heaven lifts its everlasting portals high, And bids " the pure in heart behold their God." SERIES. A series is a number of particulars, immediately fol- lowing one another, whether independent, (1), or having one common reference, (2). EXAMPLES. (1) The wind and rain are over N ; Calm is the noon N of day : The clouds are divided' in heaven ; Over the green hill flies the inconstant sun': Red through the stony vale comes down the stream of the hill\ (2) The characteristics of chivalry were — valour', humanity', courtesy', justice', and honour'. When the members of a series consist of several words, as in the former for example, the series is called compound ; when of single words,* as in the latter, it is called simple. When a series begins a sentence, but does not end it, it is called a commencing series ; when it ends it, whether it begins it or not, it is called a concluding series. COMMENCING SERIES. Rule X. Each particular of a commencing series takes the rising inflection — with this special observance, that the last particular must have a greater degree of inflection, thereby intimating, that the enumeration is finished. EXAMPLES. Beauty', strength', youth', and old age", lie undistinguished, in the same promiscuous heap of matter\ Hatred', malice, and anger", are passions, unbecoming a dis- ciple of Christ'. Regulation', proportion', order', and colour", contribute to grandeur as well as to beauty\ * The addition of an article, a preposition, or a conjunction, does not render a series compound; nor the introduction of a compound member, when the majority of the members are simple. b3 42 NEW RHETORICAL READER. Whither shall I go from thy Spirit' ? or, whither snail I flee from thy presence' ? If I ascend up into Heaven', thou art there'; if I make my hed in hell', behold, Thou art there," if I take the wings of the morning', and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea", even there shall thy hand lead me', and thy right hand shall hold me'. If I say', Surely the darkness' shall cover me', even the night" shall be light about me\ Yea, the darkness' hideth not from Thee;" but the night shineth as the day' : the darkness' and the light' are both alike to Thee.' The verdanf lawn', the shady grove', the variegated land- scape', the boundless ocean', and the starry firmament", are con- templated with pleasure by every beholder'. I conjure you', by that which you profess', (Howe'er you come to know it') answer me' : Though you untie the winds', and let them fight Against the churches" ; though the yesty waves' Confound, and swallow navigation up"; Though bladed corn be lodged', and trees blown down" ; Though castles topple on their warders' heads', Though palaces and pyramids' do slope Their heads to their foundations" ; though the treasure Of nature's germins' tumble all together, Ev'n till destruction sicken" — answer me To what I ask you'. CONCLUDING SERIES. Rule XI. Each particular of a concluding series, ex- cept the last, takes th e rising inflection. The particular pre- ceding the last requires a greater degree of the rising in- flection than the others, thereby intimating, that the next particular will close the enumeration. The last is pro- nounced with the falling inflection. EXAMPLE?. They, through faith, subdued kingdoms', wrought righteous- ness', obtained promises', stopped the mouths of lions', quench- ed the violence of fire', escaped the edge of the sword', out of weakness were made strong', waxed valiant in fight", and turn- ed to flight the armies of the aliens'. Where'er he turns', he meets a stranger's eye : His suppliants scorn him', and his followers fly x ; Now, drops at once the pride of awful state', The golden canopy', the glittering plate', The regal palace', the luxurious board', The liv'ried armv". and the menial lord. PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 4-3 True gentleness' teaches us to bear one another's burdens', to rejoice with those' who rejoice', to weep with those' who weep v ; to please every one his neighbour' for his good' ; to be kind', and tender-hearted'; to be pitiful' and courteous' ; to sup- port the weak" ; and to be patient towards all men\ What though no weeping loves' thy ashes grace\ Nor polished marble' emulate thy face" ? What though no sacred earth allow thee room\ Nor hallow'd dirge' be mutter'd o'er thy tomb v ? Yet shall thy grave with rising flowers be drest', And the green turf lie lightly on thy breasf ! There shall the morn her earliest tears bestow", And the first roses of the year' shall blow". EMPHASIS. Rule XII. Emphasis, in the most usual sense of the word, is that stress with which certain words are pronoun* ced, so as to be distinguished from the rest of the sentence. Among the number of words we make use of in discourse, there will always be some, which are more necessary to be understood than others : those things, with which we sup- pose our hearers to be pre-acquainted, we express by such a subordination of stress as is suitable to the small impor- tance of things already understood ; while those, of which our hearers are either not fully informed, or which they might possibly misconceive, are enforced with such an in- crease of stress as makes it impossible for the hearer to overlook or mistake them. Thus, as it were in a picture, the more essential parts of a sentence are raised, as it were, from the level of speaking ; and the less necessary are, by this means, sunk into a comparative obscurity. EXAMPLES. A man's first care should, be to avoid the reproaches of his own heart'; his next, to escape the censures of the world\ It will be difficult for her to retain the decorous and dignified semblance of love for him', who has cared but little for the real' ily of it\ Those governments which curb not evils', cause v ! And a rich knave's' a libel on our Ia\vs\ Religion' raises men above themselves": Irreligiori sinks them beneath the brutes\ b4 44 NEW RHETORICAL READER. We must forget all feelings' save the one — We must resign all passions' save our purpose — We must behold no object' save our country*". NOTE. Emphasis, according to Knowles, is of two kinds, abso- lute and relative. Relative emphasis has always an antithe- sis, either expressed or implied : absolute emphasis takes place, when the peculiar eminence of the thought is solely —singly considered. 'Twas base and poor, unworthy of a peasant^, To forge a scroll so villainous and loose, And mark it with a noble lady's name. Here we have an example of relative emphasis ; for, if the thought were expressed at full, it would stand thus : — Unworthy not only of a gentleman, but even of a peasant. 'Twas base and poor, unworthy of a man, To forge a scroll so villainous and loose, And mark it with a noble lady's name. Here we have an example of absolute emphasis ; for, i? the thought were expressed at full, it would stand thus : — Unworthy a being composed of such perfections as constitute a man. "When we wish to give a phrase with the utmost possi ble force, not only every word which enters into the com position of it, becomes emphatic, but even the parts of com pound words are pronounced as if they were independ ent. EXAMPLES. There was a time, then, my fellow citizens, when the Lace demonians were sovereign masters both by sea and land when their troops and forts surrounded the entire circuit of At tica ; when they possessed Eubcea, Tanagra, the whole Bceotia» district, Megara, iEgina, Cleone, and the other islands; whilt this State had not one ship — no, not — one — wall. That's truly great ! what think you 'twas set up The Greek and Roman name in such a lustre, But doing right in stern despite of nature; Shutting their ears 'gainst all her little cries, When great, august, and godlike justice call'd ! PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 45 At Aulis — one pour'd out a daughter's life, And gain'd more glory ihan by all his wars ! Another slew a sister in just rage ! A third, the theme of all succeeding time, Gave to the cruel axe a darling son ! Nay, some for virtue have entomb'd themselves, As he of Carthage — an immortal name ! But there is one — step — left — above them all ! Above their history, above their fable ! A wife ! — bride ! — mistress unenjoy'd ! — Do that ! And tread upon the Greek and Roman glory ! CLIMAX. Rule X1TI. A climax must be read, or 'pronounced with the voice progressively ascending to the last mem- ber ; accompanied with increasing energy, animation or pathos, corresponding with the nature of the subject. ' EXAMPLES. It is pleasant to be virtuous and good, because that is to ex- cel many others'; it is pleasant to grow better, because that is to excel ourselves'; it is pleasant to mortify and subdue our lusts, because that is victory'; it is pleasant to command our appe- tites' and passions', and to keep them in due order', within the bounds of reason and religion", because that is empire\ See, what a grace was seated on this brow ! Hyperion's curls'; the front of Jove himself: An eye like Mars', to threaten and command'; A station like the herald Mercury", New lighted on a heaven-kissing hhT* A combination' and a form' indeed, Where every god' did seem to set his seal'V. To give the world assurance of a man\ If I were an American as I am an Englishman, while a for- eign troop was landed in my country, I never would lay down my arms — never\ never', never\ Come, shew me what thou'lt do N : Woul't weep'? Woul't fight'? Woul't fast'? Woul't tear thyself" ? I'll do"t. Dost thou come here to whine'? To outface me with leaping in her grave'? Be buried quick with her', and so willP! And if thou prate of mountains', let them throw Millions of acres on us', till our ground, b5 4G NEW RHETORICAL READER. Singeing his pate against the burning zone", Make Ossa like a wart v ! Nay, an thou'lt mouth', I'll rant as well as thou v ! His display of this day has reflected the highest honour on himself, lustre upon letters', renown upon parliament", glory upon the country\ We are called upon as members of this house\ as men', as Christians v , to protest against this horrible barbarity. ANTI-CLIMAX. Rule XIV. An anti-climax should be read with decreas- ing energy, as you proceed ; until the last member, being strongly emphatic, takes a fall instead of a rise. EXAMPLE. What must the king do now'? must he submit'? The king shall do it N : must he be depos'd'? The king shall be contented^: must he lose The name of king'? — let it go N ! I'll give my jewels for a set ofbeads N ; My gorgeous palace' for a hermitage N ; My gay apparel', for an almsman's gown N ; My figur'd goblets', for a dish of wood N ; My sceptre', for a painter's walking staff v ; My subjects', for a pair of carved saints v : And my large kingdom', for a little grave v : — A little', little grave v — an obscure grave\ ECHO, OR REPETITION. Rule XV. The repetition of a word .or thought intro- ductory to some particulars, requires the high rising in~ flection, and a long pause after it. This is frequently the language of excitement; the mind recurs to the exciting idea, and acquires fresh intensity from the repetition of it. EXAMPLES. Can parliament be so dead to its dignity and duty, as to give its sanction to measures thus obtruded and forced upon them * measures', my lords, which have reduced this late flourishing kingdom to scorn and contempt. Shall I, who was born, I might almost say, but certainly brought up, in the tent of my father, that most excellent gen- eral— shall 1', the conqueror of Spain and Gaul, and not only PRINCIPLES OF ELOCUTION. 47 of the Alpine nations, but of the Alps themselves; shall T* compare myself with this half-year captain ? A captain'! before whom should one place the two armies without their ensigns, 1 am persuaded he would not know to which of them he is consul. Tell them I grieve not for my death — Grieve ! — Ours hath been a race of steel ; Stedfast and stern — yea, fixed in faith, Though doom'd Power's scourge to feel. What motive, then, could have such influence in their bo- som v ? What motive'? That', which Nature, the common pa- rent', plants in the bosom of man\ and which, though it may be less active in the Indian' than in the Englishman', is still congenial with' and makes part of hisbeing\ Banish'd from Rome ? What's banisWd" but set free From daily contact of the things I loathe ? CIRCUMFLEX. Rule XVI. A certain sort of emphasis, which unites the rising and falling inflection on the same word, is call- ed circumflex. When the word terminates with the rising inflection, it is called the rising circumflex : if with the falling inflec- tion, the falling circumflex. The rising circumflex is marked thus, v, the falling, thus, A. EXAMPLES. Yes ; they will give enlightened freedom to our minds, who are themselves the slaves of passion', avarice", and pride\ Queen. Hamlet, you have your father much offended. A Hamlet. Mother, you have my father much offended. v Most courteous tyrants ! Romans ! rare patterns of humanity*' V A If you said so, then I said so. MONOTONE. Rule XVII. When ivords are not varied by inflection they are said to be 'pronounced in a Monotone. This is used when anything awful or sublime is to be expressed. * The last shall i may be considered as emphatic — the height of the climax— and of course takes the strong falling slide. b6 48 NEW RHETORICAL READER. EXAMPLES. O when he comes', Rous'd by the cry of wickedness extreme', To heaven ascending from some guilty land', Now, ripe for vengeance"", when he comes, array 1 d In all the terrors of Almighty wrath', — Forth from his bosom plucks his lingering arm', And on the miscreants pours destruction down", Who can abide his coming"? Who can bear His whole displeasured High on a throne of royal state, which far Outshone the wealth of Ormus, and oflnd, Or where the gorgeous east, with richest hand, Showers on her kings barbaric, pearls and gold, Satan exalted sat ! And in the bright blaze of thy festal hall', When vassals kneel, and kindred smile around thee', May ruin'd Bertram's pledge hiss in thine ear' — Joy to the proud dame of St. Aldobrand' , While his cold corse doth bleach beneath her towers s ! Oh, crested Lochiel, the peerless in might, Whose banners arise on the battlements' height'! Heaven' 's fire is around thee to blast and to burn. NEW RHETORICAL READER. LESSON I. Responsibilities of the Young. — Rev. Dr. Olin. Foe. the satisfaction of wants and liabilities which find no adequate provision in the fixed ideas and unyielding habits of veteran piety, the Gospel makes its appeal to the special endowments and adaptations of the young. " I have written to you, young men, because ye are strong, and the word of God abideth in you, and ye have overcome the wicked one." In the economy of Divine Providence, youth is endowed with peculiar attributes, on which the success of all great moral and social interests and enterprises is made depend- ent. This responsibility for the well-being of the race, which accrues to the young, in virtue of their providential endow- ments, is devolved upon them by an inevitable destiny. They are the predestined successors of all who now wield moral influence, and all who occupy positions of authority and power. They are moving incessantly onward toward this great inheritance, and the flight of years makes haste to bring them into contact with burdens and responsibilities, which they cannot elude or devolve upon others. Those who are now young must govern mankind. They must become the teachers of the race. They must become the world's lawgivers, and its dispensers of justice. They must manage its material interests — must plan and prosecute its improvements and ameliorations — must conduct its -wars and negotiations — must meet the unseen exigencies of the great future. God has provided no other teachers for that coming generation, which, in its turn, is destined to occupy this great field of action and probation, and to transmit to a still later posterity its character — its virtues, and vices, and 3 60 NEW RHETORICAL READER. Were we able to divest this great law of human existence of its inefficiency as a hackneyed truism, and clothe it in the freshness and potency of a newly-discovered truth, we should need no other argument to impress upon the young the duty of diligence and faithfulness in their high vocation ; for the young, though often rash and reckless of the future, are neither selfish nor malevolent. They would not thrust themselves upon the inheritance in reserve for them, with- out qualifications to preserve and improve it. They would not bring back upon the world the ignorance of the dark ages, nor reproduce upon the face of civilized society the horrible scenes of the reign of terror. They would not tar- nish the lustre of our national character by deeds of coward- ice, treachery, or dishonor. They would not give to the country a race of incompetent or profligate statesmen. They would recoil from the thought of occupying the pulpits of this Christian land, the strongholds of its morality and stern virtues, without the requisite qualifications of intelligence and piety. They would not dwarf and taint the public mind with a feeble, polluted literature, nor degrade the schools and liberal professions, to which this great republic looks for the men of the future — its orators, its teachers, the guides of its youth, and the leaders of its senates. And yet nothing is more certain than that those great inter- ests, one and all, look to the present generation of young men as their sole hope and resource. Nothing is less a matter of doubt than that these potent agencies, on which the well-being of a great nation depends, must speedily come under the direction of the young men who are now forming their characters, moral and intellectual—many of them wholly unconcerned about that future in which they have so deep a stake, and for which they will be held to a responsibility so fearful. We should place before the youth of this land only a very humble standard of duty and ambition, in urging them to such attainments as will merely enable them to maintain these institutions and social and moral enterprises in the present state of efficiency and usefulness. To do less than this would plainly be nothing less than treason against our country and common humanity. It cost our fathers infinite toil, and sacrifices, and precious blood, to raise this country to its present position, and to form such a heritage of light, PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 51 and liberty, and glory, as they are ready to bequeath to their sons ; and that young man must be dead to all high aspirations who does not burn with shame at the thought of transmitting it to posterity, enfeebled or dilapidated. One or two such recreant generations would plunge this free and glorious land into the darkness and wretchedness of its primitive barbarism, and make themselves the reproach of noble ancestors, and the scorn and byword of history. But the rising generation cannot even escape this foul dis- honor of wasting its inheritance, and betraying the sacred interests intrusted to it for the benefit of posterity, without high attainments in knowledge and virtue. Our fathers were a brave, intellectual, noble race ; and they who now sway the destinies of this country are educated, vigorous, laborious, enterprising men. The land is no doubt cursed with hordes of demagogues and pretenders, and its honors are too often bestowed upon the unworthy and incompetent. Still, the great body of our legislators, public officers, and professional men, are not grossly deficient either in literary attainments or intellectual vigor. There is a volcanic ener- gy at work in our enterprises of science, and fabrication, and internal improvement. LESSON II. The Two Pictures. — Horace Mann. I ask the young man who is just forming his habits of life, or just beginning to indulge those habitual trains of thought out of which habits grow, to look around him, and mark the examples whose fortune he would covet, or whose fate he would abhor. Even as we walk the streets we meet with exhibitions of each extreme. Here behold a patriarch, whose stock of vigor three score years and ten seem hardly to have impaired. His erect form, his firm step, his elastic limbs, his undimmed senses, are so many certificates of good conduct ; or, rather, so many jewels and orders of nobility, with which nature has honored him for his fidelity to her laws. His fair complexion shows that his blood has never been corrupted ; his pure health, that he has never 52 NEW RHETORICAL READER. yielded his digestive apparatus for a vintner's cess-pool ; his exact language and keen apprehension, that his brain has never been drugged or stupefied by the poison of the dis- tiller and tobacconist. Enjoying his appetites to the highest, he has preserved the power of enjoying them. Despite the moral of the school-boy's story, he has eaten his cake and still kept it. As he drains the cup of life, there are no lees at the bottom. His organs will reach the goal of existence together. Painlessly as a candle burns clown in its socket, so will he expire ; and a little imagination would convert him into another Enoch, translated from earth to a better world without the sting of death. But look at an opposite extreme, where an opposite his- tory is recorded. What wreck so shocking to behold as a wreck of a dissolute man — the vigor of life exhausted, and yet the first steps in an honorable career not yet taken ;• in himself a lazar-house of diseases ; dead, but by a heathen- ish custom of society, not buried ! Rogues have had the initial letter of their title burnt into the palms of their hands ; even for murder, Cain was only branded on the forehead ; but over the whole person of the debauchee or the inebriate, the signatures of infamy are written. How nature brands him with stigma and opprobrium ! How she hangs labels all over him, to testify her disgust at his existence, and to admonish others to beware of his ex- ample ! How she loosens all his joints, sends tremors along his muscles, and bends forward his frame, as if to bring him upon all-fours with kindred brutes, or to degrade him to the reptile's crawling ! How she disfigures his countenance, as if intent upon obliterating all traces of her own image, so that she may swear she never made him ! How she pours rheum over his eyes, sends foul spirits to inhabit his breath, and shrieks, as with a trumpet, from every pore of his body, " Behold a beast !" Such a man may be seen in the streets of our cities eveiy day : if rich enough, he may be found in the saloons, and at the tables of the " upper ten ;" but surely, to every man of pu- rity and honor, to every man whose wisdom as well as whose heart is unblemished — the wretch, who comes cropped and bleeding from the pillory, and redolent with its appropriate perfumes, would be a guest or companion far less offensive and disgusting. PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 53 Now let the young man, rejoicing in his manly perfec- tions, and in his comeliness, look on this picture and on this, and then say, after the likeness of which model he intends his own erect stature and sublime countenance shall be con- figured. LESSON III. Sea- Sickness. — Rev. Dr. Fisk. If I supposed that any sketch of this disease would pro- duce even the premonitory symptoms upon my readers, I could not find it in my heart to inflict the misery upon one of the sons of Adam — except on the physicians ; nor even upon them, except in hope that it would put them upon extra exertions to find a cure. The theory, which I believe has gained extensive author- ity with the faculty, and which certainly seems very plau- sible, and accords well with many of the symptoms, is, that sea-sickness is the inversion of the peristaltic motion of the digestive muscles through the stomach and viscera. Alas ! what a picture of this distressing disorder ! Only conceive the unpleasant sensation which this unnatural action must produce ! the loathing, the shrinking back, and the spasmod- ic actions of all the digestive organs ! And when this sys- tem of internal " agitation" is begun, it is increased by its own action. The spasm increases the irritation, and the ir- ritation increases the susceptibility to spasmodic action, until the coats of the stomach, and all the abdominal viscera, are convulsed. The sensations produced, however, are not those of pain, as we commonly use the term, but of loathing — of sickness — of deathlike sickness — until nature is wearied, and the poor sufferer feels that life itself is a burden. He is told he must not give up to it — he must keep about, take the air, and drive it off. At first he thinks he will — he believes he can — and, perhaps, after the first complete action of his nausea, feels relieved, and imagines that he has conquered ; but another surge comes on, and rolls him and his vessel a few feet upward ; and again she sinks, and he with her — but not all of him ; his body goes down with the vessel, as it is 54 NEW RHETORICAL READER. meet it should, according to the laws of gravitation ; but that which his body contains cannot make ready for so speedy a descent. The contained has received an impetus upward, and it keeps on in this direction, while the container goes down with the ship. The result may readily be inferred. But even then the worst is still to come. When the up- ward action, the distressing nausea, the convulsive retching, continue, the deeper secretions are disturbed, and the mouth is literally filled with gall and bitterness. All objects around you now lose their interest ; the sea has neither beauty nor sublimity ; the roaring of the wave is like the wail of death ; the careening of the ship before the wind, " like a thing of life," is but the hastening and aggravation of agony. Your sympathy, if not lost, is paralyzed : your dear friend — perhaps the wife of your bosom — is suffering at the same time, but you have not the moral courage, if you have the heart, to go to her assistance. And even that very self, which is so absorbing and so exclusive, seems hardly so interesting as to be worth an existence. If the theory already alluded to, of the inversion of the peristaltic motion, be true, it may yet be a curious, and perhaps not unprofitable physiological inquiry, what are the intermediate links between the motion of the vessel, which is obviously the primum mobile of all the agitation, and this inverted action of the digestive organs ? Is this latter the effect of a previous action upon the nervous system ? Is it the effect of sympathy between the brain and the stomach 1 If a nervous derangement is a prior link, are the nerves wrought upon by the imagination ? and, if so, through what sense is this imagination affected ? Is it through the gen- eral feelings of the frame, the entire system, or is it chiefly through the organ of sight ? I have not skill or knowledge sufficient to answer these questions. I cannot but think, however, that the eye has much to do in this matter. If you look at the vessel in motion, it seems to increase the difficulty ; and hence, while under the influence of the dis- ease, you cannot bear to look on anything around you, but are disposed to close the windows of the soul, and give your- self up to dark and gloomy endurance. One of the social, or rather arcfo'-social concomitants of this disease is, that it excites but little pity in those around you, who are not suffering. One tells you, " It will do you PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 66 good." This is the highest comfort you get. Another as- sures you that it is not a mortal disease, and that you will feel a great deal better when it is over. (" Hope so," thought I.) Another laughs you in the face, with some atrocious pleasantry about " casting up accounts," or " pay- ing duties to old Neptune." A " searching operation," this paying custom to the watery king ! My friends forewarned me of the vexations of the custom-house, before I left Amer- ica; and, if this is a fair specimen, I shall beg to be ex- cused from the further prosecution of my tour. If his ma- jesty demanded but a large per centage of your wares, it might be tolerable ; but he takes all you have : he searches you through and through. LESSON IV. Futv/re Prospects of the American Continent. — Encyclopjs DIA BRITANNICA. It was the astonishing progress of the United States that first clearly unfolded the principles on which the mul- tiplication of human beings depends. We know with certainty that a prosperous community, possessing abun- dance of unoccupied land, will double its numbers in twen- ty-five years, without aid from emigration ; and, as the scale ascends in a geometrical ratio, a short time necessarily pro- duces a wonderful change. In the United States the whites increase at the rate of three or three and a half per cent, per annum; and when the Spanish American republics have settled down in a tranquil state, there is no doubt that their white inhabitants will multiply at the same rate. In 1830, the entire white population being estimated at twenty-one millions, this number, in 1855, will be increased to forty-two millions ; in 18S0, to eighty-four millions ; in 1905, to one hundred and sixty-eight millions ; and in 1930, to three hundred and thirty millions. As the difficulty of providing for the growing animal increment of inhabitants must increase with the magnitude of the population, let us assume, that at the end of a century, the rate of increase falls to two per cent. The period of doubling will then be thirty-six years ; consequently, the white population in 56 NEW RHETORICAL READER. 