ffit ^mlm^ iSJt.- ■•!^ <6^7t/.Cey 9# '^oaf \ "^^^c/J IM Yicoy't/' //ze d>^A 7/1 /(9/f '\ \ . V THE AMERICAN ORATOR ; OR, aJ]fc0ant Cjctract^ in ©to^e anb ^^otttp; Comprehending a diversity of ORATORICAL SPECIMENS, OF THE ELOqUEXCE OF POPULAR ASSEMBLIES, OF THE BAR, OF THE PULPIT, &g. Principally intended for the use of SCHOOLS AJ^B ACADEMIES. TO WHICH ARE PUEFIXED, A DISSEETATIOX ON ORATORICAL DELIVERY, AND THE OUTLIJK'ES OF GESTURE. www www * There is as much Eloquence in the Tone of Voice, in the Lookj and in the Gesture of an Orator, as in the Use of his Words.' VWWX/VX/VWV BY INCREASE COOKE» WVVWWWW SECOND EDITION. VwwA/vwwn» IIARTFORD : PUBLISHED BY OLIVER D. COOKE, 1814 District of Connecticvt, to wit. -Ue it remembered, That on the 19th day of October, In the thirty-sixth year of the Independence of the United States of America, FNCREASE COOKE, of the said distaict, hath deposit- ed in this office the title ot a book, the right whereof he claims as author, in the words follow:ng, to wit : " The American Orator ; or, Elegant Extracts in Prose and Po- etry ; comprehending a diversity of Oratorical Specimens of the Eloquence of Popular Assemblies, of the Bar, of the Pulpit, 8tc. principally intended for the use of Schools and Academies. To which are prefixed, a Dissertation on Oratorical Delivery, and the Outlines of Gesture——* There is as much Eloquence in the Tone of Voice, in the Look, and in the Gesture of an Orator, as in the Use of his Woids.' — —By Increase Cooke." In conformity to the act of the Congress of the United States, entitled " An Act for the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of maps, cliarts, f.nd books, to the authors and proprie- tors of such copies, during the times therein mentioned." HENRY W. EDWARDS, Clerk of the District of Connecticut. A true copy of record, examined and sealed bv me, H. W. EDWARDS, Clerk of the UiHrict ofCoiineciictit. Hale & Hosmer, and Peter B. Gleason &. Co. Printers. P/V LTBI?ARY 4_-, . UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA TX 00 SANTA BARBARA / 8 1 4 TO THE YOUTH OF AMERICA, AVITH A VIEW TO THEIR GEXEltAL EXCELLEJS'CE, IS ftnoUJlctJgc, €a^te, anti ^ittm> THE FOLLOWING C03IP1LATI0N JS RESPECTFULLY IJ^SCRIBED, BY THE AUTHOR. J^civ-JIavtn, October, 1811. ADVERTISEMENT. X HIS Publication is principally intended for the accommodation of Teachers of Elo- cution, and of Young Persons, who are in the course of their Education : yet to Read- ers of every class — to the private Citizen, and to the Christian, as well as to the advanced Scholar, and to the Orator, — it presents an agreeable companion, particularly suited to fill up short intervals of accidental leisure. A general view of the variety compre° hended in this volume, with the names of the Authors from whose works extracts have been made, so far as they could be ascertained with certainty, is exhibited in the following Table OF Contents. The Dissertation on Oratorical Delivery, and the Outlines of Gesture, A2 VI ADVERTISEMliNTs which are prefixcc', arc mostly abstrac'ed from Chapman's Orator, and are fuller and more mi- nute, it is believed, than what is commonly to be met with in compilations of this sort. Living Authors, it is hoped, will not be displeased that useful and elegant passages have been borrowed of them, since, as they wrote to reform and improve the age, they will perceive at once, that to place their most important in- btiuctions, and salutary admonitions, in the hands of Young Persons, and to adapt them to the use of Schools and Academies, is to contribute most effectually to the accomplish- ment of their benevolent design. The works themselves at large are so voluminous and ex- pensive, as to be precluded from a general cir- culation — extracts, therefore, are highly expe- dient, or rather absolutelv necessarv. COJSU'EJVTS. DISSERTATION ON ORATORICAL DELI- VERY. PART I. Readings Recitation^ Declamatiorty and Oratory. Page 13 PART II. Application of the Inflections of the Voice. . . 2^ PART III. Modulation and Management of the Voice* . . 43 Outlines of Gesture. PART IV. 54 AMERICAN ORATOR. PART I. Pieces in Prose. CHAP. I. Paragraphs. 7\ CHAP. IL ^''arrative Fieces. Section 1. Carazan's Vision. . . Adventurer. 91 Section 2. Abdailah and Subat. . . Buchanan. 95 Section 3. Character of a Clergyman. Lounger. 99 Section 4. Relis^ion and Superstition Contrasted. 100 Section 5. TheJusticeofProvidence.^^£/-yen^urer.l06 Section 6. Review of Life, . . . Foster, 110 vi& CONTENTS. Section 1. Section 2. H Section 3. St'ction 4. Section 5. Section 6. Section 7. Section 8. Section 9. Section 10. Section 11. Section 12. Section 13. Section 14. Section 15. Section 16. Section 17. CHAP. III. Didactic Pieces^ On Study Bacon. 118 anilet's Directions to the pkycrs. S/ia. 119 Eloquence and Oratory. . Tlulnval. 121 Of Elocution ib. 122 Faults of Conversation. Guardiayi. 123 On Satirical Wit. . . . Stcrnt. 124 Oa Successful Speaking. Alaury. 126 The Orator should study himself, ib. 127 Wit injures Eloquence. . . . ib. 128 On the Production of Ideas. . ' ib. 129 Oratory z6. 132 Remarks on Reading. . Deinology. 133 Method in Spe.king ib. 135 Ancient Eloquence. . . Fordyce. 137 Women polish Sc improve Society. zA. 139 Fondness for Fashion injurious, ib. 142. Remarks on Preaching. . .,'inon. 144 CHAP. IV. De-ycri/itive Pieces. Sect. 1. Remarkable Faults of bad Speakers. Cresol. 148 Section 2. On Female Attractions. . Greviile. 149 Section 3. Fiiriilla and Amelia ib. 150 Section 4. Character of a young Lady. Kaims. 151 Seciion 5. Sensibility. ..... Sterne. 153 Section 6. Lil)erty and Slavery ib. 154 Seciion 7. Tlie Palace of Pleasure. Fordyce. 155 Section 8. The Tempi, of Virtue. . , . ib 160 Section 9. Descent into the I)olgoath Mine. SilU'rian. 163 CHAP. V. Pathetic Pieces. Section 1. The Blind Preacher. . . Anon. 170 Sect. 2. Dr. Mason'sinterview with Gen.Hamilton. 174 Section 3. The Close of Life. ... Blair. 178 Section 4. The Dying Infidel. . . . Saurin. 180 CONTENTS. IX CHAP. VI. Promiscuous Pieces. Section I. Novels and Romances. . Foster. 183 Section 2. Duelling. . Beauties of History. 185 Section S.CompendiousView oftheKiblc.Por/ews 191 Sect. 4. The Commencement of a Century. Anon. 200 Section 5. On Writing Letters. ..... 205 PART II. Different Kinds of Fublic Speaking. CHAP. I. Eloquence of Pofiular Assemblies. 209 Section 1. TheEuIogiumofthePerfcctSpcaker. 210 Section 2. Eulogium of Antoinette. . Burke. 211 Section 3. Panegyric on tke British Constitution. z6. 21 2 Section 4. Invectives against Hastings. 'SAer/f/cn.2 13 Section 5. Burke on the Eloquence of Sheridan. 216 Section 6. Eulogium on Lord Chatham. Junius. 216 tC^^<^^' 7. Cicero &c Demosthenes compared. Camb. 217 Sect. 8. Portraits oflMahomet and Jesus contrasted. 218 Sect. 9. Eulogium on the Duke of Bedford. Fox. 219 Section 10. Character of alowly Hero illustrated. 221 Section 11. Walpolc against Mr, Pitt. . . . 222 Section 12. Mr. Pitt's Reply. ...... 223 Section 13. Eulogy on Washington. . Ames. 225 Section 14. Eulogy on Hamilton. . . . ib. 229 Section 15. Eulogy on Fisher Ames. . Anon. 234 Section 16. The Character of Brutus. . Ames. 240 CHAP. XL Eloquence of the Bar. 244 Section 1. Paul's defence before Agrippa. . 248 Section 2. Sentence passed on John Slater. Wild's. 249 Section 3. Speech. in favour of a School Master. Dr. Johnson. 251 X CONTENIS. Section 4. Erskine against Williams, pub- lisher of Paine's Age of Reason. ^5, Section 5. On the Charactcrofa Jiiclge. Martzn. 237 Seciion 6. Burr and Bieiuierhasset. . Jiirt. 258 Section 7. Ersknie against Demosthenes.' . 263 Section 8. Emmet's Vindication 266 Section 9. Griffin against Chcetham, for a libel. 269 Another part of the same Speech. 275 Section 10. Cicero's Oriition against Vcrrcs. 278 CHAP. III. Jtlocjuerice of the Pulpit. Section 1. Remarks on Pulpit Eloquence. . 283 Section 2. The Commandments 287 Section 3. Nathan's Parable 288 Section 4. Parable of the Prodigal Son. . . 289 Sect. 5. The Atheist, his Attainments, &c. Foster. 290 Section 6. The Omnipresence of the Deity, ib. 292 Section 7. The Liberty of Man and the Fore- knowledge of God. Horsley. 296 Sect. 8. Character & Government oi God. Maaon. 298 Section 9. Divmity of Jesus Christ. . . ib. SOI Seciion 10. Sufferings of our Saviour. . Jay. 305 Section 1 1. Pure Religion and genuine Devo- tion. Faivcctt. 308 Sect. 12. Transilionfrom Time to Eternity. /-o^an. 3 10 Section 13. Early Piety /6. 311 Section 1 4. Devotion a source of Happiness. Blair. 3 1 3 Section 15. Reflections on God as our Creator. Fa-wcett. 315 Section 1 6. Triumph of Life and Death. Zolicofer. 319 Section 17. Domestic Happiness. . . . Jay. 324 Section 18. On Patience ib. 327 Seciion 19. Christianity a Practical Principle. Hannah More. 330 CHAP. IV. Select Sfieeches. Section 1. On Pi*cjudice Dexter. 335 Section 2. Disquisition on Patriotism. . . . 337 Section 3. Burke's Eulogy oi) his Son. . . 33^ CONTENTS. XI The importance of the Blessings of Union, ./ar/. 341 Section 4, Dangerof War between the States. Ha milt 071, 343 Section 5. Subject continued ib. 345 Section 6. Character of Moses. . . Dwight. 348 Section 7. The Force of Talents 352 Section 8. Washington's Speech to the first Congress. 554 Section 9. Extracts from Washington's Farewell. 357 PART III. ricces in Toetry. General Rules for reading Foelru. oG? CHAP. I. ■A'arrative Pieces. Section 1 . Verses, the Sound of which is an Echo to the Sense. 36S Section 2, Othello's Apology. . S/iaks/icare. 365 Sect. 3. Discourse betw een Adam Sc Eve. Millon. 367 CHAP. n. Didactic Pieces. Section 1. Nothing formed in vain. TJioniHon, 370 Sect. 2. National Prejudices and Slavery. Cotvjier.'ilX Sect. 3. Reflections on a Future State. Thomson. 372 Section 4. On Versification. .... Pofie, 373 Section 5. On Pride ib. 375 CHAP. HI. Descriptive Pieces. Section 1.. The Morning in Summer. Thomson , 2i (3 Section 2. The Sabbath Morning. . Sabbath. 577 Sect. 3. A Paraphrase on the 13th ch. of 1 Corinth. 378 Sect. 4, An improved Imagination, 8cc, Aken&idc. 380 CONTENTSk CHAP. IV. Pathrtic Pieces. Section Section Sc clion Section Wi, t t Miseries of Life. Thomson.'' 282 Leo^'idus's Farewell 383 A Fum-ral. . . Prom the Sabbath. 384 TliC Grave , JDtair. 38.') CHAP. V. Promiscuous Pieces. Section 1. Collins's Ode on the Passions. . . 387 Section 2. A Tea Party. . . . Salmagundy, 390 Section 3. The three Black Crows. . Bijrom. 391 Section 4. The Mariner's Dream. # . . . 393 PART IV. Dialogues. CHAP. I. Section I. A Proposal of Marriage 395 Section 2, Carey's Lecture on Mimicry. , . 397 Section 3. Addison and Swift. . . Littleton. 399 Section 4. Parental Love. . . . John Bull. 403 Section 5. Conjugal Love. . . Honey-Moon. 406 i>cction 6. Speech of RoUa. Sheridan's Pizarro. 408 DISSERTATION ox OUATOUICAL DELIVEUr. PART I. Reading, Recitation, Declamation, and Oratory. Thb general objects of public speaking are, in- struction, persuasion, or entertainment. These ob- jects are sometimes kept distinct, sometimes they are combined in various proportions. In their various modes of exercise, these objects will attain their ends, that is, succeed in influencing the hearer in the degree proposed, not only by the interesting matter which may be presented to him, but also by the manner in which it is presented. The manner is called the delivery. And the ad- vantages of good delivery are such, as to conceal in some degree the blemishes of the composition, or the matter delivered, and to add lustre to its beauties; in so much, that a good composition, well delivered, shall, with any popular audience, succeed better in its object, whether that be instruction, persuasion, or entertainment, than a superior composition, not de- livered so Mell. . The modes adopted in public speaking are, read- ing, recitation, declamation, oratory, and acting. Of which the tJiree first are often practised for the puipose of exercise or preparation, as well as on re- al occasions. B '4 A Dissertation on Reading mny l)c defined, the art of delivcriurf written language u'illi propriely, force, and elegance. This, if not the simplest inode of public speaking, is, among cultivated nations, the most useful and the easiest. Because, any man can, in this mode, deliver the sentiments of the wisest of all ages and nations, in language already prepared and approv- ed; and the public speaker has, on ordinary occa- sions, only to pronounce intcUi<{ibtij, w liat he has be- fore hira ; or, if he would perfectly discharge his of- fice on higher occasions, impressivcli/. Reading may be described under the following kinds, begin- ning from that ^^ hich requires the lowest eJlorts of the talents of delivery, and proceeding to that w hich requires the highest. The scale of reading, ^vill then be disposed thus : 1. Intelligible. 2. Cor- rect. 3. Impressive. 4. Rhetorical. 5. Dramatic. G. Epic. The lowest degree of reading aloud for the in- formation of others, m hich can be admitted as use- ful to the public, is that which is named intelligible reading. To a reader of this class, the following are the only requisites, good articulation, proper attention to pauses and accents, and sufficient etibrt of voice, to render himself audible to all concern- ed. To the articulation, pauses, accent, and eiTorts of voice, necessary to render a reader fully intel- ligible, the correct reader must add something more ; the additional requisites for him are em- phasis, purity of pronunciation, and suitable de- meanor. The correct reader must evince his own just conception of what he reads, by applying pro- per emphases, which serve as touches of light in a picture to bring forward the principal objects. He must study purity of pronunciation, that he may not offend, and distract the attention of his hear- ers, by diverting it from his subject, and turning it upon himself. Upon this principle, it is neces- Oratorical Delivery. * 16 sary that he be most careful not to offend by affec- tation; which, even in a greater degree than pro- vincial vulgarity itself, disturbs the attention from the proper objects of public speaking, persuasion, and instruction. In addition to the requisites necessary to the correct reader, the impressive reader must possess the folloNving : expression of the voice, expres- sion of countenance, direction of the eye, variety of manner as to rapidity of dehvcry, and rhetorical pauses. Hence, impressive reading comprehends two entire divisions of the art of deUvery, the modu- lation of the voice, and the expression of the coun- tenance ; of gesture, the third division, it partakes but little, and thai little, is very different from what is proper for oratory. VV'ilhin th3 whole range, through which the exer- cise of this valuable talent, the art of reading, is ex- tended, impressive reading will be found no where 60 requisite as in delivering the Scriptures. Their corapo.ntion is of that original and various charac- ter, which demands every effort on his part, who is called upon to deliver them for the instruction of others. Hardly is there a chapter, which does not contain something, \\ hich requires the most impres- sive reading ; as remonstrance, threatening, com- mand, encouragement, sublime description, awful judgments. The narrative is interrupted by fre- qu^'.nt and often unexpected transitions ; by bold and unu>uil figures ; and by precepts of most ex- tensive application, and most admirable use. In the narrative, the reader should deliver him- self with a suita!)Ic simplicity and gravity of demea- nor. In the tran-:ilio!is, which arf oft-ti rapid, he should manifest a quick C(inception, and by rhetori- cal pauses and suitable changes of voice, express and render intelligible, the new matter or ch mge of scene. In the figurntive and subiime, which evi;ry where abound, his voice should i)- sonorous, and his countenance expressive of the elevation of his IG A Dissertation on su1)jcct. In tlie i)reccpts, he should deliver him- self with judgnitnt and discretion ; and when he rrpcats the words and precepts, as recorded of our Lord himself, with more distinguished mildness, mingled with dis^nified authority. Such reading, ,woald be a perpetual and luminous commentary on the Sacred "NVritings ; and would convey more solid information, than the most learned and bril- liant sermons. If to the impressive style of reading, be added such a degree of acquaintance with the subject, as tlidt it shall be nearly committed to memory, and that it be also accompanied a\ ith gesture to a cer- tain degree, and more decided expression of the eyes and countenance, it constitutes a more forci- ble style, which may be termed rhetorical reading. This style of reading, is adapted to popular dis- courses from the pulpit, which if intended to be so delivered, should be composed in all the form of a regular oration. Because, as one subject of dis- course, requires a diilerent style of composition, it requires also a different manner of reading. Cor- rect reading suits a di'^course on evidences ; impres- sive reading, on exhortation ; and rhetorical read- ing, those subjects which call for the higher exertions of pulpit eloquence, as funeral orations, great pub- lic occasions, the solicitation of alms for useful cha- rities, and in all discourses where the orator has to excite passion and emotion. Public reading with- in these limits, m ill be found, if not capable of ail the brilliancy that can be desired, yet to possess great and solid advantages. To read well, should be esteemed a very high attainment in pul)lic speak- ing ; and no labour should be thought too arduous for its acquirement, by those who are likely to be called upon, in any situation to read in public ; that is, J)y any men of liberal education or rank in life, above the lowest vulgar ; each of whom will probably on some occasion, be obliged to exhibit liis talent. Oratorical Delivcri/. lY Reading in private is seldom carried farther than that description called impressive. But in the read- ing of a play, when one person goes through the v\ hole drama, a manner is almost necessarily adopt- ed, which may be called dramatic reading. In this style of reading, the voice, the countenance, and the delivery, as to rapidity, or slowness, force or feebleness, are nearly suited to the character which is supposed at any time to speak ; and even pro- vincial and foreign accents are also in some degree imitated ; moderate gesture of the hand is used, ac- companied now and then with the head, in pas- sages requiring particular discrimination. But the efforts pf the reader in mere private and family so- ciety, seldom go farther. The talent for dramatic reading in its highest ex- cellence is very rare. It includes mA only all the requisites for correct ^ impressive, and dramatic read- ing of the ordinary kind, which is sufHcient for the mere presenting the scenes of a play to a domes- tic circle ; Jiut the fine dramatic reader must be possessed of the quickest conception, and of an eye which intuitively comprehends the whole dialogue at a glance, of a versatility of manner capable of adapting itself to every character, and such a pow- er of modulation of the voice as shall also present each changing character to the hearer, within the bounds of decorous imitation, without naming him, which would often break the interest of the scene ; and above all, he must possess a true and lively feeling of the situation and interest of every person in the drama. History, which is tlie most improving subject of private readirig, in the mere narrative parfj, re- quires no greater efforts on the part of thi; rea ler, than the style which is termed rorrrct. Fut in lively descriptions of places, situations, and great actions, impressive vcTidin^ is altogeth-r iKce.'sary; and in the speeches which sometimes occur, rffc B2 16 A Disscriution on torical reaUiiig should in some measure, be intro- duced. The same circumstances occur more frequentlj'^ and more heiglitencd in epic poetry ; and, therefore, as well as on account of the lofty measure and ele- vated language, an epic poem requires of the read- er a more dignified and exalted strain, and a man- ner almost constantly sustained above the ordinary level. Descriptions, in such poetry, abound more, and are more highly ornamented, than in the most in- teresting history ; similes and other poetical figures, are introduced in all their grandeur and beauty ; battles are described with the most terrible and striking precision, and speeches are delivered with all the ornaments, and all the powers of eloquence. Thus, every tiling- sublime and beautiful, awful and pathetic, being assembled in an epic poem, as in a tragedy, the reader must be all awake, if he would deliver either with just eifect; he must be filled with his subject, governed by taste and judgment, alive to feeling, and inspired, like the poet himself, with a degree of enthusiasm. Of Recitation and Declamation. If tlie public speaker desire to give to the com- position, A\hich he delivers, more interest than it can derive from mere reading ; or rather desire to give it the highest interest of which it is capable ; he must commit it perfectly to memory, and adorn and enforce it with all tlie aids of the various mo- dulations of the voice, expression of the counte- nance, and suitable gesture. So tliat, even though he slvould deliver the sentiments of another person, he must appear altogether to adopt and feel, and recommend them as liis own. AMien the composi- tion thus delivered is poetical, this mode of pub- lic speaking is cilled recitation. When it is argu- mentative, and pronounced or composed on an ima- ginary occasionj for the purpose of exercising the Oratorical Deliver)/. 1^ speaker's rhetorical talents, it is called declamation. And when the speaker delivers in this manner, a composition of his own on a real occasion, it is ora- tory ; for the acquiring of the external art of which, recitation and declajnation are chiefly practised. Recitation, as not implying the composition of the speaker, may be considered according to the order of the requisite acquirements in the place, immediately after rhetorical reading; to all the re- quisites for which, recitation must add perfect memory and suitable gesture. In recitation, and all the other modes of public speaking, the whole person is, or may be exhibited, and every part takes its share in the gesture. Recitation being properly the rhetorical delivery of poetical compositions and pieces of imagination, the performer should stand apart from the company. In its first degrees, re- citation is practiced in private, as a rhetorical ex- ercise by young persons ; in its most perfect de- grees, it is exhibited in public, as a very high spe- cies of dramatic entertainment. The great variety in poetical campositioti and works of imagination, must aiford equal variety for the modes of reci- tation. Declamation, wliich is properly a prose exercise, composed by the speaker on some imaginary sub- ject or occasion, on account of the requisite ability in composition, as well as in the exercise of all the arts of dt^livery, may be considered as next in order above recitation. The ancient Roman ora- tors bestowed extraordinary attention upon the com- position and practice of declamation. Cicero continued this practice many years after he had arrived at the liighest eminence as an orator ; and, after his example, the most celebrated of the Roman orators followed the same plan. JO A Dissertation on Of Oratory. Oratory, which is puMic speaking on real and intCiesting occasions, is the most sj)Iendid object of ail literary exertion, and the highest scope of ail tho study and practice of the art. To oratory belongs Avhatever tlie perfection of composition can pro- dace, as well as all which tlie jierfection of deli- very can externally recommend and enforce. Ora- tory is the power of reasoning, united to the va- rious ajts of persuasion, presented l)y external grace, and by the whole energy of the human power?. Reasoning divested of rlietorical composition and rhetorical delivery, becomes strict demonstration. Such reasoning is foimd in logic, mathematics, evidences of facts, and law arguments, lleasoning, in this sense, is distinct fxom oratory : both, in- deed, aim at bringing over men to their opinions, but by different means. Reasoning, appeals to the understanding alone ; oratory deals with the pas- sions also. Reasoning, proceeds directly to the truth) and exhibits it in the simplest languagfe. Oratory chooses the most favouralile view of the su')jcct, engages the attention of the hearer by the d-;t^il of circumstances, interests him by tiie colour' ing whicli he gives them, d-'lights hira by ornament, and, having won his favourable attention, appeals at once to his understanding and to his heart. When the subject admits of demonstration, reasoning is the mist powerful; it is irresistiljle : but wheri strict demonstration cannot be had, oratory has then, the advantage. And since, in a very few of the most interesting inquiries, which occupy the attention of men, strict demonstration can ^>e obtained, so the demand for the talents of the orator is frequent and indispensable in the business of life.. Reasoning is, th 'refore, applied principally to philosophical research, and to objects of science : oratory to the interests of m^n, and to objects admitting" choice. It is an advantage which oratory posses .-es above Oratorical Deliveri/. 21 reasoning, that oratory constantly avails itself of reasoning ; but strict reasoning does not call in the aid of oratory. The public speakers of this country have been ce- lelirated as excellent reasoners ; while their orators liave been few. For this, various reasons have been assigned: the truest, perhaps, may be indolence with respect to the requisite labour, and inattention to the high value of eloquence ; as to natural in- ability, every idea of such an impediment is to be rejected, as no less false than unworthy of a learned and independent people. An extreme attachment to every thing which bears the appearance of demon- stration, may also, in part, account for the paucity of orators among us. Accurate reasoners ahect to despise the assistance of oratory, and to consider truth and reason^ wlien fairly presented, sufficient to make their way. If sophistry could never de- lude, under the pretence of demonstration, and if men were constituted without passions, reason w'ould, indeed, be sufficiently powerful ; but the passions , hold such a dangerous correspondence with the un- derstanding, that mere reason cannot always vin- dicate the truth ; therefore the aid of eloquence is required, in order to expose their treachery : and it were well for mankind, if the triple alliance of rea- son, truth, and eloquence, proved always victorious. Our puhlic speakers, it has been often remarked, content th mselves with reasoning well ; and, owing to some of the causes mentioned, indoK^nce, inatten- tion, and the want of splendid examples, aim at no higher excellence, and stop short of eloquence. The true foundation of oratory, no doubt, is sound logic ; but then, it should be remembered, that it is only the foundation ; and that to complete the plan, the superstructure, with all its accommo- dations, and with all its ornaments, is wanting. To be an orator, is more dilKcult than to be a reasoner, and demands, in addition, many other talents and i3erfectiouf, both natural and acquired. The con? 22 A Dissertation on Eiimmate orator is, therefore, rare, and a wonder in every age and in every country. And, perhaps, Dtmoslhencs in Athens, and Cicero in Home, were tlie only perfect orators (if even they reached per- fection) wlioni the world Jias yet seen. But there are many degrees of excellence far below theirs, and l)elow perfection, by reachintj any of ^\l^ich, a public speaker may acquire considerable fame and honour. The high degrees of excellence, should a man aspire to them, can be attained only by those, whom nature has endowed with great al)ilities, and who attempt perfection itself. For this object, long and laborious exertion must l)e made; but the very effort will bring its adequate reward in every stage, and will carry the aspiring mind, farther and farther, beyond the dull boundaries of medio- crity; and place him within the regions of honour- able excellence.* A correct speaker, does not make a movement of a limb or feature, for which he lias not a reason. If he addresses heaven, he looks upward. If he speaks to his fellow creatures, he looks round upon them. The spirit of wdiat he says, or is said to him, appears in his look. If he expresses amaze- ment, or would excite it, he lifts up his hands and eyes. If he invites to virtue and happiness, he spreads his arms, and looks with benevolence. If he threatens the vengeance of heaven against vice, he bends his eye-brows into >\rath, and menace.- with his arm and countenance. He does not i-icodiej-sly saw the air with his arm, nor stab jumstif with his finger. He does not clap his riglit hand upon his breast, unless he has occasion to sj)f.nk of ]iini:^elf, or to introduce conscience, or something sr.ntimental. He does not start back, unless he wants to express horror or aversion. He does not come forward, but when he has occasion to solicit. He does not raise or lower his voice, but as tin. nature of tlie senti- ment requires. His eyes by turn?, according to the * AustiiCs C/dronomia. Oratorical Delivery. J33 humour of the matter he has to express, sparkle fu- ry ; brighten into joy ; glance disdain ; melt into grief; frown disgust and hatred ; languish into love, or glare distraction. There is a true sublime in delivery, as in the oth- er imitative arts, i« the manner tus mcII as in the matter of what an orator delivers. As in poetry, painting, sculpture, music, and the other elegances, the true sublime consists in a set of masterly, large, and nol)le strokes of art, superior to florid little- ness ; so it is in delivery. The accents are to lie clear and articulate ; every syllable standing off from that which is next to it, so tliat they may b.e numbered as they proceed. The inflections of the voice are to be distinctly suited to tlie matter, and the humour or passions so oppositely applied, that they may be known by the sound of the voice, al- though the words cannot be heard. And the va- riations are to be like the full swelling folds of the drapery in a fine picture or statue, bold, and free, and forcible. In a con-umnrate speaker, w hat- ever thers is of corporeal- dignity or beauty, the majesty of the human face divine, the grace of ac- tion, the piercing glance, gentle languish, or fiery (lash of the eyes ; \\ hatever of lively passion, or stiiking emotion of mind, whatever of fine imagin- ation, of wise reflection, or irresistible reasoning; \vhatcver is excellent in human nature, all that the hand of the Creator has impressed of his own im- age, on the noblest creature with which we are ac(juaintcd ; all this appears in the consummate speaker to the highest advantage. And whosoever is proof against such a display of all that is noble in human nature, must have neither eye, nor ear, n")r passion, nor imagination, nor taste, nor under- standing. 