196G, will be six hundred and seventy-two millions ; in 2002, it will be one billion three hundred and forty-four millions ; and in 2030, it will be two billions six hundred and eighty-eight millions. Thus, in two centuries, the whites now in America would multiply to a mass of people three times as great as are at present on the whole surface of the globe. Of the thirty-one millions of square miles which compose Europe, Asia and Africa, we cannot find that the productive soil constitutes so much as one-third, and of that third a part is poor. The whole surface of the American continent contains thirteen millions nine hundred thousand square miles, and deducting three millions nine hundred thousand as arid soil, there are left ten millions as soil of a produc- tive quality. The degree of productiveness depends on climate ; it follows, that if the natural resources of America were fully developed, it would afford sustenance to three billions six hundred millions of inhabitants — a number five times as great as the entire mass of human beings existing at pre- sent upon the globe. And what is more surprising, there is every probability that this prodigious population will be in existence within three, or, at most, four centuries. The imagination is lost in contemplating a state of things which will make so great and rapid a change in the condition of the world. We almost fancy that it is a dream ; and yet the result is based on principles quite as certain as those which gov- ern the conduct of men in their ordinary pursuits. There are many elements of disorder now operating in Spanish America, but these are merely the dregs left by the old Spanish despotisms ; and the Anglo-American republic is a pole-star to guide the people in their course towards free- dom and prosperity. Nearly all social improvements spring from the recipro- cal influence of condensed numbers and diffused intelli- gence. What, then, will be the state of society in Amer- ica two centuries hence, when a thousand millions of civil- ized men are crowded into a space comparatively so nar- row, and when this immense mass of human beings speak only two languages, or what is as likely, only one language, the English ] History shows that wealth, power, science PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 57 literature, all follow in the train of numbers, general intel- ligence and freedom. The same causes which transferred the sceptre of civili- zation from the banks of the Euphrates and the Nile to western Europe, must in the course of no long period, carry it from the latter to the plains of the Mississippi and the Amazon. — Society, after all, is in its infancy ; the hab- itable world, when its productive powers are regarded, may be said hitherto to have been an untenanted waste. If any one suspects us of drawing on our fancy, we would request him to examine thoroughly the condition and past progress of the North American Republic. Let him look at its amazing strides in wealth, intelligence, and social improvement; at its indestructible liberty; and above all, at the prodigious growth of its population — and let him answer the question to himself, what power can stop the tide of civilization which is pouring from its sin- gle source over an unoccupied world ] . LESSON V. Human Progress. — Chapin. Let us clearly understand what is meant by Human Pro- gress. It must be distinctly separated from the doctrine of Human Perfectibility. That men in this world will ever be, in all respects, perfect, is one doctrine — and that men will pass from lower degrees of excellence up to higher, and maintain their advantage, is another doctrine. This last is the doctrine of Human Progress. That our age holds an amount of refinement and civilization that prece- ding ages did not have, seems evident. We may not see minutely how this operation of human progress goes on — we may not be able to trace the transfusion of the good and the true through every particle and member. But we see the grand result. So the great ocean comes on imperceptibly. Men build their huts at the foot of some huge mountain, and till the green fields that spread out before them — thinking noth- ing so permanent. But, by and by, other men come that b6 58 NEW RHETORICAL READER. way, and the green fields are all gone. The summer fruit has long since been gathered. Where the husbandman found his wealth, the fisher draws his support — where the sickles whispered to the bending corn, the ships of war go sheeting by — and the old mountain has become a grey and wave-beaten crag, a landmark to the distant mariner, and a turret where the sea-bird screams. But this was accomplished imperceptibly. One genera- tion may not have witnessed the advancement of the wa- ters — another may have passed away without noting it ; but slowly they kept advancing. And by and by, all men saw it — saw the grand result, though they did not mark each successive operation. So with human progress. One age may scarcely observe it, and another may die without faith in it; but we must take some distant period that is not too closely blended with our time, and compare that with the present, and in the grand result we shall dis- cover that there has been human progress. Still, some may say, " Yes, there has been progress, but not over the whole world — there have been salient points, but also retreating angles, and when you speak of human progress you must appeal to the world, at large — say, has that advanced]" I answer, that in the world, somewhere, there has been a constant tendency to advancement. Even the dark times have been seasons of fruition — the middle ages nourished and prepared glorious elements of human reformation. If one nation has lost the thread of human advancement, another has taken it up — and so the work has gone forward ; if not in the race, as a whole, at any one time, yet in the race somewhere. But the race is fundamentally the same, and what may be predicated of a portion of mankind as belonging essen- tially to humanity, may be predicated of the whole, and so in the advancement of a portion of the race, the whole be- comes hopeful. The capacity of the race for progress has been demonstrated. Is that capacity never to be gratified] Though the period never has been that all the race were at the same time on the same level — who shall say that the time never will come ] That it never can come ] Who shall say, so long as the capacity exists, how quick the transfusion of what is excellent in one portion may ba made through the whole ] PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 59 A victory over the formal Asiatic, gTim and bloody as it is, may be one agent of such transfusion. A triumph of machinery may help to accomplish it. The steam-car may carry truth and light over drifted deserts and frozen moun- tains. The march of opinion, aided by circumstances, may penetrate to lands that never knew the commerce of Phoenicia, or the wisdom of Athens — where Alexander never ventured with his hosts, and where Caesar turned back his eagles. This is the main point — not universal progress, but hu- man progress — not progress everywhere, but progress some- icherc. Grant but that, and all humanity becomes hopeful — grant but the capacity, and the doctrine is practicable — let the law be in operation only at one point, still it is a law, and as such is to be heeded and acted upon. Old no- tions may die, but new notions shall spring up. Let the principle be at work, and no one can limit the result. It may take a longer sweep of ages than have yet pass- ed over mankind, to bring all nations to the same point of advancement; some nations, now here and now there, may always be in advance of others, yet if the others ad- vance also, the great law will be in operation. And no people shall have lived or died in vain. Into the deepest sepulchres of the Old and the Past a new life shall be kin- dled, showing that they have not waited so long for noth- ing. Dim Meroe will shout freedom from beyond the fountains of the Nile, and the stony lips of the Sphynx shall preach the Gospel ! LESSON VI. Damon and Pythias. — Brooke. When Damon was sentenced by Dionysius of Syracuse to die on a certain day, he begged permission, in the in- terim, to retire to his own country, to set the affairs of his disconsolate family in order. This the king intended per- emptorily to refuse, by granting it, as he conceived, on the impossible condition of his procuring some one to remain as hostage for his return, under equal forfeiture of life. 60 NEW RHETORICAL READER. Pythias heard the conditions, and did not wait for an ap- plication upon the part of Damon. He instantly offered himself as security for his friend ; which being accepted, Damon was immediately set at liberty. The king and all the courtiers were astonished at this action ; and, therefore, when the day of execution drew near, his majesty had the curiosity to visit Pythias in his confinement. After some conversation on the subject of friendship, in which the king delivered it as his opinion, that self-interest was the sole mover of human actions; as for virtue, friendship, benevolence, love of one's country, and the like, he looked upon them as terms invented by the wise, to keep in awe and impose upon the weak — " My lord," said Pythias, with a firm voice and noble as- pect, " I would it were possible that I might suffer a thou- sand deaths, rather than my friend should fail in any arti- cle of his honour. He cannot fail therein, my lord. I am as confident of his virtue, as I am of my own existence. — But I pray, I beseech the gods, to preserve the life and in- tegrity of my Damon together. Oppose him, ye winds ! prevent the eagerness and impatience of his honourable endeavours, and suffer him not to arrive, till, by my death, I shall have redeemed a life a thousand times of more con- sequence, of more value, than my own ; more estimable to his lovely wife, to his precious little innocents, to his friends, to his country. O leave me not to die the worst of deaths in my Damon!" Dionysius was awed and confounded by the dignity of these sentiments, and by the manner in which they were ut- tered: he felt his heart struck by a slight sense of invading truth; but it served rather to perplex than undeceive him. The fatal day arrived. Pythias was brought forth, and walked amidst the guards with a serious, but satisfied air, to the place of execution. Dionysius was already there ; he was exalted on a moving throne, that was drawn by six white horses, and sat pensive, and attentive to the prison- er. Pythias came ; he vaulted lightly on the scaffold, and, beholding for some time the apparatus of death, he turned with a placid countenance, and addressed the spectators: "My prayers are heard," he cried: "the gods are propi- tious ! You know, my friends, that the winds have been contrary till yesterday. Damon could not come ; he could PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 61 not conquer impossibilities ; he will be here to-morrow, and the blood which is shed to-day shall have ransomed the life of my friend. Oh, could I erase from your bosom every doubt, every mean suspicion, of the honour of the man for whom I am about to suffer, I should go to my death, even as I would to my bridal. Be it sufficient, in the mean time, that my friend will be found noble ; that his truth is unim- peachable ; that he will speedily prove it; that he is now on his way, hurrying on, accusing himself, the adverse ele- ments, and the gods: but I hasten to prevent his speed. — Executioner, do your office." As he pronounced the last words, a buzz began to rise among the remotest of the people — a distant voice was heard — the crowd caught the words, and, "stop, stop the execution, " was repeated by the whole assembly. A man came at full speed — the throng gave way to his approach : he was mounted on a steed of foam: in an instant, he was off his horse, on the scaffold, and held Pythias tightly em- braced. " You are safe, " he cried, " you are safe ! My friend, my beloved friend, the gods be praised, you are safe! I now have nothing but death to suffer, and am delivered from the anguish of those reproaches which I gave myself, for having endangered a life so much dearer than my own." Pale, cold, and half-speechless, in the arms of his Damon, Pythias replied, in broken accents — " Fatal haste ! — Cruel impatience ! — What envious powers have wrought impos- sibilities in your favour] — But I will not be wholly disap- pointed. — Since I cannot die to save, I will not survive you." Dionysius heard, beheld, and considered all with astonishment. His heart was touched; he wept; and, leaving his throne, he ascended the scaffold. " Live, live, ye incompaiable pair !" he cried; " ye have borne unques- tionable testimony to the existence of virtue ! and that vir- tue equally evinces the existence of a God to reward it. Live happy, live renowned : and, oh ! form me by your precepts, as ye have invited me by your example, to be worthy the participation of so sacred a friendship." 62 NEW RHETORICAL READER. LESSON VII. On the Abuse of Genius, with reference to the Works of Lord Byron. — Knowles. I have endeavoured to show, that the intrinsic value of genius is a secondary consideration, compared to the use to which it is applied; that genius ought to be estimated chiefly by the character of the subject upon which it is em- ployed, or of the cause which it advocates — considering it, in fact, as a mere instrument, a weapon, a sword, which may be used in a good cause, or in a bad one; may be wielded by a patriot, or a highwayman ; may give protec- tion to the dearest interests of society, or may threaten those interests with the irruption of pride, and profligacy, and folly — of all the vices which compose the curse and degradation of our species. I am the more disposed to dwell a little upon this sub- ject, because I am persuaded that it is not sufficiently at- tended to — nay, that in ninety-nine instances out of a hun- dred, it is not attended to at all : — that works of imagina- tion are perused, for the sake of the wit which they dis- play; which wit not only reconciles us to, but endears to us, opinions, and feelings, and habits, at war with wisdom and morality — to say nothing of religion : — in short, that we admire the polish, the temper, and shape of the sword, and the dexterity with which it is wielded, though it is the property of a lunatic, or of a bravo; though it is bran- dished in the face of wisdom and virtue ; and, at every wheel, threatens to inflict a wound, that will disfigure s ome feature, or lop some member ; or, with masterly adroitness aims a death-thrust at the heart ! I would deprive genius of the worship that is paid to it, for its own sake. Instead of allowing it to dictate to the world, I would have the world dictate to it — dictate to it, so far as the vital interests of society are affected. I know it is the opinion of many, that the moral of mere poetry is of little avail ; that we are charmed by its melody and wit, and uninjured by its levity and profaneness ; and hence, many a thing has been allowed in poetry, which would TIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 63 have been scouted, deprecated, reviled, had it appeared in prose : as if vice and folly were less pernicious, for being introduced to us with an elegant and insinuating address ; or, as if the graceful folds and polished scales of a serpent, were an antidote against the venom of its stino-. There is not a more prolific source of human error, than that railing at the world, which obtrudes itself so frequently upon our attention, in the perusing of Lord Byron's poems — that sickness of disgust, which begins its indecent heav- ings, whensoever the idea of the species forces itself upon him. The species is not perfect ; but it retains too much of the image of its Maker, preserves too many evidences of the modelling of the hand that fashioned it, is too near to the hovering providence of its disregarded, but still cherish- ing Author, to excuse, far less to call for, or justify, deser- tion, or disclaiming, or revilings, upon the part of any one of its members. I know not a more pitiable object, than the man, who, standing upon the pigmy eminence of his own self-impor- tance, looks around upon the species, with an eye that never throws a beam of satisfaction on the prospect, but visits with a scowl whatsoever it lights upon. The world is not that reprobate world, that it should be cut off from the visitation of charity ; that it should be represented, as having no alter- native, but to inflict or bear. Life is not one continued scene of wrestling with our fellows. Mankind are not for ever grappling one another by the throat. There is such a thing as the grasp of friendship, as the outstretched hand of benevolence, as an interchange of good offices, as a ming- ling, a crowding, a straining together, for the relief, or the benefit of our species. The moral he thus inculcates, is one of the most baneful tendency. The principle of self-love — implanted in us for the best, but capable of being perverted to the worst of pur- poses — by a fatal abuse, too often disposes to indulge in this sweeping depreciation of the species, founded upon some fallacious idea of superior value in ourselves ; with which imaginary excellence we conceive the world to be at war. A greater source of error cannot exist 64 NEW RHETORICAL READER. LESSON VIII. To The Rainbow. — Campbell. Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky When storms prepare to part, I ask not proud philosophy To teach me what thou art. Still seem, as to my childhood's sight, A midway station given For happy spirits to alight Betwixt the earth and heaven. Can all that optics teach, unfold Thy form to please me so, As when I dreamt of gems and gold Hid in thy radiant bow ] When Science from Creation's face Enchantment's veil withdraws, What lovely visions yield their place To cold material laws. ^And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams, But words of the Most High, Have told, why first thy robe of beams Was woven in the sky. When o'er the green undeluged earth Heaven's covenant thou didst shine, How came the world's gray fathers forth To watch thy sacred sign ! And when its yellow lustre smiled O'er mountains yet untrod, Each mother held aloft her child To bless the bow of God. Methinks, thy jubilee to keep, The first-made anthem rang, On earth delivered from the deep, And the first poet san«-. PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 65 Nor ever shall the Muse's eye Unraptured greet thy beam : Theme of primeval prophecy, Be still the poet's theme. The earth to thee its incense yields, The lark thy welcome sings, When glittering in the freshened fields The snowy mushroom springs. How glorious is thy girdle cast O'er mountain, tower, and town ! Oi mirrored in the ocean vast, A thousand fathoms down ! As fresh in yon horizon dark, As young thy beauties seem, As when the eagle from the ark First sported in thy beam. For, faithful to its sacred page, Heaven still rebuilds thy span, Nor lets the type grow pale with age That first spoke peace to man. LESSON IX. The Battle-Field.— W. C. Bryant. Once this soft turf, this rivulet's sands, Were trampled by a hurrying crowd, And fiery hearts and armed hands Encountered in the battle-cloud. Ah, never shall the land forget How gushed the life-blood of her brave- Gushed, warm with hope and valour yet, Upon the soil they fought to save. Now all is calm and fresh and still; Alone the chirp of flitting bird, And talk of children on the hill, And bell of wandering kine, are heard. 66 NEW RHETORICAL READER. No solemn host goes trailing by The black-mouthed gun and staggering wain \ Men start not at the battle-cry — Oh, be it never heard again ! Soon rested those who fought — but thou. Who minglest in the harder strife For truths which men receive not now — Thy warfare only ends with life. A friendless warfare ! lingering long Though weary day and weary year ; A wild and many-weaponed throng Hang on thy front and flank and rear. Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof, And blench not at thy chosen lot ! The timid good may stand aloof, The sage may frown — yet faint thou not \ Nor heed the shaft too surely cast, The hissing, stinging bolt of scorn ; For with thy side shall dwell, at last, The victory of endurance born. Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again ; Th' eternal years of God are hers; But Error, wounded, writhes with pain, And dies among his worshippers. Yea, though thou die upon the dust, When those who helped thee flee in fear, Die full of hope and manly trust, Like those who fell in battle here ; Another hand thy sword shall wield, Another hand the standard wave, Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed The blast of triumph o'er thy grave ! PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 67 LESSON X. The Broken Heart. — Percival. He has gone to the land where the dead are still, And mute tjie song of gladness ; He drank at the cup of grief his fill, And his life was a dream of madness ; The victim of Fancy's torturing spell, From hope to darkness driven, His agony was the rack of hell, His joy the thrill of heaven. He has gone to the land where the dead are cold, And thought will sting him, never ; The tomb its darkest veil has rolled O'er all his faults forever ; O ! there was a light that shone within The gloom that hung around him ; His heart was formed to woo and win, But love had never crowned him. He has gone to the land where the dead may rest In a soft unbroken slumber ; Where the pulse that swelled his anguished breast Shall never his tortures number ; Ah ! little the reckless witlings know How keenly throbbed and smarted That bosom which burned with the brightest glow Till crushed and broken-hearted. He longed to love, and a frown was all The cold and thoughtless gave him ; He sprang to Ambition's trumpet call, But back they rudely drave him ; He glowed with a spirit pure and high — They called the feeling madness ; And he wept for wo, with a melting eye— 'Twas weak and moody sadness. 68 NEW RHETORICAL READER. He sought, with an ardor full and keen, To rise to a noble station, But repulsed by the proud, the cold, the mean, He sank in desperation ; They called him away to pleasure's bowers, But gave him a poisoned chalice, And from her alluring wreath of flowers They glanced the grin of malice. He felt that the charm of life was gone, That his hopes were chilled and blasted, That being wearily lingered on In sadness, while it lasted ; He turned to the picture fancy drew, Which he thought would darken never ; It fled ; to the damp cold grave he flew, And he sleeps with the dead forever. LESSON XL Against the American War. — Lord Chatham. I cannot, my lords, I will not, join in congratulation on misfortune and disgrace. This, my lords, is a perilous and tremendous moment. It is not a time for adulation : the smoothness of flattery cannot save us in this rugged and aw- ful crisis. It is now necessary to instruct the throne in the language of truth. We must, if possible, dispel the delu- sion and darkness which envelope it, and display, in its full danger and genuine colours, the ruin which is brought to our doors. Can ministers still presume to expect support in their infatuation ? Can parliament be so dead to its dig- nity and duty, as to give their support to measures thus ob- truded and forced upon them ? Measures, my lords, which have reduced this late flourishing empire to scorn and con- tempt ! u But yesterday, and Britain might have stood PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 69 against the world; now, none so poor as to do her reve- rence !" The people, whom we at first despised as rebels, but whom we now acknowledge as enemies, are abetted against us, supplied with every military store, have their interest consulted, and their ambassadors entertained, by our invet- erate enemy — and ministers do not, and dare not, interpose with dignity or effect. The desperate state of our army abroad is in part known. No man more highly esteems and honours the British troops than I do ; I know their vir- tues and their valour ; I know they can achieve any thing but impossibilities ; and I know that the conquest of British America is an impossibility. You cannot, my lords, you cannot conquer America. What is your present situation there % We do not know the tvorst ; but we know that in three campaigns we have done nothing, and suffered much. You may swell every expense, accumulate every assis- tance, and extend your traffic to the shambles of every Ger- man despot ; your attempts will be for ever vain and impotent — doubly so, indeed, from this mercenary aid on which you rely ; for it irritates, to an incurable resentment, the minds of your adversaries, to overrun them with the mercenary sons of rapine and plunder, devoting them and their pos- sessions to the rapacity of hireling cruelty. If I were an American, as I am an Englishman, while a foreign troop was landed in my country, I never would lay down my arms — never, never, never ! But, my lords, who is the man that, in addition to the disgraces and mischiefs of the war, has dared to authorize and associate to our arms the tomahawk and scalping-knife of the savage ] — to call into civilized alliance, the wild and inhuman inhabitant of the woods ] — to delegate to the mer- ciless Indian the defence of disputed rights, and to wage the horrors of his barbarous war against our brethren % My lords, these enormities cry aloud for redress and punish ment. But, my lords, this barbarous measure has been de- fended, not only on the princij^les of policy and necessity, but also on those of morality ; " for it is perfectly allow- able," says Lord Suffolk, " to use all the means which God and nature have put into our hands." I am astonished, I am shocked, to hear such principles confessed; to hear them avowed in this house, or in this country. 70 NEW RHETORICAL READER. My lords, I did not intend to encroach so much on your attention, but I cannot repress my indignation — I feel my- self impelled to speak. My lords, we are called upon, as members of this house, as men, as Christians, to protest against such horrible barbarity ! — " That God and nature have put into our hands VI What ideas of God and nature that noble lord may entertain, I know not ; but I know, that such detestable principles are equally abhorrent to religion and humanity. What ! to attribute the sacred sanction of God and nature to the massacres of the Indian scalping-knife ! to the canni- bal savage, torturing, murdering, devouring, drinking the blood of his mangled victims ! Such notions shock every precept of morality, every feeling of humanity, every senti- ment of honour. These abominable principles, and this more abominable avowal of them, demand the most decisive indignation. I call upon that right reverend, and this most learned bench, to vindicate the religion of their God, to support the justice of their country. I call upon the bishops to in- terpose the unsullied sanctity of their lawn ; upon the judges, to interpose the purity of their ermine, to save us from this pollution. I call upon the honour of your lordships, to reverence the dignity of your ancestors, and to maintain your own. I call upon the spirit and humanity of my country, to vindicate the national character. I invoke the genius of the constitution. From the tapestry that adorns these walls, the immortal ancestor of this noble lord frowns with indignation at the disgrace of his country. To send forth the merciless cannibal, thirsting for blood ! against whom ? — your Protestant brethren ! — to lay waste their country, to desolate their dwellings, and extirpate their race and name, by the aid and instrumentality of these horrible hounds of war ! Spain can no longer boast pre- eminence in barbarity. She armed herself with blood- hounds, to extirpate the wretched natives of Mexico ; we, more ruthless, loose these dogs of war against our country- men in America, endeared to us by every tie that can sanc- tify humanity. PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 71 I solemnly call upon your lordships, and upon every or- der of men in the state, to stamp upon this infamous pro- cedure the indelible stigma of the public abhorrence. More particularly, I call upon the holy prelates of our reli- gion to do away this iniquity ; let them perform a lustration, to purify the countiy from this deep and deadly sin. My lords, I am old and weak, and at present unable to say more ; but my feelings and indignation were too strong to have said less. I could not have slept this night in my bed, nor even reposed my head upon my pillow, without giving vent to my eternal abhorrence of such enormous and preposter- ous principles. LESSON XII. Reply to the Duke of Grafton. — Lord Thurlow. [The duke had (in the House of Lords) reproached Lord Thurlow with his plebeian extraction, and his recent admission to the peerage. Lord Thurlow rose from the woolsack, and advanced slowly to the place from which the chancellor addresses the house; then fixing his eye upon the duke, spoke as follows.] My lords, I am amazed, yes, my lords, I am amazed at his grace's speech. The noble duke cannot look before him, behind him, or on either side of him, without seeing some noble peer, who owes his seat in this house to his success- ful exertions in the profession to which I belong. Does he not feel that it is as honourable to owe it to these, as to being the accident of an accident ] To all these noble lords, the language of the noble duke is as applicable and insulting as it is to myself. But I do not fear to meet it single and alone. No one venerates the peerage more than I do. But, my lords, I must say that the peerage solicited me, not I the peerage. Nay, more, I can and will say, that, as a peer of parlia- ment, as speaker of this right honourable house, as keeper of the great seal, as' guardian of his majesty's conscience, as lord high chancellor of England, nay, even in that character alone, in which the noble duke would think it an affront to he considered, but which character none can deny me— »as a 72 NEW RHETORICAL READER. Man, I am at this moment as respectable, I beg leave to add, as much respected, as the proudest peer I now look down iroon LESSON XIII. Speech in favour of the War of the Revolution. — Patrick Henry. Mr. President, it is natural to man to indulge in the illu- sions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a pain- ful truth, and listen to the song of that syren, till she trans- forms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men, engag- ed in a great and arduous struggle for liberty 1 Are we disposed to be of the number of those who, having eyes, see not, and having ears, hear not, the things which so nearly concern our temporal salvation ? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth ; to know the worst, and to provide for it. I have but one lamp, by which my feet are guided; and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judg- ing of the future but by the past. And judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been in the conduct of the British ministry for the last ten years, to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace them- selves and the house 1 Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has been lately received 1 Trust it not, sir; it will prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition comports with those warlike prepa- rations which cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconcilia- tion] Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be recon- ciled, that force must be called in to win back our love ] Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the imple- ments of war and subjugation ; the last arguments to which kings resort. I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this mar- tial array, if its purpose be not to force*us to submission ] Can [{^nt]empn assign any other possible motive for it % Has Great Britain any enemy in this quarter of the world, to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies ] No. PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 73 sir, she has none. They are meant for us : they can be meant lor no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains, which the British ministry have been so long forging. And what have we to oppose to them ] Shall we try argument 1 Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon the subject 1 Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of which it is capable ; but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication 1 "What terms shall we find which have not already been ex- hausted ] Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves longer. Sir, we have done every thing that could be done, to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned, we have remonstrated, we have supplicated, we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have im- plored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and parliament. Our petitions have been slight- ed ; our remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult ; our supplications have been disregarded ; and we have been spurned with contempt from the foot of the throne. In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free, if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we have been so long contending, if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained, we must fight ; I repeat it, sir, we must fight ! An appeal to arms, and to the God of Hosts, is all that is left us ! They tell us, sir, that we are weak, unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be strong- er ] Will it be the next week, or the next year ? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house ] Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction ] Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance, by lying supinely on our backs, and hugging the delusive jjhantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound, us hand and foot ] Sir, we are not weak, if we make a proper use of those means which cl 74 NEW RHETORICAL READER. the God of nature hath placed in our power. Three mil- lions of people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just God who presides over the destinies of nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone ; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we are base enough to desire it, it is now too late to re- tire from the contest. There is no retreat, but in submis- sion and slavery. Our chains are forged. Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston. The war is inevi- table, and let it come ! I repeat it, sir, let it come ! It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry peace, peace ! but there is no peace ! The war is actually begun ! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms ! Our brethren are already in the field ! Why stand we here idle 1 What is it that gentlemen wish ] What would they have % Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchas- ed at the price of chains and slavery. Forbid it, Almighty God ! I know not what course others may take ; but as for me, give me liberty, or give me death ! LESSON XIV. Supposed Speech of John Adams in favour of signing the De- claration of Independence. — D. Webster. Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my hand and my heart to this vote ! It is time, indeed, that in the beginning, we aimed not at independence. But there is a Divinity which shapes our ends. The injustice of England has driven us to arms ; and, blinded to her own interest, for our good she has obstinately persisted, till in- dependence is now within our grasp. We have but to reach forth to it, and it is ours. Why, then, should we defer the declaration 1 Is any man so weak as now to hope for a reconciliation with England, which shall leave PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 75 either safety to the country and its liberties, or safety to his own life, and hit? own honour 1 Are not you, sir, who sit in that chair; is not he, our venerable colleague near you ; are not both already the proscribed and predestined objects of punishment and of vengeance'? Cut off from all hope of royal clemency, what are you, what can you be, while the power of England remains, but outlaws ? If we postpone independence, do we mean to carry on, or give up, the war ] Do we mean to submit to the mea- sures of Parliament, Boston port-bill, and all 1 Do we mean to submit, and consent that we ourselves shall be ground to powder, and our country and its rights trodden down in the dust ] I know we do not mean to submit. We never shall submit. Do we intend to violate that most solemn obligation ever entered into by men — that plighting, before God, of our sacred honour to Washington, when, putting him forth to incur the dangers of war, as well as the poli- tical hazards of the times, we promised to adhere to him, in every extremity, with our fortunes and our lives 1 I know there is not a man here, who would not rather see a general conflagration sweep over the land, or an earthquake sink it, than one jot or tittle of that plighted faith fall to the ground. For myself, having twelve months ago, in this place, moved you, that George Washington be appointed commander of the forces, raised, or to be raised, for defence of American liberty, may my right hand forget its cunning, and my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, if I hesitate or waver in the support I give him. The war, then, must go on. We must fight it through. And if the war must go on, why put off longer the dec- laration of independence 1 That measure will strengthen us. It will give us character abroad. The nations will then treat with us, which they never can do, while we ac- knowledge ourselves subjects in arms against our sove- reign. Nay, I maintain that England herself, will sooner treat for peace with us on the footing of independence, than consent, by repealing her acts, to acknowledge that her whole conduct towards us has been a course of injus- tice and oppression. Her pride will be less wounded by submitting to that course of things which now predestines our independence, than by yielding the point in contro versy to her rebellious subjects. The former she would re c2 76 NEW RHETORICAL READER. gard as the result of fortune ; the latter she could feel as her own deep disgrace. Why then, why then, sir, do we not, as soon as possible, change this from a civil to a na- tional war % And, since we must fight it through, why not put ourselves in a state to enjoy all the benefits of victory, if we gain the victory % If we fail, it can be no worse for us. But we shall not fail. The cause will raise up armies ; the cause will cre- ate navies. The j>eople, the people, if we are true to them, will carry us, and will carry themselves, gloriously through this struggle. I care not how fickle other people have been found. I know the people of these colonies ; and I know that resistance to British aggression is deep and settled in their hearts, and cannot be eradicated. Ev- ery colony, indeed, has expressed its willingness to follow, if we but take the lead. Sir, the declaration will inspire the people with increased courage. Instead of a long and bloody war for restoration of privileges, for redress of grievances, for chartered immunities, held under a British king, set before them the glorious object of entire indepen- dence, and it will breathe into them anew the breath of life. Read this declaration at the head of the army ; every sword will be drawn from its scabbard, and the solemn vow uttered, to maintain it, or to perish on the bed of honour. Publish it from the pulpit ; religion will approve it, and the love of religious liberty will cling round it, re- solved to stand or fall with it. Send it to the public halls ; proclaim it there ; let them hear it, who heard the first roar of the enemy's cannon; let them see it, who saw their brothers and their sons fall on the field of Bunker Hill, and in the streets of Lexington and Concord — and the very walls will cry out in its support. Sir, I know the uncertainty of human affairs; but I see clearly through this day's business. You and I, indeed, may rue it. We may not live to see the time when this de- claration shall be made good. We may die ; die, colonists ; die, slaves ; die, it may be, ignominiously, and on the scaf- fold. Be it so. Be it so. If it be the pleasure of Heaven that my country shall require the poor offering of my life, the victim shall be ready at the appointed hour of sacrifice, come when that hour may. But, while I do live, let me PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 77 have a country, or at least the hope of a country, and that a free country. But,. whatever may be our fate, be assured that this dec- laration will stand. It may cost treasure, and it may cost blood; but it will stand, and it will richly compensate for both. Through the thick gloom of the present, I see the brightness of the future, as the sun in heaven. We shall make this a glorious, an immortal day. When we are in our graves, our children will honour it. They will cele- brate it, with thanksgiving, with festivity, with bon-fires, and illuminations. On its annual return they will shed tears, copious, gushing tears, not of subjection and slavery, not of agony and distress, but of exultation, of gratitude, and of joy. Sir, before God, I believe the hour is come. My judgment approves this measure, and my whole heart is in it. All that I have, and all that I am, and all that I hope, in this life, I am now ready here to stake upon it ; and I leave off as I began, that, live or die, survive or per- ish, I am for the declaration. It is my living sentiment, and, by the blessing of God, it shall be my dying senti- ment ; — independence now ; and independence forever ! LESSON XV. Character of Napoleon Bonaparte. — Channing. To rule was not enough for Bonaparte. He wanted to amaz'e, to dazzle, to overpower men's souls, by striking, bold, magnificent, and unanticipated results. To govern ever so absolutely would not have satisfied him, if he must have governed silently. He wanted to reign through won- der and awe, by the grandeur and terror of his name, by displays of power which would rivet on him every eye, and make him the theme of every tongue. Power was his su- preme object ; but a power which should be gazed at as well as felt, which should strike men as a prodigy, which should shake old thrones as an earthquake, and, by the sud- denness of its new creations, should awaken something of the submissive wonder which miraculous agency inspires. Such seems to us to have been the distinction or charac- c3 78 NEW RHETORICAL READER. teristic modification of his love of fame. It was a diseased passion for a kind of admiration, which, from the principles of our nature, cannot be enduring, and which demands for its support perpetual and more stimulating novelty. Mere esteem he would have scorned. Calm admiration, though universal and enduring, would have been insipid. He wanted to electrify and overwhelm. He lived for effect. The world was his theatre ; and he cared little what part he played, if he might walk the sole hero on the stage, and call forth bursts of applause which would silence all other fame. In war, the triumphs which he coveted were those in which he seemed to sweep away his foes like a whirlwind ; and the immense and unparalleled sacrifice of his own sol- diers, in the rapid marches and daring assaults to which he owed his victories, in no degree diminished their worth to the victor. In peace, he delighted to hurry through his do- minions ; to multiply himself by his rapid movements ; to gather at a glance the capacities of improvement which every important place possessed ; to suggest plans which would startle by their originality and vastness ; to project, in an instant, works which a life could not accomplish, and to leave behind the impression of a superhuman energy. He was characterized by nothing more strongly than by the spirit of self-exaggeration. The singular energy of his intellect and -will, through which he had mastered so many rivals and foes, and overcome what seemed insuperable ob- stacles, inspired a consciousness of being something more than man. His strong original tendencies to pride and self exaltation, fed and pampered by strange success and un- bounded applause, swelled into an almost insane conviction of superhuman greatness. In his own view, he stood apart from other men. He was not to be measured by the stan- dard of humanity. He was not to be retarded by difficul- ties, to which all others yielded. He was not to be sub- jected to laws and obligations, which all others were expect- ed to obey. Nature and the human will were to bend to his power. He was the child and favourite of fortune ; and, if not the lord, the chief object of destiny. His history shows a spirit of self-exaggeration, unrivalled in enlightened ages, and which reminds us of an Oriental king, to whom incense had been burnt from his birth as to PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 79 «l deity. This was the chief source of his crimes. He wanted the sentiment of a common nature with his fellow- beings. He had no sympathies with his race. That feel- ing of brotherhood, which is developed in truly great souls with peculiar energy, and through which they give up themselves willing victims, joyful sacrifices, to the in- terests of mankind, was wholly unknown to him. His heart, amidst all its wild beatings, never had one throb of disinterested love. The ties which bind man to man he broke asunder. The proper happiness of a man, which consists in the victory of moral energy and social affection over the selfish passions, he cast away for the lonely joy of a despot. With powers which might have made him a glorious representative and minister of the beneficent Divinity, and with natural sensibilities which might have been exalted into sublime virtues, he chose to separate himself from his kind, — to forego their love, esteem, and gratitude, — that he might become their gaze, their fear, their wonder; and for this selfish, solitary good, '- arted with peace and imperishable renown. LESSON XVI. Character of Washington. — Lord Brougham. How grateful the relief which the friend of mankind, the lover of virtue, experiences, when, turning from the contemplation of such a character as Napoleon, his eye rests upon the greatest man of our own or any age ; — the only one upon whom an epithet so thoughtlessly lavished by men, to foster the crimes of their worst enemies, may be innocently and justly bestowed ! In Washington we truly behold a marvellous contrast to almost every one of the endowments and the vices which we have been con- templating ; and which are so well fitted to excite a min- gled admiration, and sorrow, and abhorrence. With none of that brilliant genius which dazzles ordi- nary minds ; with not even any remarkable quickness of apprehension ; with knowledge less than almost all persons in the middle ranks, and many well educated of the hum- c4 80 NEW RHETORICAL READER. bier classes, possess ; this eminent person is presented tc our observation clothed in attributes as modest, as unpre- tending, as little calculated to strike or to astonish, as if he had passed unknown through some secluded region of pri- vate life. But he had a judgment sure and sound ; a stea- diness of mind which never suffered any passion, or even any feeling to ruffle its calm ; a strength of understanding which worked rather than forced its way through all ob- stacles — removing or avoiding rather than overleaping i hem. If profound sagacity, unshaken steadiness of purpose, the entire subjugation of all the passions which carry havoc through ordinary minds, and oftentimes lay waste the fairest prospects of greatness — nay, the discipline of those feelings which are wont to lull or to seduce genius, and to mar and to cloud over the aspect of virtue herself — joined with, or rather leading to the most absolute self-de- nial, the most habitual and exclusive devotion to principle — if these things can constitute a great character, without either quickness of apprehension, or resources of infor- mation, or inventive powers, or any brilliant quality that might dazzle the vulgar — then surely Washington was the greatest man that ever lived in this world uninspired by Divine wisdom, and unsustained by supernatural virtue. His courage, whether in battle or in council, was as per- fect as might be expected from this pure and steady tem- per of soul. A perfect just man, with a thoroughly firm resolution never to be misled by others, any more than to be by others overawed ; never to be seduced or betrayed, or hurried away by his own weaknesses or self-delusions, any more than by other men's arts ; nor ever to be dis- heartened by the most complicated difficulties, any more than to be spoilt on the giddy heights of fortune — such was this great man — great, pre-eminently great, whether we resrard him sust amino: alone the whole weight of cam- paigns all but desperate, or gloriously terminating a just warfare by his resources and his courage — presiding over the j airing elements of his political council, alike deaf to the storms of all extremes — or directing the formation of anew government for a great people, the first time that so vast an experiment had ever been tried by man — or finally retiring from the supreme power to which his virtue had PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 81 raised him over the nation he had created, and whose des- tinies he had guided as long as his aid was required — re- tiring with the veneration of all parties, of all nations, of all mankind, in order that the rights of men might be con- served, and that his example never might be appealed to by vulgar tyrants. This is the consummate glory of Washington ; a trium- phant warrior where the most sanguine had a right to des- pair ; a successful ruler in all the difficulties of a course wholly untried ; but a warrior, whose sword only left its sheath when the first law of our nature commanded it to be drawn ; and a ruler who, having tasted of supreme pow- er, gently and unostentatiously desired that the cup might pass from him, nor would suffer more to wet his lips than the most solemn and sacred duty to his country and his God required ! To his latest breath did this great patriot maintain the noble character of a captain the patron of peace, and a statesman the friend of justice. Dying, he bequeathed to his heirs the sword which he had worn in the war for lib- erty, and charged them " Never to take it from the scab- bard but in self-defence, or in defence of their country and her freedom ;" and commanded them, that " when it should thus be drawn, they should never sheath it nor ever give it up, but prefer falling with it in their hands to the relin- quishment thereof" — words, the majesty and simple elo- quence of which are not surpassed in the oratory of Athens and Rome. It will be the duty of the historian and the sage in all ages to let no occasion pass of commemorating this illus- trious man ; and, until time shall be no more, will a test of the progress which our race has made in wisdom and in virtue be derived from the veneration paid to the immor- tal name of Washington ! LESSON XVII. Washington 1 's Monument. — anonymous. Few columns rose when Rome was free, To mark her patriots' last repose; c5 82 NEW RHETORICAL READER. When she outlived her liberty, The Emp'rors' mausoleums rose; And Trajan's shaft was reared at last, When freedom from the Tiber pass'd. "Better than Trajan," lowly lies, By broad Potomac's silent shore, Hallowing the green declivities With glory now and evermore. Art to his fame no aid hath lent — His country is his monument. LESSON XVIII. Corn Fields. — Mary Howitt. In the young merry time of spring, When clover 'gins to burst, When blue-bells nod within the wood, And sweet May whitens first ; When merle and mavis sing their fill, Green is the young corn on the hill. But when the merry spring is past, And summer groweth bold, And in the garden and the field A thousand flowers unfold, Before a green leaf yet is sere, The young corn shoots into the ear. But, then, as day and night succeed, And summer weareth on, And in the flowery garden beds The red rose groweth wan, And hollyhock and sunflower tall O'ertop the mossy garden-wall : — When on the breath of autumn breeze, From pastures dry and brown, Goes floating, like an idle thought, The fair, white thistle-down : O, then, what joy to walk at will, Upon that golden harvest-hill ! PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATiQN. 83 What joy in dreamy ease to lie Amid a field new-shorn : And see all round, on sun-lit slopes, The piled-up shocks of corn, And send the fancy wandering o'er All pleasant harvest-fields of yore ! I feel the day; I see the field ; The quivering of the leaves ; And good old Jacob and his house Binding the yellow sheaves ; And, at this very hour, I seem To be with Joseph in his dream. I see the fields of Bethlehem, And reapers many a one, Bending unto their sickles' stroke, And Boaz looking on ; And Ruth, the Moabitess fair, Among the gleaners, stooping there. Again I see a little child, His mother's sole delight; God's living Qfift of love unto The kind, good Shunamite; To mortal pangs I see him yield, And the lad bear him from the field. The sun-bathed quiet of the hills, The fields of Galilee, That, eighteen hundred years ago, Were full of corn, I see ; And the dear Saviour take his way 'Mid ripe ears on the Sabbath-day. O golden fields of bending corn, How beautiful they seem ! The reaper-folk, the piled-up sheaves, To me are like a dream : The sunshine and the veiy air Seem of old time, and take me there! c6 84 NEW RHETORICAL READER. LESSON XIX. Ahou Ben Adhem. — Leigh Hunt. Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase I) Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace And saw within the moonlight of his room, Making it rich and like a lily in bloom, An angel writing in a book of gold. Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, And, to the presence in the room, he said, "What writest thou?" The vision raised its head, And, with a look, made of all sweet accord, Answered, " The names of those who love the Lord!" "And is mine oriel" asked Abou — "Nay, not so," Replied the angel. Abou spake more low, But cheerily still; and said — "I pray thee, then, Write me as one that loves his fellow-men." The angel wrote and vanished. The next night It came again, with a great wakening light, And showed the names whom love of God had blest; And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest! LESSON XX. Eloquenoe and Logic. From an Eulogy on H. S. Legate, of South Carolina. — W. C. Preston. Our popular institutions demand a talent for speaking, and create a taste for it. Liberty and eloquence are united in all ages. Where the sovereign power is found in the public mind and the public heart, eloquence is the obvious approach to it. Power and honour, and all that can attract ardent and aspiring natures, attend it. The noblest instinct is to propagate the spirit, "to make our mind the mind of oth- er men," and wield the sceptre in the realms of passion. Smitten with the love, he devoted himself to the culture of eloquence, from his boyhood. He was by nature endowed PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 85 with an active imagination, warm sensibilities, a vigourous mind, and an easy flow of speech. To these he added, as we have seen, all that labour could achieve ; nor was he in- attentive to the minuter accomplishments of the voice and gesture, which contribute, in their degree, to successful speaking, and, by the authority of the most illustrious ex- amples, are shewn to be worthy of attention. In his gesture it was a great triumph of art and persever- ance to overcome defects, in which he eminently succeeded. To improve his voice, i 1 was his practice for many years to task it with long and varied declamation, trying it upon his ear with frequent repetition, to attain the exact intona- tion, for he properly conceived that there is " full many a tone" of thought and feeling beyond the reach of words 01 action, which are vibrated to the heart by the voice only. Besides these exercises, he subjected it to the more invigor- ating discipline of speaking in the open harbour, to a remote part of which he was occasionally rowed by his servant, where he declaimed upon the vacant air and sea, passages from the ancients or moderns, and sometimes whole speech- es from Cicero. The result was, that he brought his voice to great perfection, especially in its loftier tones, to which, when it was tasked to the utmost, may be applied the words of Quintillian, quicquid immensum injinitumque. The general characteristics of his style of speaking were similar to those of his writing ; developed, of course, with greater elevation and intenseness, as speaking admits of a wider range and bolder contrast, from the highest ascent in- to the regions of passion, to the most familiar and colloquial narrative. His method of constructing a speech was sys- tematic and exact — the argument always forcibly conceived, and skilfully concatenated, the occasional remarks acute and pregnant — and the learning and thought on the immedi- ate subject or collateral to it, most rich and abundant. The affluence of his knowledge and the quickness of his sensi- bility, gave him a tendency to amplitude and vehemence, which exposed his oratory to the charge of declamation, as his literary accomplishments had created a suspicion of his law knowledge — the same error arising from the same sources. In the art of speaking, as in all other arts, a just combina- tion of those qualities necessary to the end proposed, is the 86 NEW RHETORICAL READER. true rule of taste. Excess is always wrong. Too much ornament is an evil — too little, also. The one may impede the progress of the argument, or divert attention from it, by the introduction of extraneous matter — the other may ex- haust attention or weary by monotony. Elegance is in a just medium. The safer side to err on, is that of abundance — as profusion is better than poverty; as it is better to be detained by the beauties of a landscape, than by the weari- ness of the desert. It is commonly, but mistakenly, supposed, that the enfor- cing of truth is most successfully effected by a cold and for- mal logic; but the subtleties of dialectics and the forms of lo- gic, may play as fantastic tricks with truth, as the most potent magic of Fancy. The attempt to apply mathematical pre- cision to moral truth, is always a failure, and generally a dangerous one. If man, and especially masses of men, were purely intellectual, then cold reason would alone be influen- tial to convince — but our nature is most complex, and many of the great truths which it most concerns us to know, are taught us by our instincts, our sentiments, our impulses and our passions. Even in regard to the highest and holiest of all truth, to know which concerns us here and hereafter, we are not per- mitted to aj:>proach its investigation in the confidence of proud and erring reason, but are taught to become as little children, before we are worthy to receive it. It is to this complex nature that the speaker addresses himself, and the degree of power with which all the elements are evoked, is the criterion of the orator. His business, to be sure, is to convince, but more to persuade ; and most of all, to inspire with noble and generous passions. It is the cant of criticism, in all ages, to make a distinction between logic and eloquence, and to stigmatize the latter as declamation. Logic ascertains the weight of an argument, Eloquence gives it momentum. The difference is that be- tween the vis inerticB of amass of metal, and the same ball hurled from the cannon's mouth. Eloquence is an argu- ment alive and in motion — the statue of Pygmalion, inspired with vitality. PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 87 LESSON XXI. A Visit to Holy rood Palace. — Rev. George Peck, D. D. Our first visit this morning was to Holyrood Palace. This palace was commenced by James V., and in its present form was completed by Charles II. It is a quadrangle, inclosing a court ninety-four feet square, and its build- ings are all four stories besides the attic, with the excep- tion of the western side, which is only two stories. We were conducted through the various apartments of the pal- ace by an elderly lady, who seemed both obliging and intel- ligent. We cannot follow our notes into detailed descrip- tions without extending this paper further than would be advisable. All we shall attempt is merely to notice a few of the remarkable things which we here observed. The great gallery of one hundred and fifty-six feet in length, by twenty-seven and a half in width, and twenty feet high, is hung with the paintings, by De Witt, of a hundred and eleven monarchs of Scotland. The earlier ones, however, are considered imaginary. Some of these were defaced by Cromwell's soldiers after the defeat of the royalists at Fal- kirk, 1745. The marks of swords or bayonets are still vis- ible on some of these old pictures. We were shown the rooms and beds occupied by the royal refugees from France, during the revolution. But by far the most interesting objects which we saw in the palace were the rooms of Mary, Queen of Scots, and the relics which they contain. In the queen's bed-room is shown some tapestry, in a tolerable state of preservation, which she wrought with her own hands when a child — several chairs covered with crimson velvet, and her bed. The bed and curtains were, doubtless, originally worthy of a queen, but they show the influence of time upon them ; and their present appearance indicates, that, remaining in their posi- tion without being used or touched, they will at no distant date fall to pieces and return to dust. The furniture of the bed is crimson damask, bordered with green silk tassels and fringes, which tradition assigns to the fair hands of the unfortunate queen. In this apartment is a small door, communicating with a flight of stairs, evidently designed 88 THE ELOCUTIONIST. as a secret passage between the queen's rooms and the abbey. Through this passage Darnley and his accomplices en- tered into the queen's rooms, and seized Rizzio, her secre- tary, while he was supping with the queen, in a small room adjoining the bed-room. From this room the miserable sec- retary was dragged through the bed-room into " the cham- ber of presence," where he was murdered — and where are still to be seen upon the floor, dark spots, said to be the stains of his blood. We will not pretend to determine the truth of the tradition, that these spots are the veritable stains occasioned by the blood of the queen's Italian favorite. This may perhaps be admitted without allowing anything miraculous or judicial in the fact. No one, we think, can tell why the stains made by the blood of the queen's para- mour should be left upon the floor for centuries, and actually be ineffaceable, any more than that the same should be the case with the blood of Darnley himself, who, however wicked, was as unrighteously murdered as was Rizzio. But here we let the matter rest — we saw the "large dark spots," and this is all we cared about them. The " closet," as it is called, where Mary and Rizzio were taking their supper together, when the conspirators entered, is a small room of, perhaps, fourteen by twelve feet, with a grate and fender, said to be the first articles of that kind ever used in Scotland ; and their rudeness almost identifies them as the relics of a barbarous age. We were shown the place of the high altar where Queen Mary was married. And here also is seen, through a grate, the royal vault, where a small parcel of bones is lying upon a shelf — all that is left of the royal personages who had been deposited there ; the place, it is said, having been rifled dur- ing the wars of Cromwell, for the purpose of converting the leaden coffins into balls. So all that remains of Scotch royalty, here in the royal vault, is a heap of small bones which a man can take up with one hand ! The palace is now undergoing repairs, by order of the queen, which furnished one of our party with an opportu- nity of bringing away a piece of the old palace that had been split from a window frame, which was subsequently divided among the company. PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 89 LESSON XXII. * The Complaining Spirit. — Rev. C. F. Deems. The folly of complaining is evident from its utter inutility. If complaints could rebuild the house consumed by fire ; if complaints could gather again the wealth once scattered ; if complaints could infuse rapidity into the sluggish blood, and retouch the pale and wasted cheek with the rich hue of health ; if complaints could reach the ear of death, and recall the loved lost ones, and give their lips the eloquence of love, and their eyes the glance of affection that once thrilled us — then might a man complain, and his neighbors might not call it foolish. But it injures one's character to indulge in complaints. Without making his condition better, it destroys that gentle- ness of spirit which is so soothing in affliction, and deprives a man of the fortitude with which the ills of life should be borne. It aggravates the wounds of the spirit. It exagge- rates the minor evils of existence. When grown into a habit it makes a man a perpetual self-tormentor, and a source of continual vexation to his family and friends. And this wretched habit, growing with a man's years, renders him not only unhappy in himself, and disagreeable to others, but it makes him a worse man by exciting his own evil passions, and an injurious man by irritating the passions of others. Its great sinfulness is seen further in the fact, that it has its rise in the exceeding selfishness of the heart. Every- thing must go as the man wishes or he is full of bitter com- plaints. The millions of the world's population must be overlooked, and the world's governor must set himself to study the comfort of the complainer. The seasons must be adapted to his convenience ; the tide in the affairs of men must be turned into the channel which bears him on to for- tune, no matter how many thousands are ruined by the change ; and the gates of life and death must be opened and shut at his pleasure ; or he complains of fortune — that is, of the providence of God. 90 NEW RHETORICAL READER. LESSON XXIII. To One Departed. — T. K. Hervey. I know thou art gone to the home of thy rest, Then why should my soul be so sad ! I know thou art gone where the weary are blest. And the mourner looks up and is glad; Where love has put off, in the land of its birth, The stains it had gathered in this, And Hope, the sweet singer that gladden'd the earth, Lies asleep on the bosom of Bliss. I know thou art gone where thy forehead is starr'd With the beauty that dwelt in thy soul — Where the light of thy loveliness cannot be marr'd, Nor thy heart be flung back from its goal ; I know thou hast sipp'd of the Lethe that flows Through a land where they do not forget — That sheds over memory only repose, And takes from it only regret. This eye must be dark that so long has been dirm \'d Ere again it may gaze upon thine; But my heart has revealings of thee and thy home In" many a token and sign : I never look up with a wish to the sky, But a light like thy beauty is there : And I hear a low murmur, like thine in reply, When I pour out my spirit in prayer. In th,y far away dwelling, wherever it be, I believe thou hast visions of mine ; And thy love that made all things as music to me I have not yet learned to resign : In the hush of the night, on the waste of the sea Or alone with the breeze on the hill, I have ever a presence that whisners of thee, And my spirit lies down and is still. And though, like a mourner that sits by % *op*1» I am wrapp'd in a mantle of care. PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 9l Yet the grief of my spirit — O, call it not gloom ! — Is not the black grief of despair : By sorrow reveal'd, as the stars are by night, Far off, a bright vision appears ; And Hope, like the rainbow, a creature of light, Is bom, like the rainbow, in tears. LESSON XXIV. A Christian viewing Death. — Dewey. I nAVE seen one die : she was beautiful ; and beautiful were the ministries of life that were given her to fulfil. Angelic loveliness enrobed her ; and a grace as if it were caught from heaven, breathed in every tone, hallowed ev- ery affection, shone in every action — invested as a halo her whole existence, and made it a light and blessing, a charm and a vision of gladness, to all around her : but she died ! Friendship, and love, and parental fondness, and infant weakness, stretched out their hand to save her ; but they could not save her : and she died ! What ! did all that loveliness die ! Is there no land of the blessed and the lovely ones, for such tolive in ! Forbid it reason, religion ! bereaved affection, and undying love ! forbid the thought ! I have seen one die — in the maturity of every power, in the earthly perfection of every faculty ; when many temp- tations had been overcome, and many hard lessons had been learned ; when many experiments had made virtue easy, and had given a facility to action, and a success to endea- vour ; . when wisdom had been learnt from many mistakes, and a skill had been laboriously acquired in the use of ma- ny powers ; and the being I looked upon had just compass- ed that most useful, most practical of all knowledge, how to live, and to act well and wisely ; yet I have seen such an one die ! Was all this treasure gained only to be lost % Were all these faculties trained, only to be thrown into utter disuse 1 Was this instrument — the intelligent soul, the noblest in the universe — was it so laboriously fashioned, and by the 92 NEW RHETORICAL READER. most varied and expensive apparatus, that, on the very mo- ment of being finished, it should be cast away forever ? No, the dead, as we call them, do not so die. They carry their thoughts to another and a nobler existence. They teach us, and especially by all the strange and seemingly untoward circumstances of their departure from this life, that they, and we, shall live forever. They open the future world, then, to our faith. Oh ! death ! — dark hour to hopeless unbelief ! hour to which, in that creed of despair, no hour shall succeed ! be- ing's last hour ! to whose appalling darkness, even the sha- dows of an avenging retribution, were brightness and re- lief — death ! what art thou to the Christian's assurance 1 Great hour ! answer to life's prayer — great hour that shall break asunder the bond of life's mystery : hour of release from life's burden — hour of reunion with the loved and lost — what mighty hopes hasten to their fulfilment in thee ! What longings, what aspirations — breathed in the still night-, beneath the silent stars — what dread emotions of cu- riosity — what deep meditations of joy — what hallowed im- possibilities shadowing forth realities to the soul, all verge to their consummation in thee ! Oh ! death ! the Christian's death ! What art thou, but a gate of life, a portal of heaven, the threshold of eternity ! LESSON XXV. In favour of acknowledging the Independence of Greece. — Henry Clay. The resolution proposes a provision of the means to de- fray the expense of deputing a commissioner or agent to Greece, whenever the President, who knows, or ought to know, the disposition of all the European powers, Turkish or Christian, shall deem it proper. The amendment goes to withhold any appropriation to that object, but to make a public declaration of our sympathy with the Greeks, arid of our good wishes for the success of their cause. And how HECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 93 has this simple, unpretending, unambitious — this harmless proposition — been treated in debate % It has been argued, as if it offered aid to the Greeks ; as if it proposed the recognition of the independence of their government ; as a measure of unjustifiable interference in the internal affairs of a foreign state, and, finally, as war. And those, who thus argue the question, whilst they abso- lutely surrender themselves to the illusions of their own fer- vid imaginations, and depict, in glowing terms, the mon- strous and alarming consequences, which are to spring out of a proposition so simple, impute to us, who are its humble advocates, Quixotism — Quixotism ! Whilst they are taking the most extravagant and bound- less range, and arguing anything and everything but the question before the Committee, they accuse us of enthusi- asm, of giving the reins to excited feeling, of being trans- ported by our imaginations. No, sir ; the resolution is no proposition for aid — nor for recognition, nor for interfer- ence, nor for war. Sir, it is not for Greece alone, that I desire to see this measure adopted. It will give to her but little support, and that purely of a moral kind. It is principally for Amer- ica, for the credit and character of our common country, for our own unsullied name, that I hope to see it pass. What appearance, Mr. Chairman, on the page of history, would a record like this exhibit : — " In the month of January, in the year of our Lord and Saviour, 1824, while all European Christendom beheld, with cold and unfeeling indifference, the unexampled wrongs and inexpressible misery of Christian Greece, a proposition was made in the Congress of the United States, almost the sole, the last, the greatest, depository of hu- man hope and human freedom — the representatives of a gallant nation, coiitaining a million of freemen ready to fly to arms — while the people of that nation were spontane- ously expressing its deep-toned feeling, and the whole continent, by one simultaneous emotion, was rising, and solemnly and anxiously supplicating and invoking high He*aven to succour Greece and to invigorate her arms, in her glorious cause ; while temples and senate houses were alike resounding with one burst of generous and holy sympathy ; — in that year of our Lord and Sa- 94? NEW RHETORICAL READER. viour — the Saviour of Greece and of us — a proposition was offered in the American Congress to send a messen- ger to Greece, to inquire into her state and condition, with a kind expression of our good wishes and our sympa- thies : — and it was rejected /" Go home, if you can — go home, if you dare — to your constituents, and tell them that you voted it down ; meet, if you can, the appalling countenances of those who sent you here, and tell them that you shrank from the declara- tion of your own sentiments ; — that you cannot tell how, but that some unknown dread, some indescribable appre- hension, some indefinable danger, drove you from your purpose ; — that the spectres of scimetars, and crowns, and crescents, gleamed before you, and alarmed you ; — and, that you suppressed all the noble feelings prompted by re- ligion, by liberty, by national independence, and by hu- manity. I cannot bring myself to believe, that such will be the feeling of a majority of the Committee. But, for myself, though every friend of the cause should desert it, and I be left to stand alone with the mover of this resolution, I would give to it the sanction of my unqualified approba- tion. LESSON XXVI. The Statue of the Bclviderc AjwVo. — Rev. H. H. Milman. Heard ye the arrow hurtle in the sky 1 Heard ye the dragon monster's deathful cry ? In settled majesty of calm disdain, Proud of his might, yet scornful of the slain, The heav'nly Archer stands* — no human birth, No perishable denizen of earth ; Youth blooms immortal in his beardless face, A god in strength, with more than godlike grace; All, all divine — no struggling muscle glows, — Through heaving vein no mantling life-blood flows, But, animate with deity alone, In deathless glory lives the breathing stone. *The Apollo is in the act of watching the arrow, with which he slew the serpent Python. PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 95 Bright kindling with a conqueror's stern delight, His keen eye tracks the arrow's fateful flight; Burns his indignant cheek with vengeful fire, And his lip quivers with insulting ire : Firm fix'dhis tread, yet light, as when on high He walks th' impalpable and pathless sky : The rich luxuriance of his hair, confined In graceful ringlets, wantons on the wind, That lifts in sport his mantle's drooping fold, Proud to display that form of faultless mould. Mighty Ephesian ! * with an eagle's flight Thy proud soul mounted through the fields of light, View'd the bright conclave of Heaven's blest abode, And the cold marble leapt to life a god : Contagious awe through breathless myriads ran, And nations bow'd before the work of man. For mild he seem'd, as in Elysian bowers, Wasting in careless ease the joyous hours; Haughty, as bards have sung, with princely sway Curbing the fierce, flame-breathing steeds of day; Beauteous as vision seen in dreamy sleep By holy maid on Delphi's haunted steep, 'Mid the dim twilight of the laurel grove, Too fair to worship, too divine to love. Yet, on that form, in wild, delirious trance, With more than rev'reuce gazed the Maid of France; Day after day the love-sick dreamer stood With him alone, nor thought it solitude ! To cherish grief, her last, her dearest care, Her one fond hope — to perish of despair! Oft as the shifting light her sight beguiled, Blushing she shrank, and thought the marble smileds Oft breathless list'ning heard, or seem'd to hear, A voice of music melt upon her ear. Slowly she waned, and cold and senseless grown, Closed her dim eyes, herself benumb'd to stone. Yet love in death a sickly strength supplied : Once more she gazed, then feebly smiled, and died.t * Agasias of Ephesus. t The foregoing fact is related in the work of M. Pinel on Insanity. ^O NEW RHETORICAL READER. LESSON XXVII. Tn Favour of iJie American Revolution. — Josiah Quincy. Be not deceived, my countrymen. Believe not these venal hirelings, when they would cajole you by their sub- tleties into submission, or frighten you by their vapourings into compliance. When they strive to flatter you by the terms " moderation and prudence," tell them that calm- ness and deliberation are to guide the judgment ; courage and intrepidity command the action. When they endeav- our to make us " perceive our inability to oppose our mother country," let us boldly answer: — In defence of our civil and religous rights, we dare oppose the world : wdth the God of armies on our side ! even the God who fought our fathers' battles ! we fear not the hour of trial, though the hosts of our enemies should cover the field like locusts. If this be enthusiasm, we will live and die en- thusiasts. Blandishments will not fascinate us, nor will threats of a " halter" intimidate. For, under God, we are determin- ed, that wheresoever, whensoever, or howsoever we shall be called to make our exit, we will die freemen. Well do we know that all the regalia of this world cannot dig- nify the death of a villain, nor diminish the ignominy with which a slave shall quit existence. Neither can it taint the unblemished honour of a son of freedom, though he should make his departure on the already prepared gibbet, or be dragged to the newly-erected scaffold for execution. With the plaudits of his country, and what is more, the plaudits of his conscience, he will go off the stage. The history of his life his children shall venerate. The virtues of their sire shall excite their emulation. Who has the front to ask, Wherefore do you complain % Who dares assert, that every thing worth living for is not lost, when a nation is enslaved % Are not pensioners, sti- pendiaries, and salary-men, unknown before, hourly mul- tiplying upon us, to riot in the spoils of miserable Amer- ica % Does not every eastern gale waft us some new in- sect, even of that devouring kind, which eat up every green thing % Is not the bread taken out of the children's PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 97 mouths and given unto the dogs ? Are not our estates giv- en to corrupt sycophants, without a design, or even a pre- tence, of soliciting our assent ; and our lives put into the hands of those whose tender mercies are cruelties 1 Has not an authority in a distant land, in the most public man ner, proclaimed the right of disposing of the ail of Amer- icans ] In short, what have we to lose ] What have we to fear ? Are not our distresses more than we can bear ] And to finish all, are not our cities, in a time of profound peace, filled with standing armies, to preclude from us that last solace of the wretched — to open their mouths in com- plaint, and send forth their cries in bitterness of heart 1 But is there no ray of hope 1 Is not Great Britain in- habited by the children of those, renowned barons, who waded through seas of crimson gore to establish their lib- erty'? and will they not allow us, their fellow men, to en- ioy that freedom which we claim from nature, which is confirmed by our constitution, and which they pretend so highly to value] Were a tyrant to conquer us, the chains of slavery, when opposition should become useless, might be supportable ; but to be shackled by Englishmen, — by our equals, — is not to be borne. By the sweat of our brow we earn the little we possess ; from nature we derive the common rights of man; and by charter we claim the liberties of Britons. Shall we, dare we, pusillanimbusly surrender our birthright 1 Is the ob- ligation to our fathers discharged ] Is the debt we owe posterity paid ] Answer me, thou coward, who hidest thyself in the hour of trial ! If there is no reward in this life, no prize of glory in the next, capable of animating thy dastard soul, think and tremble, thou miscreant ! at the whips and stripes thy master shall lash thee with on earth, — and the flames and scorpions thy second master shall torment thee with hereafter ! Oh, my countrymen ! what will our children say, when they read the history of these times, should they find that we tamely gave away, without one noble struggle, the most invaluable of earthly blessings ! As they drag the galling chain, will they not execrate us % If we have any respect for things sacred, any regard to the dearest trea- sure on earth ; if we have one tender sentiment for posteri- 98 NEW RHETORICAL READER. ty ; if we would not be despised by the whole -world ;— - let us, in the most open, solemn manner, and with deter- mined fortitude, swear — We will die, if we cannot live freemen. While we have equity, justice, and God on our side, tyranny, spiritual or temporal, shall never ride triumph- ant in a land inhabited by Englishmen. LESSON XXVIII. Dignity of Human Nature. — Dewey. Your neighbour is above you in the world's esteem, per- haps — above you, it may be, in faGt : but what are you ? You are a man ; you are a rational and religious being • you are an immortal creature. Yes, a glad and glorious existence is yours ; your eye is opened to the lovely and majestic vision of nature ; the paths of knowledge are around you, and they stretch onward to eternity : and most of all, the glory of the infinite God, the all-perfect, all- wise, and all-beautiful, is unfolded to you. What now, compared with this, is a little worldly renown 1 The trea- sures of infinity and of eternity are heaped upon thy labour- ing thought ; can that thought be deeply occupied with questions of mortal prudence ] It is as if a man were en- riched by some generous benefactor, almost beyond mea- sure, and should find nothing else to do, but vex himself and complain, because another man was made a few thou- sands richer. Where, unreasonable complainer ! dost thou stand, and what is around thee ] The world spreads before thee its sublime mysteries, where the thoughts of sages lose them- selves in wonder ; the ocean lifts up its eternal anthems to thine ear ; the golden sun lights thy path ; the wide hea- vens stretch themselves above thee, and worlds rise upon worlds, and systems beyond systems, to infinity; and dost thou stand in the centre of all this, to complain of thy lot and place 1 Pupil of that infinite teaching ! minister at Nature's gre at altar! child of heaven's favour! ennobled being ! redeemed creature ! must thou pine in sullen and PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 99 envious melancholy, amidst the plenitude of the whole creation 1 " But thy neighbor is above thee," thou sayest. What then % What is that to thee 1 What, though the shout of millions rose around him ] What is that, to the million- voiced nature that God has given thee ? That shout dies away into the vacant air ; it is not his : but thy nature — thy favoured, sacred and glorious nature— is thine. It is the reality — to which praise is but a fleeting breath. Thou canst meditate the things, which applause but celebrates. In that thou art a man, thou art infinitely exalted above what any man can be, in that he is praised. I would rath- er be the humblest man in the world, than barely be thought greater than the greatest. The beggar is greater, as a man, than is the man, merely as a king. Not one of the crowds that listened to the eloquence of Demosthenes and Cicero— not one who has bent with admiration over the Images of Homer and Shakspeare — not one who followed in the train of Caesar or of Napoleon, would part with the humblest power of thought, for all the fame that is echoing over the world and through the ages. LESSON XXIX. An Exhortation to the Study of Eloquence. — Cicero. I cannot conceive any thing more excellent, than to be able, by language, to captivate the affections, to charm the understanding, and to impel or restrain the will of whole assemblies, at pleasure. Among every free people, espe- cially in peaceful, settled governments, this single art has always eminently flourished, and always exercised the greatest sway. For what can be more surprising, than that, amidst an infinite multitude, one man should appear, who shall be the only, or almost the only man capable of doing what Nature has put in every man's power ] Or, can any thing impart such exquisite pleasure to the ear, and to the intellect, as a speech, in which the wisdom and dignity of the sentiments, are heightened by the utmost force and beauty of expression ! 100 NEW RHETORICAL READER. Is there any thing so commanding, so grand, as that the eloquence of one man should direct the inclinations of the people, the consciences of judges, and the majesty of senates % Nay, farther, can aught be esteemed so great, so generous, so public-spirited, as to assist the suppliant, to rear the prostrate, to communicate happiness, to avert danger, and to save a fellow-citizen from exile 1 Can any thing be so necessary, as to keep those arms always in readiness, with which you may defend yourself, attack the profligate, and redress your own, or your country's wrongs ? But, let us consider this accomplishment as detached from public business, and from its wonderful efficacy in popular assemblies, at the bar, and in the senate ; can any thing be more agreeable, or more endearing in private life, than elegant language 1 For the great characteristic of our nature, and what eminently distinguishes us from brutes, is the faculty of social conversation, the power of expressing oar thoughts and sentiments by words. To excel mankind, therefore, in the exercise of that very tal- ent, which gives them the preference to the brute creation, is what every body must not only admire, but look upon as the just object of the most indefatigable pursuit. And now, to mention the chief point of all, what other power could have been of sufficient efficacy to bring to- gether the vagrant individuals of the human race ; to tame their savage manners ; to reconcile them to social life ; and, after cities were founded, to mark out laws, forms, and constitutions, for their government 1 — Let me, in a few words, sum up this almost boundless subject. I lay it down as a maxim, that upon the wisdom and abilities of an accomplished orator, not only his own dignity, but the welfare of vast numbers of individuals, and even of the whole state, must greatly depend. Therefore, young gen- tlemen, go on : ply the study in which you are engaged, for your own honour, the advantage of your friends, and the service of your country. PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION, 101 LESSON XXX. The Muse's Hopes for America. — Bishop Berkeley. The Muse, disgusted at an age and clime Ban-en of every glorious theme, In distant lands now waits a better time, Producing subjects worthy fame. In happy climes, where from the genial sua And virgin earth such scenes ensue, The force of art by nature seems outdone, And fancied beauties by the true. In happy climes, the seat of innocence, Where nature guides and virtue rules ; Where men shall not impose for truth and sense, The pedantry of courts and schools : There shall be sung another golden age, The rise of empires, and of arts The good and great, inspiring epic rage, The wisest heads and noblest hearts : — Not such as Europe breeds in her decay, — Such as she bred when fresh and young, When heavenly flame did animate her clay, By future poets shall be sung. Westward the course of empire takes its way ; The four first acts already past, A fifth shall close the drama with the day — Time's noblest offspring is the last. LESSON XXXI. Cleopatra 'Embarking on the Cydnus. — T. K. Hervey. Flutes in the sunny air, And harps in the porphyry halls, And a low, deep hum, like a people's prayer, With its heart-breathed swells and falls ! 