3^ A Dissertation an PART. II. A PROPER application of the inHcctions of the voice, constitutes a principal part of that beauty, variety, and harmony, which afiord so much plea- sure in good reading and speaking. Besides the pauses which indicate a greater or less separation of the parts of a sentence, and a conclusion of the whole, the peculiar inflections of voice which ought to accompany these pauses, are equally necessary to the sense of the period, with the pauses themselves. — With whatever degree of accuracy we may pause between the diiierent parts of a sentence, unless we accompany each pause \vith that inflection necessary to the sense, we will not only divest the composition of its true mean- ing, but produce a meaning totally dilFerent from that intended by the author ; and uniformly de- stroy the beauty, variety, and harmony of the pe- riod. All vocal sounds may be divided into two kinds, speaking sounds and nnisical sounds. They may be thus defined practically. First, musical sounds ; a series of sounds mov- ing distinctly from grave to acute, or from acute to grave, either gradually or by intervals, and al- Avays dwelling for a perceptible space of time, on ont^ certain tone. Scco)id, speaking sounds, or the melody of gpeech, moves rapidly up or down by slides where- in no graduated distinction of tones or semitones can be measured by the ear ; nor does the voice, in our language, ever dwell distinctly, for any perceptible space of time, on any certain or uni- form lone ; except when the mo7iotune is introduc- ed, which approaches nearer to common mu ic, than to any other sound u^.d in speaking, and may Oratorical Delivery. ^5 be considered as more allied to musical, lliau to speaking sounds. The inflexions of the voice are totally different from either the varieties of modulation, or the tones of i)assion. For whether we pronounce words in a high or low, in a loud or a soft tone ; whe- ther they are pronounced suiftiy or slov. ly, forci- bly or feebly, with the tone of tiie passion, or with- out it, they murt necessarily l)e pronounced ^vith the voice sliding upwards or downwards, with these two combined, or the voice must go into a mono- tone or species of song. These two inflexions of voice may, therefore, be coujidcred as the axis, on which the beauty, variety, and harmony of speak- ing, turn.* The five following modifications of voice, there- fore, may be considered as absolute ; since they are the only possible ways of varying it, so as to make one mode diiiferent from another. 1st, The rising inflexion or upward turn of the voice, marked with the acute accent, thus ('). This inflexion is not confined to any particular pause, though most generally used at a comma, and when a question is asked in the definite form. 2d, The filling inflexion, or downward turn of the voice, marked with the grave accent, thus f ). — This inflexion, like the above, is not confined to any particular pause, though most generally used at the semic Ion, colon, and period ; and when a question is asked in the indefinite form. 3d, The rising circumflex, which begins with the falling, and terminates with the rising inflexion, marked thus ("). 4th, The falling circumflex, which begins with the riing, and terminates with the falling inflex- ion, marked thus (*). These two circumflexes are • Those who wish lo spe a more minvite investigation of this suh)ect may consult Steele's Pi'osodia Ratioiialis, and Walker'?. Elements of Elocution. C, 26 A Di&srrtation on generally ti^ed to express irony, contempt, reproaclt, s>neer, and raillery. These inllcxions arc made up- on one syllabic : as, you, you ; so, f^6. 5tli, I'hc monolono is the continuation of the voice upon certain syllables, without any variation, and may be marked thus ("). This modification of the voice may ])e used ^^itll AAonderfui ciilct, arid peculiar beauty, in certain solemn and sublime passages in poetry ; and by the unconnuonntss of its use, Mhen the subject is grand and tlie lan- guage dignified, it may be used in prose, where it adds greatly to that variety, with >\hich the ear is so much delighted. The following sentences are defined, and the manner of reading them pointed out, particulai'ly V, ith regard to the inflexions. 1st, A period or compact sentence, is an assem- blage of such Avords or members, as do not foim sense independent of each other ; or, if they do, the former mo(Jify the latter, or inversely. — This sen- tence must be read Mith the rising inflexion, ac- companied wiih the longest pause vherc the sense begins to form. JEXAJiri.ES. To be ever active in laudable pursuits, is the di? tinguishing characteristic of a man of merit. Ambition is the first and great cause of thase troubles, that tear and destroy the peace of the world. Ihe difference between a languid and vigorous exertion of our fac'ulties, forms the chief point of distinctiou between genius and duiness. Where men of judgment creep and feel their way, Tlie positive prcuounce without delay. Oratorical Delivery. St* I.ovc, hope, and joy, fair pleaFure's smiling train, Hate, fear, and grief, the family of pain'; These mix'd uith art, and to due hounds confin'd, Make and maintain the balance of the mind. 2d, When compact sentences have their princi pal constructive parts connected with correspond- ing conjunctions, the rising inOexion and the long- est pause are required at the end of the first con- structive member, whether the corresponding con junction be ejc pressed or understood = EXAMPLES. Both conjunctions expressed- As we must remember, that the riches, grandeur, and reputation of the world, are not the greatest happiness we have to h.ope f r; so earthly poverty, obscurity, and meanness, are not the greatest evUs we have to fear. As you are not to fancy yourself a learned man, because you are blessed with a ready v. it ; so nti- ther must you imagine, that large and laborious reading, and strong memory, can denominate you truly wise. ' Though the pure consciousness of worthy actions, s^bstracted from the views of popular applaus°, be, to-a gr-nerous mind, an ample re\\ard; yd, the de- sire of distinction wa^ undoubtedly implant^'d in our namrc, as an additional incentive to exert our- selves in virtuous excellence. Without the corresponding conjunction. If men of eminence are exposed to censure on the one hand, they are as nnich liable to flattery on. the other. "SS A Dissertation on Would a vain man consult his own heart, he would find, that if others knew his weakness as he hiiUFelf does, he would not have the hupudence to expect the pul)lic esteem. As \vords ^^■hich are opposed to one another arc always emphatic, and as emphasis controls all in- ilcxion, it causes exceptions to almost all the gene- ral rules. If we have no regard for religion in youth, we ought to have some for it in age. If we have no regard for our own' character, we ought to have some regard foa: the character of others. 3d, When the first part of a sentence forms per- fect sense, but is modified, or determined in its meaning by the latter, it is called an inverted peri- od This sentence is to be read with the rising inflexion, accomi>anied with the longest pause, at the clause immediately preceding the modifying member. EXAMPLES. Persons of good taste expect to be pleas'ed, at the same time they are informed. Man, in his highest earthly glory, is ])ut a reed floating on the stream of ti'me, and forced to follow every new direction of the current. A temperate spirit, and moderate expectations, are the best safe-guard of the niind, in this uncet' tain and changeable state. 4th, A sentence, forming perfect sense, with an additional member, ^hich does not aftect what has gone fcefore, is a loose period. This sentence is to Jdratorical Delivery. S9 be read with the falling InQexion at the comple- tion of the sense : i. c. immediately preceding the )o9se member. EXAMPLES. Moderate and simple pleasures relish h%h wiui the tenVperate : in the midst of his studied refine- ments, the voluptuary languishes. The happiness of every man depefids more upon the state of his own mind, than upon any one ex- ternal circumstance : nay, more than upon all ex- ternal things put together. Tliat gentleness which is tlie characteristic of a good man, has, like every other virtue, its seat in the heart; and, let jiie add, nothing except what flows from tlie heart, can render even external maj>. ners truly pleasing. 5th, When a sentence is constructed in such a manner, as to have words or clauses corresponding to one another, so as to form an antithesis ; the oppo- site parts must always have opposite inflexions. EXArilPLES. We take less pains to he happy, tlian to appear so We judge of men, not from the mei^t which distinguishes them, but from the in'terest which go- verns us. As it is the characteristic of great wits to say much in few words, so small ■wits, seem to have the gift of speaking much and saying little. 6th, The last member but one of a sentence, call- ed the penultimate, except when aflected by empha- sis, must have the rising inflexion. C2 80 A Dissertation on EXA-AIPLES. lie ^vho pretends to great sensibility towards uicii, and yet has no feeling for the high ohjecfs of re- ligion, no heart to admire and adore the great Fa- ther of the universe, lias reason to distrust the truth and deUcacy of his sensibility. If they do not acquiesce in liis judgment, wliicli, I tliink, never happened above once or twice at most, Ihey appeal to me. 7i\ Interrogative sentences arc of two kinds, de- finite and indefinite. When the question is formed witliout an interrogative word, it is called definite. — - This question must be read with the rising inflexion. EXABirLES. Would it not employ a beau prettily enough, if, instead of eternally playing wilh his snuii-box, he .spent some part of his time in making one ? Is it not Avonderful, that the love of the parent among J>rute animals should be so violent while it lasts, and that it should last no longer, than is ne- (•essary for the preservation of the young ? Suppose a youth to have no prospect either of sit- ting in parliament, of pleading at the bar, appear- ing upon the stage, or in the pulpit ; does it fol- low, that he need bestow no pains in learning to speak properly his native lan'guage ? Will he never "have occasion to read in a company of his friends, a copy of verses, a passage of a book or news'paper ? Was he not a great and distinguished orator, who confounded the Jews at Damas'cus ? who made a prince, before whom he stood to be judged, confess, that he had almost persuaded him to become a con- vert to a religion every where spoken' agamst ? who Oratorical Dclivcri/. SI threw another into a fit of trembling, as he sat upon his judg'juent seat ? who made a defence before the learned com't of Areopagus, vhich gained him for a convert, a member of tlie court itseli'? who struck a whole people ^vith such admiration, that they took Jiim for the god of eloquence? and who gained a place among Longinus's list of famous oratoi's ? 8(h, When the question is made with an interro- gative word, it is called indefinite, and must be read TV ith the falling inflexion, like a declarative sentence, ')ut not so low. EXAMPLES. Who can deny, but that flattery is a sort of bad money, to \\ hich our vanity gives cur'rency ? How many have had reason to be thankful, for being disappointed in designs which they earnestly pursued, but Avhich, if successfully accomplished^ they have af- terwards seen, would have occasioned their ruin ? On whom does time hang so heavily, as on the slothful and lazy ? to whom are the hours so lin'ger- ing ? who are so often devoured with spleen, and obliged to fly to every expedient, which can help them to get rid of themselvci-^ ? Who is here so base that would be a bondman* ? if any, speak ; for him have I oflfended. Who is here so rude, that would not be a Ron\Mn ? if any, speak ; for him have I oflended. Who is here so vile, that will not love his coun^try ? if any, speak ; for him have I of- fended. 'Tisdone! dread winter spreads his latest glooa^s. And reigns tremendous o'er the conquer'd year. How dead the vegetable kingdom lies ! How dumb the tuneful ! Honor w ide extends His desolate domain. Behold, fond man ! See here thy pictur'd life : pass some few yr>ars. Thy flowering spring, thy summer's ardent strength^ 32 J Dissertation on Thy sober autumn fading into age, And pale concluding winter conies at last, And -huts tlie scene. Ah! whither now are fled, Those dreams of greatness? those unsolid hopes Of happiness ? those longings after fame ? Those restless cares ? those busy bustling days ? Those gay spent,festive nights? those veering thoughts l>ost between good and ill, that shar'd thy life ? All now are lost! Virtue sole survives, Immortal never-failing friend of man, His guide to happhiess on high. F^xceptioiis on account of Emphasis, which affect both the Dcjhiite and Indefinite question. Simply, Why did you not stud'y ? with emphasis, M'^hif' did you not stud'^y ? simply, When do you go to college ? with emphasis, Wh-n do you go to coi*- iege ? simply. Have you prepared your task' ? w ith emphasis, Have you preparetl your tasl>? simply, Are you going to col'lege ? with emphasis, Are you going to coHege ? 9th, Exclamation is a racirk used by grammarians, to point out, tliat some passion or emotion of the mind is contained in the words to which it is annex- ed Great care should be taken by readers to ascer- tain w hen this note is properly applied. It is often mistaken by printers, for the note of interrogation, and vice versa ; and also by bad readers, fi'om their not perceiving the import of the author. — The man- ner of reading it ; if Ih'; exclamation point is piaced after a mt niber that would have the rising inflexioa in another sentence, it ought to have the, rising in this ; if after a member that w ould have the falling inflexion, the exclamation ought to have the same. But this rule is very general. EXAMPLES. How many clear marks of benevolent intention ap- pear every where around us ! What a proiu-iou of Oratorical Delivery. 93 beauty and ornament is poured forth on the face of nature.' What a magnificent spectacle presented to the view of man! What supply contrived for his wants ? What a variety of ol)jec{s set before him, to gratify his senses, to employ his understanding, to entertain his imagination, to cheer and gladden his heart I -O luxury Bane of elated life, of affluent stales. What dreary change, what ruin is not thine ! How doth thy bowl intoxicate the mind ! To the soft entrance of thy rosy cave. How dost thou lure the fortunate and great ! Dreadful attraction ! 10th, When a member is inserted into another, and neither affects the construction of the sentence, nor is in any degree necessary to the sense, it is called a parenthesis. — In reading it, the voice ought to be low- ered, the words pronounced somewhat quicker than the other parts of the sentence, and with the same pause and inflexion which is given to the clause im- mediately preceding. l3XAMri,ES. Though religion removes not all the evils of life, though it promises no contiiuuncv' of uudL''ujl>f d prospei'ity, (whicli, indeed, it were not iaiutaiy for man always to enjoy,; yet, if it mitigates the evils which necessarily belong io oue ttate, it may juFtly be said to give " rest to them who lab:■ (lic1inii,uishiiig some words from others, conjmon- ly Cilh'd emphasis oi force : but only, when properly aj)pli."d, enforces, graces, and enlivens, without in any degree, ajfrihig or Jixiii^ the sense of any passage — Fourth, The force ncc 'ssary for emphasis of sense. — As oppositi >n is tli'- found^ition of all emphasis of sense, whatever words are contrasted with, contradis- tin'j[uish'^d from, or set in oppositim to, on.-.- anoth r, they are always emphatic. Hence, whenever there (Oratorical Delivery. SB is antithesis in the gcnse, whether words or clauses, there ought to be emphasis in the pronunciation. If no emphasis he placed on words, not only is dis- cnurse rendered heavy and Jifcless, but tlie meaning left ambiguous. If the emphasis be priced wrong', A\e pervert and confound tJie meaning wholly. To lay the emphasis, then, with exact propriety, is a con- stant exercise of good sense and attention. It is one of the most decisive trials of a true and just taste ; and must arise from feeling dlicately ourselves, and from judging accurately of Mhat is fittest to strike the feelings of others. The following examples illustrate the nature and use of emphasis of force and emphasis of sense; or, as they are sometimes called, inferior and superior emphasis. EMPHASIS OF FORCE. Many persons mistake the love for the practice of virtue. Shall I reward his services M'iih false/iood! shall I forget /lim who cannot forget me / If his principles are /nlsr, no apology from hiynselj can make them right ; if founded in truth, no censure from others can make them wrons^. Providence never intended, that any state here should be either completcli/ happy, or entirely mise raljle. No station is so high, no power so great, no charac- ter so vnhlemishcd, as to exempt men from being at- tacked with rashnes';, malice, or envy. The external misfortunes of lite, disappointmf^nts, p'^verty, and sickness, are notliing in coinparison of those inward distresses of mind, occasioned by folly, by passion, and by guilt. What men could do, Is doTio already ; heaven and earth will witness, That, (/'i^o;/z6' .Musx/a//, we are innocent. TJinugh deep, yet clear ; though gentle, yet not dull : Strong, without rage ; without o^erJio>ving,fulL 3§ A Dissertation on Hope, of all passions, most fxfriends us here ; J*assioHS oi prouder name befriend us less. Toy has her tears, and transport has her death. Hope, like a cordial, innocent though strongs IMan's heart at once inspirits and serenes. EMPHASIS OF SENSE, . In the following examples, both parts of the anti- thesis are expressed ; in such sentences, the least de- cree of force proper for emphasis cf sense is necessary. Tlie emphatic words, houever, are far from being feebly pronounced ; they ought to have more stress th:in any other words m the sentence: ev :n superior to those that require the emphasis of force, if any such occur in the sentence. As it is the chancter of gre it wits to say much in few words ; so sralL Avits seem to have the gift of fcpeakin.? nmch, and sa5-ing little. "VVe judge 'f m'^n, n >t from tlie meruit which di.4in- gul hes ih.m, but from the in tercst which governs us. The pieaitires of the imagination are n'>t so gross as those of sen se, nor so refined as those of the under- stan^dhr:. That may generally be suspected to be righ^t, which requires many words to prove it wrSig ; and that nrr'.ng, which cannot, witlnut much labour, appear to he ri<^/U'. AVhc-n a Persian soldier was reviling Alrxander the Great, his officer reprimanded, saying, you were paid to %/( t agamst Alexander, and nut to rail" at him. T!ie hours cf a wise man are lengthenrd by his i'Uas, as tlio:;e of a fool are by his pass^ions ; the time of the one is long, becau"=;e h; does not i-now ^^hat to do with it; so is that of the other, because he distin- guishes every moment of it with useful ond amusing thoughts: or, in other words, because the one Is al Oratorical Deliuert/. Sf nays tsishing it arvay, and the other always enjoif- ing it. TIieiK; seems to be some minds suited to great, and somc to ]\ttle employments; some formed to soar afoft, and others to grovel on the ground, and confine iheir regard to a narrow sphere. Of these, the one is n danger of becoming useless by a daring negligence, the other by a scrupulous solicitude : the one collects many ideas, but confused and indistinct ; the other is buried in minute accuracy, but Avithout compass, and vithout dignity. Let old TimotJieus yield the prize. Or both' divide the crown ; He rais'd a mor^tal to the sJcies, iShe drew an angel doivn'. The following sentences afford examples where the emphasis changes the accent of the word. lie shall //jcrease, but I shall rfvlio needy or m hen they iiecdy not n6;v. The humble Norval Is of a race, who strive not but ^^ ith deeds. Did I not fear io freeze thy shallow valour. And make thee sink too soon beneath my sword, I'd tell thee — what thou art, I know thee well. MONOTONE. But what then^ ! Is it come to this^ ? Shall a» inferior magistrate, a governor, who holds his whole power of the Roman people, in a Roman province, within sight of Italy, bind, sccdrge, t5fture with red hot plates of iron, and at last put to the infamous death of the cross, a Roman citizen ? High on a throne of royal state, which far Outshone the wealth of Ormus or of Inde, Or wl ere the gorgeous Ea t with 'ichest land Showers on her kliigs bar! adc ptarl and gold, Satan^ exalted at. Hence ! loath'd Melancholy, Of Cerberus, and blackest Midnight born, In Stygian cave forlorn, ^jWongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights un- holy, Oratorical Ddivcry. 3^ iind out sonic uncouth cell, Where ))rooding darkness spreads his jealous wings, And the night raven sings ; Thet-e under ebon shades and low-brow'd rocks, As ragged as thy locks. In dark Cinuuerian desert ever dwell. 16(h, Wlien a sentence is so constructed as io have an enumeration of particulars, each particular rising' gradually a]x)ve the last in sense, it is a Climax or Gradation. This figure is most perfect, when the last idea in the former member becomes the first in the lat- ter. — As every Climax is a scries, it mut-t be pronounc- ed with an increasing swell and elevation of voice. Tlie Minor longs to be of aj.e, then to be a man of bus'iness, then to make up an estate, then to arrive at honours, then to retire. I tell you, though you, though all the world, though an angel from heav^en, were to affirm the truth of it, I could not believe it. Consult your whole nature: consider yourselves, not only as sensitive, but as rational beings ; not on- ly as ratioDal, but social ; not only as social, but im- mortal. The descriptive part of this allegory is likewise very strong, and full of sublime ideas: the figure of Death, tlie regal crown upon his head, his menace of Satan, his advancing to the comMiat, the outcry at his birth, are circumstances too noble to be passed over in silence, and extremely suitable to this king of ter- rors. Whom lie did foreknow, he also did predestinate and whom he did predestinate, them he also called and whom he called, them he also justified ; and whom lie justified, them he also glorified. For I am persuaded, that neither dtath, nor life; nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things pres'ent, nor things to come. J nor height, nor depth; ^0 A Dissertation oti oflr any otlier crcdlnrc, shall be a])Ic to separate m from the love of C)6d, uhich is iii CJirist Jesus oui I.ord. There is ne enjoyment of properly without govern- jiient, no govcrnm'nt withoiil a uiagistrate : no magis- trate without oleciience: and no olicdience, where every one acts as he pleases. Wjiat is there remaining of liberty, if whatever is their pleasure, it is lawful for them to do : if what i» lawful for them to do, they dare do ; if Avhat they dare do, they really execute, and if what they exe- cute, is no way offensive to you. If this guiltless infant had been murdered by its own nurse, what punisliment would not the mother have demanded ! a\ ith what cries and exclamations would she liave stunned our ears ! ^Vhat shall we say,= then, when a woman guilty of homicide — a mother of the murder of her own child, comprises so many misdeeds in one single crLiBe ? — a crime in its own nature detestable ; in a woman, prodigious ; in a mother incredible : — and perpetrated against one whose age cal^d for compassion, whose near relation claimed affection, and whose innocence deserved the highest favour ? 'lliere are in heaven, the redeemed of all people, nations, and languages : there are the heroes of reli- gion, who, for having turned many to rigliteousness, shine bright for ever as tlie stars in the firmament; there are the angels jwwerful in strength: there are the seraphim burning Avith love : there are tlie thou- sand thousands that minister to the Eternal ; and the ten thousand times ten tjiousand that stand before hi? tlirone. 'Tis Rome demands our tears : The mistress of the world, the seat of empire! The nurse of heroes, the delight of gods ! That humbl'd the }7toud tyrants of the earth, And set the nations free — Rome is no more. Oh liberty ! ^Oh virtue ' Oh my country I ' f. p' ^ Oratorical Delivers. 4:1 Base men, use tliem to so base eiTect ; But truer stars did govern Proteus' birth ; His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles, His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate, His tears pure messengers sent from his heart, His heart as far from fraud as heaven from earth. O now forever Farewell the tranquil mind ! Farewell content \ Farewell the plumed troops, and the big war That make ambition virtue ! Oh farewell ! Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trum The spirit-stirring dium, the ear-piercing fife, The royal banner : and all quality, Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war • And oh, ye immortal engines, whose rude throats The iu\mortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeits. Farewell ! Othello's occupation's gone I irth. Pauses and Breaks. The pauses meant liere, are those w hich are made in reading or speak- ing passages,, where deep reflection is necessary. No exact time can be fixt for them ; they ought to be regulated in duration according to the importance of the subject. In most cases, the voice should have the tone of continuance, indicating, that the speaker's mind is deeply engaged in thought and contempla- tion : this constitutes the difference between a Pause and a Break ; the former is a gradual stop, the lat- ter, a sudden check of expression. Pauses of tlie first kind occur in the following lines of Shakspeare ; and as the subject is of great weight and imi^ortance, should be of considerable duration, perhaps while one could number six, or a period and a half to each. It must be by his death , and for my part I know no personal cause to spurn at liira, D 2 412 .'I Dissertation 6*i But for the general — He would be crown'd — How that might change his nature — there's tlie quei?- tion. It is the briglit day that brings forth the adder ; And that craves wary wallcing : crown him — that — And then I grant we put a sting in him, Which at his will he may do danger \vith, To be — or not to be — tliat is the question : Whether 'lis noI)kr in tlie mind to pu/Ter Tlie stings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them. — To die — to sleep — No more ; — and by a sleep to say we end The heart-ach, and tlie thousand natural shocks That flesh is Iieir to — 'tis a consummation -Devoutlj' to be wish'd. — To die — to sleep — To sleep, perchance to dream : — Ay, there's the rub :•: For in tliat sleep of deatii u hat dreams may come, When we have shuflled oiltliis mortal coil Must give us pause. — Pauses of confusion are shorter than those of reflec- tiou, and should be filled up with hesitative panling draughts of l>reath, while every succeeding word or sentence varies in tone of expression from the former. Yes : 'tis Emelia — by and by — site's dead- 'Tis like she comes to speak of Cassio's death- The noise was high — Ha ! no more moving ? — Still as the grave — sliall she come in ? — wert good ? I think she stirs again — no — what's best ? — Breaks are only pauses of a different nature^ more iibrupt and sudden, as when a passage cuts short be- fore the meaning is fully explained ; these most fre- quently occur in violent grief, and impetuous rage; and tlie tone of voice alters as the passion rises or falls. Oratorical Dflwcrr/. 4-'? i pr'ylhce, daughter, do not make me mad ! — ■ I >\ ill not trouble thee, my child — farewell. — We'll meet no more — no more see one another ; — Let shame come Vvhen it will, I do not call it ;— I do not bid the thunder-bearer strike, Nor tell tales of thee to avenging- heaven : Mend when thou canst — be better at thy leisure ; — • I can be patient — I can stay with Regan. — Darkness and demons ' — Saddle my horses — call my train together ; — Degenerate viper— I'll not stay with thee ! I yet have left a daughter — Serpent ! monster ! Lessen my train, and call them riotous ! AH men approved — of clioice and rarest parts, That each particular of duty know. — Dost tliou understand me, man ? The king would speak vith Cornwall ; the dear fa ther Would Av ith his daughter speak : — Comniand lier ser- vice. Are they informal of this ? — My breath and blood — - No — but not yet, maj' be he is not well. — PART Ilf. IIODTJLATIOH AND MANAGEMENT OF THE VOICE. The voice is the organ of eloquence, and has the entire dominiou over one sense. All that language and tones can efi'ect to influence the understanding and to win the aiTections depends on the power of the voice addressed to the ear. To understand, and be able to manage the voice, must be a matter, there- fore, of the highest importance to the public speaker. The ancient orators, sensible of this, bestowed un- common pains, and used every ciTort to improve the 4ri -•/ Disscrlaiiun on qualities of the voice, and exerted all their art in the management of it. The voice, as to its nature, may be divided aito quantity and quality. OUANIITV OF THE VOICE. Pcrfectiofis. The body or volume. The compass. The soundness and dura- bility. Imperfections. Smaliness, feebleness. The narrow scale. Weakness, liable to fail by exertion. QUALITY OF THE VOICE. Clearness. Sweetness. Evenness; Variety. Flexibility. Indistinctness. Harshness. Broken, cracked. Monotony. Rigidity. The modulation of the voice is the proper manage- ment of its tones, so as to produce grateful melodies to the ear. Upon the modulation of the voice, de- pends that variety w liich is so pleasing, and so neces- sary to refi-esh and relieve the organs of the speaker, and the ears of the audience, in a long oration. The opposite fault is monotony, which becomes at last so disagreeable, as to defeat altogether the success of a public speaker, by exciting the utmost impatience, and disgust in his audience. The following states of the voice may he consider- ed as pitches or keys ; they are all included in JMo* dulatioD. TT- t. » 1 . 1 > Forcible, may be high,Ioud,and High, loud, quick. ^^^^^i,j,. or low, loud?and quick. r ci 1 ) Feeble may be high, soft, and iow, soft, slow. ^( ^^^^^ . ^4^^.^ ^J^ ^^^ ^j^^^ Cfrcltorieal "Delivery, 4d Hence the following combinations : High, loud, quick. High, loud, slow. High, roi't, qnick. High, roit, slow. Low, loud, quick* Lo\r, loud, slow. Low, £olt, quick. Low, soft^ slow.* Thef:e difTcrcnt stales of \\\q. voice properly manag- ed, give rise to that striking and l)eautiful variety, which always prevails in good speaking and reading ; and uhich according to Quintilian, alone constitutes eloqu("nt delivery. — It may not he improper here, to state (what is frequently confounded) the diSennce between loud and soft, and high and low tones. They are totally flilTerent. Viano and/or/c have no relation to pitch or key, but to force and quantity ; and when applied to the voice, they relate to the body or volume which the speaker or singer gives out. We can, therefore, be very soft in a high note, and very loud va a low one ; just as a smart stroke on a bell, m.ay have exactly the same note as a slight one» though it is considerably louder. When wc take a high pitch and give little force, we speak high and soft; when we take a high pitch, and give great force, we speak high and loud ; when we take a low pitch, and give little force, M'e Epea,k low and soft ; and when we give \o the same pitch great force, we £ speak low and loud. — It may be remarked, that the *• nature of the human voice is such, that to begin speaking or singing in the extremes of higii and low, are not equally dangerous. The voice naturally slides into a higl^er tone, whqn Ave want to speak louder, but not so easily into a lower tone when we want to speak softly. Experience proves to us, that we can raise our voice at pleasure to any pitch it is capable of; but it at the same time tells us, that it requires infinite art and practice to bring the voice to a lower key when it is once raised too high. It ought therefore to be a first principle with all public readers^ * ViUe Elements of Elocution. 40 ~4 Dissertation on and speaker?, rather to begin below the common level of their voice than above it. Tiie tones of the speaking voice ascending from the loux'st to the highest, may be considered in the fol- lowing series. 1st, A whisper — audibie only by the nearest persoif 2d, The low speaking tone or marmur — suited to close conversation. 3d, The ordinary pitch or middle — suited to ge- Berai conversation. 4th, The elevated pitch — iised in earnest argument. 5th, The extreme — used in violent passion. To the variety so grateful to the ear, not only change of tone is requisite, but also change of deli- very. According to the subject, the rapidity of th6 utterance varies, as the time in the different move- ments in music. Narration proceeds equally, the pa- thetic slowly, instruction authoritatively, determina- tion with vigour, and passion with rapidity ; DIRECTIONS. 1st, As the vital principle of t]-^ voice consists iiil those tones which express the emotions of the mind ; and as the language of ideas however correctly deli- vered, without the addition of this language of the passions will prove cold and uninteresting, variety in delivery is a most important point. 2d, As the dilikulty of pitching the voice is very considerable, especially if the place be large and the speaker not accustomed to it, he should begin some- what below rather than above the ordinary pitch : for it i? much easier to ascend than to lower the pitch. Oraloncal Ucliverij. 17 od, Every spealier oaiglit to deliver the greatest part of his O iKcourse in tiie middle pitch ci his voice. For this is the pitch which admits of ascending or descending with the greatest ease : and the organs having more practice in this than any other, they are stronger, and can continue longer witliout being fa- tigued. 4th, The speaker must lake great care not to run out of breath, which always occasions pain to the au- dience ; except in the expression of some particular passions ; and even i\\^r\ he must only seem to be de- ficient. The lungs should therefore always be inflat- ed to a certain d'.-gree, that he may have a plentiful, supply always at command. ' 5th, In rooms or places where the echo from its quick return disturbs the speaker, he must lessen the quantity of his voice till the echo ceases to be percep- tible. When he is disturbed by the slowly returning echo, let him take care to be much slower and more distinct in his utterance than usual, and to make his pauses longer. He should attend to the returning sound, and not begin after a pause till the sound is ceased. 6tli, In v^ery large buildings, where the speaker has little more advantage than if he were in the open air, he must regulate his voice accordingly, and make it -audible as far as he can, without straining ; in such si- tuations, loudness is preferable to highness of voice. rth, A speaker, to be well heard by all his audience, must fill the place in Avhich he speaks ; he will dis- cover that he has accomplished this by tho return of his voice to his own ear — In order to be well heard, distinctness of articulation is the first requisite. 8th, Every speaker should know the power and ex- tipntof hif5 voice : of this he is enabled accurately <5 4S -/ Dissprtalion on judge, by the degree of exertion necessary for him t' 4ill a place of any particular size : and also l)y the dt •i;:i-ees of attention in the most distant ])arts of his iv iicnce. EXAJIPLES OF MODCLATION- LOW KEY. Son, said the hermif, let tlie errors and follies, ihi •langer and escape of this day sink deep into thy heart. Remember, my son, that human life is the journey of a day, we rise in the morning of youth, full of vigour, and full of expectation ; ne set forward vriih. spirit -«i.)id hoj)c, with gaiety and with diligence, and travel on a while iti the straight road of piety towards the mansions of rest. In a short time we remit our fer- vour, and endeavour to find some mitigation of our du- ty, and some more easy means of obtaining the same tnd. We then relax our vigour, and resolve no long- er to be terrified with crimes at a distance, l)ut rely «4jpon our own constancy, and venture to approacla what we resolved never to touch. We then enter the bowers of ease, and repose in the shades of secu- rity. There the heart softens and vigilance subsides ; wc are then willing to inquire whether another ad- vance cannot be made, and whether wc may not at least turn our eyes upon the gardens of pleasure : wt approach them with scruple and hesitation ; \re enter them, but enter timorous and trembling, and always hope to pass through them without losing the road to virtue, which for a while wc keep in our siglit, and to which we propose to return. But temptation suc- ceeds temptation, and one compliance prepares us for another ; we in time lose the happiness of inno- cence, and solace cur disquiet with sensual gratifica- tions. By degrees, we let fall the remembrance of our original intention, and qyai the only adequate ob Otatorical Delivery. €l& jCct of rational desire. We entangle ourselves in business, immerge ourselves in luxury, and rove through the labyrinths of inconstancy, till the dark- ness of old age begins to invade us, and disease and anxiety obstruct our way. We then look back upon our lives w ith horror, with sorrow, with repentance ; and wish, but too often vainly wish, that we had not forsaken the v/ays of virtue. Happy are they, my son, who shall learn from thy example not to despair : but shall remember, that, though the day is past, and their strength is wasted, there yet remains one effort to be made: that reformation is never hopeless, nor -incere endeavours ever unassisted ; that the wander- er may at length retmn after all his errors ; and that !ie who implores strength and courage from above^ sliall hnd danger and diliiculty give-^vay before him. Cro now, my son, to thy repose ; commit thyself to the .are of Omnipotence; and when the morning all again to toil, begin anew thy journey and thy life* Low and loud. The inflexions slightly marked, approaching the i\Ionotone. O thou that rollest above, round as the shield of my fathers ! w hence are thy iieams, O sun ! thy ever- lasting liglit ? Thou coniest forth m thy awful l;eau1y; the stars hide themselves in the sky; the moon, cold and pale, sinks in the western wave. But thou thyself movesl above ; Avho can be a companion of thy course ? The oaks of the mountains fall ; thy mountains themselves 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 tliy course. \A'hen the world is dark with tempest, whenthunderS roll, and lightnings I'.y, thou lookest in thy I^eauty from the clouds, and laiighest at the storm. But to Ossian tliou lookest in Tain ; for he behold-: thy beams np more ; whether oO, -1 Dissertation on ihy yeiiow hair flows on the eastern <:Ioui.i, or ihcj Ireniblest at the gates of the west. But thou art perhaps, like me, for a season ; thy years will have an end. Tliou wilt sleep in thy clouds careless of the vcice of the morning. £xult then, O sun ! in the strengtli of thy youth. Age is dark and unlovely ; it is like the glimmering light of the moon, when it sJiines through broken clouds, and the mist is on the hills ; when the blast of the north is on the plain, and the traveller shrinks in the midst of his journey. Low and Soft. How the sweet moonlight sleeps upon this bank ! Here will we sit, and let the sound of music Creep in our ears : soft stillness and the night, Become the touches of sweet harmony. O my dread lord — I should be guiltier than my guiltiness, To think I can be undiscernible. When I perceive your power divine, Hath looked upon my passes ; then, good prints, No longer session hold upon my shame. But let my trial be my own confession : Inmiediate sentence then, and frequent death Is all the grace 1 beg. — Middle Key. There is nothing magnanimous in bearirig misfor- tunes with fortitude, w hen the whole world is looking on : men in such circumstances will act bravely, even from motives of vanity : but he m ho in the vale of ob- FCUT-ity, can brave adversity ; who without friends to encourage, acquaintance to pity, or even without hope 1,0 alleviate his raisfortunee, can behave with tranqui- lity and indifference, is truly great : whether peasant or courtier, he deserves admiration, and should l.'e held up for our imitation and respect. Oratorical Deliveri/. 5 1 Middle and Soft. Kespect and admiration still possess me, Checking the love and fondness of a son : Yet I was tilial to my humbie parents. But did my fire surpass the rest of men. As thou excellest ail of woman Idnd ? iMiddle and Loud. "My sentence is for open iivar. Of \a iles, More unexjjcrt I l^oast not : them let those Contrive who need ; or when they need, not now. For, while they sit contriving, shall the rest, I\Iillions that stand in arms and longing wait The signal to ascend, sit lingering here Heaven^s fugitives, and for their dwelling-place Accept this dark opprobrious den of shame. The prison of his tyranny \\\\o reigns jBy our delay ? — No : let us rather choose, Arm'd with hell flames and fury, all at once O'er heaven's high towers to force resistless way. Turning our tortures into horrid arms Against the torturer ; wlien, to meet the noise Of liis almighty engine he shall hear Infernal thunder : and, for lightning see Black fire and horror shot with equal rage Among his Angels : and his throne itself iVIix'd with Tartarean sulphur and strange firey His own invented torments. — But perhaps Tiie way seems difficult and steep to scale With upright wing against a higher foe. 1-et such bethink them, if the sleepy drench Of that forgetful lake benumb not stil!, That in our proper motion we ascend Up to our native seat : descent and f:xll To us is adverse. Who but felt of late, When the fierce foe Iiung on cur broken rear- Insulting, and pursued us through the deep, Witli what compulsion and laborious flight 32 A DUscrtatiott on, We punk thus low ? The ascent is ca^y tlicrr. The event is fcarM. Should we agahi provoke Our stronger, some uorse way his wrath may find To our destruction ; if there he in hell Fear to l>e \vorse dcstroy'd. AVhat can be worse Than to dwell here, driven out from bliss, coDdemu'd- In this abhorred deep to utter wo ; "Where pain of unextinguishable fire ^Tust exercise us without hope of end, Xlie vassals of his anger, w lien tiie scourge lncxoraI)Ie, and the torturing hour Call us to penance ? More destroy'd than thus*. We rhoukl be quite abolish'd and expire. What fear we then ? what doul)t we to incense ilis utmost ire ? which, to the height enrag'dj Will either quite consume us and reduce To nothing this essential ; happier far, Than, miserable, to have eternal being ; Or if our substance be indeed divine, And cannot cease to be, we are at worst .On this side nothing ; and by proof we" fefcl- Our power sufficient to disturb his heaven, ; •, And with perpetual inroad to alarm, Though inaccessible, his fatal throne ; Which, if not victory, — ^^is yet revenge. Higli Key. What was the part of a faithful citizen ? of a pru^ dent, an active, and an honest minister ? Was he not to secure Eul)Qsa, as our defence against all attacks by tea ? Was he not to make Bocotia our barrier on the midland side ? the cities bordering on Peloponesus, our bulwark on that quarter ? Was he not to attend with due precaution to the importation of corn, that this trade might be protected through all its progress up to our own harbour ? ^Va.s he not to cover those districts w hich he commanded by seasonable detach- ment, as the Prnconesus the Chersoneus and Tenedos ? tQ exert himself in the assembly for this purpose ? Oratorical Delivery. 0-3 while with equal zeal he laboured to gain others to our interest and alliance, as Byzantium, Abydos, and Eu. boea ? Was he not to cut off the best and most im- portant resources of our enemies, and to supply those in which our country was defective ? — And all this you gained by councils and my administration. High and Soft. Ah ! Juilet, if the measure of thy joy Be heap'd like mine, and that thy skill, be more To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue Unfold the imagin'd happiness, that both Receive in either, by this dear encounter. Oh, Belvidera ! doubly I'm a beggar ; Undone by fortune and in debt to thee ; Want, worldly want, that hungry meagre fiend, Is at my heels, and chases me in view. Canst thou bear cold and hunger ? Can these limbs Enduj» the bitter gripes of smarting poverty ? When banish'd by our miseries abroad, (As suddenly we shall be) to seek out In some far climate, where our names are strangers, For charitable succour ;— -wilt thou then, When in a bed of straw vre shrink together. And the bleak winds shall whistle round our headsj W'ilt thou tlien talk tlius to rae ? Wilt thou then Hush my cares thus, and shelter me with love ? IMy voice is still for war. Gods ! can a Roman senate long debate Which of the two to choose, slavery or death ? No ; let us rise at once, gird on our swords. And at the head of our remaining troops. Attack the foe, break through tlie thick array Of his throng'd legions ; and charge home upon him. Perhaps some arm more lucky than the rest, May reach his heart, and free the world from bondao-e. E2 ok Outlines of Gesture, Ilisc, fallicrs, rise ! 'tis Rome demands your help i- Kise and revenge her slaui;hter'd citizen:-, Or share their fate. The corpse of half her senate Manure the fields of Thessaly, while we Sit here deliherating in cold debates If we should sacrifice our lives to honour, Or wear thera out in servitude and chains. Rouse up, for shame I Our l)rothers of Pharsalia Point at their u ounds, and cry aloud — To battle • Great Pompey's shade complains that we are slow ;. And Scipio's ghost walks unreveng'd amongst us. OUTLINES OF GESTURE; Gestube, considered as a just and elegant adapta- tion of every part of the body, to the imture and im- port of the subject ^\ e are pronouncing, has always been considered as one of the most essential parts of ora- tory Its power, as Cicero observes, is much greater than that of w ords. It is the language of nature in the strictest sense, and makes its way to the heart, without tjie utterance of a single sound. Ancient and modern orators arc full of the power of action; and action, as with the illustrious Grecian orator, seems to form the beginning, the middle, and end of oratory. The extent and variety of gesture has a wider range than many are aware of; for it comprehends the action and position of all the parts of the body ; of the head, the shoulders, the trunk ; of the arms^ hands, and fingers ; of the lower limbs, and of the feet : it may not improperly include the expressions of the face. — Gesture has one great advantage over the voice, viz. that it aiTects the eye, \\ hich is the quickest of all our senses, and consequently must convey the impressions more speedily to the mind, than that of the voice, which affects the ear only- Nature has given to every sentiment, emotion, and passion, its proper outward expression, Hence what we frequent- Ouilines of Gesture. 5£> iiy mean, does not so much depend upon the words which we use, as on the manner of expressing them. Thus nature fixes the outward expression of every, sentiment of the mind. Art only adds gracefuhiess to what nature leads to. As nature has determined that man should walk on his feet, not on his hands, it is the l)usiness of art to teach him to walk graceful- ly. Every part of the human frame contributes to express the passions and emotions of the mind, and to sho^v in general its present stale. A cast of the eye shall express desire in as moving a manner as the softest language ; and a diHerent mo- tion of it resentment. To wring. the hands, tear the hair, or strike tiie breast, are strong indications of. sorrow. And he who claps his hand to his sword, throws us into a. greater panic, than he who threatens to kill us. This language of nature is so expressive, that Cicero informs us, that he frequently amused himself by trying this with Rocius the comedian, who could express a sentence as many ways by his ges- tures as he could by his words. It is not necessary, as some late writers have assert- ed, that the hands should never be idle. Nature does not so direct. On the stage where the action is more diversified, and'\v'here a greater profusion of gesture is allowable, than in Oratory, Me find that the most celebrated actors and actresses do not follow this lule. In many parts, of an oration little gesture, should be used, in some the speaker may be almost- unmoved, and in others tlie tone of voice and ex- pression of countenance is sufficient. It is net neces- sary always to saw the air, far from it.. But it is highly necessary to consider and judge when the air should be divided by the arm, the weapon of the ora- tor : when he is to move his head, his body, and his limlxs ; and horn he is to do all this Avith propriety and eftect. The art of gesture however cultivated,, is not to be used for incessant flourishing : this would be like introducing the steps and bounds of dancing, bito the simple movements of walking. so Outlines of Gesture. The variety of gestures of which the human figure is capable, is almost infinite. In this great variety there is, however, a similarity and relation among ma- ny of them. The parts of tlie human figure which arc brought into action, cannot in truth be considered separate ; for every musck, every nerve, over which we can exercise voluntary action, contributes in some measure to the perfection of gesture. The most dis- tinguished parts of the body, however, which affect the principal gestures may be considered the fojlow- ing, viz. 1. The head. 2. The shoulders. 3. The trunk or bodj', 4. The arms. 6. The hands and fingers. G. The lower limbs and knees. T. The feet. The orator should [my great attention to his M-hoie outward apt>earance. Every position should be man- ly, graceful, and dignified : every thing that is awk- ward and rustic should be carefully avoided. — The gracefulness of motion in the human form, or per- liaps in any other, consists in the facility and security w ith ^^ hich it can be executed. And the graceful- ness of any position, consists in the apparent facility with w hich they can be varied. Hence in standing, the position is graceful, when the v. eight of the body is principallj'^ supported on one {t^\ whilst the other is so placed, as to be ready to relieve it promptly and •without effort. And as the legs are formed for a mu- tual share of labour and of honour, so their alterna- tion in position and in motion is agreeable and grace- ful — The foot which sustains the weight of the body must be so placed, that a perpendicular line let fall from the hole of the neck, shall pass through the heel of that foot. The other foot is merely for the pur- pose of keeping the body properly balanced in this po- sition. The orator is to adopt such attitudes and positions only, as consist with manly and simple grace. The toes are to bs moderately turned outwards, but not constrained; the limbs are to be disposed so as to support the body with ease, and to change with faci- lity. The sustaining foot is to be planted firmly ; the leg and thigh bracedj but not contracted, and the \ Outlines of Gesture. 57 Knee straightened : the otiier foot must press liglitly,^ and generally at the distance at which it would fall, if lifted up and aIIo\\ed to drop by its own gravity. The trunk of the body is to be mcII balanced, and sustained erect upon the supporting limb.;, except in such attitudes as particularly require its hiclination.; as veneration,.supplication, fear^ ^kc. In changing, the positions of the. feet, tlie raotions arc to be made with the utmost simplicity, and free from the parade and sweep of dancing. The speaker must advance, retire, or change, almost imperceptibly^ except only when particular energy requires that he should stamp v/ith his foot, that lie should start back, or advance with marked precision. — The general rule for changing in the position of the feet, is, that it should take place after the first gesture or prej)aratiorr of the clianging hand, and coincide with the finishing gesture : and it is to be particularly observed, that, the changes should not be too frequent. The positions and motions of the hands are so nu- merous, and may be so exceedingly varied by minute changes, that it would perhaps be impossible, and cer- tainly would be a useless labour to attempt to de- scribe them all. I sliall only mention some of the most prominent, and such as are of mo?t common use in pubhc speaking. Q,uintilian considers the gestures cf the hands of such importance for illustration and enforcement, tliat he even attributes to them the fa- culty of universal language. Without the aid of the hand,^, says he, action would be mutilated, and void of energy; but it is hardly possible,, since they are almost as copious as words themselves, to enumerate the variety of mo- tions of which they are capable. The action of ths other parts of the body, assists the speaker, but the hands (I could almost say) speak themselves. Do we not by them, demand, promise, call, dismiss, threaten, supplicate, e.^press abhorrtnc-". and terror,, question and deny? do we not by th"m express joy ai^d sorrow, doubt, confession, repentance, raeasurej, ^ Outlines of Gesture. quantity, niunber, and time ? do they not also en- courage, supplicate, restrain, convict, admire, re- spect? and in pointing out places and persons, do they not discharge the office of adverbs and pronouns ? so that in the great diversity of languages, uhich ob- tain among a'' kingdoms and nations, theirs appears tome the universal language of mankind. Cresol- lius goes far beyond Quintilian ; the very contents or title of tiie chapter in which he treats of the hands, are in this spirit : — ' The hand, the admirable con- trivance of the Divine Artist. — The minister of rea- son. — ^Without the hand no eloquence.' ...* IMan, I say, full of wisdom and divinity, could liave appeared nothing superior to a naked trunk or a block, had he not been adorned with this inter- preter aad messeiiger of his thoughts.*^ Every thing, it must be confessed, depends on the hand : it gives strength and colouring to eloquenee, and adds force and nerves to the riches of tliougM,. which, otherwise languid, creeping on the gptiund, and deficient in vigour, would lose all estimation^ _ In my judgment, therefore, the hand may properl|F be called a second tongue, because nature has adapt- ed it by the most wonderful contrivance for illustrat- ing the art of persuasion. The positions of the hand are determined by four different circumstances. 1st. By the dispositions of the fingers. 2d. By the manner ia which tlie palm is represented. 3d. By the combined disposition of bcth hands. 4!th. By the part of the body on which^ Ihey are occasionally placed FosUion of the Arm. riRST LINE. 1. Downwards across. 2. Downwards for- ward. 3. Downwards ob- lique. 4. Downwards ex- tended 5. Downwards back- wards. SECOND LINK. I THIRD LINE. 1. Horizontal across. 1. Elevated across. 2. Horizontal for-i2. Elevated forwards* ward. 3. Horizontal lique. 4. Horizont.il tended. 5. Horizontal back wards. ob- 3. Elevated oblique. ex-J4. Elevated extend- ed. 5. Elevated back- wards. Outlines of Gesture. 5^)j These fifteen positions, arising from three original directions, downwards, JiorizontaJ, and elevated, Avill vc found suliicient to represent most of the ordinary gestures. They contain a great variety ; for when they are performed by the right, by the left, or by both together, they produce forty-five positions. Each of these positions may be varied, almost adinfi- iiitunif when we consider all the degrees and kinds of tone, passion, and emotion, which occur in public -peaJiing; all of which influence the character of the gesture, in the same manner as they do the expres- sions of the voice. As the head gives the chief grace to the person, so does it 'prmcipally contribute to the expression of grace in Delivery. It must be held in an erect and natural position. For when hung down, it is expres- sive of humility ; when turned upwards, of arrogance ; uhen inclined to one side, it expresses languor; and ^\ hen stiff and rigid, it indicates a degree of barbarity in the mind. Its movements should be suited to the character of the delivery ; they should accord with tlie gesture, and fall in with the action of the hands, and the motions of the body. When the hand ap- proaches the head, the head bends forward to meet it ; when the hand moves from the head, the head is in general held back or averted In submission, when the hands are prone and the arms descend, it bends downwards, and accords w ith the movements of the hands and arms The eyes, which are of the ut- most consequence to the orator, are always to be di* reeled as the gesture points ; except when we liave occasion to condemn, or refuse, or to require any ob- ject to be removed ; on whicii occasion we should at the same movement express aversion in our counte- nance, and reject by our gesture. The sides should also bear their part in gesture. The motions of the body contribute, says Cicero, nmch to the eliect in delivery. Indeed he'is of opi- nion that they are not inferior to the hands. In his >'ork Dc 0-atcrr, he says, No affected motions of ■60 Outlines of Gesture, the finger?, no measured cadence of their articulation. Let the gesture ratlier regulate itself by the move- ments of the whole trunk, and by the manly inflexion of the sides. The raising up or shrugging of the .shoulders in order to express indiircrence or contempt, »€ merely theatrical, and should be sparingly used even on the stage. Quint-ilian condemns it altoge- ther in an orator. The Stroke and Time of Gesture. The arm, the hand, and the fingers united in one flexible line of several joints, which combine together their mutual action, form the grand instrument of gesture, or, as Cicero calls it, ' tlie weapon of ora- tory.' The centre of motion of thi*j combined line, is the shoulder, w hich does not move altogether iii the form of an inflexible line ; but each joint becomes often a new centre of motion, for the position between it and the extremity. Accordingly in directing the gesture to any jmrticular point, the u])per arm hrst ar- rives at its proper po.=ition, then the fore arm turning on the joint of the elbow , and lastly the hand moving on the joint of the wrist; and in some cases there is a fourth motion of the fingers from the knuckles next the palm ; this last motion is the expanding of the collected fingers. The stroke of the gesture is analagous to the im- pression of tlie voice, made on tliose words, which it would illustrate or enforce ; it is used for the same purpose and sliould fail precisely on the same place, that is, on the accented syllable of the emphatical word, so that the emphatical force of the voice, and the most lively stroke of the gesture, cooperate in order to present the idea in the most lively and dis- tinguished manner, as well to the eye as to the ear of the hearer. The stroke of the gesture is to the eye, w hat emphasis and inflexions of voice are to the ear, and it is capable of equal force and variety. — When ihere is little cllbrt or variety of expression of voice, Outlines oj Gesture 61 such as in the simple and narrative parts of a dis- •course, the gesture in such cases, if any be used, ouglit to he tame and simple ; but in t]ie more impas- sioned parts, they are both equally exerted : the voice is elevated and varied, and the gesture becomes more bold and frequent. The gesture also in many in- stances, imitates the inflexions of the voice. W hen the voice rises, the gesture seems also naturally to as- cend; and when the voice makes the falling inflexion, or lowers its tones, the gesture folIo\vs it by a corres- ponding descent ; and in the level and monotonous pronunciation t)f' the voice, the gesture seems to ob- serve a similar limitation, by moving rather in the horizontal direction without varying its elevation. With respect to the commencement of gesture, it "is a good general rule, that It should accomparrf th? "vvords, that is, that it should never precede nor follow lliem. But it must be observed, that this is only a general rule. When it is applied to the calmer parts of a discourse, it will be found nearly correct. But if the speaker be warmed or excited, some dilfercnce of time, however small, will take place between the ges- ture and the language. Hence the order of the com- bined expressions of the signs of a public speaker will be ihus : in calm discourse the words and gesture? are nearly contemporaneous : and in high passion the order is, J. The eyes. 2. The counteJiance. 3. The gestures. 