102 NEW RHETORICAL READER. And an echo like the city's call, Flung back to the sounding shores ! And the river's ripple, heard through all, As it plays with the silver oars ! The sky is a gleam of gold ! And the amber breezes float Like thoughts to be dream'd of, but never told, Around the dancing boat ! She has stepped on the burning sand ! And the thousand tongues are mute ! And the Syrian strikes, with a trembling hand, The strings of his golden lute ! And the Ethiop's heart throbs loud and high, Beneath his white symar, And the Lybian kneels as he meets her eye, Like the flash of an eastern star ! The gales may not be heard, Yet the silken streamers quiver, And the vessel shoots, like a bright-plumed bird, Away — down the golden river. Away by the lofty mount ! And away by the lonely shore ! And away by the gushing of many a fount Where fountains gush no more ! Oh ! for some warning vision there, Some voice that should have spoken Of climes to be laid waste and bare, And glad, young spirits broken ! Of waters dried away, And of hope and beauty blasted ! That scenes so fair and hearts so gay, Should be so early wasted ! LESSON XXXII. The Lumberer's Story — A Forest on Fire. — J. J. Audubon. " We were sound asleep one night, in a cabin about a hundred miles from this, when about two hours before PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 103 day, the snorting of horses and lowing of the cattle which I had ranging in the woods, suddenly awakened us. I took yon riile and went to the door to see what beast had caus- ed the hubbub, when I was struck by the glare of light re- flected on all the trees before me, as far as I could see through the woods. My horses were leaping about, snort- ing loudly, and the cattle ran among them with their tails raised straight over their backs. On going to the back of the house I plainly heard the crackling made by the burn- ing brushwood, and saw the flames coming toward us in a far extended line. I ran to the house, told my wife to dress herself and the child as quickly as possible, and take the little money we had, while I managed to catch and sad- dle two of the best horses. All this was done in a very short time, for I guessed that every moment was precious to us. " We then mounted, and made off from the fire. My wife, who is an excellent rider, stuck close to me ; my daughter, who was then a small child, I took in one arm. When making off, as I said, I looked back and saw that the frightful blaze was close upon us, and had already laid hold of the house, By good luck there was a horn attach- ed to my hunting clothes, and I blew it, to bring after us, if possible, the remainder of my live stock, as well as the dogs. The cattle followed for a while ; but, before an hour had elapsed, they all ran as if mad through the woods, and that, sir, was the last of them. My dogs, too, although at all other times extremely tractable, ran after the deer that in bodies sprang before us, as if fully aware of the death that was so rapidly approaching. " We heard blasts from the horns of our neighbours, as we proceeded, and knew that they were in the same predi- cament. Intent on striving to the utmost to preserve our lives, I thought of a large lake, some miles off, which might possibly check the flames ; and, urging my wife to whip up her horse, we set off at full speed, making the best way we could over the fallen trees and the brush heaps, which lay like so many articles placed on purpose to keep up the terrific fires that advanced with a broad front upon us. " By this time we could feel the heat ; and we were afraid that our horses would drop every instant. A singu- lar kind of breeze was passing over our heads, and the 104 NEW RHETORICAL READER. glare of the atmosphere shone over the daylight. I was sensible of a slight faintness, and my wife looked pale. The heat had produced such a flush in the child's face, that, when she turned toward either of us, our grief and perplex- ity were greatly increased. Ten miles, you know, are soon gone over on swift horses ; but, notwithstanding this when we reached the borders of the lake, covered with sweat and quite exhausted, our hearts failed us. The heat of the smoke was insufferable, and sheets of blazing fire flew over us in a manner beyond belief. We reached the shore, however, coasted the lake for a while, and got round to the lee side. There we gave up our horses, which we never saw again. Down among the rushes we plungedby the edge of the water, and laid ourselves flat, to wait the chance of escaping from being burned or devoured. The water refreshed us, and we enjoyed the coolness. " On went the fire, rushing and crashing through the woods. Such a sight may we never see ! The heavens themselves, I thought, were frightened ; for all above us was a red glare, mixed with clouds and smoke, rolling and sweeping away. Our bodies were cool enough, but our heads were scorching, and the child, who now seemed to understand the matter, cried so as nearly to break our hearts. '"The day passed on, and we became hungry. Many wild beasts came plunging into the water beside us, and others swam across to our side and stood still. Although faint and weary, I managed to shoot a porcupine, and we all tasted its flesh. The night passed I cannot tell you how. Smouldering fires covered the ground, and the trees stood like pillars of fire, or fell across each other. The stifling and sickening smoke still rushed over us, and the burnt cinders and ashes fell thick about us. How we got through that night I really cannot tell, for about some of it I remember nothing." Here the lumberer paused and took breath. The recital of his adventure seemed to have exhausted him. His wife proposed that we should have a bowl of milk, and the daughter having handed it to us, we each took a draught. " Now," said he, " I will proceed. Toward morning, although the heat did not abate, the smoke became less, and blasts of fresh air sometimes made their way to us. PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 105 When morning came, all was calm, but a dismal smoke still filled the air, and the smell seemed worse than ever. We were now cool enough, and shivered as if in an ague fit ; so we removed from the water, and went up to a burn- ing log, where we warmed ourselves. What was to be- come of us I did not know. My wife hugged the child to her breast, and wept bitterly ; but God had preserved us through the worst of the danger, and the flames had gone past, so I thought it would be both ungrateful to Him, and unmanly, to-despair now. Hunger once more pressed up- on us, but this was soon remedied. Several deer were still standing in the water, up to the head, and I shot one of them. Some of its flesh was soon roasted ; and, after eating it, we felt wonderfully strengthened. " By this time the blaze of the fire was beyond our sight, although the ground was still burning in many places, and it was dangerous to go among the burnt trees. After rest- ing awhile, and trimming ourselves, we prepared to com- mence our march. Taking up the child, I led the way over the hot ground and rocks ; and, after two weary days and nights, during which we shifted in the best manner we could, we at last reached the hard woods, which had been free from the fire. Soon after, we came to a house, where we were kindly treated for a while. Since then, sir, I have worked hard and constantly as a lumberer ; but, thanks to God, we are safe, sound, and happy!" LESSON XXXIII. The Heavenly Bodies. — Chalmers. It is truly a most Christian exercise to extract a senti- ment of piety from the works and the appearances of na- ture. It has the authority of the Sacred Writers upon its side, and even our Saviour himself gives it the weight and the solemnity of his example. " Behold the lilies of the field : they toil not, neither do they spin ; yet your heaven- ly father careth for them." He expatiates on the beauty of a single flower, and draws from it the delightful argu- ment of confidence in God. He gives us to see that taste 106 NEW RHETORICAL READER. may be combined with piety, and that the same heart rnaj be occupied with all that is serious in the contemplation oi religion, and be at the same time alive to the charms and the loveliness of nature. The Psalmist takes a still loftier flight. He leaves the world, and lifts his imagination to that mighty expanse which spreads above it and around it. He wings his way through space, and wanders in thought over its immeasur- able regions. Instead of a dark and unpeopled solitude, he sees it crowned with splendour, and filled with the energy of the Divine presence. Creation rises in its immensity be- fore him, and the world, with all which it inherits, shrinks into littleness at a contemplation so vast and so overpower- ing. He wonders that he is not overlooked amid the gran- deur and the variety which are on every side of him ; and passing upward from the majesty of nature to the majesty of nature's Architect, he exclaims, "What is man, that thou art mindful of him ; or the son of man, that thou shouldst deitm to visit him V o It is not for us to say, whether inspiration revealed to the Psalmist the wonders of the modern astronomy. But even though the mind be a perfect stranger to the science of these enlightened times, the heavens present a great and elevating spectacle, an immense concave reposing upon the circular boundary of the world, and the innumerable lights which are suspended from on high, moving with solemn re- gularity along its surface. It seems to have been at night that the piety of the Psalmist was awakened by this con- templation, when the moon and the stars were visible, and not when the sun had risen in his strength, and thrown a splendour around him, which bore down and eclipsed all the lesser glories of the firmament. And there is much in the scenery of a nocturnal sky, to lift the soul to pious contemplation. That moon, and these stars, what are they 1 They are detached from the world, and they lift you above it. You feel withdrawn from the earth, and rise in lofty abstraction above this little theatre of human passions and human anxieties. The mind aban- dons itself to reverie, and is transferred, in the ecstacy of its thoughts, to distant and unexplored regions. It see3 nature in the simplicity of her great elements, and it sees the God of nature invested with the high attributes of wis- dom and majesty. PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 107 But what can these lights be I The curiosity of the hu- man mind is insatiable, and the mechanism of these won- derful heavens, has, in all ages, been its subject and its em- ployment. It has been reserved for these latter times, to resolve this great and interesting question. The sublimest powers of philosophy have been called to the exercise, and astronomy may now be looked upon as the most certain and best established of the sciences. We all know that every visible object appears less in magnitude as it recedes from the eye. The lofty vessel, as it retires from the coast, shrinks into littleness, and at last appears in the form of a small speck on the verge of the ho- rizon. The eagle, with its expanded wings, is a noble ob- ject ; but when it takes its flight into the upper regions of the air, it becomes less to the eye, and is seen like a dark spot upon the vault of heaven. The same is true of all magnitude. The heavenly bodies appear small to the eye of an inhabitant of this earth, only from the immensity of their distance. When we talk of hundreds of millions of miles, it is not to be listened to as incredible. For remem- ber, that we are talking of those bodies which are scattered over the immensity of space, and that space knows no ter- mination. The conception is great and difficult, but the truth is un- questionable. By a process of measurement which it is un- necessary at present to explain, we have ascertained, first the distance, and then the magnitude, of some of those bo- dies which roll in the firmament : that the sun which pre- sents itself to the eye under so diminutive a form, is really a globe, exceeding, by many thousands of times, the di- mensions of the earth which we inhabit ; that the moon itself has the magnitude of a world ; and that even a few of those stars, which appear like so many lucid points to the unassisted eye of the observer, expand into large circles up- on the application of the telescope, and are some of them much larger than the ball which we tread upon, and to which we proudly apply the denomination of the universe. Now, what is the fair and obvious presumption 1 The world in which we live, is a round ball of a determined magnitude, and occupies its own place in the firmament. But when we explore the unlimited tracts of that space, which is every where around us, we meet with other balls 108 NEW RHETORICAL READER. of equal or superior magnitude, and from which our earth would be either invisible, or appear as small as any of those twinkling stars which are seen on the canopy of heaven. LESSON XXXIV. The Same Subject continued. — Chalmers. "Why then suppose that this little spot, little at least in the immensity which surrounds it, should be the exclusive abode of life and of intelligence ? What reason to think that those mightier globes which roll in other parts of cre- ation, and which we have discovered to be worlds in mag- nitude, are not also worlds in use and in dignity ] Why should we think that the great Architect of Nature, su- preme in wisdom as he is in power, would call these stately mansions into existence, and leave them unoccupied 1 When we cast our eye over the broad sea, and look at the country on the other side, we see nothing but the blue land stretching obscurely over the distant horizon. We are too far away to perceive the richness of its scenery, or to hear the sound of its population. Why not extend this principle to the still more distant parts of the universe ] What though, from this remote point of observation, we can see nothing but the naked roundness of yon planetary orbs 1 are we therefore to say, that they are so many vast and unpeopled solitudes ; that desolation reigns in every part of the universe but ours ; that the whole energy of the divine attributes is ex- pended on one insignificant corner of these mighty works ; and that to this earth alone belong the bloom of vegeta- tion, or the blessedness of life, or the dignity of rational and immortal existence % But this is not all. We have something more than the mere magnitude of the planets, to allege in favour of the idea that they are inhabited. We know that this earth turns round upon itself; and we observe that all those ce- lestial bodies which are accessible to such an observation, have the same movement. We know that the earth per- forms a yearly revolution round the sun ; and we can dc- PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 109 tect, in all the planets which compose our system, a revo- lution of the same kind, and under the same circumstan- ces. They have the same succession of day and night. They have the same agreeable vicissitude of the seasons. To them light and darkness succeed each other ; and the gaiety of summer is followed by the dreariness of winter. To each of them the heavens present as varied and mag- nificent a spectacle : and this earth, the encompassing of which would require the labour of years from one of its puny inhabitants, is but one of the lesser lights which sparkle in their firmament. To them, as well as to us, has God divided the light from the darkness, and he has called the light day, and the darkness he has called night. He has said, let there be lights in the firmament of their heaven, to divide the day from the night ; and let them be for signs, and for seasons, and for days, and for years ; and let them be for lights in the firmament of heaven, to give light upon their earth ; and it was so. And God has also made to them great lights. To all of them he has given the sun to rule the day ; and to many of them has he given moons to rule the night. To them he has made the stars also. And God has set them in the firmament of heaven, to give light upon their earth ; and to rule over the day, and over the night, and to divide the light from the darkness ; and God has seen that it was Qrpod. In all these greater arrangements of divine wisdom, we can see that God has done the same things for the accom- modation of the planets that he has done for the earth which we inhabit. And shall we say, that the resemblance stops here, because we are not in a situation to observe it 1 Shall we say, that this scene of magnificence has been called into being merely for the amusement of a few as- tronomers 1 Shall we measure the counsels of heaven by die narrow impotence of the human faculties'? or con- ceive, that silence and solitude reign throughout the mighty empire of nature, that the greater part of creation is an empty parade, and that not a worshipper of the Divinity •.s to be found through the wide extent of yon vast and im- measurable regions ] HO NEW RHETORICAL READER. LESSON XXXV. The true Source of Reform. — Chapin. The great element of Reform is not born of human wis dom ; it does not draw its life from human organizations I find it only in Christianity. " Thy kingdom come V J There is a sublime and pregnant burden in this Prayer. It is the aspiration of every soul that goes forth in the spirit of Reform. For what is the significance of this Prayer ] It is a petition that all holy influences would penetrate and subdue and dwell in the heart of man, until he shall think, and speak, and do good, from the very necessity of his be- ing. So would the institutions of error and wrong crumble and pass away. So would sin die out from the earth. And the human soul, living in harmony with the Divine Will, this earth would become like Heaven. It is too late for the Reformers to sneer at Christianity — it is foolishness for them to reject it. In it are enshrin- ed our faith inhuman progress — our confidence in Reform. It is indissolubly connected with all that is hopeful, spiritu- al, capable in man. That men have misunderstood it and perverted it, is true. But it is also true that the noblest ef- forts for human melioration have come out of it — have been based upon it. Is it not so % Come, ye remembered ones, who sleep the sleep of the Just, who took your conduct from the line of Christian Philosophy — come from your tombs, and answer ! Come Howard, from the gloom of the prison and the taint of the lazar-house, and show us what Philanthropy can do when imbued with the spirit of Jesus. Come Eli- ot, from the thick forest where the red-man listens to the Word of Life — come Penn, from thy sweet counsel and weaponless victory ; and show us what Christian Zeal and Christian Love can accomplish with the rudest barbarians or the fiercest hearts. Come Raikes, from thy labours with the ignorant and the poor, and show us with what an eye this Faith regards the lowest and least of our race, and how diligently it labours, not for the body, not for the rank, but for the plastic soul that is to course the ages of immor- tality. PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. Ill And ye, who are a great number — ye nameless ones — who have done good in your narrower spheres, content to forego renown on earth, and seeking your Reward in the Record on High, come and tell us how kindly a spirit, how lofty a purpose, or how strong a courage, the Religion ye professed can breathe into the poor, the humble, and the weak. Go forth, then, Spirit of Christianity, to thy great work of Reform ! The Past bears witness to thee in the blood of thy martyrs, and the ashes of thy saints and heroes. — The Present is hopeful because of thee. The Future shall acknowledge thy omnipotence. WESSON XXXVI. A Psalm of Life. — H. W. Longfellow, Tell mc not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream ; For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real — life is earnest, But the grave is not its goal ; " Dust thou art — to dust returnest," Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way ; But to act that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day. Art is long, and time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In this world's broad field of battle- In the bivouac of life, Be not like dumb, driven cattle ; Be a hero in the strife ! D2 112 NEW RHETORICAL READER. Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant ; Let the dead Past bury its dead; Act — act in the living Present ! Heart within, and God o'er head ! Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime ; And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sand of time ! — Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o'er Life's solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again. Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate ; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labour and to wait. LESSON XXXVII. Employment of Winter Eve?iings by the "Young. — Prentice. During the winter season, most of the young of our land, particularly those of the country, have the evening at their own disposal, to devote to amusement, recreation, or what- ever pursuit they choose. We speak now of those who are employed in some active or necessary pursuit during the day, and to whom evening brings their only leisure ; for the youth who has not some such employment, or who does not seek it, is not the one to be benefited by any thing that may be said on the improvement of his leisure hours. We therefore address our remarks to the indus- trious youth of our country, who are trained to useful and laudable purposes. Such young men will hail the long evenings of this season with delight, and bless the glad hours which they may devote uninterruptedly to the culti- vation of their minds. Few young men are at all aware of the amount of valu- able knowledge of which they might become the masters PIECES FOR READING AND DECLARATION. , 113 and possessors, by a careful and judicious improvement of the leisure afforded by the evenings of a single winter ; and, when we add to this, the acquisition of ten or fifteen winters, the aggregate amount of what a youth of com- mon capacity might attain would make him a learned man in any section of the Union. Many who rendered them- selves eminent and useful in their day — the Franklins, the Shermans, the Rittenhouses, and the Bowditches of our own country — the Watts, the Fergusons, and the Simp- sons of England — names conspicuous in the list of bene- factors of their species — made themselves what they were by a diligeut use of less leisure time than falls to the lot of four-fifths of the young men of the United States. The greatest men of every age have in general been self- taught and self-made. They have risen from obscurity, and struggled with adverse circumstances. A diligent use of their time, a habit of studying and labouring while others slept or played, — a steady perseverance, and an indomita- ble energy, grave them their attainments and their eminence. Cicero, by far the most learned man of all antiquity, as well as the greatest orator of Rome, lets us at once into the secret of all his vast and varied learning,- when he tells us that the time which others gave to feasts, and dice, and sports, he devoted to patient study. It matters not what may be a young man's intended pur- suit in life ; he cannot choose any, for which reading and study during his leisure hours, will not the better qualify him. If he is to be a farmer, let him read books and trea- tises on agriculture ; if he is to be a mechanic, let him study the mathematics and the works on mechanism and architec- ture ; if he is to be a merchant, let him become famil- iar with the principles of political economy, the statis- tics of trade, and the history of commerce; and, finally, if he is to be an American citizen, one of the millions to whom is to be intrusted the rich heritage of civil and reli- gious liberty bequeathed to us by our fathers, let him study well the history, the constitution, and the institutions of the United States, and let him contemplate frequently the lives and character of those who wrought out and framed our liberties. Nor is the knowledge to be thus acquired the only in- ducement for a young man to devote the hours of his lei- d3 114 NEW RHETORICAL READER. sure to reading and study. The pleasure to be found in such pursuits is as much superior to that transient and gid- dy excitement attendant merely on the gayer amusements, as it is purer, more elegant, and more refined. The young man, too, who accustoms his mind to find pleasure and gratification in reading and study, can never want for soci- ety ; for he creates around him a society of which he can never be deprived — a society which will never weary of his presence, which has nothing cold, or artificial, or false — a society composed of the very elect of the earth — the mas- ter minds of all ages and all countries. With them he can retire into his library, to spend a leisure hour, whenever opportunity occurs, certain of finding them ever ready to delight and instruct. LESSON XXXVIII. Boohs. — Robert Southey. Mr days among the dead are past ; Around me I behold, Where'er these casual eyes are cast, The mighty minds of old : My never failing friends are they, With whom I converse, day by day. With them I take delight in weal, And seek relief in woe ; And, when I understand and feel How much to them I owe, My cheeks have often been bedew'd With tears of thoughtful gratitude. My thoughts are with the dead ; — with them, I live in long past years ; Their virtues love, their faults condemn, Partake their hopes and fears; And, from their lessons, seek and find Instruction with an humble mind. PIECES FOR READING AXU DECLAMATION. 115 My hopes arc with the dead ; anon My place with them will be; * And with them T shall travel on Through all futurity ; Yet leaving here a name, I trust, Which will not perish in the dust. LESSON XXXIX. Helucllyn. — Walter Scott. In the spring of 1805, a young gentleman of talents, and of amosx iable disposition, perished by losing his way on the mountain Helvei- lyn. His remains were not discovered till three months afterwards, when they were found guarded by a faithful dog, his constant attend- ant during frequent solitary rambles through the wilds of Cumberland and Westmoreland. I climbed the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn, Lakes and mountains beneath me gleam'd misty and wide ; All was still, save by fits, when the eagle was yelling, And, starting around me, the echoes replied. On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was bending, And Catchedicam its left verg^e was defending:, One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending, When I mark'd the sad spot where the wand'rer had died. Dark green was that spot 'mid thebrown mountain heather, Where the Pilgrim of Nature lay stretch'd in decay, Like the corpse of an outcast, abandon'd to weather, Till the mountain winds wasted the tenantless clay. Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended, For faithful in death, his mute favourite attended, The much-loved remains of her master defended, And chased the hill-fox and the raven away. How long did'st thou think that his silence was slumber % When the wind waved his garment, how oft did'st thou start 1 How many long days and long weeks did'st thou number, Ere faded before thee the friend of thy heart ? d4 116 NEW RHETORICAL READER. And oh ! was it meet, that, — no requiem read o'er him,— No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him, — And thou, little guardian, alone stretch'd before him, — Unhonour'd the Pilgrim from life should depart 1 When a Prince to the fate of the Peasant has yielded, The tapestry waves dark round the dim-lighted hall : With scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded, And pages stand mute by the canopied pall : Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are gleam- ing ; In the proudly arch'd chapel the banners are beaming ; 'Far down the long aisle sacred music is streaming, Lamenting a Chief of the People should fall. But meetcr for thee, gentle lover of nature, To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb, When wilder'd he drops from some cliff' huge in stature, And draws his last sob by the side of his dam. And more stately thy couch by this desert lake lying, Thy obsequies sung by the grey plover flying, With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying, In the arms of Helvellyn and Catchedicam. LESSON XL. Character of Pitt. — Grattan. The Secretary stood alone; modern degeneracy had not reached him. Original and unaccommodating, the features of his character had the hardihood of antiquity. His au- gust mind overawed majesty ; and one of his sovereigns thought royalty so impaired in his presence, that he con- spired to remove him, in order to be relieved from his su- periority. No state chicanery, no narrow system of vicious politics, sank him to the vulgar level of the great ; but overbearing, persuasive, and impracticable, his object was England, his ambition was fame. Without dividing, he de- stroyed party ; without corrupting, he made a venal age unanimous. PIECES bOK READING AND DECLAMATION. 117 France sank beneath him. With one hand he smote the house of Bourbon, and wielded with the other the demo- cracy of England. The sight of his mind was infinite ; and his schemes were to affect not England, and the present age only, but Europe and posterity. Wonderful were the means by which these schemes were accomplished ; always seasonable, always adequate, the suggestions of an under- standing animated by ardour and enlightened by prophecy. The ordinary feelings which render life amiable and in- dolent, were unknown to him. No domestic difficulty, no domestic weakness reached him, but, aloof from the sordid occurrences of life, and unsullied by its intercourse, he came occasionally into our system to counsel and to decide. A character so exalted, so strenuous, so various, and so au- thoritative, astonished a corrupt age ; and the Treasury trembled at the name of Pitt through all her classes of ve- nality. Corruption imagined, indeed, that she had found defects in this statesman, and talked much of the inconsis- tency of his glory, and much of the ruin of his victories ; but the history of his country and the calamities of the en- emy refuted her. Nor were his political abilities his only talents : his elo- quence was an era in the senate ; peculiar and spontane- ous, familiarly expressing gigantic sentiments and instinc- tive wisdom ; not like the torrent of Demosthenes, or the splendid conflagration of Tully, it resembled sometimes the thunder, and sometimes the music of the spheres. He did not, like Murray, conduct the understanding through the painful subtlety of argumentation, nor was he, like Townshend, forever on the rack of exertion ; but rather lightened upon the subject, and reached the point by flash- ings of the mind, which, like those of his eye, were felt, but could not be followed. Upon the whole, there was something in this man that could create, subvert, or reform ; an understanding, a spirit, and an eloquence, to summon mankind to society, or to break the bonds of slavery asunder, and to rule the wil- derness of free minds with unbounded authority — some- thing that could establish or overwhelm empires, and strike a blow in the world which should resound throughout the universe. d5 118 NEW RHETORICAL READER. LESSON XLI. Decision of Character. — Rev. D. Wise. It was anciently said of Fabricius, a noble Roman,, that a man might as easily turn the sun from its course, as to per- suade him to do a base or a dishonest action. This saying proves the reputation of Fabricius for impregnable integrity, and for unyielding decision. Our Milton's description of Abdiel is similar. He was Faithful found Among the faithless ; faithful he Among innumerable false, unmoved, Unshaken, unseduced, unterrified; His loyalty he kept, his love, his zeal. Nor number, nor example with him wrought, To swerve from truth, or change his constant mind, Though single." And such is the character which every young person should labor to form for himself. He should be a Joshua in the midst of the irresolute and faltering, crying, " As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord." An Elijah, defending the honor of prostrate truth, in the very congrega- tion of Baal ; and exhorting them, "If thp Lord be God to serve him." A Daniel, holding on to his integrity in the face of death, crying aloud in the hearing of the wicked, " My God will send his angel, and will shut the lions' mouths, that they shall not hurt me." A Paul, professing godliness before philosophers on Mars Hill, or in the pres- ence of Nero at the court of Rome ; and always declaring by word and act, " I count all things loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord." The leading element in a decided Christian is firmness. Nothing moves him away from the post of duty. His whole being is brought into subjection to religious principles. Hav- ing " put his hand to the plough," nothing induces him to look back. He never falters or hesitates. His mind is made up to do right. Be it ever so costly to please God, he cheerfully pays the price, because he has settled it irrevoca- bly, that the approbation of God is worth all else combined. PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 119 LESSON XLII. Story of the Siege of Calais. — Brooke. Edward III. after the battle of Cressy, laid siege to Calais. He had fortified his camp in so impregnable a manner, that all the efforts of France proved ineffectual to raise the siege, or throw succours into the city. The citi- zens, under Count Vienne, their gallant governor, made an admirable defence. France had now put the sickle into her second harvest, since Edward, with his victorious ar- my, sat down before the town. The eyes of all Europe were intent on the issue. At length, famine did more for Edward than arms. Af- ter suffering unheard-of calamities, the French resolved to attempt the enemy's camp. They boldly sallied forth j the English joined battle ; and after a long and desperate engage- ment, Count Vienne was taken prisoner, and the citizens who survived the slaughter retired within their gates. The command devolving upon Eustace St. Pierre, a man of mean birth, but of exalted virtue, he offered to capitulate with Edward, provided he permitted them to depart with life and liberty. Edward, to avoid the imputation of cru- elty, consented to spare the bulk of the plebeians, provided, they delivered up to him six of their principal citizens with halters about their necks, as victims of due atonement for that spirit of rebellion with which they had inflamed the vulgar. When his messenger, Sir Walter Mauny, deliver- ed the terms, consternation and pale dismay were impress ed on every countenance. To a long and dead silence, deep sighs and groans sue ceeded, till Eustace St. Pierre, getting up to a little emi nence, thus addressed the assembly : — " My friends, we are brought to great straits