4. The language. But here it must be j)articularly noticed, that the interval bet\\'een each is extremely limited. The occasions on which the left hand may be used, are nearly the following. J. When the persons ad- dressed are on the left side, lire left hand naturally performs the principal gesture, in oixler to avoid the awkwardness of gesticulating much across the body. '2. The n:cessary discrimination of objects opposed to each other, requires the left hand alternately toas- c^ume the principal gesture. 3. The advantage o( variety. 4. The power of giving i-ot only variety but force by occasicnally elevating and best jwing, u< 62 Outlines of Gesture. it were, upon the retired hand, all the spirit and au Ihority of llxe gesture. These changes, where the light hand resigns 1 lie principal gesture to the left, not only take place in dialogue and in some of the higher strains of tragedy, but even in oratory. It takes place when the speaker is at the left of him who de- livers his opinion. The preacher behig ol)liged to address himself to every individual assembled in the church, should as much as possible extend his attention to all : and must of course, in leaning or turning round to the left side, oft«n find it necessary, if he use any, to make the principal gesture with his left hand. The barrister has occasion to use the left hand also, by not having it always in his power to place both judge and jury, each of whom lie must ad- dress, on his right side. These are the principal lo- cal situations wliich admit the gestures of the left hand. The hand and foot should in general correspond, that is, when we gesticulate with the right hand, the Tight foot should be most advanced ; and vice versa. JSome particular occasions may require a deviation Irom this rule, but in general it will be found correct. It must carefully be observed, that in the changes made from one hand to the other, the transitions should be managed with ease and simplicity. As soon as the advancetl hand has made the stroke of its emphatical gesture, it should fall quietly to rest ; whilst at the same time, the hand which in its turn is to assume the principal action, commences its prepa- ration for the ensuing gesture. The termination of gesture, or rather the emphati- cal gesture which terminates, is generally made about the horizontal elevation, but sometimes may also be made downwards or elevated according to the senti- ment. The horizontal termination, suits decision and instruction ; the downward, disapprobation and con- demnation ; and the elevated, pride, high passion, and devotion. Outlines of Gesture. ^3 OUALITIES Of GESTURE. In order to the better understanding of the charac- teristic difference in each style of gesture, it will be of advantage to enumerate the different quahties Mhich constitute the perfection of gesture, together Avilh llieir opposite imperfections. These may be consider- ed as reducible to the following. 1. Magnificence. 2. Boldness. 3. Energy. 4. Variety. 5. Simplici- ty. 6. Grace. 7. Propriety. 8. Precision. 1. Magnificence of gesture. This consists in the ample space through which the arm and hand are made to move : and it is effected by detaching the upper arm completely from the body, and unfolding the whole oratorical weapon. The centre of its mo- tion is the shoulder. In magnificent gesture the ac- tion is flowing and unconstrained, the preparations are made in some graceful curve, the transitions are easy, and the accompaniments correct, and in all re- spects illustrative of the principal action. The mo- tions of the head are free, and the inflexions of the body manly and dignified. The action of the lower- limbs is decided, and a consiilerable space (when the local situation of the speaker will admit of it) is tra- versed with firmness and with force. The opposite imperfections are short, and dry, and mean gestures, constrained motions, rigidity of the joints, and stiffness of the body, with short steps, and doubtful or timid movements, 2. Boldness of gesture. This consists in that elevated courage and self confidence, which ventures to hazard any action productive of a grand and strik- ing effect, however unusual. In this sort of gesture, unexpected positions, elevations, and transitions sur- prise at once by their novelty and grace, and thus il- lustrate or enforce their ideas with irresistible effect. The opposite imperfection is tameniss ; which ha- zards nothing, is timid and doubtful of its own pow- ers, and produces no great effect. ^ii Outlines of Gesture. 3. Eneri^/ of gesture. This consists in the firm- ness and decision of the whole action j and in the sup- port which the voice receives from the precision of tlie- (stroke of the gesture which aids its emphasis. The opposite Imperfections are feebleness and in- decision. 4- VaricUj of gesture. — ^This consists in the abihty ©f rcadify adopting suital)le and different gestures to I'acli sentiment and situiition: so as to avoid recur- rin,:^ too frequently to one favourite gesture or set of gestures. The opposite imperfections are sameness, barrenness, nionotouy of gesture analogous to that of voice. Va- riety of gesture is so essential, tliat even the most ap- propriate gestures nmst be avoided if they recur too often. Nothing is so injurious or di'^gusts so soon as barrenness of manner ; the gesture had better be in- termitted, or even be in some measure wrong, than pLnonotcnous — yet there is no fault so common. 5. SimpUcitrj of geshtre.— This consists in such a character of gesture, as appears the natural result of Ihe situation and sentiments ; M-hich is neither carri- ed beyond the just extent of t lie feeling through aifeC' fation of variety, nor falls short of it through meali- ness or false shame. The opposite imperfection is affiectatiOn. 6. Grace of gesture. — This is the result of all per- fections, arising from a dignified self-possession of jnind ; and the powers of personal exertion, practised into facility after the best models and according to the truest taste. The opposite imperfections are awkwardness, vul- garity, and rusticity. 7. rropriety of gesture, called also truth of ges- ture, or natural gesture. This consists in the judi- cious use of the gestures best suited to illustrate or to express the sentiment. Appropriate gestures are ge- nerally found in some natural connection of the senti- ment with the gesture ; significant gestures are stricV }y connected with the sentiments. Outlines of Gesture, C#> The opposite imperfections are false, contradicto- ry, or unsuitable gestures ; such as produce solecism, in gesture. 8. Precision of gesture, or correctness ; Arises from the just preparation, the due force, and the cor- rect timing of the action : when the preparation is neither too much abridged and dry, nor too pompous- ly displayed ; when the stroke of the gesture is made Avitli such a degree of force as suits the character and sentiment of the speaker ; and when it is correctly marked on the precise syllable to be enforced. Pre- cision of gesture gives the same eifect to actions, as neatness of articulation gives to speech. The opposite imperfections are indecision, uncer- tainty, and incorrectness, arising from vague and saw- ing gestures, which, far from illustrating, render du- bious the sense of the sentiments which they accompa- ny, and distract the spectator.. OP THE SIGNIFICANCY OF GESTURE. Without entering largely into the subject of signiii . cant gestures, a few ol tlie principal ones will at present suffice.. 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 bashfalness or Ijan.-. guor;. The head averted is dislike or horror. It leans forward in attention. The Eyes. The eyes are raised in prayer.. They weep in sorrow. TJiey burn In anger, . . ' CG Outlines of Gesture. Thoy are downcast or averted in shame. They are cast on vacancy in thought. They are thrown into dillevtnt directions in doubt and anxiety. 7'he Arms. The arm is projected forward in authority. IJolh arms are spread extended in admiration. They are both held forward in iniplorinc^ help. They both fall suddenly in disappointment. The Ilnnds. The hand on the head, mdicates pain or distress. On the eyes, shame. On tlie lips, injunction of silence. On the brcaJ, it appeals to conscience, or intimates desire. The hand moves or flourishes in joy or contempt* Both hands are held supine, applied or clasped ftt prayer. Both descend prone in blessing. They are clasjjed or wrung in affliction. They are held forward and received in friendship. The Bodjj. The body held erect indicates steadiness and courage, Thro\\ n back, pride. Stooping forward, condescension or compassion. Bend in?, reverence or respect. Prostration, the utmost humility or abasement. The Lorver Limbs. Their firm position, signifies courage or obstinacy. JJendcd knees, timidity or weakness. Frequent change, disturbed thoughts. .[ hey advance in desire or courage, /let ire in aversion or fear. Start in terror. Stamp in authority or rage. Kneel in submission and prayer. These are a few of the simple gestures which may be termed significant. It may be proper also to enumerate some of the complex significant gestures. I Outlines of Gesture. 6? Terror excites the persoH \vho suffers under it, to avoid or to escape from the dreaded object. If it be supposed to be some dangerous reptile on the ground^ and very near, the expression is represented by the fi- gure starting back, and loolcing^ downwards. If the danger threaten from a distance, the terror arising i& expressed by the figure looking forwards, and not starting back but merely in the reth^ed position. But if the dread of impending deatli from the hand of an enemy awaken this passion, tlie coward flies. Aversion is expressed by two gestures ; first the hand held vertical is retracted towards the face, the eyes and head are for a monnnt directed eagerly to- wards the object, and the feet advance. Then sud- denly the eyes are withdrawn, the head is averted, the feet retire, and the arms are projected out extended against the object, the hands vertical. Horror, which is aversion or astonishment min- gled with teiTor, is seldom capable of retreating, but 'remains petrified in one attitude, with the eyes rivet- ed on its object, and the arm held forward to guard the person, the hands vertical, and the whole frame trembling. Admiration, if of surrounding natural objects of a pleasing kind, holds both hands vertical and across, and moves them outwards extended. If admiration arise from some extraordinary or unexpected circum- gtances, the hands are thrown up supine elevated, to- gether with the countenance and eyes. '' Veneration crosses both hands on the breast, casts down the eyes slowly, and bows the head. DepreciUion advances in an extended position of the feet, approaching to kneeling, clasps the hands forci- bly together, throws back the head, sinking it be- tween the shoulders, and looks earnestly up to the person implored. In appealing to heaven the right hand is first laid on the breast, the left is projected supine upwards, the eyes first directed forwards, then upwards. In the appeal to conscience, tiie right hand is laid on •8' Outlines p/ Gesture. the breast, the left Urops unmoved, the eyes are fixed' upon the person ivUdressed ; sometimes both bands pre ss tlie breast. Shame in the extreme, sinks on the knee, and covers th;' eyes with both h^^^ds. Grief, arising from sudden and afflicting intelH- gcnce, covers the t>yes with one hand, advances for- w ards and throws back the other hand. Attention demanding silence, holds the finger OQ' the lips, and leans fwuwards, sometimes repressing with the left hand. Distress when extreme, lays the palm of the hand upon the forehead, tl-rows the head and body back,, and retires with a long and sudden -step. Deliberation on ordinary subjects holds the chin,, and sets the arms a kimbo. SclJ-SuJicienet/ folds the arms and sets himself on his centre, Fride throws back the body, holds the head high,, and nearly presents forward his elbows a kimbo. Melancholy is a feeble and passive affection : it is attended by a total relaxation of the nerves ; the head; hangs to the side next the licart, the eyes turned upon the object, or if that is absent, fixed on the ground,, the hand.s hanging down by their own weight with- out effort, and joined loosely together. Anxiety is of a different character, it is restless and' active, and manifest by the extension of the muscles : the eye is filled with fire, the breathing is quick, the motion is hurried, the head is thrown back, the whole body is extended. Like a sick man, the sufferer toss- es incessantly, and finds himself uneasy in every situ-- ation; These are some of the most obvious simple and contf- plex significant gestures. The Grace of Action. The grace of oratorical action consists chiefly in- \ the facility, the freedom, tlie vaiiety, and the sinK ■ plicity of those gestures which illustrate the discour^ ] Outlines of Gesture. 69? Graceful position i)reced€s graceful action. Graceful action must be performed with facility, because the aj)])earajice of great ellbrts is incompatible with ease, ^* hicli is one constituent part of grace. — Freedom is also necessary to gracefulness of action. No gestures ean be graceful^ uhich are confined witli external cir- cumstances, or restrained by the mind. — Variety is likewise indispeasable for the maintenance of grace in rhetorical action. The iteration of the same ges- ture or set of gestures, however graceful in them- selves, betrays a povepty in resources, whicli is alto- gether prejudicial to the speaker. They have an ef- fect ev^n worse than monotony of tones, m hich may be pardoned as arising from natural deficiency, but a ilne gesture can be assumed only for ornament, and may be repeated to disgust. — But siraplieity and truth of manner, if not consti- tuting grace in themselves are inseparable from it. The gestures must appear to be used only for the bet- ter supporting the sentiments of the mind, and for no other purpose. Gestures which are manifestly con- trived for the mere display of the person, or for the exhibition of some foppery, as a delicate white hand, a fine handkerchief, &,g. instantly oiTtnd. Fine ges- tures are to be used only, when the mind is elevated, and the sentiments magnificent ; and energetic ges- tures, when it is ard^tnt and e£u*nest. To simplicity of gesture is opjjosed affectation ; that falsehood of action, which destroys every pre- tension to genuine grace. The more sliowy and fine gestures are, iwiless they belong indispensably to the subject, to the aiJeetion of the mind, and to the cha- racter of the speaker, the more do tliey offend the ju- dicious by their manifest affectation. If dignity be assumed w here none is found in the sentiment, pathos without any thing interesting, vehemence in trifles, and solemnity upon common-place ; f^uch affrctation may impose on the ignorant, but makes '• tlie judi- cious grieve." Simplicity which constitutes the true S^rage ixi manners and in dress, should equally be TO Outlines of Gesture. ©bserved in the action of an orator. Early good ii, structions, uith constant practice and imitation of tlu best models, will estal^lish habits of graceful actioiu •vvilh the greatest certainty of Buccess. 1 THE ORATOR PART I. PIECES JJV PROSE. CHAP. I. PARAGRAPHS. SECTION I. Education and instruction are the means, tiie one v)y UPC, tl>e other by precept, to make our natural fa- ' iilty of reason both the better and the sooner to judge between truth and error, good and evil. He, who, in the same given time, can produce more 'han many others, has vigour ; he wlio can produce more and better, has talents ; he avIio can produce 4vhat none else can, has genius. The eloquence dictated by an unfeeling heart, Tnistakes bombast for sublimity ; rant, for strong feel- ings; the cant and whine of a mendicant, for tJie pa- thetic. Such a speaker may excite the admiration of some, the contempt of many, but the genuine feelings of none. The chief security against the fruitless anguish of impatience, must arise from frequent reflection, on tlie wisdom of the God of nature ; in whose hand are riches and poverty, honour and disgrace, pleasure and pain, life and death. 75 Taritgraphs. Youth should be addressed •vvitli apennepsand affa- bility; the aged, wilh meekness and modesty; tlie dull, witli simplicity and perseverance; the intelli- gent, with perspicuity and precision; the diflident, with softness and condescension; and the stubborn, with boldness and resolution. If we would have the kindness of others, we must endure their follies. He who cnnnot persuade him- self to withdraw from society, must be content to pay a tribute of his time to a multitude of tyrants ; to the loiterer, \\ ho makes appointments he never keeps ; to the consultor, who asks advice which he never takes ; to the boaster, who blusters only to be praised ; to the coniplainrr, who whines only to be pitied ; to the pro- jector, whose happiness is to entertain his friends with expectations w hich all but himse»f know to be vain ; to the eco.iomist, who tells of bargains and settlements ; to the politician, who predicts the consequences of deaths, battles, and alliances ; to the usurer, who compares the difli^rsnt stale of (he funds ; and to the talker, who talks onij because he loves to be talking. The first and most important female qualitj", is >weetness of temper- Heaven did not give to the fair sex insinuation and persuasion, in order to be surly ; it did not make them weak, in oixler to be im- perious ; it did not give them a sweet voice, in or- der to be employed in scolding ; it did not provide them with delicate features, iu order to be disfigured with anger. To find the nearest way from tnitli to truth, or from purpose to eifect; not to \x^c more instruments where fewer will ht sulHcient ; not to move by wheels and l-svcrs, what will give v,ay to the naked hand ; is the great proof of a healthful and vigorous mhid, neither fce!>le with helpless itmcccuce, nor overloaded with unweildy knov/ltdge. . Paragraphs. IS Slialcspeare pleases, not by his bringing the trans- actions of many years into one play ; not by his gro- tesque mixture of tragedy and comedy in one piece j Hor by the strained thoughts and a/iiected witticisms, which he sometimes employs ; but he pltases by his animated ami masterly representations of character, by the hvehness of his descriptions, the force of his sentiments, and his possessing, beyond ail writers, the natural language of passion. There are people in the world so selfish, that they seem to be moved with nothing but what directly af- fects themselves: if their own private affairs sustain «o damage ; if their own little designs succeed t© their wish ; if their own grovelling pleasures are not hiterrupted ; they care not w ho is happy in the world, or w hat quarter of it is struck by the just hand of God. Diseases, poverty, disappointment, and shame, are far from being in every instance, the unavoidable doom of man. They are much more frequently the offspring of his own misguided choice. Intempe- rance engenders disease, slol h produces poverty, pride creates disappointiiient, and dishonesty exposes to shame. The ungoverned passions of men, betray them into a thousand follies ; their f jllies into crimes ; and their crimes into misfortu/ies. How many young persons have at first set out in the \vorld with excellent dispositions of heart ; gene- rous, charitable, and humane ; kind to their friends, and amiable among all with whom they had inter- course! And yet, how often have we seen all these fair appearances blasted in the progress of life, merely through the influence of loose and corrupting plea- sures ; and those very persons, who promised once to be a blessing to tl)e world, sunk down, in the end, to be the burden and nuisance of society. 74i Paragraphs. If it be asked, how moral agents bccoinc the sub- jects of accidental and adventitious happiness and mi- sery ; and why they are placed in a state in which it frequently happens, that virtue only alleviates ca- lamity, and vice only moderates delight: the answer of Revelation is known, and it must be the task of tliose who reject it to give abetter. It is enough for me to have proved, that man is at present in such a state. I pretend not to trace the ' unsearchable ways of the Almighty,' nor attempt to ' penetrate the dark- ness that surrounds his throne' : but, amidst this en- lightened generation, m which such multitudes can ac- count for apparent obliquities and defects in the natu- ral and the moral world, I am content with an hum- ble expectation of that time, in which * every thing that is crooked siiall be made straight, and every thing tliat is imperfect shall be done away.' SECTION II. A THOUGHTFUL judgc of sentiments, books, and Dien, wiil often fmd reason to regret thot the lan- guage of censure is so easy and so undefined. It costs no labour, and needs no intellect, to pronounce the words "foolish, stupid, dull, odious, absurd, ri- diculous. The weakest or most uncultivated mind may therefore gratify its vanity, laziness, and ma- lice, all at once by a prompt application of vague condemnatory words, w here a wise and liberal man Avculd not feel himself warranted to pronounce with- out the most deliberate consideration, and where sCich consideration might perhaps terminate in applause. By the unhappy excesses of irregular pleasures in youth, how many amiable dispositions are corrupted or destroyed ! Ho\v' many rising j)owcrs and capaci- ties are suppressed \ How many flattering hopes of Paragraphs* 75 parents and friends are totally extinguished ! Who f)ut must drop a tear over human nature, when he beholds that morning, m hich arose so bright, overcast M'ith such untimelj' darkness ; that good humour which captivated all liearts, that vivacity which sparkled in every company, those al)ilities which w ere fitted for adorning the higliest stations, all sacri- ficed at the shrine of low sensuality ; and one, w ho Avas formed for running the fair career of life in the midst of public esteem, cut off by his vices at the l)eginningof his career, or sunk for the -whole of it in- to insignificancy and contempt ! — The^e, O sinful Plea- suro, are thy trophies! It is thus that co-operating with the foe of God and man, thou degrades! human honour, and blastest the opening prospects of human felicity ! A person of undecisive character wonders how all the eml)arrassmtnts in the world happened to meet ejtacti} in his way, to place him just in that one si- tuation for which he is peculiarly unadapted, and in w hich lie is also '^\ illing to think no other man could have acted \\ ith facility or confidence. Incapable of setting up a firm purpose on the basis of things as they arc, he is often employed in vain speculations, on some different supposable state of things, which would have saved him from ail this perplexity and irresolution. He thinks what a determined course he could have pursued, if his talents, his health, his age, had been ditierent ; if he had been acquainted with some one person sooner ; if his friends w-ere, in this or the other j)oint, different from what they are ; or if fortune had showered her favours on him. And he gives himself as much license to complain, as if a riglit to all these advantages had been conferred on him at his nativity, but refused, by a malignant or capricious fate, to his life. Thus he is occupied — instead of catching with a vigilant eye,. and seizing with a strong hand, ad the possibilities of his actual -ituation. •16 Taragraphs. There arc to be found in modern language?, vi^ Jhiable specimens of every kind of polite, literaluie. The English language, in particular, abounds with writings addressed to the imagination and feeHngs» and calculated for the iniprovement of taste. No> one, i\ ho is not so far blinded by prejudice, in favour of antiquity, as to be incapable of relishing any thing modern, can doubt, that excellent examples of every Icind of literary merit are to be found among the Bri- tish ^^Titers. The inventive powers of Shakspeare, the sublime conc-^ptions of Milton, the versatile genius of Dryden, the wit of Butler, the easy gaiety of Prior, the strength and harmony of l^pe, the descriptive powers of Thomson, the delicate humour of Addison, the pathetic simplicity of Sterne, and the finished cor- rectness of Gray, might, w ith some degree of confir dence, be respectively brought into comparison with .any examples of similar excellence among the ancients. Gentleness is the great avenue to mutual enjoyment. Amidst the strife of interfering interests, it tempers the violence of contention, and keeps alive the seeds of harmony. It softens animosities, renews endear- ments, and renders the countenance of man refresh- ment to man. Banish gentleness from the earth ; suppose the world to be filled with none but harsh and contentious spirits, and what sort of society would remain ? the solitude of the desert were preferable to it. The conflict of jarring elements in cliaos, the cave where subterraneous winds contend and roar, the den where serpents hiss, and the beasts of the forest howl, would be the only proper representation of such as- semblies of men. — Strange ! that, wliere men have all one common interest, they should so often concur in defeating it. Has not nature already pjovided a suf- ficient quantity of evils for the state of man ? As if we did not suffer enough from the storm \v hicli beats upon us without, must we consjjire also, in those so- cieties where we assemble, in order to find a retreat from that storm to !i;iirass one another ? Paragraphs. 77 Anger is the strong passion or emotion, impressed or excited, by a sense of injury received, or iii con- templation ; that is, by the idea of something of a pernicious nature and tendency, being d*ine or intend- ed, in violation of some supposed obligation to a contrary conduct. It is kindled by tlie perception of an undue privation of that to Avhich we thought mr- gclvts, in some degree or other, entitled ; cr of a posi- tive suj3ering, from which we claimed an exemption. These are obviously the exciting causes ; though our ignorance, or inordinate self-love, may suggest erro- neous ideas respecting our claims, or render the re- sentful emotion very disproportioned to the ohence. Tlie pain we surfer from the injury, the unexpected- ness of the oifence, our wounded pride, &c. are so apt to disturb our reasoning and discriminating powers, that we are at the first instant prompted to consid t every injury received, as an injury intended Nor are there wanting numerous instances in which a heat- ed and irritated imagination attributt;s design to the irrational and inanimate creation, in order to gratify the passion of resentment. So painful is the passion of Fear, that the evil can scarcely exist \\ hich induces anguish equal to its feel- ings. Innumerable are the instances in which the fear of a calamity of the greatest magnitude, has greatly exceeded the evils it brought with it r and the niinlds it i)l.ic ■ to sorr"vv ; wh'ch v certainly some miti^ati.n of suiTering; — habit r-concil' s t^ many things, which were at first repugnant to oiu' nature — Q2 TO Paragraphs, experience in a short time points out many comforts, ■v\ here they were least expected : — in most cases, as soon as we cease to fear, we ])egin to hope ; for there are few situations so completely dark and gloomy, as to exckide every ray of consolatory hope. True politeness is modest, unpretending, and gene- rous. It appears as little as may be ; and, wlien it does, a courttsy wnuid conceal it. It chooses silently to forego its own claims, not officiously to withdraw them. It engages a man to prefer his neighbour to himself, because he really esteems him ; because he is tender of his reputation ; because he tliinks it more manly, more Christian, to descend a little himself, than to degrade another. It respects, in a word, the credit and estimation of his neighbour. The mi- mic of this amiable virtue, false politeness, is, on the other hand, ambitious, servile, timorous. It affects popularity, is solicitous to please, and to be taken no- tice of. The man of this character does not offer, but obtrude, his civilities ; because he would merit hy his assiduity ; because, in despair of w innmg re- gard by any worthier qualities, he would lie sure to make the most of this ; and, lastly, l)ecauEe, of all things, he w^ould dread, by the omission of any punc- tilious observance, to give offence. In a word, this sort of politeness expects^ for its immediate olijcct, the favour and consideration of our neighbour. True honour, though it lie a different principle from religion, is that which produces the same effects. The lines of action, though drawn from different parts, terminate in the same point. Religion embrac- es virtue, as it is enjoined by the laws of God ; hon- our as it is graceful and ornamental to human nature. The religious man fears, the man of honour scorns to do an ill action. The latter considers vice as some- thing that is beneath him ; tiie former as something that is offensive to the Divine Being. The one as what is unbecoming, the other as what is forbidden. F-aragrap Tis, 70 Thus Seneca speaks in the natural and genuine lan- guage of a man of honour, wJien lie declares, that were there no God to see or punisli vice, lie would not commit it, because it is of so mean, so basCj and so vile a nature. Of all the follies which men are apt to fall into, to the disturbance of others, and lessening of themselves, there is none raoi-e intolerable than continual egotisms^ and a pcrpetuah inclination to self panegyric. The mention of this weakness is sufficient to expose it, since 1 think no man was ever possessed of so warm an aiTection for his own person, as deliberately to assert^ tliat it and its concerns are proper topics to entertain company. Yet there are many, who, through want of attention, fall into this vein, as soon as the conver- .sation begins to acquire life ; they lay hold of every opportunity of introducing themselves, of describing themselves, and if people are so dull as not take the hint, of commending themselves : nay, what is more surprizing than all this, they are amazed at the cold- ness of their auditors ; forgetting that the same passion inspires almost every body ; and that there is scarce a man in the room who has not a better opinion of him- self than of any body else. SECTION III. No other disposition or turn of mind so totally unfits a man for all the social olHces of life as Indo- lence. An idle man is a mere blank in the creation ; he seems made to no end, and lives to no purpose. He cannot engage himself in any employment or pro- fession, because he will never have diligence enough to follow it : he can succeed in no undertaking, for he will never pursue it ; he must be a bad husband, father, and relation, for he will not take the Iew tken shall those va- cant s}>aces, those unemployed intervals, w hich, more or less, occur in th2 liiri of every one, !