this day. We must either yield to* the terms of our cruel and ensnaring conqueror, or give up our tender infants, our wives, and daughters, to the bloody and brutal lusts of the violating soldiers. Is there any ex- pedient left, whereby we may avoid the guilt and infamy ol delivering up those who have suffered every misery with you, on the one hand, or the desolation and horror of a sack- ed city, on the other ] There is, my friends ; there is one d6 120 NEW RHETORICAL READER. expedient left ! — a gracious, an excellent, a godlike expe- dient left ! Is there any here to whom virtue is dearer than life ] Let hirn offer himself an oblation for the safety of his people ! He shall not fail of a blessed approbation from that Power who offered up his only Son for the salvation of mankind." He spoke ; — but a universal silence ensued. Each man looked around for the example of that virtue and magna- nimity which all wished to approve in themselves, though they wanted the resolution. At length St. Pierre resum- ed : "I doubt not but there are many here as ready, nay, more zealous of this martyrdom, than I can be ; though the station to which I am raised by the captivity of Lord Vi- enne, imparts a right to be the first in giving my life for your sakes. I give it freely ; I give it cheerfully. Who comes next V* " Your son !" exclaimed a youth not yet come to maturi- ty. — " Ah ! my child!" cried St. Pierre ; " I am then twice sacrificed. — But no ; I have rather begotten thee a second time. Thy years are few, but full, my son. Thp victim of virtue has reached the utmost puipose and goal of mortali- ty ! Who next, my friends I This is the hour of heroes." " Your kinsman," cried John de Aire. — " Your kinsman," cried James Wissant. — " Your kinsman," cried Peter Wis- sant. — " Ah !" exclaimed Sir Walter Mauny, bursting into tears, " why was not I a citizen of Calais ?" The sixth victim was still wanting, but was quickly sup- plied by lot, from numbers who were now emulous of so en- nobling an example. The keys of the city were then de- livered to Sir Walter. He took the six prisoners into his custody ; then ordered the gates to be opened, and gave charge to his attendants to conduct the remaining citizens, with their families, through the camp of the English. Be- fore they departed, however, they desired permission to rake a last adieu of their deliverers. What a parting ! what a scene ! they crowded with iheii ■vires and children about St. Pierre and his fellow-prison- ers. They embraced ; they clung around ; they fell pros- 'Tate before them : they groaned ; they wept aloud ; and she joint clamour of their mourning passed the gates of the =nty, and was heard throughout the English camp. PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 121 LESSON XLIII. The same Story Continued. — Brooke. The English, by this time, were apprized of what pass- ed within Calais. They heard the voice of lamentation, and their souls were touched with compassion. Each oi the soldiers prepared a portion of his own victuals, to wel- come and entertain the half-famished inhabitants ; and they loaded them with as much as their present weakness was able to bear, in order to supply them with sustenance by the way. At length, St. Pierre and his fellow-victims appeared, un- der conduct of Sir Walter and a guard. All the tents oi the English were instantly emptied. The soldiers poured from all parts, and arranged themselves on each side, to be- hold, to contemplate, to admire, this little band of patriots, as they passed. They bowed to them on all sides ; they murmured their applause of that virtue which they could not but revere, even in enemies ; and they regarded those ropes, which they had voluntarily assumed about their necks, as ensigns of greater dignity than that of the British gar- ter. As soon as they had reached the presence, " Mauny,"says the monarch, " are these the principal inhabitants of Ca- lais 1" — " They are," says Mauny : " they are not only the principal men of Calais, they are the principal men of France, my Lord, if virtue has any share in the act of en- nobling." — "Were they delivered peaceably]" says Ed- ward : " was there no resistance, no commotion among the people ?" — " Not in the least, my Lord : the people would all have perished, rather than have delivered the least of these to your Majesty. They are self-delivered, self-devoted ; and come to offer up their inestimable heads as an ample equivalent for the ransom of thousands." Edward was secretly piqued at this reply of Sir Walter ; but he knew the privilege of a British subject, and suppress- ed his resentment. "Experience," says he, "has ever shown, that lenity only serves to invite people to new crimes. Severity, at times, is indispensably necessary to compel subjects to submission by punishment and example. 122 NEW RHETORICAL READER. • — G-o," he cried to an officer, "lead these men to execu- tion." At this instant, a sound of triumph was heard through- out the camp. The Queen had just arrived with a power- ful reinforcement of gallant troops. Sir Walter Mauny flew to receive her Majesty, and briefly informed her oi the particulars respecting the six victims. As soon as she had been welcomed by Edward and his court, she desired a private audience : — " My Lord," said she, " the question I am to enter upon, is not touching the lives of a few mechanics — it respects the honour of the En- glish nation ; it respects the glory of my Edward, my hus- band, my king. You think you have sentenced six of your enemies to death. No, my Lord, they have sentenced them- selves ; and their execution would be the execution of their own orders, not the orders of Edward. The stage on which they would suffer, would be to them a stage of hon- our; but a stage of shame to Edward — a reproach to his conquests — an indelible disgrace to his name. Let us ra- ther disappoint these haughty burghers, who wish to invest themselves with glory at our expense. We cannot wholly deprive them of the merit of a sacrifice so nobly intended ; but we may cut them short of their desires. In the place of that death by which their glory would be consummate, let us bury them under gifts ; let us put them to confusion with applauses. We shall thereby defeat them of that pop- ular opinion which never fails to attend those who suffer in the cause of virtue." " I am convinced : you have prevailed. Be it so," repli- ed Edward : " prevent the execution : have them instantly before us." They came : when the Queen, with an as- pect and accents diffusing sweetness, thus bespoke them : — "Natives of France, and inhabitants of Calais, ye have put us to a vast expense of blood and treasure, in the recov- ery of our just and natural inheritance ; but you have acted up to the best of an erroneous judgment, and we admire and honour in you that valour and virtue, by which we are so long kept out of our rightful possessions. You noble burghers ! you excellent citizens ! though you were ten« fold the enemies of our person and our throne, we can feel nothing, on our part, save respect and affection for you. You have been sufficiently tested. PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 123 " We loose your chains ; we snatch you from the scaffold ; and we thank you for that lesson of humiliation which you teach us, when you show us, that excellence is not of blood, title, or station ; that virtue gives a dignity superior to that of kings ; and that those whom the Almighty informs with sentiments like yours, are justly and eminently raised above all human distinctions. You are now free to depart to your kinsfolk, your countrymen — to all those whose lives and liberties you have so nobly defended — provided you refuse not the tokens of our esteem. Yet we would rather bind you to ourselves by every endearing obligation ; and, for this purpose, we offer to you your choice of the gifts and honours that Edward has to bestow. Rivals for fame, but always friends to virtue, we wish that England were entitled to call you her sons." " Ah, my country !" exclaimed Pierre; " it is now that I tremble for you. Edward only wins our cities; but Philippa conquers our hearts." LESSON XLIV. Elegy in a Country Churchyard. — Gray. The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herds wind slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his drony flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds:— Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower, The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such as, wand'ring near her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap. Each kj his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 124 NEW RHETORICAL READER. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed ! For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care : No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke : How jocund did they drive their team afield ! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke ! Let not ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, . And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike th' inevitable hour, — The paths of glory lead — but to the grave ! Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, If memory o'er their tombs no trophies raise, Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault, The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. Can storied urn, or animated bust, Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath 1 Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust % Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death 1 Perhaps, in this neglected spot, is laid, Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; — Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre ! But knowledge to their eyes her ample page, Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll ; Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul. Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark, unfathom'd caves of ocean bear ; J PIECES FOB READING AND DECLAMATION. 125 Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast, The little tyrant of his fields withstood — Some mute, inglorious Milton, here may rest — Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. Th' applause of list ning senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes, Their lot forbade : nor circumscribed alone Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined— Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind ; — The struggling pang-s of conscious truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray ; Along the cool sequester' d vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. Yet ev'n these bones from insult to protect, Some frail memorial, still erected nigh, With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. Their name, their years, spell'd by th' unletter'd Muse* The place of fame and elegy supply ; And many a holy text around she strews, To teach the rustic moralist to die. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing, anxious being, e'er resign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind ? On some fond breast the parting soul relies, Some pious drops the closing eye requires ; Ev'n from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted fires. 126 NEW RHETORICAL READER. For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead Dost in these lines their artless tale relate ; If, 'chance, by lonely contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, Haply, some hoary-headed swain may say, " Oft have we seen him, at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dew away, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. " There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech, That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by. " Hard by yon wood, now, smiling as in scorn, Mutt'ring his wayward fancies, he would rove ; Now drooping, woful, wan, like one forlorn, Or crazed with care, or cross'd in ho_peless love " One morn, I miss'd him on th' accustom'd hill, Along the heath, and near his favourite tree ; Another came ; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he ; " The next — with dirges due, in sad array, Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne- Approach, and read — for thou can'st read — the lay, Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." THE EPITAPH. Here rests his head upon the lap of earth, A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown : Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth, And Melancholy mark'd him for her own. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere ; Heaven did a recompense as largely send : He gave to Misery all he had, — a tear ; He gain'd from heaven — 'twas all he wish'd — a friend No farther seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode — (There they alike in trembling hope repose !) — The bosom of his Father and his God ! PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 127 LESSON XLV. America and Ireland. — C. Phillips. The mention of America has never failed to fill me with the most lively emotion. In my earliest youth, that tender season when impressions, at once the most permanent and the most powerful, are likely to be excited, the story of her then recent struggle raised a throb in every heart that lov- ed liberty, and wrung a reluctant tribute even from discom- fited oppression. I saw her spurning alike the luxuries that would enervate, and the legions that would intimidate ; dashing from her lips the poisoned cup of European servi- tude ; and, through all the vicissitudes of her protracted conflict, displaying a magnanimity that defied misfortune, a moderation that gave new grace to victory. It was the first vision of my childhood ; it will descend with me to the grave. But if, as a man, I venerate the mention of America, what must be my feelings towards her as an Irishman ! Never, O never, while memory remains, can Ireland for- get the home of her emigrant, and the asylum of her exile. No matter whether their sorrows sprang from the errors of enthusiasm, or the realities of suffering ; from fancy, or infliction ; that must be reserved for the scrutiny of those, whom the lapse of time shall acquit of partiality. It is for the men of other ages to investigate and record it. But surely, it is for the men of every age to hail the hospitality that received the shelterless, and love the feeling that be- friended the unfortunate. Search creation round, where can you find a country that presents so sublime a view, so interesting an anticipa- tion % What noble institutions ! What a comprehensive policy ! What a wise equalization of every political advan- tage ! The oppressed of all countries, the martyrs of ev- ery creed, the innocent victim of despotic arrogance or su- perstitious frenzy, may there find a refuge ; his industry encouraged, his piety respected, his ambition animated ; with no restraint but those laws, which are the same to all, and no distinction but that, which his merit may originate. Who can deny that the existence of such a country presents a subject for human congratulation ! ' Who can deny, that 128 NEW RHETORICAL READER. its gigantic advancement offers a field tor the most ration- al conjecture ! At the end of the next century, if she pro- ceeds as she seems to promise, what a wondrous spectacle may she not exhibit ! Who shall say for what purpose a mysterious Providence may not have designed her ! Who shall say that when, in its follies or its crimes, the old world may have interred all the pride of its power, and all the pomp . of its civilization, human nature may not find its destined renovation in the new ! For myself, I have no doubt of it. I have not the least doubt, that when our temples and our trophies shall have mouldered into dust — when the glories of our name shall be but the legend of tradition, and the light of our achieve- ments only live in song, philosophy will rise again in the sky of her Franklin, and glory rekindle at the urn of her Washington. Is this the vision of a romantic fancy ] Is it even improbable 1 Is it half so improbable as the events, which for the last twenty years have rolled like successive tides over the surface of the European world, each erasing the impression that preceded it 1 Thousands upon thousands, Sir, I know there are, who will consider this supposition as wild and whimsical ; but they have dwelt with little reflection upon the records of the past. They have but ill observed the never-ceasing progress of national rise and national ruin. They form their judgment on the deceitful stability of the present hour, never considering the innumerable monarchies and repub- lics, in former days apparently as permanent, their very ex- istence become now the subjects of speculation — I had al- most said, of scepticism. I appeal to History! Tell me, thou reverend chronicler of the grave, can all the illusions of ambition realized, can all the wealth of an universal commerce, can all the achieve ments of successful heroism, or all the establishments of thii world's wisdom, secure to empire the permanency of its possessions 1 Alas, Troy thought so once ; yet the land of Priam lives only in song ! Thebes thought so once, yet her hundred gates have crumbled, and her very tombs are but as the dust they were vainly intended to commemorate. So thought Palmyra — where is she 1 So thought the coun- tries of Demosthenes and the Spartan, yet Leonidas is trampled by the timid slave, and Athens insulted by the ser- PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 129 vile, mindless, and enervate Ottoman. In his hurried march, Time has but looked at their imagined immortality — and all their vanities, from the palace to the tomb, have, with their ruins, erased the very impression of his footsteps ! The days of their glory are as if they had never been ; and the island, that was then a speck, suae and neglected in the bar- ren ocean, now rivals the ubiquity of their commerce, the glory of their arms, the fame of their philosophy, the elo- quence of their senate, and the inspiration of their bards ! Who shall say, then, contemplating the past, that Eng- land, proud and potent as she appears, may not one day be what Athens is, and the young America yet soar to be what Athens was 1 Who shall say, when the European column shall have mouldered, and the night of barbarism obscured its very ruins, that that mighty continent may not emerge from the horizon, to rule, for its time, sovereign of the as- cendant ! LESSON XL VI. Tribute to Washington. — C. Phillips. Allow me to add one flower to the chaplet, which, though it sprang in America, is no exotic. Virtue planted it, and it is naturalized every where. I see you anticipate me — I see you concur with me, that it matters very little what spot may be the birth-place of such a man as Wash- ington. No people can claim, no country can appropriate him. The boon of Providence to the human race, his fame is eternity, and his residence creation. Though it was the defeat of our arms, and the disgrace of our policy, I almost bless the convulsion in which he had his origin. If the heavens thundered, and the earth rocked, yet, when the storm had passed, how pure was the climate that it cleared ! how bright, in the brow of the firmament, was the planet which it revealed to us ! In the production of Washington, it does really appear as if Nature was endeavouring to improve upon herself, and that all the virtues of the ancient world were but so many studies preparatory to the patriot of the new. Individual 130 NEW RHETORICAL READER. instances, no doubt there were, splendid exemplifications of some singular qualification : Caesar was merciful, Sci- pio was continent, Hannibal was patient ; but it was re- served for Washington to blend them all in one, and, like the lovely masterpiece of the Grecian artist, to exhibit, in one glow of associated beauty, the pride of every model, and the perfection of every master. As a general, he marshalled the peasant into a veteran, and supplied by discipline the absence of experience ; as a statesman, he enlarged the policy of the cabinet into the most comprehensive system of general advantage; and such was the wisdom of his views, and the philosophy of his counsels, that, to the soldier and the statesman, he almost added the character of the sage ! A conqueror, he was un- tainted with the crime of blood; a revolutionist, he was free from any stain of treason; for aggression commenced the contest, and his country called him to the command. Liberty unsheathed his sword, necessity stained, victory returned it. If he had paused here, history might have doubted what station to assign him; whether at the head of her citizens, or her soldiers, her heroes or her patriots. But the last glorious act crowns his career, and banishes all hesitation. Who, like Washington, after having eman- cipated a hemisphere, resigned its crown, and preferred the retirement of domestic life to the adoration of a land he might be almost said to have created ! "How shall we rank thee upon Glory's page, Thou more than soldier, and just less than sage; All thou hast been reflects less fame on thee, Far less than all thou hast forborne to be !" Such, sir, is the testimony of one not to be accused of partiality in his estimate of America. Happy, proud Ame- rica ! The lightnings of heaven yielded to your philoso- phy! The temptations of earth could not seduce your pa- triotism ! PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 131 LESSON .XLVII. Self- Government. — Bishop Hedding. The man who rules his own spirit has his affections with- drawn from all forbidden objects, and united to all those which it is proper for such a being to regard, in a degree suited to their natures, the obligations he is under to them, and the condition in which Providence has placed him. His passions and propensities are in proper subjection to reason, and to the rules of duty made known to him in the revealed will of God. His words and actions are governed by the same principles, and are employed to promote the grand objects for which the Creator sent him into the world, and endowed him with the faculties which so wonderfully distinguish him from, and place him above all other kinds of creatures on the earth. Of all the associations formed in this life, that of the con- jugal life is the most endearing and the most important. But the happiness of this relation depends so much on the principle of self-government, that, without a proper manage- ment, reciprocally, in the parties, of temper and conduct, the happiness contemplated will not be realized ; but the connection itself will become an occasion of the direful ills of life. Still when those who have formed this important relation, and taken upon themselves these solemn obligations, have learned to rule their own spirits, " to walk in all the commandments and ordinances of the Lord blameless," they will realize the blessings of a happy union of kindred minds, and will aid each other in ruling their own spirit, and in preparing for higher enjoyments. Parents ruling their own spirits, will learn to " rule well their own house, having their children in subjection with all gravity." They will be solicitous, not only for the tempo- ral welfare of their children, but also for their spiritual and eternal happiness. Likewise, the rising members of a fami- ly thus educated, having learned to rule their own spirits, will study the things of peace and love ; will live together as brethren ; will reciprocate acts of mutual justice and kindness, and will form such characters, in the estimation of men, that the heads of such a family " shall not be ashamed, but they shall speak with the enemies in the gate." 132 NEW RHETORICAL READER. The good effects resulting from self-government, through- out society in general, are too well known to need a minute illustration. A few observations shall suffice. Among men in the various connections of civilized life, this exhibi- tion of the restraint and influence of correct principles, not only directly promotes social happiness, but through the in- fluence of good examples the bold transgressor, and even the infidel, are in some measure restrained ; so that these are far less wicked than they would be if these examples were not before them. Dreadful, indeed, would be the state of our world, were there no examples of self-restraint, and no influence of correct principles ! Self-government, in every relation, and under every cir- cumstance, will counteract the passions and appetites most subversive of human happiness. It breaks the ruthless fangs of fraud, and secures from the deadly gripe of its iron jaws the rights of innocence and unsuspecting honesty. It wrests from the rapacious appetite of luxury the super- abundant gifts of Providence, and converts them into instru- ments of mercy to those destitute of daily bread, and into means of promoting religious, moral, and human institutions. It tames that unruly member, and chains in eternal silence the tongue of slander, which, otherwise, would be set on fire of hell, and would " set on fire the whole course of na- ture." It employs that noble gift for the great social pur- poses for which it was originally bestowed. It dries up the poisoned streams of intemperance, and leads those thirsty souls, who would pine and die under its malignant effects, to those salubrious waters, " which make glad the city of God." It subdues those libidinous propensities, which, in so many in- stances, where this principle does not operate, drive multi- tudes of the children of Adam from the society of civilized man, to roam like herds through the dark and filthy places of the earth ; not considering that the dead are there, and that the guests, who have gone before them, are in the depths of hell. It fixes a sovereign check on pride, ambition, envy, jealousy, and resentment, which, unrestrained, would burst forth like so many flames from the regions beneath, and spread desolation and death through the earth. When princes, and senates, and the great among the na- tions, shall generally yield to the rightful authority of this principle, it will put a stop to the career of war, that demon PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 133 of darkness which has triumphed over the earth since the days of Nimrod, involving cities in flames, and countries in ruins, depopulating the earth and drenching it with the blood of the slain of all nations. Yes, self-government shall hush into perpetual silence "the thunder of the captains," the shouts of the conquerors, the wild, distracted cry of the vanquished, and the groans of the wounded and the dying in the field of carnage. Then, then, blessed be God, the nations shall beat their swords into ploughshares, and their spears into pruning- hooks : nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more. Then all the tribes of men shall raise a shout towards heaven, melodious as when angels sing : — " Alleluia ! for the Lord God omnipotent reigneth !" LESSON XLVIII. Christianity disarms Death. — Rev. Dr. Winans. But if death may not be eluded by man, may he not be disarmed 1 Cannot man, armed in the panoply of his own virtues, repel or render innoxious the sting to which this ad- versary owes its terrors, by which he is rendered so formi- dable to man 7 As successfully would he aim a straw against a whirlwind. To accomplish this, there must be in those virtues atoning merit, to satisfy the claims of violated law, and the demands of insulted justice. There must be an energy equal to the healing of the breach, occasioned by sin, in the order and harmony of the moral world. The law must be indemnified for its violation ; and sufficient sat- isfaction rendered to magnify and make it honorable. Its dignity had been insulted, its sanctity sulliecf? its authority brought into question — these injuries must be atoned, or death remains armed in all its terrors. And can the inde- pendent virtues of man, even supposing him capable of such virtues, accomplish all this ? No ; nor any part of it. Is there, then, no possibility of man's escaping from these terrors ? There is ; and the knowledge of the fact inspired the apostle, as it should do every man, with ardent gratitude 134 NEW RHETORICAL READER. to God. He had contemplated death in all the terrors de- rived from a violated law, exacting upon man, under the guarantee of omnipotence, for his sins ; and, while over- whelmed with the anguish which such a view of the wretched condition of man was calculated to produce, he casts his eyes to Calvary, and, in view of the blood-stained banner of the Redeemer, under which man may achieve a victory over death, he breaks out with, " Thanks be to God !" Nor was there ever greater cause for thankfulness, whether we consider the greatness of the benefaction, or the manner in which it was wrought. It is, considered in all its relations and dependencies, nothing less than complete deliverance from the dreadful con- sequences of both original and personal transgression. It implies pardon, sanctification, the assurance of hope, and resurrection from the dead. It raises man from the ruins and ignominy of the fall, to " glory, honor, immortality, and eternal life." The manner in which this deliverance was wrought is equally calculated to inspire gratitude. It was not by simple benevolent volition of the Deity ; it was not by a mighty exertion of Omnipotence; it was by giving up his own Son to be a propitiation for the sins of the world. We said before, that the life of the world was derived from death. It was the death of Jesus of which we spake. The cross, on which he expired, watered by his blood, is fruitful of eternal salvation to all those who conform themselves to the requirements of that plan, on which the Gospel proposes to save man. • LESSON XLIX. The Seen and the Unseen. — Ephradi Peabody. There is* a spiritual element interfused through the whole material world, and which lies at the source of all action. It is this which lifts the world out of chaos, and clothes it with light and order. The most ordinary act springs out of the soul, and derives its character from the soul. It seems trifling, only because its spiritual origin is forgotten. While on the surface of life all may be calm, it is startling to think what mysteries of passion and afFec- PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 135 tion may be beneath. Though heedless of it, we move in a universe of spiritual life. It is with us as with men that lie dreaming in their beds at sea, between whom and the ocean is but a single plank : cabined, cribbed, confined in our narrow, individual existence, there is all the time rush- ing by us, its moanings in our ears, its tremblings reach- ing to oar hearts, the mystic tide of spiritual life. " The spirit giveth life." We need not go far, if we will but open our eyes, to see how the most ordinary acts of man are penetrated