>? fiiied up ? How can we contrive to dispose of thum in any way that shall be more agreeaijle in itf-eif, or more conso- nant to the dignity of the human mind, than in the entertainment of laste, and the study of polite litera- ture ? He who is so happy as to have acquired a re- lish for tiiem, has alway.i at Ir-md an innocent and ir- reproachaoff^ amusement far his leisure hours, to save liim froni thi' danger of many a pernicious pasfi :n. He is not in haz-ird of bt-ing a bard*en to himself. He is not obliged to ily lo \:^\^' company, 'jr to court the riot .;>f loose pleasures, in order to cure the tcdiousness nai existence. SECTION IV. Taste and genius are two words fiequcntly joined together; and therefore, by inaccurate thinkers, con- founded. They signify however \.\\o (juite diii'erenl things. Taste consists in the power of judginL' ; (Ge- nius is the power of executing. One may liave a c n- siderablc degree of Taste in Poetry, Elo'iuenc", or -any of the fine arts, who has little or hiu'dly any Ge- nius for composition or execution in any of those arts ; SI Paragraphs, but Genius cannot be found witliout including Ta. \ also. Gi niuj!, tlurtl'ore, de^erves to l)e considered . a higher jjow er of the mind than Taste. Genius uays.im ports s.unething inventive or creative ; uhi does not rest in mere a'nsihility to beauty where it perceived, but which can, moreover, produce n^ beauties, and exhibit th m in ucii a manner, as stror ly to impress the minds ol others. Refined Ta forms a goud critic ; l)ut (ienius is ■ farther necess; to form the poet or the orator. The Beauty of the human countenance includes Beauty of colour, arising from the dehcate shades ^^ the comi)lexion ; and the Beauty of figure, aris from the lines which form the dinerent features of ; face. But the chief Beauty of the countenance pends upon a mysterious expression, whicli it c veys of the qualities of the mind ; of good sense, : good humour ; of sprightliness, candour, benevole] , sensibility, or other amiable dispositions. Hoa t comes to pass, that a certain conformation of feati s is connected in our idea witli certain moral qualit ; whether we are taught by instinct, or experienct 3 form this connection, and to read the mind in c countenance, is not easy to resolve. The fact is r- tain, and acknow ledgeci, that what gives the hu, n countenance its most distinguishing Beauty, is wh is called its expression ; or an image, wliich it is i- ceived to show of internal moral dispositions. The advantages of Writing above Speech are, it Writing is both a more extensive, and a more pe? a- nent method of communication. JMore extensiv as jt is not conGned within the narrow circle of those io Jiear our words ; but by means of MTitten charac s, we can send our thoughts abroad, and propc te them through the world ; we can lift our voii so as to speak to tiie most distant regions of the e. h. More i)ermanent also, as it prolongs this voic to the most di.stant ages ; it gives us the means c re- Paragraphs. 85 cording our sentiments to futurity, and of perpetuat- ing Ihc instructive nicmoiy of past transactions. It iiircwise aJibrds this advantage to such as read, above such as hear, that, having the written characters be- fore their eyes, they can arrest tlie sense of the writer. They can pause, and resolve, and compare at their leisure, one jnissage with another: whereas, the voice !3 fugitive and passing; you must catcli the words the moment they are uttered, or you lose them for- ever. Rut, although these be so great advantages of writ- ten Language, that Speech, without ^v riling, \rould have been very inadequate for the instruction of man- land, yet we must not forget to observe, that spcAeii language has a great su[)eriority over written lan- guage, in point of energy or force. The voice of the living speaker makes an impression on the mind, much stronger than can be made by the perusal of any writing. The tones of the voice, the lookc and gesture which accompany discourse, and which no wTiting can convey, render discourse when it is well mmaged, infinitely more clear, and more impressive, than tiie most accurate writing. For tones, looks, and gestures, are natural interpreters of the sentiments of the mind. Tiiey removt, ambiguities; they enforce impression ; they operate on us i)y means of sympa- thy, w hich is one of tJie most powerful instruments of persuasion. Our sympathy is always awakened, more by hearing the speaker, than by reading his works in our closet. Hence, though Waiting may an- swer the purposes of mere initruciion, yet ali the great and high oflic^is of eioqmncc n;ust be made by mean? of spoken, not of written Language. We have !)ecn eminently distinguished above most other nations Ijy h.appy pn\'ileges and adva.;tagefi. Trovidence has bhssed us with an abundance of t'iose things, which are usually thought to contribute to the public prosperity and happiness. Never had any H Sfi Paragraphs. people a fuller enjoyment of liberty ; a profusion of wealth has flowed in upon us hy our wide extended commerce. We have had great advantages for im- jjrovement in the arts and sciences, and every branch of useful knowledge; especially that which is the most valuable and important of all others, the know- ledge of religion in its truth and purity. The light of the glorious Gosjjcl of Christ, freed from the ah- surdities, the superstitions, and idolatries w ith which it has been incumbered in many other countries pro- fessing the Christian Faith, has long shone among us. The holy Scriptures are not locked up in an unknown tongue, nor confined to the studies of thf' learned, but are put into the hands of the people : so that all men may have access to that sacred rule of faith and prac- tice, the original standard of the Christian religion. The treasures of knowledge are opened, and the pub- lic instructions so freely and frequently dispensed, that it may be said, that rtisclom crietk nithout, she utter eth her voice in the streets. Cicero, in his works upon eloquence, particularly his conferences upon the character of an orator, strikes by liis air, freedom, and dignity; Quintiiian wins by his beauty, regulaiit)', and address. Quintiiian is less splendid but more elegant, he is less commanding but more attractive. If Cicero is instructive, Quin- tiiian to instruction adds ailability ; and if he is infe- i^ior in genius to Cicero, he is equal lo him in abilities, and superior to him in experience ; 1 mean that ex- perience that can be nf the greatest service to a speak- er in Britain. The style of Cicero is clear, diliuse, and patlictic; that of Quintiiian strong, concise, and cjpiessive. If Cicero is more excellent in tlio dispo- fition, Quintiiian is more exquisite in tlie execution. Cicero's abiUties were undouJ)tedly best fitted to guide the movements of govermuent, those of Quinti- iian to determine a contest at the bar : Cicero was more decisive in debate, but Quintiiian was more use- ful in pleading ; the former could raise a spirit, but Paragraphs, ST the lattej could direct it. — Quintilian never was ex- celled in majeBty but hj Cicero, and Cicero never equalled in gracefulness but by Quintilian. We are ashamed to diSe^ with the one, we cannot rerist the other. Both know how to rise with temper, and tu fall with dignity. Though both had natural, yet Quintilian had more accidental, advantages; but though Quintilian's works are more useful to an Eng- lishman, yet, had he lived in the days of the Roman republic, the pre-eminence would have been clear'v on Cicero's side. SECTION V, An able master, as soon as a boy is deKvered over to his care, will examine his natural capacity and dis- position; and having discovered these, he will soon- be able to judge in what manner lils pupil is to be managed. Some are indolent unless they are pushed on; some disdain to be commanded; fear awes some, and disheartens others; some hammer out their learning, others strike it out at a heat. Give me the boy who rouses when he is praised, who pronts when he is encouraged, and who cries when he is defeated. Such a boy will be fired by ambition ; he will be stung by reproach, and anaiated by preference ; ne- ver shall I apprehend any bad consequences from idleness in such a boy. If we have received from heaven nothing more precious than speech, are ^ve to esteem any tiling more worthy of our attention and care ? Or are we to be more emMlotis in excelling, mankind in any property, rather than in that which exalts man above all other animals? As a further inducement to this, we are to reflect, that no art so plentifully supplies our la- bQur, by a harvest of every thing that is profitable or 88 Parng-raphs. agreeable. Tliis will be more evident, if we reflect Uj)on the ri?e and progress of cJoqucnce, and the ini- l)rovements it still admits of. A'ol to mention how it serves our friends, how it directs the deliberations of a senate or a people, and how it even determines the conduct of an army ; hou useful, how beconiinsj then, is it in a man of virtue. Is not this single considera- tion a most glorious one, that from the uNderstanding, and the worrJs that are in common to ail mankind, he can exalt himself to such a pitch of glory and power, tliat he will not see.m to speak or to plead, but as it happened to Pericles, to lighten asd thunder. But I should never have done, Avcre 1 to indulge the plea- sure L feel in expatiating upon this subject. "What adds infinitely to the dignity of man, is this, that he is the image of God. He is descended from him, is his oifspring, and bears the visiiile traces of his derivation from lieaven, and his communion with the supreme Existence. His understanding is a ray of divine intelligence : his power an eiRux from that of the Deity ; lus activity something similar to that of God ; iiis capacity of becoming constantly more perfect, is a capacity of a])proaching nearer to t lie di- vine nature; liis immortality is a similitude of the in- terminable duration of the sovereign Being, and the means of an everlasting communion with him. As often as he thinks of trutij ; as often as he is inclined to goodness, and brings it to eilect ; as often as he per- ceives, admires, and promotes order and harmony ; as often as he spreads love, and joy, and hr*ppinesc around him ; so often does lie think, and will, and perform, and feel, and act in a God-like manner ; so often does he pursue the works of his Creator and Father ; so often does he promote- the designs of the sovereign Being ; so often docs he obtoin a taste of pure divine ' felicity; and the more he does so, the oftener he acts in this manner, the greater is his similitude with God, tlie brighter does the image ol God shine in him, the less are we able to mistake his high descent, and to overlook the dignity of his nature. Paragraphs. ov How di£?nified is man, when we consider his out- ward fisure and his station in the world. Consider the place he fills upon the earth ; what he is and does with all its other inhabitants ; and in this regard also you cannot mistake his dignity. See how he stands, full of conscicusner-s, amidst all inferior creatures j how exalted and eminent is he above them ; how all proclaim him the sovereign of the globe and its inha- bitants, the substitute of its Author, and the priest of nature! With what a comprehensive view does he survey, distribute, order, connect, and apprehend ; now darting his eye from earth to heaven, and then looking down from heaven upon the earth with senti- ments of delight ; atiectionately cherishing every thing that livee and moves; his sentimental heart ex- pands to the innumerable streams of pleasure and joy, which from all sides flow to meet him, till he is lost in the sweetest sentiments of love and adoration ! How beautiful, how elevated his mein ! How signi- ficant and expressive every feature of his face, every attitude, every movement of his person !' How forci- ble is the language of his eye ! Kow he displays his whole soul by a glance of it, and with an irresistible energy at one t ime commands reverence, at another submission and obedience, and at another love ; now in5piring courage and resolution, then pleasure and sa- tisiaction in all ai)out him I How often does he con- found the wicked wUh a look, defeat the schemes of injustice, drive sorrow from the breast of the mourner, and dart life and heavenly joy, where darkness and distress prevailed. Who can here mistake the eleva- tion and the dignity of man ! The writings of the ancients abound with eicellent productions in every interesting kind of compositioni There is no pleasing affection of the mind, which may not, in these invaluable remains of antiquity, find am- ple scope for gratification. The Epic muse, whether she appears in the majestic simplicity of Homer, or in- the finished elegance of Virejil, presents before the U2 00 Paragraphs. dfliglited ima£>;ination an cntlJess variety of grand an-.. beautiful objects, intereFting actionF, and charactery strongly niark'd, which it is imp!)S.sibIeto contemplate without a perpetual succession of agreeable emotions. Tragedy, v. luther she rages ^vith yEschy!us, or weeps Avitii Sophocles, or raoralizes with Euriprdis, never ceases to wear a dignified and interesting aspect. Comedy, in the natural and easy dress, in which, af- ter the best Greek models, she is clothed by Terence, can never fail to })lease. Lyric poetry, whilst it rolls on, like an impetuous torrent, in the lofty strains, and tlie wild and varied numbers of Pindar, or flows in a placid and transparent stream along the channel of Horatian verse, or glides hriskly through the bowers of love and joy in the sportive lays of Anacreon, by turns astonishes, soothes, and deliglits. Elegy, throuah the soft and plaintive tunes of Bion or Tihul- lup, melts the soul in pleasing sympathy : whilst Pas- toral Song, in the artless notes of Theocrites, or in the sweet melody of the Mantuan pipe, plays gently about the fancy and the heart. Satire, in the mean time, providefi entertainment for those who are dis- poned to laugh at folly, or indulge an honest indigna- tion against vice, in the smile of Horace, the grin of Lucian, and the frown of Juvenal. So rich and va- rious are the treasures, with wiiich the Greek awd Koman m riters furnish those, who have enjoyed i^^Q advantages of a classioa! eduoatiwi. wii a-. . ,, CHAP. II. 4' NARRA TIVE PIECES, ,j SECTION I. * CARAZAN'S VISION; i Or, Social Love and Bimcjicence recommended. r: , Grasp the whole world of reason, life, and sense* In one close system of benevolence ; Happier, as kindlier, in whate'er degree, J A height of bliss is haiglit of chanty. vope. '<,': ' Carazajj, the merchant of Bagdat, >vas eminent throughout all the east for his avarice auti his wealth : r His origin was obscure as tliat of the spark, which hy - >the collision of steel and adamant is struck out of dark- ness; and the patient labour of persevering diligence , L'alone had made him rich. It was remembered, that - when he Mas indigent he was thought tolje generous ; /.and he was still acknowledged to be inflexibly just. •!iBut whether in his dealings uith men he discovered a -^perfidy which tempted him to put his trust in gold ; , or whether, in proportion as he accumulated wealth, » he discovered his own importance by increase, Cara- zan prized it more as ht used it less : He gradually lost the inclination to do good as he acquired the pow- • er; and as the hand of time scattered snow upon his Jiead, the freezing influence extended to his bosom. But though the door of Carazan was never opened by hospitality, nor his hand by compassion, yet fear led . him constantly to the mosque at the stated hours of i prayer: He performed all the rites of devotion with vthe most scrupulous punctuality, and had thrice paid . liis vows at the temple of the prophet. That devotion which rises from the love of God, and necessarily in- cludes the love of juan, as it connects gratitude with idbeneijcence, and exajts that which was mortal to di- S6 Narratioe Pieces^ vine, confers a new dignity upon goodnes?, and is tlic object not only ofaiuction but reverence. On the contrary, the devotion of the selfish, whether it be thought to avert the punishment which every one wishes to be inflicted, or to insure it by the compll- jj cation of hypocrisy with guilt, never fails to excite in- 1| dignation and abhorrence, Carazan, therefore, when he had locked his door, and, turning round with a look of circcinispcctive suspicion, proceeded to the raosque, was followed by every eye with silent ma- lignity; the poor suspended their supplications when be passed by ; though he wzis known by every man, yet no man saluted him. Such had long been the life of Cararan, and such was the character he had acquired, when notice was^ given by proclamation that he was removed to a mag- nificent building in the centre of the city, that Lis ta- , ble should be spread for the hungry, and that the* stranger should be welcome to his bed. The niultii tilde soon rushed like a torrent to tlie door, where they beheld him dj. tributing bread to the hungry, and' apparel to \hc naked ; his eye softened with compas- sion and his cheek glowing with delight. Every one gazed with wonder at the prodigy ; and the murmur of innumerable voices increasing like the scunil of ap- proaching thunder, Carazan beckoned with his hand ; attention suspended the tumult in a moment, and he thus gratified the curiosity, which procured him au- dience : — ♦' To Him who touches the mountains and they smoke, the Almighty and the most Merciful, be ever- lasting honour ! He hath ordained sleep to be the mi- nister of instruction, as his visions have reproved me in the night. As I was sitting alone in my h^iram, with my lamp burning before rae, computing the pioduct of my merchandise, and; exulting in the increase of my wealtli, I fell into a deep sleep, and the hand of hira who dwells in the third heaven was upon nie. I be- held the angel of death coming forward like a whirl- wind, and he smote me before I could deprecate the Narrative Pieces. ' '93 blow. At the same moment I found myseii" lifted from the ground, and transported with astouif-liingrapidily lhroui;Ji tJie icgicns of the ah*. The earth was con- tracted to an atom between ; and the stars glowed , round me with a lustre that obscured the sun. The I gate of Paradise m as now in siglit ; and I m as inter- ) cepted by a sudden briglitness, which no human eye i could behold : The irrecoverable sentence was now to k be pronounced : my day of probation was past, and \ from the evil of my life nothing could betaken aAvaj% i nor could any thing be added to the good. "When I i reflected that my lot for eternity was cast, Mhich not all the powers of nature could reverse, my confidence totally forsook me; and Avhiie I stood trembling and ij silent, covered with confusion and chilled with licrror, I J was thus addressed by the radiance that flamed be- \ fore me : — \ " Carazan, thy M'orship has not been accepted, be- li cause it was not prompted by the love of God ; nei- I ther can thy righteousness be rewarded, because it Avas not produced by the Icve of man ; For thy own sake only hast thou rendered to every man his due ; and thou hast approached the Almigkty only for lliyself. Thou hast not looked up "with gratitude, nor round thee with kindness. Around thee tho.u hast, indeed beheld vice and folly ; but if vice and folly could jus- tify thy parsimony, would they not condemn the boun- ty of Heaven ? If not upon the foolish and the vicious where shall the sun diiluse his light,or the clouds distil their devv ? where shall Ihc lips of the Spring breathe fragrance, or the hand of Autunm diJfuse plenty ? Jlemembcr, Carazm, that thou hast shut compassion from thy heart, and grasped tiiy treasures with a hand of iron : Thou hast lived for tiiyself; and, therefore, henceforth for ever thou shalt subsist alone. From the light of heaven, and from the society of all Ijeings, shalt thou be driven ; solitude shall i)rotract the liii- gcring hours of eternity, and darkness aggravate the horrors of despair." 9i Narrative Pieces. m " At this moment I was driven, l^ some secret and irresistible power, tljrouejh tl;e glowing; system of creaiion, and passed innumprabic worlds in a mo- ment. As I approAched the verge of nature, I per- ceived the shadoAvs of total and boundless vacuity deepen before me, a dreadful region of eternal si- lence, solitude, and darkness } Unutterable horror seized me at the prospect, and this exclamation burst from me with all the veliemence of despair Oh! that I had been doomed forever to the common recep- tacle of impenitence and guilt ! There society nould' have alleviated the torments of despair ^ and the ra^c . offire could not have excluded the comfort oj light. Or, if I had been condemned to reside on a comet, that ■would return but once in a thousand years to the re- gions of light and life ; the hope of these periods f however distant, mould cheer me in the dreary inter- val of cold and darkness, and the vicissitude would di- vide eternity into time. " While this thought passed over ray mind, I lost sight of the remotest star, and the last glimmering of light was quenched into utter darkness. The ago- nies of despair increa?ed every moment, as every mo- ment augmented my distance from the last habitable world. I rctlected with intolerable anguish, that when ten thousand thoasand years had carried me beyond the reach of all but thai Power who fills infi- nitude, I should still look foi-ward into an immense abyss of darkness, through which I should still drive witJiout succour and. without society, farther and far- ther still, for ever and ever. I then stretched out my hands towards the regions of existence, with an emotioM that awakened me. Thus have I been taught to estimate society, like rvery other bles^•ing, by its loss. My heart is warm d to liberality ; and I am zealou to communicate the happiness which I feel, to those from whom it is derived; for the socie- ty of one wretch, whom in the pride of prosperity I would have spurmd from my door, would, in the dreadful soiitiile to which I was condemned, luive- Narrative Pieces. 9S been more Wghly prized than the gold of Africa, or the gems of Golconda." At this reflection upon his dream, Garazan became suddenly silent, and looked upwards in an ecstacy of gratitude and devotion. The multitude was struck at once with the precept and the example; and the caliph, to whom the event was related, that he might be liberal beyond the power of gold, commanded it to be recorded for the beneiit of posterity. SECTION II. ABDALLAH and SAB AT. Two Mahometans of ^Vrabia, persons of considera- tion in their own country, have been lately converted to the Christian faith. One of them has already suf- fered martyrdom, and the other is now engaged in translating the scriptures, and in concerting pJan^ for the conversion of his countrymen. The name of the mart)-r was Abdallah, and the name of the other wlio is now translating the scriptures, is Sabat; or, as he is called since his Christian baptism, Nathaniel Sa- bat. — Sabat resided in my liouse some time liefore I left India, and I had from his own mouth tjie cliief part of the account which I shall now give you. Some particulars 1 liad from others. His conversion took place after the martyrdom of Abdallah, *' to whose death " he was consenting ;" and he related the cir- cimistance to me with many tears. Abdallah and Sabat were intimate friends, iind be- ing young men of family in Arabia, they agreed to travel together, and to visit foreign countries. They were both zealous jMahometans. Sabat is son of Ibrahim Sabat, a noble family of the line of Ikni- Sabat, who trace tht^ir pedigree to JMahomet. The two friends left Aral^ia, after paying tiicir adorations 00 Nurrafhc Pieces. i\i the tomb of their prophet at I\Iccca, and travelled tlirough l\'r€!a, and thence to Cabul. Abdallali was appointed to an office ot state under Zemaun Shah, king' of Cabal ; and Sabat left him there, and pro- ceeded on a tour throu,:^ii I'artary. While Abdallah remained at Cabul, he was con- verted to the Christian faith by tb.e perusal of a Bible Cas is supposed) belonging- to a Christian from Arme- nia, then residing at Cabul. In the Maliometan states, it is deaf h iur a man of rank to become a Chris- tian. — Ai)dallah endeavoured i'or a time to cunceal his conversion, but finding- it no longer possible, he de- ermined to llee to some of the Christian churclies near the Caspian sea. He accordingly left Calml in disguise, and had gained the great city of Bochara, in Tartary, nhen he was met in the streets of that ci- ty by Jiis friend Sabat, who innicdiat-.-ly recognized him. Sabat had lieaid of h'n-' conversion and lligiit, and was fiJl-d m ith indignation at his conduct. Ai> dallah knew his danger, and threw himself at the feet of Sab>it. He conftssed that he was a Christian, and implored him, i)y the sacred tie of their former fri5ndshi[), to let him escape A^■ith his life. *' Bui, sir," said Sabat, when relating the story liimself, " I hddvo piti/. I caused my soryanls to seize him, and 1 delivered him up to Jlorad Shah, king of uochara. He was sentenced to die, and a herald went through the city of Bociiara, announcing the time of his ex- ecution. Ail inmiense multitude attended, and the chief m.en of the city. I also weui and stood near to Aijdallali. He was offered his life, if he wmdd ab- jure Clu'ist, the executioner standing by him with iii^ sword in his hand. ' No,' said lie (as if the propor- tion were impossible to be complied with), I ca:inot a!)jure Christ.' Then one of his hands was cut oiT at the wrist. He stood firm, his arm hanging by hiS' side \vith but little motion. A physician, l>y desire of the king, oilered to heal the w ound. if he would re- cant. He made nn an?wer, !)ut looked up stedfd- ly tov/ards heaven, like Stephen the first martyr, h. Narrative Pieces. 97 eyes streoming \\i\\\ tears. He did not look with an- ger towards me. He looked at me, }>ut it was be- nignly, and Avitli the countenance of forgiveness. His other hand w as then cut off. But sir,' said Sa- bat, in his imperfect EngUsh, * he never changed, he never changed. And when he bowed his head to re- 'cive the blow of death, all Bochara seemed to say, ■ What new thing is this T Sabat had indulged the hope that Abdallah would have recanted when he was offered !iis life ; but when iie saw that his friend was dead, lie resigned himself to grief and remorse. He travelled from place to ])lace, seeking re?t, and finding none. At last he thought he would visit India. He accordingly came to Madras ab- ut five years ago. Soon after his arrival, iiC Mas appointed by the Englihli government a Mufti, or expounder of IMahometan law; his great learning, and respectable stalionin his own country, rendering him eminently qualified for that office. And now the period of his own conversion drew near. While he 'was at Visagapatam, in the northern Circars, exercis- ing his professional duties, Providence brought in his way a Ne\\- Testament in Arabic. He read it with deep thought, the Koran lying before him. He com- pared them together, and at length the truth of the word of God fell on his mind, as he expressed it, like a flood of light. Soon afterwards he proceeded to IMadras, a journey of 300 miles, to seek Christian bap- tism ; and having made a public confcstion of his faith, he was baptized by the Rev. Dr. Kerr, in the English church at that place, by the name of Natha- niel, in the twenty-seventh year of his age. Beingmow desirous to devote his future life to the glory of God, he resigned his secular employ, and <;ame by invitation to Bengal, where he is now engag- ed in traniating the scriptures into the Persian lan- guage. This work has not hitherto been executecl, for want of a ti-an?lator of sulhcicnt ability. The Per- sian is an important language in the East, being the general language of western Asia, particularly among ^ Xarraiivc Pieces. the higher classes, and is understood from Calcutta to Damascus. But the great work which occupies t!ie attention of this noble Aral)ian, is tfce promulgation of tlie Gospel among his own countrymen ; and from the present lluctuations of religious opinion in Arabia, he is sanguine in liis hopes of success. His first Avork Is entitled, (Neama Bcsharatin HI Arab!,) " Uappij yen's for Arabia'''' ; written in the Nabnttec, or com- mon dialect of the country. It contains an eloquent and argimientative elucidation of the truth of 1 he Gos- pel, with copious autlioritics admitted by the ?tIahom- etans themselves, and particularly by the Wahabians. ' And prefixed to it, is an account of the conversion of the author, and an appeal to the members of his well- known family in Arabia, for the truth of the facts. Tlie following circumstance in the history of Sabat ought not to have been omitted. 'NVhen his family in Arabia had heard that he had fallowed the example of Abdallah,and become a Christian, they dispatched his brother to India, (a voyage of tuo months,) to as- sassinate him. While Sabat was sitting in his honse at Visagapatam, his brother presented himself in the disguise of a Faqueer, or beggar, having a dagger con- cealed under his mantle. He rus^hed on Sabat, and wounded him. But Sabat seized his arm, and his Fervants came to his asr-istance. He then recognized his brother. The assassin would have become the victim of public justice, but Sabat interceded for his brother, and sent him home in peace, with letters and presents to his mother's house in Arabia. The conversion of Abdallah and Sabat seem to have been as evidently produced by the Spirit of God, as any conversion in tlie })rinntive church. Other in- stances have occurred in Arabia of a similar kind, and on the very borders of Palestine itself. These, are like the s-^litary notices which, in other nations, have announced the approacli of general illumination. John Huss, and Jerom of Prague, were not, perhaps, more talked of in Europe, than Abdallah and Sabat are at this day, in Bucharia and Arabia. Narrative Pieces. 9() SECTION III. Character of a Clergyman. I WAS vtry mucfi pleased, in my last visit at Colo- nel Caustic's uitli llie appearance and the deportment of the clergyman of his parish, who was a frequent visitor of my friend, and his sister. The Colonel, af- ter drawing- his character in a very favourable way,, concluded with telling me, that he had seen some- thing of the world, having olliciated, in the early part of his life, as the cha])lain of a regiment. To this cir- cumstance, I confess, 1 was inclined to impute some of the Colonel's predilection in his favour ; but a lit- tle acquaintance with him convinced me, that he had done the good man no more than justice hi his eulogi- Um- There was something of a placid dignity in his aspect ; of a politeness, not of form, but of sentiment, in his manner ; of a mildness, undebased by llattery, in his conversation equally pleasing and respectable. He had now no family, e reserved for him- self, there was an easy clicerfulness, and now and then a gaiety, that spoke to tlie innocent pleasures of life, a. language of kindness and indulgence. " 'Tis the religion of a genlleman," said Colonel Caustic. — '* 'Tis the religion of a philosophep," said I. — " 'Tis something more useful than eithei;/' said his sister. " Did you know his labours as I have some- times occasion to do 1 The composer of diiierences, the promoter of peace and of contentment ; the en- eourager of industry, soliriety, and all the virtues that make society prosperous and happy- He gives ■*o religion a certain graciousness, which allures to 300 Narrative Pieces. its service, yet in his own conduct he takes less indul- gence than many that preach its terrors. The du- ties of his function are his pleasure?, and his doctrine is, that every man will experience the same thint;-, if he bring his mind fairly to the trial : that to fill our station well, is in every station to be happy." " Tlie great and wcaltliy, I have heard (iie good man say," continued the excellent sister of my friend, " to whom refinement and fancy open a thousand sources of delight, do not make the proper allowance for the inferior rank of men. That rank has scarce any exercise of mind or imagination hut one, and that one is religion ; we are not then to w onder, if it some- times wanders into the gloom of superstition, or the "wilds of enthusiasm. To keep this principle warm, but pure, to teach it as the gospel has taught it, ' the mother of good works,' as encouraging, not excusing our duties, the guide at the same time, and the sw eet- ness of life : to dispense this sacred treasure as the balm of distress, the cordial of disease, the conqueror of death! These are the privileges which I enjoy, which I hope I have used for the good of my people ; they have hitherto shed satisfaction on my life, and I trust will smooth its close !" " 'Tis the religion of a Christian!" said Miss Caustic. Lounger. SECTION IV. Religion and Superstition contrasted. A VISION. I HAD lately a very remarkable dream, whicli made 80 strong an impression on me, that I remember eve- ry word of it ; and if you are not better employed, you may read the relation of it as follows ; — Narrative Ficccs. iCi . I Ifiouglit I was in the midst of a very entertaining set of c-ompan}', and extremely delighted in attend- ing to a lively conversation, vvlien, on a sudden, I perceived one of the most shocking figures that ima- gination can frame, advancing towards me. She Avas dressed in black, her skin was contracted into a thousand wrinkles, her eyes deep sunk in her head, and her complexion pale and livid as the countenance of death. Her looks were filled w ith terror and un- relenting severity, and her hands armed with whips and scorpions. As soon as she came near, with a hor- rid frowttj and a voice tJiat chillfd my very blood, she bade me follow her. I obeyed, and she kd me through rugged paths, beset with briers and thorns, into a deep solitary valley. Wherever she passed, the fading verdure withered beneath her steps : her pes- tilential breath infected the air with malignant va- pour?, obscured the lustre of the sun, and involved the fair face of heaven in universal gloom. Dismal bowlings resounded through the forest ; from every baleful tree, the night raven uttered his dreadful note ; and the prospect was filled with desolation and hor- or. In the midst of this tremendous scene, my exe- :rable guide addressed me in the following manner. " Retire with me, O rash, unthinking mox'tal ! from the vain allurements of a deceitful world ; and learn, that pleas'ure was not designed the portion of human life. ' Man was born to mourn and- to be wretched. This is tlie condition of all below the stars : and who- ever endeavours to oppose it, acts in contradiction to the will of heaven. Fly then from the fatal enchant- ments of youth and social delight, and here conse- crate the solitary hours to lamentation and woe. Mi- sery is the duty of all sublunary beings; and every -enjoyment is an oITence to the Deity, who is to be ■worshipped only by the mortification of every sense of pleasure, and the everlasting exercise of sighs and' tears." This melancholy picture of life quite sunk riy spirits, and seemed to annihilate every principle of* 1 2 TJBRARY UNIVERPTTY OF CATJFOR^ 102 Narrative Pieces* joy within nie. 1 tlirew myself beneath a blasted yew, where the winds blew cold and dismal round my head, and dreadful apprehensions chilfed my heart. Here 1 resolved to lie till the hand of death, which I impatiently invoked, should put an end to the mi- series of a life so deplorably wretched. In this sad situation, I espied on one hand of me a deep muddy river, wliosc heavy waves rolled on in slow, sullen murnmrs. Here I determined to plunge ; and was just upon the brink, when I found myself suddenly drawn back. I turned about, and was surprised by the sight of the loveliest object I had evei beheld. The most engaging charms of youth and beauty ap- peared in all her form ; effulgent glories sparkled in her eyes, and their awful splendours were softened Ijy the gentlest looks of compassion and peace. At lier approach, the frightful spectre, who had before tor- mented me, vanished away, and with her all the hor- rors she had caused. The gloomy clouds brightened into cheerful sunshine, the groves recovered their ver- dure, and the whole region looked gay and blooming as the garden of Eden. I was quite transported at this unexpected change, and reviving pleasure began to gladden my thouglits ; when, with a look of inex- pressible sweetness, my beauteous deliverer thus ut- tered her divine instructions. " My name is RiiLiciuN. I am the offspring of Truth and Lovk, and the parent of Benevolencb, Hope, and Joy. That monster, from whose power I have freed you, is called SuPEitsTrnoN : she is the child of Discontent, and her followers are Fear and Sorrow. Thus, different as we are, she has of- ten tiie insolence to assame my name and character ; and seduces unhappy mortals to think us^ the same, till she, at length, drives them to the borders of De- spair, that dreadful abyss into which you were just going to sink. *' Look round, and survey the various beauties of the globe, Avhich heaven has destined for the seat of the human race ; and consider whether a world thus Narrative Ficces. 103 f xquisitely framed, could be meant for the abode of misery and pain. For what end has the lavish hand of Providence diifused innumerable objects of de- light, but that all might rejoice in the privilege of ex- istence, and be filled with gratitude to the beneficent Author of it? Thus to enjoy the blessings he has sent, is virtue and obedience ; and to reject them merely as means of pleasure, is pitiable ignorance, or absurd perversencss. Infinite goodness is the source of created existence. The proper tendency of every rational being, from the highest order of raptured se- raphs, to the meanesti,rank of men, is to rise incessant- ly from lower degrees of happiness to higher. They have faculties assigned them for various orders of de- lights." "" What !" cried I, " is this the language of Reli- gion ? Does she lead her votaries through flowery paths, and bid them pass an unlaborious life ? Where are the painful toils of virtuv, the mortifications of penitents, and the self denying exercises of saints and heroes ?" " The true enjoyments of a reasonable being," an- s\vered she mildly, " do not consist in unbounded in- dulgence, or luxurious ease, in the tumult of passions, the languor of indolence, or the ilutter of liglit amusc^ ments. Yielding to immoral pleasures, corrupts the rnind ; living to animal and trilling ones, debases It : both in their degree disqualify it for its genuine good, and consign it over to wretchednes?. Whoev- er would be really hapi)y, must make the diligent and regular exercise of his superior pow'ers his chief attention ; adoring the perfections of his Maker, ex- pressi;ig good-will to his fellow -creatures, and culti- vating inward rectitude. To his lower faculties he must allow such gratifications as will, by refresh- ing, invigorate his nobler pursuits. In the regions inhabited by angelic natures, uniningled felicity for ever bloonis ; joy flov/s there with a perpetual and abundant stream, nor needs any mound to check its course. Beings conscious of a frame of mind origan- 104 Narrative Pieces. ally diseased, as all the human race has cause to be, must usp the regimen of a stricter self-government. Whoever has been guilty of voluntary excesses, must patiently suhjuit both to the painful workings of na- ture, and needful severities of medicine, in order to his cure. Stiii he is entitled to a moderate share of whatever alleviating accommodations this fair man- sion of his merciful Parent aifords, consistent w ith his recovery. And, in proportion as this recovery- advances, the liveliest joy will spring from his se- cret sense of an anunded and improving heart. — So far fiom the horrors of despair is the condition even of the guilty. — Shudder, poor mortal, at the thought of the gulph into whicli thou wast just now going to^ plunge. " While the most faulty have every encouragement to amend, the more innocent soul will be supported- with still sweeter cons'ilations under all its experience of human infirmities, supported by the gladdening- assurances, that every sincere endeavour to outgrow them, shall be assisted, accepted, and rewarded. To such a one, the lowliest self-abasement is but a deep- laid foundation for the most elevated hopes -, since- they who faithfully examine and acknowledge what they are. shall be enabled under my conduct, to be-- come what they desire. The christian and the hero' are inseparable ; and to tlie aspirings of unassuming, trust and filial confidence are set no bounds. To him who is animated with a view of obtaining appro- bation from the Sovereign of the universe, no didi- culty is insurmountable. Secure, in this pursuit of every needful aid, his conflict with the severest pains and trials, is little more that the vigorous exercises of a mind in health. His patient dependence on that Providence which looks throuirh ail eternity, his silent resignation, his ready accommodation of his thoughts and behaviour to its inscrutable ways, are at once the most excellent sort of self-denial, and a source of the most exalted transports. Society is the true sphere of hum^D virtue. In social, active lik, difficultjee Narrative Pieces, lOo will perpetually be met with; restraints of many kinds will be necessary ; and studying to behave right in respect of these, is a discipline of the human heart, useful to otliers, and improving to itself. Sufiering is no duty, but where it is necessary to avoid guilt, or • to do good ; nor pleasure a crime, but where it strengthens the influence of bad inclinations, or less- (ns tlie general activity of virtue. Tlie happiness allotted to man in his present state, is indeed faiut and low, compared with his immortal prospects, and noble capacities : but yet whatever portion of it the distributing hand of lieaven offers to each indivi- dual, is a needful support and refreshment for the pre- sent moment, so far as it may not hinder the attaining ef his final destination. « Return then with me from continual misery, i& moderate enjoyment, and grateful alacrity : return from tlie contracted views of solitude, to the proper duties of a relative and dependent being. IIelicion: is not confined to cells and closets, nor restrained to sullen retirement. These are the gloomy doctrines of Superstition, by w hich she endeavours to break those chains of benevolence and social afi'ections, that link the welfare of every particular \vith that of the whole. Remember, that the greatest honour you can pay the Author of your being, is a behaviour so cheerful as discovers a mind satisfied with its own dis- pensations." Here my preceptress paused ; and I was going to express my acknowledgments for her discourse, when a ring of bells from the neighbouring village, and the new risen sun darting his beams J^hrough ray win- dows, awoke me. Carter, 106 ' Narrative Piccfs. SECTION V. Oil the Justice of Frovidrnre. All nature is but art, ullkno^vn to thee ; All cliuiice, direction wliich thou canst not see ► All disconl, harmony not undeislood ; All partial evil, universal good ; And, spite of pride, in errinp reason's spite. One truth is clear -whatever ig, is right. pope. BozALDAB, Caliph of Egypt, had dwelt securely foijmany years in the silken pavilions of pleasure, and had every morning anointed his head with the oil of gladnegs, when his only son Aborani, for whom he had crowded his treasures with gold, extended his dominions with conquests, and secured them with impregnable fortresses, was suddenly wounded, as he ■was hunting, av ith an arrow from an unknown hand^ and expired in the field. Bozaldab, in the distraction of grief and despair,, refused to return to his palace, and retired to the gloomiest grotto in the neighbouring mountains : He there rolled himself in the dust, tore away the hairs of his hoary head, and dashed the cup of consolation, that Patience offered him, to the ground. He sufler- cd not his minstrels to approach his presence ; but listened to the screams of the melancholy birds of midnight, that flit through the solitary vaults and echoing chambers of the pyramitls. " Can titat God be benevolent," he cried, " who thus-wounds the soul, as from an ambush, with unexpected sorrows, and crushes his creatures in a moment with irremediai)l€ calamity ? Ye lying Imans, prate to us no more of the justice, of the kintincss of an ail-directing and alMov- ing Providence ! He, w hom ye pretend reigns in hea- ven, is so far from pi'otecting the miserable sons of men, that lie perpetually delights to blast the sweetest flowerets in the garden of hope, and, like a malignant giantj to beat do\\'n in his anger, the strongest tovvws. Narrative Pieces. IQl i;f happiiies?. If this Being possessed the goodness and the power Avith which flattering priests have in- vested him, he would doulitless l>e inchned and ena- bled to banish tiiose evils whicli render the world a dungeon of distress, a vale of vanity and woe — I wilt continue in it no longer .'" At this moment he furiously raised his hand, which Despair had armed with a dagger, lo strike ' deep into liis bosom; when suddenly thick flaslies of lightning shot through the cavern, and a being of more than human beauty and magnitmie, arrayed in azure robes, crowned with amarinth, and waving a branch of palm in his right hand, arrested the arm of tlie trejubling and astcniphed C aii];h, and said, with a majestic smile, " Follow me to the top of this mountain.' " Look from hence," said the awftd conductor : '< I am Caloc, tlie angel of peace -, look from hence into the valley." Bozaldab opened liis eyes, and beheld a l)arren, sultry, and solitary i«Jand, in the midst of which sat a pale, meagre, and gliastly figure: It was a merchant just perishnig with famine, and lamenting that lie could find neither \\\\d berries nor a single spring in this forlorn, uninhabited desai t ; and begging tiie pro- tection of Heaven against the tygers that would now certainly destroy him, since he had consumed tlie last fuel he had collected to make nightly fires to af- fright tliDti. He then cast a casket of jewels on the sajid, as trilies of no use; and crept fce])le and trem- l)ling t ) an eminence, wh'-re he was accustomed to sit every ev; ning, to w itch the setting sun, and give a sigml to rrny ship that might happily approach the island. " Inhabitant of heavc)^," cried Bozildab, " suffer not tius wretch to perish ()y the fury of wild beasts." " Peace," said the angel, " ard oljserve." He looked again, and beheld a vessel arrive at the desolate isle. What words can paint th» rapture of the starving merciiant, wlun the captain olfered to 108 Narrative riecei>. Iranppoit liini to his native country, if he would it \rard. him with half the jewels of his casket. No :ooner liad this pitiful commander received the sti- pulated sum, than he held a consultation Avith liis crew, and they agreed to seize the remaining jewels, and leave the nnliappy exile in the same helpless and Jamentahle condition in v.hich they discovered him. He wept and trembled, intreated, and implored in vain. " Will Heaven permit such injustice to be practis- ed?" exclaimed Boz^ldab. « Look again," said the angel, " and behold the very ship in which, short- sighted as thou art, thou wit-hedst the merchant mii;ht embark, dashed in pieces on a rock; Dost thou not hear the cries of the sinking sailors ? Presume not to direct the Governour of the universe in the dis- posal of events. The man -whom thou hast pitied shall be tiikcn from this dreary solitude, but not by tlie method thou would.st prescribe. His vice is ava- rice, by which he became not onJy abominable but wretch'ed ; he fdi'cif d some mighty charm in wealth, which, like wand of Atxiiel, would gratify every wish, and obviate evi-ry ftar. This wealth he has now been taught not only to despise but abhor : He cast his jewels upon the sand, and confessed them to be useless ; he Oifered part of them, to the mariners, and ])erceived them to be pernicious ; he has now learned, that they are rendered useful or vain, good or evil, only by the siiu.iti':>n and temper of the possessor. Happy ifi he whom distress has taught wisdom! But turn tliine eyes to another and more interesting scene." The caliph instantly l^eheld a magnificent palace, adorned with statues of hi"^ ancestors wrought in jas- l)er; the ivory dor)rs of which, turning on hinges of the gold of Golconda, discovered a throne of dia- monds, surrounded by the rajahs of fifty nations, and Avilh ambassadors in various habits, and of diilereiit complexions ; on which sat Aboram, the much la- mented son of Bozaldab, and by his side a fair priii* cess. Karraiivc Pieces. 100 '< Gracious Alia ! — It is my son !" cried the caliph ; ** O iet aie hold him to my heart !" " Thou canst not grasp an unsubstantial vision," replied the angel: " I am now shou ing thee what would have been the des- tiny of thy son, had he continued longer on the earth." '< And A\ hy," returned Bozaldab, " why was he not sufTcred to l)e a witness ot so much felicity and pow- er ?" " Consider the sequel," replied he that dwells in i he fifth heaven. Bozaldab looked earnestly, and saw the countenance of his son, on which he had been used to behold the placid smile of simplicity, and the vi- vid blushes of health, now distorted with rage, and now lixed in the insensibility of drunkenness; it was again animated with disdain, it became pale with ap- ])rehen?ion, and appeared to be withered with intem- perance ; his hands were stained with blood, and he trembled by turns with fury and terror. The palace, so lately ?hining witli oriental j)omp, changed sudden- ly into the cell of a dungeon, where his son lay stretch- ed out on a cold pavement, gagged and bound, and his eyes put out. — Soon after he perceived the favour- ite sultana, who Ijefore was seated i)y his side, enter M ith a l)0wl of poison, which she compelled Aboram to drink, and afterwards married the successor to his throne. " Happy," said Caloc, " is he whom Providence has \vj the angel of death snatched from guilt ; from v/hom that power is Avithheld, which, if ho had possessed, \\ ould have accumulated Upon himself yet greater mi- sery than it could upon others." " It is enougli," cried Bozaldab : " I adore the in- rcrutablc schemes of Omniscience!-- — From v.hat dreadful evil has my son been rescued, bv a death ■which I ra-])Iy bewailed as unfortunate and prema- ture! a death of innocence and peace, Mhich has l)lessed his memory on earth, and transmitted his spi- rit to tiie skies." " Cast away the dagger," replied the lieavenly mes- sejiger, " which tliou wast preparing to plunge into thine own heart. Exchange complaint for sHcnce, and K '10 Narrative Pieces. doiilit for adoration. Can a mortal look down, wiih- out giddiness and stupefaction, into the vast abyss of Eternal WiHloni ? Can a inind that sees not infinitely, perfectly comprehend any thing- amongst an infinity uf objects naturally relative ? Can the channels which thou commandest to be cut to receive the annual inun- dation of the Nile, contain the waters of the ocean ? Kcniember, that perfect happiness cannot l^e conferred on a creature ; for perfect happiness is an attribute as incommunicable as perfect power and eternity." The angel, while he was thus speaksng, stretched out his pinions to fly back to the empyreum, and the tlut- tcr of his wings was like the rushing of a cataract. SECTION VI. A Ecvierv of Life. The elapsed periods of life acquire importance from the prospect of its continuance. The smallest thing becomes respectable ^vheu regarded as the coni- menceratnt of what was advanced, or is advancing, into magnificence. The first rude settlement of llo- niulus would have been an insignificent circumstance, and might justly have sunk into oblivion, if Komi had not at length commanded the world. The littl rill, near the source of one of the great American r: vers, is an interesting object to tlie traveller who apprised, as he steps across it, or \valks a few mil along its 1)anks, that this is the stream which runs far, and which gradually swells into so immoise ilood. So, while I anticipate the endless progress of life, and wonder through -what unknown scenes it is to take its course, its past years lose tliat character r.i" vanity which would seem to belong to a train of fleet- ing, perishing moments, and I see them assumine' the dignity of a commencing eternity. In them '■ Narrative Pieces. Ill have begun to be that conscious existence u liich I am to be through infinite duration ; and I feel a strange emotion of cariosity about this little life in which I am setting out on such a progress ; I cannot be content without an accurate sketch of the vvindings thus far of a stream which is to bear me on forever. I try to imagine how it will be to recollect, at a far distant j^oint of my era, what I was when here ; and I wish if it were possible, to retain, as I advance, the whole course of my existence within the scope of clear re- jection ; to fix in my mind so very strong an idea of ^vhat I have been in this original |)eriod of my time that I shall most completely possess this Idea in ages too remote for calculation. The review becomes still more important, when I learn the influence which this first part of the progress M ill have on the happiness or misery of the next. One of the greatest difficulties in the way of execut- ing the proposed task will have been caused by the extreme deficiency of that self-observation, which, to any extent, is no common employment, either of youth or any later age. Men realize their existence in the surrounding objects that act upon them, and form the interests of self, rather tlian in that very self, that in- terior being, which is thus acted upon. So that this being itself, with its thoughts and feelings, as distinct fiom the objects of those thoughts and feelings, but rarely occupies its own deep and patient attention. ]\Ien carry their minds as they carry their watches, content to be ignorant of the mechanism of their luovements, and satisfied with attending to the little exterior circle of things, to which the passions, like in- dexes, are pointing. It is surprising to see how little jelf-knowledge a person not watchfully observant of himself may have gained in the whole course of an ac- i.ive or even an inquisitive life. He may have lived al- most an age, and traversed a continent, minutely ex- amining its curiosities, and interpreting the half-ob- I iterated characters on its monuments, unconscious the while of a process operating on \\h own^mind to 1J2 KarralL'c Pieces. jpipresE or to erase cliaracteristfcs of much more im- portance to Ijini than all the figured brass or marble '^tliat tlie worl'.l CDntains. After having explored ma- ny a cavern or dark ruinous avenue, he may have left undetected a dark"r recess in his character. lit; may have conversed with many people in diflereht lan- guager, on numberless sul)j( cts ; but having neglected those conversations -with hmiself by which his whole moral being thould have I>een kept continually dis- closed to his view, he is better qualified perliaps to describe the intreagues of a foreign court, or the pro- gress of a foreign trade; to represent the manners of the Italians, or the Turks ; to narrate the proceedings of the Jesuits, or the adventures of the gypsies ; than to wiite the iii'^tory of his own mind. If we had practised ha,bitual self-observation, we could not have failed to make important discoveries. There have been thousands of feelings, each of which, if strongly seized upon, and made the subject of re- flection, would have shewn us what our character was, and m hat it was likely to become. There have been numerous incidents, which operated on us as tests, and so fully brought cut the whole quality of the mind, that another person, who should have been discriminativcly observing us, would instantly liave formed a decided estimate. But unfortunately the mind is too much occupied by the feeling or the in- cident itself, to have the slightest care or conscious- ness that any tiling could be learnt, or is disclosed. In very early youth it is almost inevitable for it to be thus lost to itself even amidst its gwn feelings, and the external objects of attention ; but it seems a con- lemplible thing, and it certainly is a criminal and dangerous tiling, for a man in mature life to allow himself this thoughtless escape from self-examination. We have not only neglected to observe what our ieelings indicated, but have also in a very great de- gree ceased to remember wliat they were. We may justly wonder how our minds could pass away sue- ceedvely from so many scenes and moments wliich Narrative Ficces. 113 seemed to us important, each in its time, and retain so sliglit an impression, that we have now nothing to teJI about what once excited our utmost emotion. As to my own rnind, I perceive that it is becoming uncertain of the exact nature of many feelings of con- siderable interest, even of later years ; of course, the remembrance of what was felt in early life is exceed- ingly faint. I have just been observing several chil- dren of eight or ten years old, in all tlic active vivaci- ty which enjoys the plenitude of the moment without " looking before or after ;" and while observing, I attempted, but without success, to recollect what I was at that age. I can indeed remember the princi- pal events of the period,.and the actions and projects to which my feelings impelled me ; but the feelings themselves, in their own pure juvenility, cannot be revived, so as to be described and placed in compari- son with those of maturity. What is become of all those vernal fancies which had so much power to touch the heart ? What a number of sentiments have lived and revelled in the soul that are now irre- vocably gone. They died,, like the singing birds of that lime, which now sing no niore^ The life that we then had, now seems almost as if it could not Ixave been ooi* own. When we go back to it in thought, and endeavour to recal the interests which animated it, they ^viII not come. We are like a man returning after the absence of many years, to visit the embowered cottage where he passed the morning of his life, and finding only a relic of Its ru- ins. View of Life — continued^ We may regard our past life as a contiruicd, though irregular course of education; and ths discii)line ha« consisted of instruction, companionship, reading, and the diversified intluences of the world. The young mind eagerly came forward to meet the opera- tion of some of these modes of disGipIinc, tii( ugh. Ill Narrative Pieces. M ithout the possibility of a thought concerning tlie important process nncler which it was beginning to pass. In sonic certain degree we have been induenc- fd by each of these yartsof the great system of educa- tion ; it will be worth while to inquire how far, and in what manner. Few persons can look back to the early period when they Avei-e peculiarly the subjects of instruction, without a regret for themselves, (which may be ex- tended to the human race,) that the result of instruc- tion, excepting that which leads to evil, bears so small a proportion to its compass and repetition. Yet some good consequence will follow the diligent incul- cation of truth and precc])t on the youthful mind ; and cur consciousness of i)0ssesfing certain advantages derived from it will !)e a partial consolation in the re- view that will comprise so many proofs of its compa- rative inellicacy. You can recollect perhaps the in- structions to Vthich you feel yourself permanently the most indebted, and some of those which produced the greatest eilect on your mind at the time, those >vhich surprized, delighted, or mortified you. You can remember the facility or dilticuity of under- standing, the facility or dilHculty of believing, and the practical inferences which you drew from princi- ples, on the strength of your own reason, and some- times in variar>ce w ith those made by your instructors. You can : ememl)er \s liat viev, s of truth and duty were most frequently and cogently presented, what pas- sions v^ere appealed to, what arguments were em- ployed, and which had the greatest iniluenc-e. Per- haps your present idea of the most convincing and persuasive mode of instruction may I>e derived from your early experience of the manner of those persons, ivith wliose op.inions you felt it the most easy and de- lightful to harmonize, who gave you the most agreea- ble consciousness of your faculties expanding to the light, like morning /lowers, and who, assuming the least of dictation, exerted the greatest degree of pow- er. You can recoikct the submissiveness with '.vhich Narrative Pieces. tl9 your niiiid yielded to instruct ions as from an oracle^ CH" the hardiliaod witii which you dared to examine and oppose tlieni. You can remeniher how fai- they became, as to your own conduct, an internal authori- ty of reason and conscience, when you were not un- der tlie inspection of those who inculcated them ; and w hat classes of persons or things around you they in- duced you to dislike or approve. And you can per- haps imperfectly trace the manner and the particulars In which they sometimes aided, or sometimes coun- teracted, tliose other influences whicli ha\e a far strongei: efficacy on the character than irif^truction can boast. !Most persons, I presume, ca»i recollect fome few sentences or conversations whicii made so deep an impression, perhaps in some instances they can Ecarcely tell why, that tbey have l^icn thousands of times recalled, Mhile all the rest have been forgot- ten ; or they can advert to some strikin.?; incident, coming in aid of histruction, or beiii:^ of itself a for- cil)le initruction, which they seem even r.owtosee as clearly as when it happened, and of which they Avill retain a perfect idea to the end of life. In some in- stances, to recollect the instructions of a former pe- riod will be to recollect too the e^celltnce, the affec- tion, and the death, of I he persons A\ho gave Ihcm. Amidst the sadness of such a remembrance, it wWi be a consolation that they arc not entirely lost to us. "Wise monitioiTS, when they retm'n on us with this m.