by a spiritual element. And where this is, nothing can be tame or common-place. Nothing, at first sight, is more worldly and unspiritual than a com- mercial newspaper. It deals solely with the affairs of the day, and with material interests. Yet when we come to consider them, its driest details are instinct with human hopes, and fears, and affections ; and these illuminate what was dark, and make the dead letter breathe with life. For example : — in the paper of to-day, a middle-aged man seeks employment in a certain kind of business. The advertisement has, in substance, been the same for weeks. For a time, he sought some place, which presupposed the possession of business habits and attainments. Then there was a change in the close of the advertisement, indi- cating that he would do any thing by which he could ren- der himself useful to an employer. And, this morning, there is another change : he is willing to commence with low wages, as employment is what he especially wants. All this is uninteresting enough ; yet what depths of life may lie underneath this icy surface of business detail ! It is easy for the fancy to seek out and make the acquaint- ance of this man. He is a foreigner, in poverty, with a family, brought to this country by the hopes which have brought so many hither, only that they might be over- whelmed with disappointment. He is a stranger, and finds all places of business full. Already his family is parting with every superfluous article of dress and furni- ture ; their food grows daily more scanty and meagre ; broken down in heart and hopes, he seeks, through all the avenues of business, some employment, and cannot find it. The decent pride, and the desire to enter that business for which his previous habits had fitted him, have kept him up for a time ; but these are fast departing under the 136 NEW RHETORICAL READER. pressure of penury ; and this morning's advertisement means, that the day seems near at hand when his children may cry for bread, and he have none to give. Not al- ways, by any means, but how often might such advertise- ments tell tales like this ! Could we but look, through this long line of advertise- ments, into the hearts of those who have published them, what a revelation would there be of human life ! Here are partnerships formed and closed ; young men entering into business, old men going out of it ; new inventions and speculations ; failures, sales of household furniture, and dwellings. These have been attended by the most san- guine hopes, by utter hopelessness, by every form of fear, anxiety, and sorrow. This young man, just entering bu- siness, looks forward, with anticipations bright as the morning, to his marriage day. This sale of furniture speaks of^death, diminished fortunes, a scattered family. There is not a sale of stocks, which does not straiten or increase the narrow means of widows and orphans. This long column of ship news — a thousand hearts are at this moment beating with joy and thankfulness, or are oppressed by anxiety, or crushed down by sorrow, because of these records, which to others seem so meaningless ! — One reads here of his prosperity ; another of ruined for- tunes. And the wrecked ship, whose crew was swept by the surp-e into the breakers, and dashed on the rocks — how many in their solitary homes are mourning for those who sailed with bright hopes in that ship, but who shall never return ! And, more than this — could these lines which record the transactions of daily business, tell of the hearts which in- dited them, what temptations and struggles would they reveal ! They would tell of inexperience deceived or protected ; of integrity fallen, or made stedfast as the rock ; of moral trials, in which noble natures have been broken down or built up. Had we the key and the in- terpretation of what we here read, this daily chronicle of traffic would be a sadder tragedy than any which Shaks- peare wrote. PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 137 LESSON L. The Dignity of Labour. — Rev. Dr. M'Clintock. It is my earnest purpose, on this occasion, to impress upon your minds, not merely the necessity of labour, but also its dignity as a duty, and its elevation as a virtue ; to show you that it is a necessary prerequisite of moral progress, and a fundamental element of God's law for man. To point out the way of success in life, is no easy task. I cannot pretend to lay open any path which will lead un- erringly to the goal ; to offer any plan of life whose issue must be success. But the easier duty is before me, of tell- ing you that you can travel in none of the beaten ways of the world, nor carve out any new road for yourselves, with- out labor. If I cannot assure you of success, even with the most faithful effort, I can foretell your failure without it. It does not need the prophet's eagle vision to penetrate thus far into the cloudy future ; feeble as is the light which ex- perience throws upon man's dim and perilous way, it is strong enough for this. I sympathize with the poet's ex- clamation — '•- what a glorious animal were man, Knew he but his own powers, and knowing, gave them Room for their growth and spread !" But let those powers be what they may, they will not only remain without fruit, but wither and decay, unless kept alive and vigorous by exercise. The sinew and muscle of the mind, like those of the body, may be strengthened by activity or enervated by repose. But until you make the experiment of action, and put yourself to the test bf toil, you know not what stuff you are made of, nor what faculties you possess. Do you wish to know what you are ? Act, and you will find out ; slum- ber, and you shall never know. In action alone does a man's nature project itself into a living, tangible, intel- ligible reality; in action alone is his true character un- folded. 138 NEW RHETORICAL READER. The dark germ within lies sleeping, nay, lifeless, until the man obeys his destiny, and warms it into being by the determination to act ; and then, in the atmosphere of labour, under the free showers and the warm sunshine, it grows and is developed, in spreading branches and extended boughs, with green leaves, and at last with generous fruit. Rather, should I not say, that the deep root of that tree of life, hidden far down in the earth, is labour, or the will to labour ? The branches may be stripped and shattered by the storm ; the trunk itself may be riven by the lightning ; but if that strong root remain, it will send forth young and vigourous shoots again, and defy the elements. If there be worth in you, its development lies with yourselves ; it is for you to say whether it shall sleep, unsuspected by others, unknown even to yourselves, or whether it shall show itself in action, that only manifestation of humanity which commands all men's homage — that only universal criterion of a man's claims and his merits. There are many young persons of romantic temperament that look forward to the attainment of the highest ends of human life, without dreaming of the price that must be paid for them. They are forever building castles in the air. The future is their dreamy home. Their imagination is more potent than Aladdin's lamp. They dwell in cloud- land, and fill it with their own gorgeous creations. To their ardent spirits, time and distance are nothing ; they pass through space with fairy speed, and bear down barriers with a giant's arm. Alas ! that they should wake from these en- chantments, and say, " Lo ! it was but a dream !" I trust that none of you breathe this sentimental atmos- phere ; but, are you not inhabiting one as dense and not so romantic ? You are all looking forward to success. Have you calculated the cost ? Have you prepared the instru- ments ? The edifice of your fortunes is to be reared by yourselves: have you laid the foundation ? I trust, at least, that your experience thus far will enforce the lesson that labour is the price of success. Even in the narrow field to which you have heretofore been confined, you must have discovered that it is impossible to get something for nothing ; that the Divine declaration, " Thou shalt eat thy bread in the sweat of thy brow," has not lost its force ; and that it PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 139 applies as well to the nourishment of the intellect as to the sustenance of the body. In the miniature world where you have spent the last few years, you have seen these great truths daily exemplified. You have seen mediocrity outstrip genius in the race. You have seen high ambition, unsustained by persevering labour, degenerate into an idle longing, without purposes and with- out fruits. You have seen the fabric of knowledge rising up, slowly but surely, under the hand of untiring industry ; while, on the other hand, wit and talent have stood among the scattered elements of the building, wasting day after day, and year after year, and all the time hardly laying one stone upon zftiother. What you have beheld here is what you will ever see in the course of human life. Look out into the great world, and see. Who are the great men ? Who have been the leaders, the reformers, the thinkers, the heroes of mankind 1 By what process was their being built up — the Platos, the Ciceros, the Pauls, the Burkes — giants of their kind ? Was it by dreams and visions, by sloth and self-indulgence ? Grew up Luther's noble heart in ease ? Was Wesley's iron fibre the product of repose 1 You have communed with great men to little purpose, if you have not learned that, however else they may have differed, in one respect they v/ere all alike. Their sinews grew by labor. The records of their lives is but a register of their deeds. Endowed, by nature, it may have been, with high powers, they did not suffer them to lie rot- ting in indolence ; but, with manful heart and strong hand, fulfilled their mission of labor by day and by night. Their works do follow them. LESSON LI. Danger of prematurely Tasking the Mental Powers of the Young. — A. Brigham. Much of the thoughtlessness of parents, regarding the injury they may do their children by too early cultivating their minds, has arisen from the mystery in which the science of mind has been involved, and ignorance of the 140 NEW RHETORICAL READER. connection between the mind and body ; for we find them exceedingly anxious and careful about the health of their children in other respects. Entirely forgetful of the brain, they know there is danger in exercising many other parts of the body too much, when they are but partially devel- oped. They know that caution is necessary with children in respect to their food, lest their delicate digestive organs should be injured by a too exciting and stimulating re- gimen. A parent would be greatly alarmed if his little child, by continued encouragement and training, had learned to eat as much food as a healthy adult. Such a prodigy of glut- tony might undoubtedly be formed. The method of ef- fecting it, would be somewhat like that of enabling a child to remember, and reason, and study, with the ability and constancy of an adult. Each method is dangerous, but probably the latter is the more so, because the brain is a more delicate organ than the stomach. The activity of most of the organs of the body can be very greatly increased ; they can be made to perform their functions for a while with unusual facility and power. I will dwell upon this fact a little. A child, for instance, may be gradually accustomed to eat and digest large quan- tities of stimulating animal food. I have seen an instance of this kind, and when I remonstrated with the parents on the impropriety and danger of allowing a child but two years old, such diet constantly, I was told that he was un- commonly robust ; and indeed he appeared to be in vigour- ous health ; but soon after this he had along inflammatory fever, of an unusual character for children, which I at- tributed at the time, to the stimulating diet allowed him. This diet appeared also to have an effect upon his disposi- tion, and confirmed the observation of Hufeland, that " in- fants who are accustomed to eat much animal food become robust, but at the same time passionate, violent and brutal." A child may also be made to execute surprising muscu- lar movements, such as walking on a rope, and other feats ; but these are learned only by long practice, which greatly developes the muscles by which the movements are execu- ted. From frequent and powerful action, the muscles of the arms of blacksmiths and boxers and boatmen, those of the lower limbs of dancers, and those of the faces of buf- PIECES FOR READING- AND DECLAMATION. 141 foons, become strikingly enlarged when compared with the muscles in other parts of the body. Every employment n which men engage brings into relatively greater action particular parts of the system ; some organs are constantly and actively exercised, while others are condemned to in- activity. To make, therefore, one organ superior to an- other in power, it is necessary not only to exercise it fre- quently, but to render other organs inactive, so as not to draw away from it that vital energy which it requires in or- der to be made perfect. The important truth resulting from these facts, that the more any part of the human system is exercised, the more it is enlarged, and its powers increased, applies equally to all or- gans of the body ; it applies to the brain as well as the muscles. The heads of great thinkers, as has been stated, are wonderfully large ; and it has been ascertained by ad- measurement, that they frequently continue to increase un- til the subjects are fifty years of age, and long after the other portions of the system have ceased to enlarge. " This phenomenon," says Itard, " is not very rare, even in the adult, especially among men given to study, or pro- found meditation, or who devote themselves, without re- laxation, to the agitations of an unquiet and enterprising spirit. The head of Bonaparte, for instance, was small in youth, but acquired, in after life, a development nearly enormous." I would have the parent, therefore, understand, that his child may be made to excel in almost anything ; that by increasing the power of certain organs through exercise, he can be made a prodigy of early mental or muscular activity. But I would have him, at the same time, under- stand the conditions upon which this can be effected, and its consequences. I would have him fully aware, that in each case, unusual activity and power are produced by ex- traordinary development of an organ ; and especially that in early life, no one organ of the body can be dispropor- tionately exercised, without the risk of most injurious con- sequences. Either the over-excited and over-tasked organ itself will be injured for life, or the development of other and essential parts of the system will be arrested forever. From what has been said hitherto, we gather the follow- ing facts, which should be made the basis of all instruc- 142 NEW RHETORICAL READER. tion ; facts which I wish often to repeat. The brain is the material organ by which all the mental faculties are mani- fested ; it is exceedingly delicate, and but partially developed in childhood ; over -excitement of it when in this state, is ex- tremely hazardous. LESSON LII. Early History of Kentucky. — N. A. Review. Those now alive, who have reached the age of seventy years, were bom before the first white man entered Ken- tucky. For the English have never displayed the same love of discovery as the Spaniards and French, either in North or South America. Wherever they have fixed them- selves, they remain. A love of adventure, an eager curi- osity, a desire of change, or some like motive, had carried the French all over the continent, while the English colon- ists continued quietly within their own limits. The French missionaries coasted along the lakes and descended the Mississippi, a whole century before the Virginians began to cross the Alleghany ridge, to get a glimpse of the noble in- heritance, which had remained undisturbed for centuries, waiting their coming. It was not till the year 1767, only eight years before the breaking out of the revolutionary war, that John Finley, of North Carolina, descended into Kentucky for the pur- pose of hunting and trading. The feelings of wonder and delight experienced by this early pioneer in passing through the rich lands, which were filled with deer, buffaloes, and every kind of game, and covered with the majestic growth of centuries, soon communicated themselves to others. Like the spies, who returned from Palestine, they declar- ed, " The land, which we passed through to search it, is an exceeding good land." They compared it to parks and gardens, or a succession of farms stocked with cattle, and full of birds tame as farm-yard poultry. Instigated by these descriptions, in 1769, Daniel Boone, a man much distinguished for bravery and skill, entered Kentucky. And now commenced a series of enterprise PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 143 romantic adventure, chivalric daring, and patient endur- ance, not surpassed in the history of modern times. Nothing in those voluminous tales of knight errantry, which occu- pied the leisure of pages and squires in old baronial days, or in the Waverley novels and their train of romances of the second class, which amuse modern gentlemen and ladies, — nothing in these works of imagination can exceed the real- ities of early Kentucky history. From 1769 till Wayne's victory on the Maumee in 1794, a period of twenty-five years, including the whole revolu- tionary war, the people of Kentucky were engaged in In- dian warfare, for life and home. Surrounded by an enemy far outnumbering them ; deadly in hatred, of ferocious cruelty, wielding the same rifle with themselves, and as skilful in its use, they took possession of the country, felled the forest, built towns, laid out roads, and changed the wil- derness into a garden. No man could open his cabin-door in the morning, without danger of receiving a rifle-bullet from a lurking Indian ; no woman could go out to milk the cows, without risk of having a scalping-knife at her fore- head before she returned. Many a man returned from hunting, only to find a smoking ruin where he had left a happy home with wife and children. But did this constant danger create a constant anxiety ] Did they live in terror 1 Fightings were without ; were fears within 1 By no means. If you talk with the survi- vors of those days they will tell you : " We soon came to think ourselves as good men as the Indians. We believed we were as strong as they, as good marksmen, as quick of sight, and as likely to see them, as they were to see us ; so there was no use in being afraid of them." The danger produced a constant watchfulness, an active intelligence, a prompt decision ; traits still strongly apparent in the Ken- tucky character. By the same causes, other, more amiable and social qua- lities, were developed. While every man was forced to de- pend on himself and trust to his own courage, coolness and skill, every man felt that he depended on his neighbour for help in cases where his own powers could no longer avail him. And no man could decline making an effort for an- other, when he knew that he might need a like aid before the sun went down. Hence we have frequent examples of 144? NEW RHETORICAL READER. one man risking his life to save that of another, and of des- perate exertions made for the common safety of the dwell- ers in fort or stockade. Can we, then, wonder at the strong family attachments still existing in Kentucky ] The remembrance of hours of common danger and mutual sacrifice, and generous disre- gard of self, must have sunk deep into the hearts of those earnest men, the early settlers. " He saved my life at the risk of his own. He helped me bring back my wife from the Indians. He shot the man who was about to dash out my infant's brains." Here was a foundation for friend- ships, which nothing could root up. " Whispering tongues can poison truth;" but no tongues could do away such evidences of true friendship as these. No subsequent cold- ness, no after injury, could efface their remembrance. They must have been treasured up in the deepest cells of the heart with a sacred gratitude, a religious care. And hence, while Indian warfare developed all the stronger and self- relying faculties, it cultivated also all the sympathies, the confiding trust, the generous affections, which, to the pre- sent hour, are marked on the heart of that people's cha- racter. LESSON LIII. TJie Fall of Napoleon. — C. Phillips. I have heard before of states ruined by the visitation of Providence, devastated by famine, wasted by fire, over- come by enemies ; but never until now did I see a state like England, impoverished by her spoils, and conquered by her successes! She has fought the fight of Europe; she has purchased all its coinabh blood ; she has subsidized all its dependencies in their own cause ; she has conquer- ed by sea, she has conquered by land ; and here she is, af- ter all her vanity and all her victories, surrounded by de- solation, like one of the pyramids of Egypt; amid the gran- deur of the desert, full of magnificence and death, at once a trophy and a tomb ! The heart of any reflecting man must burn within him, PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 145 when he thinks that the war, thus sanguinary in its opera- tions, confessedly ruinous in its expenditure, was even still more odious in its principle ! It was a war avowedly un- dertaken for the purpose of forcing France out of her un- doubted right of choosing her own monarch ; a war, which uprooted the very foundations of the English constitution; which libelled the most glorious era in our national annals ; which declared tyranny eternal, and announced to the peo- ple, amid the thunder of artillery, that, no matter how aggrieved, their only allowable attitude was that of suppli- cation ; which, when it told the French reformer of 1793, that his defeat was just, told the British reformer of 16S8, his triumph was treason ! What else have you done % You have succeeded in de- throning Napoleon ; and you have dethroned a monarch, who, with all his imputed crimes and vices, shed a splen- dour around royalty too powerful for the feeble vision of legitimacy even to bear. He had many faults : 1 do not seek to palliate them. He deserted his principles : I re- joice that he has suffered. But still let us be generous even in our enmities. How grand was his march ! How mag- nificent his destiny ! Say what we will, Sir, he will be the land-mark of our times in the eyes of posterity. The goal of other men's speed was his starting-post. Crowns were his playthings ; thrones his footstool. He strode from vic- tory to victory. His path was " a plane of continued ele- vations." Surpassing the boast of the too confident Ro- man, he but stamped upon the earth, and, not only armed men, but states and dynasties, and arts and sciences, — all that mind could imagine, or industry produce — started up, the creation of enchantment. He has fallen. As the late Mr. Whitbread said — " You made him, and At' unmade himself" — his own ambition was his glorious conqueror. He attempted, with a sublime au- dacity, to grasp the fires of Heaven, and his heathen retri- bution has been the vulture and the rock ! 146 NEW RHETORICAL READER. LESSON L1V. God is Every Where. — Hu«n HuttoW. Oh ! show me where is He, The high and holy One, To whom thou bencrst the knee, And pray'st, " Thy will be done?" I hear thy voice of praise, And lo! no form is near; Thine eyes [ sec thee raise, • But where doth God appear] Oh ! teach me who is God, and where his glories shine, That I may kneel and pray, and call thy Father mine. Gaze on that arch above — The glittering vault admire ! Who taught those orbs to move? Who lit their ceaseless fire I Who imides the moon to run o In silence through the skies? Who bids that dawning sun In strength and beauty rise 1 There view immensity ! — behold, my God is there— The sun, the moon, the stars, his majesty declare! See, where the mountains rise ; Where thundering torrents foam ; Where, veil'd in lowering skies, The eagle makes his home ! Where savage nature dwells My God is present too — Through all her wildest dells His footsteps I pursue. He rear'd those giant cliffs — supplies that dashing stream- Provides the daily food, which stills the wild bird's scream Look on that world of waves, Where finny nations glide ; Within whose deep, dark caves, The ocean-monsters hide ! His power is sovereign there, To raise — to quell the storm ; PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 14>7 The depths his bounty share, Where sport the scaly swarm : Tempests and calms obey the same almighty voice, Which rules the earth and skies, and bids the world rejoice Nor eye nor thought can soar Where moves not he in might ; — He swells the thunder's roar, He sjDreads the wings of night. Oh! praise the works divine ! Bow down thy soul in prayer ! Nor ask for other sign, That God is every where — The viewless Spirit he — immortal, holy, bless'd— • Oh ! worship him in faith, and find eternal rest ! LESSON LV. The Destruction of Sennacherib. ,-^Byron. The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. 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. For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed on the face of the foe, as hepass'd; And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still. And there lay the steed, with his nostril all 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. e2 148 NEW RHETORICAL READER. And there lay the rider, distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mailj And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. And the widows of Ashur 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. LESSON LVI. i Hymn before Sun-rise, in the Yah of Chamouny. — Cole- ridge. Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star In his steep course ? — so long he seems to pause On thy bald, awful front, O sovereign Blanc ! The Arvc and Arveiron, at thy base Rave ceaselessly ; but thou, most awful form, Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, How silently ! Around thee and above, Deep is the air, and dark ; substantial black, An ebon mass : methinks thou piercest it, As with a wedge ! But, when I look again, It is thine own calm home, thy chrystal shrine, Thy habitation from eternity. dread and silent mount ! I gazed upon thee, Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, Didst vanish from my thought : entranced in prayer, 1 worshipped the Invisible alone. Yet, like some sweet, beguiling melody, So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my thought- Yea, with my life, and life's own secret joy, — Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused, Into the mighty vision passing — there, As in her natural form, swelled vast to heaven ! PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 14-9 Awake, my soul ! Not only passive praise Thou owest ; not alone these swelling tears, Mute thanks, and silent ecstasy. Awake, Voice of sweet song ! Awake, my heart, awake ! Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my hymn. Thou, first and chief, sole sovereign of the vale ! Oh ! struggling with the darkness all the night, And visited all night by troops of stars, Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink, — Companion of the morning star at dawn, Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn Co-herald, wake ! O wake ! and utter praise ! Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth 1 Who filled thy countenance with rosy light 1 Who made thee parent of perpetual streams 1 And you, ye five wild torrents, fiercely glad ! Who called you forth from night and utter death, From dark and icy caverns called you forth, Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks, Forever shattered, and the same forever ] Who gave you your invulnerable life, Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy, Unceasing thunder, and eternal foam 1 And who commanded — and the silence came — " Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest ]" Ye ice-falls ! ye, that, from the mountain's brow, Adown enormous ravines slope amain — Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge ! Motionless torrents ! silent cataracts ! Who made you glorious, as the gates of heaven Beneath the keen full moon 1 Who bade the sun Clothe you with rainbows % Who, with living flowers Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet 1 — " God !" let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer ; and let the ice-plains echo, " God !" " God !" sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome voice ! Ye pine groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds ! And they, too, have a voice, yon piles of snow, And, in their perilous fall, shall thunder " God !" e3 150 NEW RHETORICAL READER. Ye living flowers, that skirt the eternal frost ! Ye wild goats, sporting round the eagle's nest ! Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain-storm ! Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouck ! Ye signs and wonders of the elements ! Utter forth " God !" and fill the hills with praise! Thou, too, hoar mount ! with thy sky-pointing peaks, Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene, Into the depth of clouds, that veil thy breast — Thou, too, again, stupendous mountain ! thou That, — as I raise my head, awhile bowed low In adoration, upward from thy base Slow travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears, — Solemnly seemest, like a vapoury cloud, To rise before me, — rise, O ever rise ! Rise, like a cloud of incense, from the earth. Thou kingly spirit, throned among the hills, Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven, Great hierarch, tell thou the silent sky, And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun, " Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God. LESSON LVII. Byron and Jiis Poetry. — T. B. Macaplay. Never had any writer so vast a command of the whole eloquence of scorn, misanthropy, and despair. That Ma- rah was never dry. No art could sweeten, no draughts could exhaust, its perennial waters of bitterness. Never was there such variety in monotony as that of Byron. From maniac laughter to piercing lamentation, there was not a single note of human anguish of which he was not master. Year after year, and month after month, he continued to repeat, that to be wretched is the destiny of all ; that to be eminently wretched is the destiny of the eminent; that all the desires by which we are cursed lead alike to misery j if they are not gratified, to the misery of disappointment; PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 151 if they are gratified, to the misery of satiety. His princi- pal heroes are men who have arrived by different roads at the same goal of despair, who are sick of life, who are at war with society, who are supported in their anguish only by an unconquerable pride, resembling that of Prometheus on the rock, or of Satan in the burning marl; who can mas- ter their agonies by the force of their will, and who, to the last, defy the whole power of earth and heaven. He al- ways described himself as a man of the same kind with his favourite creations, as a man whose heart had been with- ered, whose capacity for happiness was gone, and could not be restored; but whose invincible spirit dared the worst that could befall him here or hereafter. How much of this morbid feeling sprang from an origin- al disease of mind, how much from real misfortune, how much from the nervousness of dissipation, how much of it was fanciful, how much of it was merely affected, it is im- possible for us, and would probably have been impossible for the most intimate friends of Lord Byron, to decide. Whether there ever existed, or can ever exist, a person answering to the description which he gave of himself, may be doubted : but that he was not such a person, is be- yond all doubt. It is ridiculous to imagine that a man, whose mind was really imbued with scorn of his fellow- creatures, would have published three or four books every year to tell them so ; or that a man, who could say with truth that he neither sought sympathy nor needed it, would have admitted all Europe to hear his farewell to his wife, and his blessings on his child. In the second canto of Childe Harold, he tells us that he is insensible to fame and obloquy : "111 may such contest now the spirit move, Which heeds nor keen reproof nor partial praise." Yet we know, on the best evidence, that a day or two be- fore he published these lines, he was greatly, indeed child- ishly, elated, by the compliments paid to his maiden speech in the House of Lords. We are far, however, from thinking that his sadness was altogether feigned. He was naturally a man of great sen- sibility ; he had been ill-educated ; his feelings had been early exposed to sharp trials ; he had been crossed in his e4 152 NEW RHETORICAL READER. boyish love; lie had been mortified by the failure of hia first literary efforts ; he was straitened in pecuniary cir- cumstances ; he was unfortunate in his domestic relations ; the public treated him with cruel injustice; his health and spirits suffered from his dissipated habits of life; he was, on the whole, an unhappy man. He early discovered that, by parading his unhappiness before the multitude, he exci- ted an unrivalled interest. The world gave him every en- couragement to talk about his mental sufferings. The ef- fect which his first confessions produced, induced him to affect much that he did not feel ; and the affectation pro- bably reacted on his feelings. How far the character in which he exhibited himself was genuine, and how far the- atrical, would probably have puzzled himself to say. What our grandchildren may think of the character of Lord Byron, as exhibited in his poetry, we will not pre tend to guess. It is certain, that the interest which he ex- cited during his life, is without a parallel in literary histo- ry. The feeling with which young readers of poetry re- garded him, can be conceived only by those who have ex- perienced it. To people who are unacquainted with real calamity, " nothing is so dainty sweet as lovely me- lancholy." This faint image of sorrow has in all ages been considered by young gentlemen as an agreeable excite- ment. Old gentlemen and middle-aged gentlemen have so many real causes of sadness, that they are rarely inclined " to be as sad as night, only for wantonness." Indeed, they want the power almost as much as the inclination. We know very few persons engaged in active life, who, even if they were to procure stools to be melancholy upon, and were to sit down with all the premeditation of Master Ste- phen, would be able to enjoy much of what somebody calls the " ecstasy of wo." Among the large class of young persons whose reading is almost entirely confined to works of imagination, the pop- ularity of Lord Byron was unbounded. They bought pic- tures of him, they treasured up the smallest relics of him ; they learned his poems by heart, and did their best to write like him, and to look like him. Many of them prac- tised at the glass, in the hope of catching the curl of the up- per lip, and the scowl of the brow, which appear in some of his portraits. A few discarded their neckcloths in imita PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 153 tion of their great leader. For some years, the Minerva press sent forth no novel without a mysterious, unhappy, Lara-like peer. The number of hopeful undergraduates and medical students who became things of dark imagin- ings, on whom the freshness of the heart ceased to fall like dew, whose passions had consumed themselves to dust, and to whom the relief of tears was denied, passes all calcula- tion. This was not the worst. There was created in the minds of many of these enthusiasts, a pernicious and absurd association between intellectual power and moral depravi- ty. From the poetry of Lord Byron they drew a system of ethics, compounded of misanthropy and voluptuousness. This affectation has passed away; and a few more years will destroy whatever yet remains of that magical potency which once belonged to the name of Byron. To us he is still a man, young, noble, and unhappy. To our children he will be merely a writer; and their impartial judgment will appoint his place among writers, without regard to his rank or to his private history*. That his poetry will un- dergo a severe sifting ; that much of what has been admir- ed by his contemporaries will be rejected as worthless, we have little doubt. But we have as little doubt, that, after the closest scrutiny, there will still remain much that can only perish with the English language. LESSON LVIII. Origin of tlie French Revolution. — Channing. Communities fall by the vices of the great, not the small. The French Revolution is perpetually sounded in our ears, as a warning against the lawlessness of the people. But whence came this revolution 1 Who were the regicides 1 Who beheaded Louis XVI. ? You tell me the Jacobins ; ^ut history tells a different tale. I will show you the be- headers of Louis XVI. They were Louis XIV., and the Regent who followed him, and Louis XV. These brought their descendant to the guillotine. The priesthood, who invoked the edict of Nantz, and drove from France the skill and industry, and virtue and pi- e5 154 NEW RHETORICAL READER. ety, which were the sinews of her strength ; the statesmen who intoxicated Louis XIV. with the scheme of universal empire ; the profligate, prodigal, shameless Orleans ; and the still more brutalized Louis the XV., with his court of panders and prostitutes ; these made the nation bankrupt, broke asunder the bond of loyalty, and overwhelmed the throne and altar in ruins. We hear of the horrors of the Revolution ; but in this as in other things, we recollect the effect without thinking of the guiltier cause. The revolution was indeed a scene of horror ; but when I look back on the reigns which preceded it, and which made Paris almost one great stew and gaming house, and when I see altar and throne desecrated by a licentiousness unsurpassed in any former age, I look on scenes as shock- ing to the calm and searching eye of reason and virtue, as the tenth of August and the massacres of September. Bloodshed is indeed a terrible spectacle ; but there are other things almost as fearful as blood. There are crimes that do not make us start and turn pale like the guillotine, but are deadlier in their workings. God forbid, that I should say a word to weaken the thrill of horror, with which we contemplate the outrages of the French Revolution. But when I hear that revolution quoted to frighten us from reform, to show us the danger of lifting up the depressed and ignorant mass, I must ask whence it came 1 and the answer is, that it came from the intolerable weight of misgovernment and tyranny, from the utter want of culture among the mass of the people, and from a corruption of the great, too deep to be purged away except by destruction. I am almost compelled to remember, that the people, in this their singular madness, wrought far less woe than kings and priests have wrought, as a familiar thing, in all ages of the world. All the murders of the French Revo- lution did not amount, I think, by one-fifth, to those of the " Massacre of St. Bartholomew." The priesthood and the throne, in one short night and day, shed more blood, and that the best blood of France, than was spilled by Jacob- inism and all other forms of violence during the whole re- volution. Even the atheism and infidelity of France were due chiefly to a licentious priesthood and a licentious court. It was religion, so called, that dug her own grave. PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 155 In offering this plea for the multitude, I have no desire to transfer to the multitude uncontrolled political power. I look at power in all hands with jealousy. I wish neither rich nor poor to be my masters. What I wish is, the im- provement, the elevation of all classes, and especially of the most numerous class, because the most numerous, be- cause the many are mankind, and because no social pro- gress can be hoped but from influences which penetrate and raise the mass of men. The mass must not be confin- ed and kept down through a vague dread of revolutions. A social order requiring such a sacrifice, would be too dearly bought. No order should satisfy us, but that which is in harmony with universal improvement and freedom. LESSON LIX The Might with the Right. — Anonymous. May every year but draw more near The time when strife shall cease, And truth and love all hearts shall move To live in joy and peace. Now sorrow reigns, and earth complains, For folly still her power maintains ; But the day shall yet appear When the might with the right and the truth shall be , And come what there may, to stand in the way, That day the world shall see. Let good men ne'er of truth despair, Though humble efforts fail ; We'll give not o'er, until once more The righteous cause prevail. In vain and long, enduring wrong, The weak may strive against the strong; But the day shall yet appear, When the might with the right and the truth shall be j And come what there may, to stand in the way, That day the world shall see. E6 156 NEW RHETORICAL READER. Though interest pleads that noble deeds The world will not regard, — To noble minds, whom duty binds, No sacrifice is hard. The brave and true may seem but few, But hope keeps better things in view; And the day shall yet appear When the might with the right and the truth shall b* And come what there may, to stand in the way, That day the world shall see. LESION LX. Art. — Charles Sprague. When, from the sacred garden driven, Man fled before his Maker's wrath, An angel left her place in heaven, And cross'd the wanderer's sunless path. 'Twas Art ! sweet Art ! new radiance broke Where her light foot flew o'er the ground, And thus with seraph voice she spoke : " The curse a blessing shall be found." She led him through the trackless wild, Where noontide sunbeam never blazed ; The thistle shrank, the harvest smiled, And Nature gladden' & as she gazed. 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. He rends the oak — and bids it ride, To guard the shores its beauty graced ; He smites the rock — upheaved in pride, See towers of strength and domes of taste ! Earth's teeming caves their wealth reveal, Fire bears his banner on the wave, He bids the mortal poison heal, And leaps triumphant o'er the grave. PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 157 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. "With thoughts that fill his glowing soul, He bids the ore illume the page, And, proudly scorning Time's control, Commerces with an unborn age. 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. In war renown'd, in peace sublime, He moves in greatness and in grace ; His power, subduing space and time, Links realm to realm, and race to race. LESSON LXT. Old Ironsides* — O. W. Holmes. Ay, tear her tattered ensign down ! Long has it waved on high, And many an eye has danced to see That banner in the sky; Beneath it rang the battle-shout, And burst the cannon's roar; The meteor of the ocean air » Shall sweep the clouds no more ! Her deck, once red with heroes' blood, Where knelt the vanquish'd foe, When winds were hurrying o'er the flood, And waves were white below, No more shall feel the victor's tread, Or know the conquer'd knee; The harpies of the shore shall pluck The eagle of the sea ! * Written when it was proposed to break up the frigate Constitution, or to convert her into a receiving ship, as unfit for service. 158 NEW RHETORICAL READER. Oh, better that her shatter'd hulk Should sink beneath the wave ! Her thunders shook the mighty deep, And there should be her grave ! Nail to the mast her holy flag, Set every threadbare sail, And give her to the god of storms, — The lightning and the gale ! LESSON LXII. Our Obligations as American Citizens. — D. Webster. Let us indulge an honest exultation in the conviction of the benefit, which the example of our country has pro- duced, and is likely to produce, on human freedom and human happiness. And let us endeavour to comprehend, in all its magnitude, and to feel, in all its importance, the part assigned to us in the great drama of human affairs. We are placed at the head of the system of representa tive and popular governments. Thus far our example shows, that such governments are compatible, not only with respectability and power, but with repose, with peace, with security of personal rights, with good laws, and a just administration. We are not propagandists. Wherever other systems are preferred, either as being thought better in themselves, or as better suited to existing condition, we leave the pre- ference to be enjoyed. Our history hitherto proves, how- ever, that the popular form is practicable, and that with wisdom and knowledge men may govern themselves ; and the duty incumbent on us is, to preserve the consistency of this cheering example, and take care that nothing may weaken its authority with the world. If, in our case, the Representative system ultimately fail, popular governments must be pronounced impossible. No combination of cir- cumstances more favourable to the experiment, can ever be expected to occur. The last hopes of mankind, therefore rest with us ; and if it should be proclaimed, that our ex ample had become an argument against the experiment, the knell of popular liberty would be sounded throughout the earth. PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 159 These are excitements to duty ; but tliey are not sug- gestions of doubt. Our history and our condition, all that is gone before us, and all that surrounds us, authorise the belief, that popular governments, though subject to occa- sional variations, perhaps not always for the better, inform, may yet, in their general character, be as durable and per- manent as other systems. We know, indeed, that, in our country, any other is impossible. The principle of Free Governments adheres to the American soil. It is bedded in it ; immovable as its mountains. And let the sacred obligations which have devolved on this generation, and on us, sink deep into our hearts Those are daily dropping from among us, who established our liberty and our government. The great trust now de- scends to new hands. Let us apply ourselves to that which is presented to us, as our appropriate object. We can win no laurels in a war for Independence. Earlier and worthier hands have "fathered them all. Nor are there places for us by the side of Solon, and Alfred, and other founders of states. Our fathers have filled them. But there remains to us a great duty of defence and preserva- tion ; and there is opened to us, also, a noble pursuit, to which the spirit of the times strongly invites us. Our proper business is improvement. Let our age be the age of improvement. In a day of peace, let us ad- vance the arts of peace and the works of peace. Let us develope the resources of our land, call forth its powers, build up its institutions, promote all its great interests, and see whether we also, in our day and generation, may not perform something worthy to be remembered. Let us cul- tivate a true spirit of union and harmony. In pursuing the great objects, which our condition points out to us, let us act under a settled conviction, and an habitual feeling, that these twenty-four states are one country. Let our concep- tions be enlarged to the circle of our duties. Let us ex- tend our ideas over the whole of the vast field in which we are called to act. Let our object be, our country, OUR WHOLE COUNTRY, AND NOTHING BUT OUR COUNTRY. And, by the blessing of G-od, may that country itself be- come a vast and splendid Monument, not of oppression and terror, but of Wisdom, of Peace, and of Liberty, upon which the world may gaze, with admiration, forever ! 160 NEW RHETORICAL READER. LESSON LXIII. In Favour of Permitting the Return of tlie British Refu- gees. — Patrick Henry. Cast your eyes, Sir, over this extensive country — ob- serve the salubrity of your climate, the variety and ferti- lity of your soil — and see that soil intersected in every quarter by bold, navigable streams, flowing to the east and to the west, as if the finder of Heaven were marking out ... . the course of your settlements, inviting you to enterprise, and pointing the way to wealth. Sir, you are destined, at some time or other, to become a great agricultural and commercial people ; the only question is, whether you choose to reach this point by slow gradations, and at some distant period — lingering on through a long and sickly minority, subjected, meanwhile, to the machinations, in- sults, and oppressions of enemies, foreign and domestic, without sufficient strength to resist and chastise them — or whether you choose rather to rush at once, as it were, to the full enjoyment of those high destinies, and be able to cope, single handed, with the proudest oppressor of the old world. If you prefer the latter course, as I trust you do, encour- age emigration — encourage the husbandmen, the mechan- ics, the merchants of the old world, to come and settle in this land of promise — make it the home of the skilful, the industrious, the fortunate and hapj:>y, as well as the asylum of the distressed — fill up the measure of your population as speedily as you can, by the means which Heaven hath placed in your power — and I venture to prophesy there are those now living who will see this favoured land amongst the most powerful on earth — able, Sir, to take care of herself, without resorting to that policy which is always so dangerous, though sometimes unavoidable, of calling in foreign aid. Yes, Sir — they will see her great in arts and in arms — her golden harvests waving: over fields of im- measurable extent — her commerce penetrating the most distant seas, and her cannon silencing the vain boasts of those who now proudly affect to rule the waves. But, Sir, you must have men — you cannot get along without them — those heavy forests of valuable timber, un PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 161 der which your lands are groaning-, must be cleared away — those vast riches which cover the face of your soil, as well as those which lie hid in its bosom, are to be devel- oped and gathered only by the skill and enterprise of men — your timber, Sir, must be worked up into ships, to transport the productions of the soil from which it has been cleared — then, you must have commercial men and com- mercial capital, to take off your productions, and find the best markets for them abroad — your great want, Sir, is the want of men ; and these you must have, and will have speedily, if you are wise. Do you ask how you are to get them ] — Open your doors, Sir, and they will come in ! The population of the old world is full to overflowing — that population is ground, too, by the oppressions of the governments under which they live. Sir, they are already standing on tiptoe upon their native shores, and looking to your coasts with a wish- ful and longing eye — they see here a land blessed with na- tural and political advantages, which are not equalled by those of any other country upon earth — a land on which a gracious Providence hath emptied the horn of abundance — a land over which Peace hath now stretched forth her white wings, and where Content and Plenty lie down at every door! Sir, they see something still more attractive than all this — they see a land in which Liberty hath taken up her abode — that Liberty, whom they had considered as a fabled goddess, existing only in the fancies of poets — they see her here a real divinity her altars rising on every hand throughout these happy states — her glories chaunted by three millions of tongues — and the whole region smiling under her blessed influence. Sir, let but this our celestial goddess, Liberty, stretch forth her fair hand toward the people of the old world — tell them to come, and bid them welcome — and you will see them pouring in from the north — from the south — from the east, and from the west — your wildernesses will be cleared and settled — your deserts will smile — your ranks will be filled — and you will soon be in a condition to defy the powers of any adversary. But gentlemen object to any accession from Great Bri- tain — and particularly to the return of the British refugees. Sir, I feel no objection to the return of those deluded peo- 162 NEW RHETORICAL READER. pie. They have, to be sure, mistaken their own interests most wofnlly, and most wofully have they suffered the pun- ishment due to their offences. But the relations which we bear to them and to their native country are now changed — their king hath acknowledged our independence — the quarrel is over — peace hath returned, and found us a free people. Let us have the magnanimity, Sir, to lay aside our anti- pathies and prejudices, and consider the subject in a politi- cal light. Those are an enterprising, moneyed people — they will be serviceable in taking off the^urplus produce of our lands, and supplying us with necessaries, during the infant state of our manufactures. Even if they be inimi- cal to us in point of feeling and principle, I can see no ob- jection, in a political view, in making them tributary to our advantage. And as I have no prejudices to prevent my making this use of them, so, Sir, I have no fear of any mis- chief that they can do us. Afraid of them ! — what, Sir, shall we, who have laid the proud British lion at our feet. now be afraid of his whelps ? LESSON LXIV. To a Child. — Anonymous. Things of high import sound I in thine ears, Dear child, though now thou may'st not feel their power, Ye hoard them up, and in thy coming years Forget them not ; and when earth's tempests lower, A talisman unto thee shall they be, To give thy weak arm strength, to make thy dim eye see. Seek truth — that pure celestial Truth, whose birth Was in the heaven of heavens, clear, sacred, shrined In reason's light. Not oft she visits earth ; But her majestic port, the willing mind, Through faith, may sometimes see. Give her thy soul, Nor faint, though error's surges loudly 'gainst thee roll, Be free — not chiefly from the iron chain, But from the one which passion forges ; be PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 163 The master of thyself ! If lost, regain The rule o'er chance, sense, circumstance. Be free ! Trample thy proud lusts proudly 'neath thy feet, And stand erect, as for a heaven-born one is meet. Seek virtue. Wear her armour to the fight ; Then, as a wrestler gathers strength from strife, Shalt thou be nerved to a more vigourous might By each contending, turbulent ill of life. Seek Virtue ; she alone is all divine ; And, having found, be strong in God's own strength and thine. Truth — freedom — virtue — these, dear child, have power, If rightly cherished, to uphold, sustain, And bless thy spirit, in its darkest hour ; Neglect them — thy celestial gifts are vain — In dust shall thy weak wing be dragged and soiled ; Thy soul be crushed 'neath gauds for which it basely toiled. LESSON LXV. Eulogistic of Adams and Jefferson. — Edward Everett. They have gone to the companions of their cares, of their toils. It is well with them. The treasures of Ame- rica are now in Heaven. How long the list of our good, and wise, and brave, assembled there ! how few remain with us ! There is our Washington; and those who fol- lowed him in their country's confidence, are now met to- gether with him, and all that illustrious company. The faithful marble may preserve their image ; the en- graven brass may proclaim their worth ; but the humblest sod of Independent America, with nothing but the dew- drops of the morning to gild it, is a prouder mausoleum than kings or conquerors can boast. The country is their monument. Its independence is their epitaph. But not to their country is their praise limited. The whole earth is the monument of illustrious men. Wherev- er an agonizing people shall perish, in a generous convul- sion, for want of a valiant arm and a fearless heart, they will cry, in the last accents of despair ; Oh, for a Washing- 164 NEW RHETORICAL READER. ton, an Adams, a Jefferson ! Wherever a regenerated nation, starting up in its might, shall burst the links of steel that enchain it, the praise of our Fathers shall be the pre- lude of their triumphal song. The contemporary and successive generations of men will disappear. In the long lapse of ages, the tribes of America, like those of Greece and Rome, may pass away. The fabric of American Freedom, like all things human, however firm and fair, may crumble into dust. But the cause in which these our Fathers shone is immortal. They did that, to which no age, no people of reasoning men, can be indifferent. Their eulogy will be uttered in other languages, when those we speak, like us who speak them, shall all be for- gotten. And when the great account of humanity shall be closed at the throne of Grod, in the bright list of his child- ren, who best adorned and served it, shall be found the names of our Adams and our Jefferson. LESSON LXVI. bi Commemoration of tlic Completion of the Bunker-Hill Monument. — D. Webster. This column stands on Union. I know not that it might not keep its position, if the American Union, in the mad conflict of human passions, and in the strife of parties and factions, should be broken up and destroyed. I know not that it would totter and fall to the earth, and mingle its fragments with the fragments of Liberty and the Constitu- tion, when State should be separated from State, and fac- tion and dismemberment obliterate forever all the hopes of the founders of our Republic, and the great inheritance of their children. It might stand. But who, from beneath the weight of mortification and shame, that would oppress him, could look up to behold it 1 For my part, should I live to such a time, I shall avert my eyes from it for ever. It is not as a mere military encounter of hostile armies, that the battle of Bunker Hill founds its principal claim to attention. Yet, even as a mere battle, there were circum- PIECES FOR READING AND DECLAMATION. 165 stances attending- it, extraordinary in character, and en titling it to peculiar distinction. It was fought on this eminence ; in the neighbourhood of yonder city ; in the presence of more spectators than there were combatants in the conflict. Men, women and children, from every commanding position, were gazing at the battle, and look- ing for its result with all the eagerness natural to those who knew that the issue was fraught with the deepest con- sequences to them. Yet, on the sixteenth of June, 1775, there was nothing around this hill but verdure and culture. There was, indeed, the note of awful preparation in Boston. There was the provincial army at Cambridge with its right flank resting on Dorchester, and its left on Chelsea. But here all was peace. Tranquillity reigned around. On the seventeenth, every thing was changed. On yonder height had arisen, in the night, a redoubt in which Pres- cott commanded. Perceived by the enemy at dawn, it was immediately cannonaded from the floating batteries in the river, and the opposite shore. And then ensued the hurry of preparation in Boston, and soon the troops of Britain embarked in the attempt to dislodge the eolonists. I suppose it would be difficult, in a military point of view, to ascribe to the leaders on either side, any just motive for the conflict which followed. On the one hand it could not have been very important to the Americans to attempt to hem the British within the town by advancing one single post a quarter of a mile ; while on the other hand, if the British found it essential to dislodge the American troops, they had it in their power, at no expense of life. By moving up their ships and batteries, they could have com- pletely cut off all communication with the main land over the neck, and the forces in the redoubt would have been reduced to a state of famine in forty-eight hours. But that was not the day for such considerations on either side ! Both parties were anxious to try the strength of their arms. The pride of England would not permit the rebels, as she termed them, to defy her to the teeth ; and, without for a moment calculating the cost, the British general determined to destroy the fort immediately. On the other side, Prescott and his gallant followers longed and thirsted foi a conflict. They wished it, and wished it 166 NEW RHETORICAL READER. at once. And this is the true secret of the movements on this hill. I will not attempt to describe the battle. The cannona- ding — the landing of the British — their advance — the coolness with which the charge was met — the repulse — ■ the second attack — the second repulse — the burning of Charlestown — and, finally, the closing assault, and the slow retreat of the Americans — the history of all these is familiar. But the consequences of the battle of Bunker Hill are greater than those of any conflict between the hostile armies of European powers. It was the first great battle of the Revolution; and' not only the first blow, but the blow which determined the contest. It did not, indeed, put an end to the war, but in the then existing hostile feeling, the difficulties could only be referred to the arbi- tration of the sword. And one thing is certain ; that after the New England troops had shown themselves able to face and repulse the regulars, it was decided that peace could never be established but upon the basis of the inde- pendence of the colonies. When the sun of that day went down, the event of independence was certain ! When Washington heard of the battle, he inquired if the militia had stood the fire of the re