*lancholy charm, have more pathetic cogeixy than \\hen they were first uttered by the voice of a living friend who is no\vr silent. It will be an interesting occupation of tlie pensive hour, to recount the ad- vantages which v^e have received from beings who have left the world, and to reinforce our virtues from the dust of those who first taught tlicm. In our review, we shall find that the conipanions of our childhood, and of each succeedmg period, have had a great influence on our characters. A crea- ture Eo conformabb as man, and at the same time so 116 Narrative Pieces. capable of being moulded into partial dissimilarity by social antipathic^, cannot have conversed witli his fel- low beini;s thousands of hours, walked with them tliousands of milcF, undertaken with them numbcr- Jtsp enterprises smaller and greater, and had every passion by turns awakened in their company, without being immensely aii';cled by all this association. A large share indeed of the social interest may have been of so comnwn a kind, and with persons of so common an order, that the cilect on the character has been too little peculiar to be strikingly percepti- ble during the progress. We were not sensible of it^ till we came to some of those circumstances and chang- es in li'c, which make as aware of the state of our minds by the manner in \\ hich new objects are accept- table or repulsive to them. On removing into a new circle of society, fcjr instance, we could perc<;ive, by the number of thiui^s in which we found ourselves un- congenial \\\\\\ i\v-i new acquaintance, the modifica- tion which our sentiments had received in the pre- ceding social intercourse. But in some instances we have been sensible, in a very short time, of a power- ful fjrce operating on our opinions, tastes, and habits, and throwing them into a new order. This eifect is inevitable, if a young susceptil)Ie minv'liose characters were moulded in the manufnc-^ tory of custom, and sent forth liko images of clay of landred shape and' varni-h from a pottery. Learn then to look back with great interest on the world of circumstances t]u"ou;^h which \\U has been drawn. Consitlar what thousands of situations, ap- Narrative Pieces. lit pearances, incidents, person?, you Iiave ]jecn present to, each in its moment. The review m ill present to yoii something like a chaos, ^^ith all the moral, and all other elements, confounded together ; and you may reflect till you begin almost to wonder how an individual retains even the same essence through all the diversities, vicissitudes, and counteractions of in- fluence, that operate on it during its progress through the confusion. But though its essence is the same, and might defy an universe to extinguish, absorb, or change it ; its modification, its condition and habits, will sliew where it has been, and ^v•hat it has under- gone. You may descry on it the marks and colours of many of the things by which, in passing, it has been touched or arrested. Consider the numl>er of meetings with acciuaiut- ance, friends, or strangers ; the number of conversa- tions you have held or heard ; the number of exhi- bitions of good or evil, virtue or vice ; the number of occasions on which you have been disgusted or pleased, moved to admiration or to abhorrence ; the number of times that you havf contemplated the town, the rural cottage, or verdant fields ; the num- ber of volumes that you have read ; the times that you have looked over the present state of the world, or gone by means of history into past ages ; the num- ber of comparisons of yourself with other persons, alive or dead, and comparisons of them with one an- other, the number of solitary musing.^, of solemn con- templations of night, of the successive subjects of thought, and of animated sentiments that have been kindled and extinguished. Add all the hours and causes of sorrow that you have knonn. Through this lengthened, and, if the number could bs told, stupendous, multiplicity of things, you have advanc- ed, while all tlieir heterogenous myriads Lave darted influences upon you, each one of them having some definable tendency. A traveller round the globe would not have a greater variety of seasons, prospects^ and ^^■inds, than you might have recorded of the rii • 118 Didactic Pieces. cumstaces aii'ccting the progress of your character, in your moral journey. You could not wish to have dra\vn to yourself the agency of a vaster diversity of causes; you could not wish, on the supposition that you had gained advantage from all these, to \\ear the spoils of a greater number of regions. The form- ation of the character from so many materials re- minds one of that mighty appropriating attraction, which, on the hypothesis tha,t the resurrection sliall re-asseral)Ie the same particles which composed the body before, will draw them from dust, and trees, and animals, and ocean, and winds. CHAP. III. DIDACTIC PIECES. SECTION I. On Study, Studies serve for delight, for ornament, and for ability. The chief use for delight, is in privateness and retirement ; for ornament, is in discourse ; and for ability, is in tJie judgment and disposition of bu- siness. For expert men can execute, and perhaps judge of particulars one by one ; but the general counsels, and the plots, and marshalling of aiTairs, come best from those that are learned. To spend too much time in studies is sloth ; to use them too much for ornament is aifectatlon ; to make judgment whol- ly by their rules is the humour of a tcholar. Tl»ey perfect nature, and are perfected by experience; for natural abilities are like natural plants, that need prkiii- Diduttiic Pieces. 119 tug by duty, and studios themselves do give forth di- rections too much at large, except they be bounded in by experience. Crafty men contemn studies, sim- ple men admire them, and wise men use them: for tliey teach nof^vliat is their own use, but \vhat is wis- dom without 1 hem, and above them, Avon by of)serva- tion. Head not to conlrrdict and confute, nor to be- lieve and take for granted, nor to find talk and dis- course, but to weigli and consider. Some books are to be lasted, otiiers to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested; that is, some books are to be read only in parts; others to be read, but not cu- riously; and some few to be read wholly ; and with diligence and attention. Some books also may be read by deputy, and extracts made of them by others ; but that should be only in the less important argu- ments, and the meaner sort of books; else distilled books are like common distilled waters, ilasiiy things. Reading makes a full man ; conference a ready man ; and writing an exact man. ,-.nd therefore, if a man ■write little, he had need have a great memory ; if he confir little, he had need have a present wit ; and if he read little, he had need have much cunning to seem to know that he dolli not. SECTIOX IL IlamJcfs Dircciions to the Players. SpJE-VK the speech, 1 pray you, as I pronounced il to you, trippling'y on the tongue. But if you mouth it as many of our players do, I had as leif tlie town- crier had spoke my lines. And do not saw^ the air too much with your hand thu?> but use all gently ; f-ff in the very torrent, tempest, and, as 1 may say, whirl- wind of your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smoothness. Oli ! it of- 130 Didactic Pieces. fends me to the sou!, to l\car a rohustcous periwig- patecl fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very raj^s; to split the cars of the groundlings; who, lor the jnost part, are capable of noliiing hut inexplicable duml) shows, and noise ; I would have such a fellow whipt for overdoing TcniiagaHt, it out-hcrods He- rod ; pray you avoid it. Be not too tame neither ; but let your own discre- tion be your tutor. Suit the action to the word, the word to the action ; with this special observance, that you overstep 7wt the modesty of nature : fur any thing so overdone is from the purpose of nature ; whose end, both at the first and now, was and is, to hold as 'twere the mirror up to nature; to show Virtue her own feature. Scorn her own image, and the ve- ry age and body of the Time his form and pressure. Now this overdone, or come tardy oiT, though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot !jut make the judicious grieve ; the censure of one of which, must in your al- lowance overweigh a .vhole theatre of others. Oh ! there be players that 1 have seen play, and heard oth- ers j)raise, and that highly too, (not to speak it pro- fanely,) that neitlier having the action of christian, nor the gait of christian, p^gan, nor man, have so strutted and bellowed, that I have thought sojne of Nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them wfll ; they imitated, humanity so al^onsinably. And let those that play your clowns, speak no more tha:? is set dow n for th in : for there be of them that will themselves laugh, to set on some quantity of bar- ren spectators to laugh too : though in the meantime, some necessary part of the piay be then to be consi- dered. That's villanou?, and shows a raost pitiful ambition in the fooi that uses it. ■DidacUc Piece s-.i 121 SECTION III. Eloquence and Oratot.ij, Eloquence may be defined to be the art of cxprcss- "ing our thoughts and feefings with precision, foicc, and elegance ; and of heightening the iinpressions of reason, by the colourings of imagination. \\ is applicable, therefore, to the ^vhole faculty of \-erbal discourse, \\ hethcr oral or written. It address, -es itself by t!ie pen to the eye, as weJl as by the'iving organs to the ear. TJuis we speak (with admitted, ac- curacy) of an eloquent book, as fredy as of an eloquent cration ; of the eloquent Buiion (aWuding to his cele- brated work on natural history ;) and of the eloquent •\vritings, as of the eloquent speeches of Edmund Burke. T!in apostrophe to the queen of France is as genuine a piece of eloquence, as if it had been spoken in the House of Commons. Oratory, on the contrary, is precise and limited in its application : and, in this respect, hideed, even po- pular usage is pretty generally correct. It may be defined to be oral eloquence ; or the art of communi- cating, by the immediate action of the vocal and ex- pressive organs, to popular or select assemblies, the dictates of our reason, or our will, and the workings oC our passions, our fceJuigs, and our imaginations. Oratory, therefore, includes tlie idea of eloquence: for no man can be an orator who has not an affluence of thought and language. I-ut cloqu- nee does not necessarily inchul-) th:^ idea of oratory ; since a man maybe rich in all the stores of langu;vge arrd thought, w ithout possessing the advantages of a gl*a«eful an'd imprefifive delivery. ■'SS Didactic Pieces. SECTION IV. Of Elocution. Elocution is tlie art, or the act of so delivering our own thoughts and sentiments, or the tlioughts and sentiments of others, as not only to convey to those around us (with precision, f )rce, and harmony,) the full purport and meaning of the words and sentences in which these thoughts are clothed; hut also to ex- cite and impress upon their minds, the feelings, the imaginations, and the passions, l)y whicJi those thoughts are dictated, or w ith w hich they should na- turally he accompanied. Elocution, therefore, in its more ample and Iib;;ral fiignication, is not confined to the mere exercise of the organs of s{>eech. It embraces the whole theory and practice of the exterior demonstration of the inw ard workings of the mind. To concentrate Avhat has been said by an allegorical recapitulation — Eloqu^nice may be considered as the sou!, or anijnating principle of discourse ; and is de- pendent nn intellectual energy and intellectual attain- ments. Elocution is the embod>iug form, or repre- sentative power; dependent on exterior accomplish- ments, and on the cultivatir-n of the organs. Oratory is the complicated and vital existence resulting from tlie perfect harmony and combination of Eloquence and Elocution. The vital existence, how ever, in its full perfection, is one of the choicest rarities of nature. The high and splendid ace ^mplifehments of oratory (even in the most favoured age, and the most favoured countries) have betn attained Ijy few: and many are the ages, and many are the countries, in w hich those accom- plislimcnts have never once appeared. Generations have succeeded to generations, and centuries have rolled after centuries, during \\ liich the intellectual desert has not exiiibilcd even one solitary specimen ol" Didactic Pieces. 133 the stately growth and flourishing expansion of orOr toricai genius. Tlie rarity of this occurrence is, unclou])tedly, in part, to be accounted for, from the difficulty of the at- tainment. The paini of oratorical perfection is only to ht grasped — it is, in reality, only to be desired — by aspiring soul?, and intellects of unusual energy. It re- quires a persevering toil wliich few would be content- ed to encomiter; — a decisive intrepidity of character, and an unlameableness of mental ambition, which ve- ry, very few can be expected to possess. It requires, also, conspicuous opportunities for cultivation and display, — to which few can have the fortune to Ihj born ; and which fewer still will have the hardihood to endeavour to create. SECTION V. Faults of Conversation* Every one endeavours to 'make himself as agreea- ble to society as he can ; but it often happens, that those w ho most aim at shining in conversation over?' shoot their mark. VV^e should try io keep up conver- sation like a ball bandied to and fro from one to the other, rather th^jji seize it all to ourselves, and drive it before us like a f'^'ot-ball. We should likewise be cautious to adapt the matter of our discourse to our company ; and not talk Greek before Ladies, or of the last new fashion to a meeting of country justices. But nothing throws a more ridiculous air over our whole conversation than peculiarities ; easily acquired but not conquered or discarded without extreme dif- ficulty. Those who accompany every word with a peculiar grimace or gesture ; who assent with a shrug, contradict witha twisting of the neck, arc angry with 134 Didactic Ficce^. a wry wouth^ and pleased in a caper, or minuet step-, may be considered as speaking harlequins. With- these we condemn the aiiected tribe of miniics, who are continually taking off the peculiar tone of voice o? gef^lure of their acquaintance;, though they are gene- rally £uch wrelchcd imitators, that like bad painters,. they are frequently forced to write tlie name under the pictwe before we can discover any likeness. It is unnecessary to point out all the pests of coiu versalion, or to dwell on the sensihies, avIio pronounce <3ogmaticaIly on the most trivial points,, and speak ia sentences; the 7iondcrers, who are always wondering ■what o'clock it is, or Avondering whether it will rain or no, or wondering wlicn the moon changes ;. the phraseologists, who explain a thing, by all that and father ; lastly, the silent persons, who seem afraid ol opening their mouths lest th(y should catch cold, and literally observe the precepts of the gospel, letting their conversation be only, yea, yea; aiid nay, nay. The rational intercourse kept up by conversation,, is one of our principal distinctions from brutes. We should therefore endeavour to turn this particular ta- lent to our advantage, and consider the organs of speech as the instruments of undestaading ; we should be very careful not to use them as the weapons of vice, or tools of folly, and do our utmost to unlearn any trivial or ridiculous habits, which tend to lessen the valae of such an inestimable prerogative. SECTION VI. On Satirical Wit. — TiitJsy me, this unwary pleasantry of thine wiJi. .£ooBer or later bring thee into scrapes and difficulties, which no after wit can extricate thee out of. In these salUesj t©o &%. \ sse, it happens, that tke person. iavi^lL-. didactic Pieces. 125 ed af, considers himself in the light of a person injured, -vvith all the rights of such a siuation belonging to h\n\ \ and when thou vie west him in that light too, and reckonest upon his friends, his family, his kindred and allies, and musterest up with them the many recruits which w ill list under him from a sense of common danger; 'ti? no extravagant arithmetic to say, that for every ten jokes thou hast got a hundred enemies; and, till thou hast gone on, and raised a swarm of ■ wasps about tJiine ears, and art half stung to death by t'lcm, thou wilt never be convinced it is so. I cannot suspect it in the man wJiom I esteem, that there is the least spur from spleen or malevolence of intent in these sallies. I beliave and knew tliem to be truly honest and sportive ; but consider, that fools cannot distinguish this» aiul knaves ^vill not ; and thou knowest not Avliat it i^, either to provoke the one or make merry with the other ; whenever they ar-scciate for mutual defence, depend upon it they will carry on the war in such a manner against thee, my dear friend, a« to make thee heartily sick of it, and of tliy life too. Revenge from some baneful corner eIi«i.?^ level a talc of dishonour at thee, which no innocence of heart or ilitegrity of conduct shall set right. The fortunes of thy house shall otter— thy character, which lod the way to tJiem, shall bleed on shall strike together at all tJiy infirmities and mistik^s: the best of us, my friend, lie op.ni there, and tru 4 me -^w hen to gratify a private appetite, it is once re- solved upon, that an innoceat and h^^lpless cr^^ature f^hall be sacrificed, it is an easy mitter to pick up sticks enough from any thicket where it has stray pd, to make a fire to oiier it up \\ith. 1>2 136 didactic Fkces. '' SECTION VII. Of Successful Speaking, It is only necessary, in fact, for the orator to keep one man iti view amidst tlie multitude tliat surrounds liim ; and, excepting those enumerations ^vhich re- quire some variety in order to paint the passions, con- ditions, and characters, he ought merely, whilst com- posing, to address himself to that one man whose mis- takes he laments, and whose foibles he dicovers. This man is, to him, as the genius of Socrates, stand- ing continually at his side, and by turns, interrogating him, or answering his questions. This is he w horn the orator ought never to lose sight of in writing, till he obtain a conquest over his prepossessions. The arguments which will be suificiently persuasive to ©vercome his opposition, will equally control a large assenil>ly. 1 he orator w ill derive still farther advantages from a numerous concourse of people. Adhere all the im- pressions made at the time will convey the finest tri- umphs of the art, by forming a sj)ecies of action and re-action between the auditory and the speaker. It is in this sense that Cicero is right in saying, " That no man can l)e eloquent without a multitude to hear him.'* The auditor came to hear a discourse : — the orator attacks him ; accuses him ; makes him abash- ed; addresses him, at one time as his confident, at ■another as his mediator, or his judge. See w ith w hat address he unveils his most concealed passions ; with "oliat penetration he shews him his most intimate thougiits; with what energy he annihilates his best framed excuses \ — The culprit repents. Profound at- tention, consternation, confu>ion, remorse, all announce that the orator has penetrated, in his retired medita- tions, into the recesses of the heart. Then provided no il!-timcd sally of wit follow, to blunt the strokes of Cliristiau eloquence, there may be in the cimrch twd Didactic^ Piccet^ Itl thousand auditor?, yet there will be but onetIiought» but one opinion ; and all those individuals uniteci, form that ideal man whom the orator had iu view while composing his discoui se. SECTION VIII. The Orator should study himself. But, you may ask, where is this ideal man, com- posed of so many diilercnt traits, to ])e found, unless- Me describe some chimerical being ? Where shall we find a phantom like this, singular but not outr , ia which every individual may recognize himself, al- though it resemble not any one? Where shall we find him ? — In your own heart. Often retire there. Survey all its recesses. There, you will trace both the pleas for those passions which you \\\\{ have to combat, and the source of those false reasonings which you must point out. To be eloquent, we nmst enter within ourselves. The first productions of a young orator are generally too far fetched. -His mind, al- ways on the stretch, is making continual efforts, with- out his ever venturing to commit himself to the sim- plicity of nature, until experience teiich liim, that to arrive at the sublime, it is, in fact, less necessary to el- evate his imagination, than to be deeply impressed Avith his subject. If you have studied the sacred books ; if you have observed men ; if you have attended to writers on morals, who serve you instead of historians ; if you have become familiar with the language of orators; make trial of your eloquence upon yourself : become, so to speak, the auditor of your own discourses ; and thus, by anticipating the efTect which they ought to produce, you will easily delineate true characters ; ^-ou will perceive, that, notwithstanding the sliade"? 138 Didaclic Pieces^ of difference which distinguish them, all mf'n bearan interior resemblance to one another, and that their vices have a uniforniit}', because they always proceed either from weakness or interest. In a word, your descriptions will n-)t be indeterminate ; and the more thoroughly you shall have examined what passes within your own breast, with more ability will you luifold the hearts of others. SECTIOiX IX. Wit injures Eloquence. To all those rules whicli art furnishes for conduct^ ihg the plan of a discourse, we proceed to subjoin a^ general ruli*, from w hicii orators, and especially Chris- tian orators, ought never to swerve. When such begin their career, the zeal for the sal-- vation of souls which animates them, doth not render them always unmindful of the glory which follows- great success. A blind desire to shine and to please, ys often at the expense of that substantial honour which might be obtained, were they to give them- selves up to the pure emotions of piety, which so Avell agree with the sensibility necessary to eloquence. It is, unquestionaI)ly, to be w-isljed, that he who devotes himself to the arduous labour which preach- ing requires, should be wholly ambitious to render himself useful to the cause of religion. To such, re- putation can never be a sulhcient recompense. But a motives so pure have not sufficient sway in your breast, calculate, at least, the advantages of self-love, and you may perceive how inseparably connected these are with the success of your ministry. Is it on your own account that you preach ? Is if &r you that religion assembles her votaries in a tera- lilc ? You ought never to indulge so presumptuous u Didaclic Pieces. 129^ thought. However, I only consider you as an orator. Tell me then, what is this you call Eloquence? Is it the wretched trade of iniit^itin*^' that criminal, meir- tioned by a poet in his satire?^ who " balanced liis crimes before his judges with antithesis ?" Is it the ))uerile secret of forming jt^une quibbles? of round- ing periods? of tormenting one's sell by tedious stu- dies, in order to reduce sacred instruction into vain amusement? Is tliis, then, the idea whicli you have conceived of that divine art wliieh disdains frivolou? ornaments, which sways tlie most numerous assemblies,, and which bestows on a single man the most personal and majestic of all sovereignties? Are you in quest of glory ? — You fly from it. Wit alone ig never sub- lime ; and it is only by the vehemence of the passions that you can become eloqent. Reckon up all the illustrious orators. Will you find among them conceited, subtle, or epigrammatic vri* ters ? No ; these immortal men confined tiieir at- tempts to affect and persuade ; and their havhrg been always simple, is thai which will always render them great — Haw is this ? You wish to proceed in their footsteps, and you stoop to the degrading pretensions of a rhetorician ! And you appear in the form of a mendicant soliciting commendations from those very Mien who ought to tremble at your feet ! Recover from this ignominy. Be eIo<|uent by zeal, instead of being a mere declaimer through vanity. And be assured^ tJiat the most certain njethod of preaching well for yourself is to preach usefully to others. SECTION X. Of the Production of Ideas. It is this contiual propagation of great ideas, by 'vhtcJi they are mutually enlivened j it is this art ol! 130 Didactic Fieces, incessantly advancing in compogition, that givei strength to eloquence^ rapidity to discourse, and the whole interest of dialogue to an uninterrupted suc- cession of ideas, which, were they disjointed, \^'Ould produce no ett'ects, but languish and die. — The pro- gression which imparts increasing strength to each period, is the natural representation of those transports of soul which should enliven throughout the compo- sitions of the orator. Hence it follows, that an elo- quent writer can only be formed by a fertility and vastness of thought. Detachexl phrases, superfluous passages, M'itty com- parisons, unprofitable definitions, the affectation of shining or surprising at every word, the extravagance of genius, these do not emich, but rather impoverish a writer, as often as they interrupt his progress Let, then, the orator avoid, as most dangerous rocks, those ensnaring sallies, which would diminish the impetuosity of his ardour. Without pity on his productions, and without ever regretting the apparent sacrifices which it will cost him, let him, as lie pro- ceeds, retrench this heap of flourishes, which stifles his eloquence, instead of embellishing it ; and which hur- ries him on forcibly, rather than gracefully, towards his main design. If the hearer find himself continually where he was, if he discover the enlargement, the return of the same ideas, or the playing upon words, he is no more trans- ported with the admiration of a vehement orator ; it is a florifl declaimer, whom he hears without eiiect. He does not even hear him long. He also, like the orator, makes idle reflections on every Mord. He is continually losing sight of the thread of the discourse, amidst tliose digressions of the rhetorician, who is aim- ing to shine while his subject languishes. At length, tired with this redundancy of words, he feels his ex- hausted attention ready to expire with every breath. Mistaken man of genius! wert thou acquainted with the true method of attaining eloquence, instead ef disgusting thy hearer with thy insipid antith,csif?» Didactic Pieces. J 31 his attention would not Ixj at liberty to be (liverted. He would partake of your emotions. He would 1>C' come all that you mean to describe. He would ima- gine that he himself could discover the plain and strik- >ng arguments which you Juid before him, and in ?ome measure, compose your discourse alont; with you. His satisfaction would be at its height, as woiUd be your glory. And you wo'.ild find, that it is tjie de- light of him uho h'jars, which always eneurcs the tri- umph of him MJio speaks. " A good judge of the art of Oratory," says Cicero, " nt;ed not hear an Orator in ord .r to judge of his me- rits — He passes on — He observes the judgrs conversing together — restless on tlieir seats — frequently inquiring in the middle of a pleading, whether it ba not tune to close the trial, and break up tlie court. This Is enough for him. He perceives at once that the cause is not pleaded by a man of eloquence, who can com- mand every mind, as a musician can produce harmo- nious strains by touching the strings of his instrument, *' But if he perc;ive, as he p:i?ses on, the same judg- es attentive — ^their heads erect — their lo;ks engaged, and apparently (^tiiick with admiratian of the speaker, as a bird is charmed witli the sweet sounds of mu ic ; if, abi.vc all, he discover th.em (or ' tlv? conit,' or * the audience') most pa'^sionatcly ailected by pity, by hafref life, or to defend ilvi innocent, and accuse the guilty. — Jhe masters of rhetoric ausong the Greeks and Jlomans, liavc con.-i(-kred an oration as consisting of thr: e or four parts, calleil the exordium, or mere beginning ; the narration and confirmation, extending from thence to the peroration^ or recapitulation and conclu'^ion of what has been sa d. ISow, as these parts of an ora- tion differ widely in niturt from each other, so they require a diiference of style. A discourse may open variety of way.-, bespeaking the favour and attention of the audienc", as by an address to those who pre.-ide in chief; — -with an apology; — with setting forth the Didactic Pieces. principal ideas ; your mbject will tlien becoine c^» cumrcribed, and yuu wiil see its extent. This plan will be j^oiir ground-w ork j it will sup- port you, tiii'cct you, regulate the movements of your mind, and submit them to the laws of method. A\'ith- out it, the best speaker will go astray, his progress will he unguided, and the irregular beauties of his speech w ill be at the mercy of hazard* How brilliant soever the colours Ije em])loys may be, the disposition of the picture will ruin the whole eifect ; and tlie speaker may be admired, but his genius v. ill most cer- iainly be suspected. "Wliy are the works of Nature so perfect ? says Buf- fon ; it is because every "work is a whole, or has its full plenitude ; it is because she never deviates from one eternal plan. She prepares hi silence the seeds of all her productions : in one bold stroke alone, she hits ofl" the primitive form of every living being ; she unfolds and bestows perfection on it by a perpetual motion, and in a prescribed time» The human mind cannot create, it can produce nothing until it has been i'ertiliz'd by experience and meditation : its notions are the seeds of its productions ; but if it im.itates the progress and labour of Natiue ; if it rise on the wings of contemplation, to the most sublime truths ; if it connect them, link them, and form them into one grand w hole by the powers of retiection ; it will raise a monument of fame on an immortal foundation. It is for V ant of a plan, and for not having allowed Eeflection to dwell long enough on his subject, that a man of abilities finds himself embarrassed, and knows not where or how to begin. He at once perceives a vast number of ideas ; as he has made no compari- son betwixt them, nor established any subordination among them, there is nothing that determines him to give the preference to one more tlian to the otlier ; he, therefore, stands a victim of his own per])lexity. JBut when he shall have laid down a plan to himself; i^hen once he shall have gathered together, and put in order, every idea essential to his subject, the work Didactic Pieces. 137 >viU have arrived at the pohit ol" maluriiy ; lie \vill be eager to give it birth; thought wiil Fuccttd thouglit, M ith ease and pleasure la Jiimself ; Ins t^tyle MilJ be natural and kicid ; the dt light he ie«ls will beget a warmth, which will glow tin- ;ugh all Jiis pH- riods, and give hfe to every expre?sioji ; Id? to imitate nature, and with the g' nius f.iid judgment you are bkssed with, you cannot but slic( ^'f? i-^ a great ppealier. One word more, and I quit the subject ; uccu-iom yourself, even in ^'our clite assemblings, tlinii those \vhich were composed of the Roman senate, er the Athenian people, in tht-ir most en ! 15^ hi en d tim :s» liut it is well known what gieat stress the Hiost cek- 138 Dlduiilc Pieces. bratcd orators of those times laid on action, how ex- Gceding' imperfect they reckoned eloquence without il; and what wonders they performed with its assistenct', performed upon the i,'reatest, firmest, most sensible, and most elegant spirits the world ever saw ; it were easy to throw together a number of common place quotations, in support, or illustration ol" this, and almost every other remark that can be made upon tha present subject. But as that would lead us beyond the intention of this paper, we need only recollect here one simple fact, which evory body hath heard of, that whereas .Demosthenes himself did not succeed in his first at- tempts, through his having neglected to study action,, he afterwards arrived at such a pitch in that faculty, that when the people of Rhodes expressed in high terms their admiration of his famous oration for Ctc- tiphon, upon hearing it read with a^ V£ry sweet and strong voice I»y ^Eschines, whose banishment it had procured, tbcit great and candid judge said to th: m, •♦ How would you have been afl'ected, Jiad you seen him speak it! For he tliat onh/ hvars Demosthenes loses much tlie ])elter part of tile oration." — What an honourable testimony this, from a vanquished adver- sary, and such an adversary ! What a noble idea dotli it give cf that worrderfa] orator's action ! I grasp it ^ith ardour; I transport myself 'm imagination to old Athens. I mingl.^ with the popular assembly, T beliold the liglitning, 1 listen to the thunder of De- mosthenes. I feel my !)lood tiirilled, I see the audi- tory tost and shaken iike some deep ft)rest by a mighty storm. I am fill( d with wonder at such marvellous effects. I am hurried almost out of myself. In a little while, I endeavour to be more recollected. Then I consider the orator's address. 1 find the t^'hole IneA'prcssiLh}. But nothing strikes me more than his action. I perceive the various passions he would inspire rising in hijn by turns, and working from the depth of liis frame. Now he glows with the iov{j of the public ; now he flames with indignr.- Didactic riecc^. 133 tion at ils enemies ; then lie swells with ditdain of it>> false, indolent, or inlercfitcd friends; anon lie melts with j^rief for its mteforlunes ; and now he turns pale n ilh fear of yet greater ones. Every featiu'e, nerve, and circumstance atjoiit him, is intensely animated : each almost seems as if it would speak. I disc<^rnhis inmost soul, I see it as only clad in tome thin transpa- rent vehicle. It is all on fire. 1 wonder no longer at the elfects of such eloquence: I only wonder at tJisir cause. '* SECTION XV. Women polish and improve Socltiij. Ajuoxg tlie innumerahlc ties hy which mankind arc draM n and liekl together, may be fairly rcckonctl that lOve of praise, which perluij)s is the earliest passion of human beings. It, is wonderful how soon cliildreu. begin to look out for notice, and fur consequence- To attract mutual regards by mutual services, is one chief aim, and one important operation, of a princi- ple, which I should be sorry ta think that any of you had outlived. No sooner do the social aifecl ions un- fold themselves, than youth appear ambitious to de- serve the approbation of those around them. Their desires of this kind are more lively, as their disposi- tions are more ingenious. Of those boys who disco- ver the greatest ardour to obtain, by their capacity, their spirit, or their g:enerosity, tlie esteem of tbeir companions, it may Ix' commonly o])scrved, that they shoot up into the most valuable cliaracters. Eagerness for th^ admir;ition of scJiool fellows and others, w ithout distinction of sexes, is ftlt at first : but when, in process of time, the bosom becomes scnsilile to that distinction, it liegiiis to bf.iit with a peculiar anxiety to please the female part of your ac- 140 Didaclic Pieces. qiiaintancp. The '^miles, the applause, the attach- niCiit of Youiit^ Women, you n jw considtir as confer- ring' felicity of a more intccestinsf nature ; and to se- cure sucli liappiness, is from henceforth an ohjcct that incites and inlluenci's you on a thousand occa- sions. By an increasing fuctptibiiity to the attrac- tions of the softer sex you are carried more and inore into their company ; and there, my brotheis, your hearts and manners, your tastes and pursuits, receive very often a direction that remains ever afttr, and that will probably decide your destiny through the whole of your existence. — 1 am aware, indeed, that to underrate their importance, and cultivate tlieir commerce only as subservient to c;;nvenicnce, amuse- ment, or voluptuousness, is common among the ig- norant, the petulant, and the protligate of our sex : but, happy as I have been in the conversation of ma- ny worthy and accomplislied persons of the other, I Mould willingly, if possii)le, prevent your adopting a system alike ungenerous and false. It is certain, that savages, and those who are ])ut little removed from their condition, have seldom be- liavcd to women w ith mucli respect or tenderness. On the other hand, it is known, that in civiliz* d nations tiiey have ever been objects of lioth ; that, in the most heroic states of antiquity, their judgment was often honr^ured as ihe standard, and their niffrages often sought as the reward of merit ; and though in those states tlic allurement of feminine softness Avas perhaps not always sufficif-nlly understood, owing pro- bably to that passion for public interests, and exten- siv^e fame, which seems to have overpowered all rath- er- emotions; it mu'^t yet bp acknowledged, that the Ladies of ancient days frequently jv'^ssesped a w on- d.rful inGu'nce in what concerned the i>o!iticol wel- fare, and private afTections, of tlie people to whom they belonged. But say, my friends, does it not reflect some his- tr*^ on the fair sex, that th'ir talents and virtu"= have ttill been most revered in periods of the greatest re- Didactic ricccs. 14d nown f And tell me, I beseccli you, what age or country,, distinguished in the annals of fame, lias not received a part of that di-tinctim fiom the numbers of women, w horn it produced cons^jjicuous for their virtues and their talents ? Look at this in which ym live, does it not derive a very considerable share of its reputation from the female pens that (niinently adorn it? Look into the history of the world at larger do not you find, that the female, sex have, in a variety ef ways, contributed largely to many of it? most im- portant events? Look into the great machine of so- ciety, as it moves before you : do not you perceive, that they are still among its principal springs? Do not their characters and manners deeply aiiect the pas- sions of men, the uiterests of education^ and those domestic scenes, where so much of life is past, and with which its happiness or misery is so intimately blended ? Consult your ow n expeiience, and conf^'^s^ tvhether you are not touched I)y almost every thing they do, or say, or look; confess, whether thtir very foibles and follies do not often interest, and sometimes please you ? There cannot, I am persuaded,^ be many worse symptoms of degeneracy, in an eniigjitened age, than a growing indiilerence about tlie regards of reputal)le women, and the fahhionabie propen-ity to l^sen the sex in general. Where this is the case, thi decencies of life, the softness of love, ths sweets of friendshipj the nameless tender charities that pervade and unite the most virtuous form of cultiv-ited society, are not likely to be held in high estimatit^n ; and when these fall into contempt, whit is there left to polish, L.^.^- nianize, or delight mankind ? 14^2 Didactic Pieces. SECTION XVI. Fondness for Fashion injxirious. As it is prnbahle that most of you will, after the confinement of the Fchool, of the college, of an ap- prenticesliip, at of whatever other early study, pass niiich of your time in the company of women, it deep- ly imports you to consider, with what sort of women you should associate. Tlie infinite mi':cliiefs attend- ant on comnuinieation with those miserable females, who have forfeited Iheir honour, I will not attempt to relate. At present I will take it for granted, that the sons of Reason should converse oniy with the daugh- ters of Virtue. Of these last, the number is greater than many of you have been told ; much greater than bad men, who judge from bad samples, will ever be persuaded to be- lieve ; and even greater than would l>e readily ex- pected by the candid and virtuous themselves, were they to take their estimate from the general appear- ance of women in public life, instead of those private scenes Avhere show and noise are excluded, where the flutter of fashion is forgotten in the silent discharge of domestic duties, and where females of real value are more solicitous to be amiable and accomplished, than allurmg and admired- Litttle, indeed, do those women consult either their own interest, or the reputation of their sex, who enter eagerly into the bustle of the mode, obtrude themselves on the gaze of the glittering throng, and sacrifice the decent reserves, and intellectual attainment^, by Avhich men of sentiment and delicacy are most taken, to the passion for dress, and visiting, and splendour, and prattling, and cards, and assemblies, and masquerades without end. The coxcombs of the age, may be caught by such arts of display, as much as those can l)e who are so generally captivated with themselves. They, no Didactic Pieces. Ik^ doubt, Avill be flattered uitliuhat Ihcy suppose to he an oii'ering presented at their shrine, a price paid for their adjiiiration. But, depend upon it, my sisters, those men Avhf) are formed to he agreeable compan- ions, faithful friends, and good husbands, will not be very forward to chuse their associates and partners for life, from the Haunting train of vanity, or the insip- id circles of dissipation. Nor av ill it always be very easy to convince them, that while the optli theatre of the world exhibits so many trivial and insipid cliarac- trrs of the female sex, its more retired situations abound with women of discretion and siguiiicance. For my own sh;uT, I will confess, that 1 ^hould not have thought so favourably in general concerning the fair part of the creation, as 1 now think, had I formed luy opinions on this subject in places of gay resort ; where simplicity, softness, a sedate carriage, and ra- tional conversation, must usually give way to the boasted tone, and brilliant, but illusive hgure of the society in voguf , which seems to me a composition of frivolous talk, fantastic manners, expensive outside, servile imitation of the mode, incessant amusement, ruinous gaming, and eternal di<-guise. ^lay I venture farther, and acknoMledge my as- tonishment, when I have discovered that some sensi- ble and deserving women, who in the country de- lighted all that came near them, by a style and de- portment perfectly reasonal)le and highly eng;iging, yet appeared so forgetful of themselves the raomejit they plunged isito the diversi .ns arid tumults of the town- Their heads turned round in the whirl of fashionable lile ; and their hearts which went forth to their friends in tlie qpiet of retreat, shrunk and vanished ou! of sight, in scenes where they appre- hended that sentiment, afT'clion, confidence, would pjobably be o})j'cts of dcri^i n. So then, liadies, you could resign those sweetest pleasures of the soul, for the rej)utation of appearing modish ; you could bury your better feelings, and relinquish for veeks and for months, your more respectable pursuits, to 141' Didactic Pieces. mix familiarly and habitually with the herd of infe- rior beings, that' run mad after superficial amuse- jtieiits, and the poorest objects of low-soukd ambi- tion. Do we mean, tliat you ouglit to shut yourselves up from aM the resorts af what is called Genteel Com- pany, w'liich, to say tiie truth, is often but another narat' for well dressed trifiers ? We do not mean, we do not wish it. There are situations and connexions which would rend'r it improper. To minds capable of reficctioiJ, the pageant, as it passes in review, may occasion many observations on the emptiness and perturbation of all but piety, worth, and heart- felt enjoyment. Nor is it altogether imposible, that a more con-ect appearance, a more composed address, friendly hints dropped by accident, improving re- mariv's suggested by good sense, ^\ ithout the affecta- tion of unseasonable gravity, may sometimes leave useful impressions where they were least expected. We only complain, that the friends of virtue should ever be so far entangled in the maze of modern im- pertinence, as to be afraid of living principally to th'-m:=elves, to one another, and to the noblest puj'po- scs of their being. SECTION XYII. Remarks on Frcnching. TfiR Preacher, above all other public spetiterf^, ousrht to labonr to eniich and adorn, in the mostmas- t'.riy manner, his addresses to mankind ; his views Ixing the motit important. What great pnint has the ])iayer to gain ? Why, to \hole of tlieir being. And liere, if the preacher possesses talents and uidustry, what a field of elo- im to rv>usehis auditors to a vahant resistance of the most formidable slavery, of tJie tyranny which is set up in a man's own bosom ; and to exhort his hearers to maintain the liberty, the life, and the hopes of the whole human race for ever. Of what consequence is it then, that the art of preaching be carried to such perfection, that all may be drawn to places of public instruction, and that th<»se ^vho attend may receive benefit .' And if so im- portant a part of preaching be delivery, how necessa^ ary must he the study of delivery ! That delivery is one of the most important parts of public instruction, is manifest from this, that very indifierent matter well delivered, will make a considerable impression ; while- bad utterance never fails to defeat the whole eifect of the noblest composition ever produced. AV'hilc exorbitant appetite, and unruly passion within, while evil solicitation, with alluring example "without; while tliese invite and ensnare the frail and thoughtless into guilt, shall virtue and religion hold forth no charms to engage votaries ? Pleasure decks herself out with rich attire. Soft are her looks, and melting is the sweetness of her voice. And must re- ligion present herself with every disadvantage ? Must she appear quite unadorned ? What chance can she then have, in competition with an enemy sG mnch better furnished with every necessary invitation and N ^46 Didactic Pieces. allurej-ucni? Alas ! our preachers do not address iii- noccnts in paradise ; but thoughtless and often habi- tuated sinners. Mere cold explaining will have but little eii'ect on such. Weak is the hold wliich reason has on most men. Few of men have able heads ; but all have heart?, and ali hearts may ]>e touched, if the f^peaker is master of his art. The business is not so much to open the understanding, as to warm the heart. There are few, comparatively speaking, who do not know their duty. To allure them to the d&ing of it is the dilHculty. This w ill never be eiiected by cold reasoing, either read or delivered in such a man- ner as to disgust, or lull the audjtnce asleep. Can it he supposed, that an audience is to be narnicd to the love of virtue, by a ro7fUhougli learned harangue, ei- ther ill read, or, w hat is w orse, wretchedly delivered ? Can it be supposed, that a preacher w ill win the affec- tions of liis hearers, whilst he neglects all the natural means for w orking upon their passions 7 Will he t'indle in tlum that burning zeal w hich suits the most important of all subjects, by talking to them "» ith all the coolness of a stoic philosopher, of the terrors of the Lord, of the worm that never dies, and the fire that is not quenched, and of future glory, honour, and im- mortality, of everlasting kingdoms and heavenly thrones ? Did preachers labour to acquire a masterly delive- ry, places of pul)lic instruction would be crowded, as well as places of public diversion. Rakes and infi- dels, merely to show their taste, would freqent them. Could all frequent them, and none i)rofit ? It is not fupposable, l)ut some who came to scoff, might remain to pray. That such a manner might be acqxiired, there is no reason to doubt, if preachers were only to bestow due pains to obtain it. ^Vhat time ami la- bour is requisite to acquire even a tolerabls know- ledge of the Latin language ? Were only one halfol these spent upon the art of delivery, m hat an astonish- ing degree of improvement would take place in all kinds of public speaking] Vv^hat infinite advantage Didactic Pieces. H7 would accrue to pulpit oratory ! hei us only reflect for a moment, upon the time necessary to acquire a competent knowledge of any of the mechanical arts. A taylor, a shoe-maker, or a blacksmith, must be un- der a master five, generally seven year?, before he is capable of setting up for himself. Are these arts more ditlicult to attain, than the art of oratory ? And yet, the preacher goes into the pulpit at once, without having had one lesson, or article of instruction in this part of his art, towards gaining the end of preaching. \Vhat could be imagined more elegant, if entertain- ment alone were sought ; what more useful, if the. gootl of mankind were the object, than the sacred function of preaching, properly performed ? Were tlie most interesting of all subjects delivered to listen- ing crowds, with that digniii/ which becomes a teach- er of divine truth, and with that energy^ which would show that the pre^icher spoke from his own heart, and meant to s^)€ak to the hearts of his hear- ers, A\hat eflVcts might not follow ? It has been observed, " that mankind are not wood or stone ; that they are undoubtedly capable of being roused and startled ; tliat they may be drawn and allured. The voice of an able preacher, thundering out the divine threatening? against vice, would be in the ear of the offender, as if he heard the sound of the List trumpet summoning the dead to judgment. And tlie gentle call of mercy, encouraging the terrified and almo?t despairing penitent, to lookup to his offended heavenly Father, would seem as the song of angels. A whole rauilitude might be lifted to the skies. The world of spirits might be opened to the eyes of their minds. The terrors of that punishment which awaits vice ; the glories of that state to which, through di- vine favoui', the pious will be raised, might be, by a powerful preacher, rendered present to their under- standings, with such conviction, as would jnake inde- lible impressions upon their hearts, and work a sub- staolial reform in their lives.*' C H A P. IV. DESCIilPTIFE PIECES, SECTION I. Memarkahle Faults of bad Speakers* Lruovicus Cressollius, a Jesuit of Brittany, who wrote a treatise upon the j)erfect action and pronun- ciation of an orator, published at Paris in JG^O, gives the following description of the delivery of a public speaker, whose style was polished and whose coraposi' tion was learned. " When he turned himself to the left, he spoke a few words accompanied by a moderate gesture of the hand, then bending to the right, he acted the same part over again ; then back again to the left, and pre- sently to the right, almost at an equal and measured interval of time, he worked himself up to his usual gesture, and his oiie kind of movement : you could compare hiiti only to the blindfolded Babylonian oxen going forward and returning back by the same path." Th€ Jesuit was so disgusted, that he shut his eyes, but even so he could not get over the disagreeable impression of the speaker's manner. He coneiudes, ♦' I therefore give judgment against, and renounce all such kind of orators." In another place he has made an enumeration of the most remarkable faults of bad speakers, it is peculiarly spirited and characteristic. " Some hold their heads immoveable, and turned to one side, as if they were made of Imrn ; others stare uith their eyes as horribly, as if they intended to frighten every one ; some are continually twisting their mouths and working their chinsj while they are speak- ing, as if, all the time, they were cracking nuts ; some like the apostate Julian, breathe insult, express in their ''ountenance contempt and impudence. Others as if Dcs criptke Pieces, i 49 they personated the fictitious heroes in a tragedy, gape enormously, and extend their jaMs as Avidely as if they Avere going to swallow up every body ; above all, when they bellow with fury, they scatter their foam about., and' threaten with contracted brow, and eyes like Sa- turn. These, as if they ^rere playing some game are con- tinually makhig motions ^^•ith tlieir fingers, and by the extraordinary working their of hands, endeavour to form in the air, I may almost say, all the figures of the mathematics. Those on the contrary, have hands so ponderous and so fastened down by terror, that they could more easily move beams of timber ; others labour so with their elbows, that it is evident, either that (hey had been formerly shoe-makers themselves, or had lived in no other society but that of coblers. Some are so unsteady in the motions of their bodies, that they seem to be speaking out of a cock-boat ; oth- ers again are so un wieldly and uncouth in their mo- tions that you would think them to be sacks of tow painted to look like men. I have seen some who jump- ed on the platform, and capered nearly in measure ; men that exhibited tjie fullers dance, and as the old poet says, expressed their wit with their feet. But who in a short compass is able to enumerate all the faults of gesture, and all the absurdities of bad delivery ?" SECTION IL On Female Attractions Flavella has a multitude of charms, She is sensi- ble, ailable, modest, and good humoured. She is tall without being awkward, and as straight as an arrow. She has a clear complexion, fively ey^-s, a pretty mouth, and white even teeth; and will answer the descrip- tion which any rhyming lover can give of the mistress of bis affections, after having ransacked heaven and Nl lo& JJescrlpiioe ricccSi earth for similes; yet I cannot admire her. She wants, in my 0])inion, that nameless something, \v]iich is far more attractive than beauty. It is, in short, a peculiar manner of saying the most insignificant things, and doing the most trifling actions, \\hich captivates us, and takes our hearts by surjjrise. Though I am a strenuous advocate for a modest, decent, and unaifected deportment in the fair sex, I would not, however, have a fine woman altogether in- sensible of her i>ersonaI charms, for she would then be as insipid as Fiavella. 1 would only have her con- scious enough of them, to behave with modest free- dom, and to converse with fluency and spirit. — When a woman stalks majestically into a room, \\\\h. the haughty air of a first-rate beauty, and expects ev- ery one who sees her to admire her, my indignation rises, and I get away as fast as I can, in order to enjoy the conversation of an easy, good-humoured creature, wh» is neither Ijeautiful nor conceited enough to l)e troublesome, and who is as willing to give pleasure, as desirous to receive it. SECTION III. Flirtilla and Amelia. FiiKTiLL.v is a gay, lively, giddy girl ; she is what the world calls handsome ; she dances and sings ad- mirably, has something to say upon every fashion, person, play, opera, masquerade, or public exhibition, and has an easy floNV of words, that pass upon the multitude for wit. In short, the whole end of her ex- istence seems to be centeredjin a love of company end the fashion. No wonder it is, that she is noticed on- ly by the less worthless part of the world. Amelia, the lovely Amelia, makes liome her greatest feappiness. Nature has not bccu so hvish of her Dcscnijtivc Pieces. 1.51 charms, as to her si«ter ; Init slie has a soft pleasing- countenance, that plainly indicates the goodness of her heart. Her person is not striking at first, but as it becomes familiar to the beholder, is more so than that 01 Ijer sister. For her modest deportment, and her sweet disposition, will daily gain ground on any per- son who has the happiness of conversing with her. She reads much and digests what she reads. Her se- renity of mind is not to be disturbed by the disappoint- ment of a party of pleasure, nor her spirit agitated by the shape of a cap, or the colour of a ribbon. She speaks but little when in company, l)ut when she does, every one is hush, and attends to her as an oracle ; ancl she has one true fritneau- ties are discontented with themselves. At first, she scarcely appears pretty ; but the more she is beheld, the more agreeable she appears. She gains where others lose, and what she gains slie never loses. She is equalled by none, in a sweet expression of countenance, and without dazzling beholders, she interests them. She loves drtss, and is a good judge of it ; despises finery, but dresses with peculiar grace, mixing simpli- city with elegance. Ignorant she is of what colours are in fashion ; but knows well what suits her com- plexion. She covers her beauties ; but so slightly, or rather artfully, as to give play to the imagination. She prepares herself for managing a family of her own", by managing that of her father. Cookery is familiar to her, with tlie price and quality of provisions ; and io2 Descriptive Ficvcs. t-hc is a ready accountant. Her chief view, however, is to serve her mother unci Iii;htcn her cares. She holds cleanness and neatness to he indi.s|)cnsahle in a woman ; and tJiat a slattern isdigustini;:, especially if beautiful. The attention given to externals, does not make licr overlook her more material duties. Sophia's under- standing IS soliti, without being i)rofound. Her sen- sibility is too great for a perfect equality of temper ; ])ut her sweetness rend rs that inequality harndess. A liarsh \\ ord does not make Jur angry ; but lier heart sw ells, and she retires to disburden it by >veep- iiig. Recalled by her father and mother, she comes at the instant, w iping her eyes and appearing cheer- ful. She sutlers with patience any \vrong she has «lone, and docs it so cordially as to make it appear meritorious. If slie happen to disoblige a compa- nion, her joy and caresses when restored to favour, show the burden that lay uj)on her heart. The love of virtue is Sopljia's ruling passion. She loves it, l>ecause no other thing is so lovely : she loves it, because it is the glory of the female sex : she loves it as the only road to happiness, misery being the sure attendant of a woman without virtue : she loves it, as dear to her respetta()Ie father and mother. These sentiments inspire her Avith a degree of enthusiasm^ that elevates her soul, and subdues every irregular appetite. Of the al>sent slie never talks but with circumspec- tion, her female acquaintance especially. She ha'^ re- marked, that what renders women prone to detraction, is talking of their own sex ; and that they are more equitable with respect to the men. Sophia never talks of women, but to express the good she knows of them : of others she says nothing. Without much knowledge of the world, she is at- tentive, obliging, and graceful in all s.hc docs. A good dispositii>n does more for her, than art does for others. She possesses a degree of politeness, which, void of ceremony, proceeds from a desire to please, and which consequently never fails to pleascr Descriptive Pieces. 153 SECTION V. Sensibility, Dear sensibility ! source inexhausted of all Ihat^s precious in our joys, or costly in our sorro\vs ! thou cliainest thy martyr down upon his bed of straw, and it is thou w ho liftest him up to Heaven. Eternal Fountain of our feelings! It is here I trace thee, and this is thy divinity which stirs within me : not, that in some sad and sickening m'ni-;nt=, ' my soul shrinks back upon herself, and startles at destruction* — mere pomp of words! — l)ut that I feti some gene- rous joys and generous cares beyond myself — all comes from thee, great, great Sensorium of the world ! which vibrates if a hair of our head but falls upon the ground, in the remotest desert of thy cieation. Touched with thee, Eugenius diaws my curtain when I languish ; hears my tale of symptoms, and blames the weather for the disorder of his nerves. Thou givesta portion of it sometimes to the roughest peasant, who traverses the bleakest mountain —He finds the lacerated lamb of another's flock. This mo- ment I beheld him leaning with his head against his crook, with piteous inclination looking douii upon it. — Oh ! had I come one moment sooner ! — it bleeds to death — his gentle heart bleeds with it. Peace to thee, generous swain ! I see thou walkest off with anguish — but thy joys shall balance it ; for happy is thy cott.Tge, and happy is the sharer of it» and happy arc the laml^i that sport about you, 151i Descriptive Pieces^ SECTION VI. Liberty and Skr^eri/. DiscrisE tliysclf as thou will, still, Slavery ttiii thou art a hitler draught; and though thousands in all ages have been made to drink of thee, thou art no less hitter on that account. It is thou, Liberty, thrice sweet and gracious goddesF, whom all in public or in private worship, >vhose taste is grateful, and ever will be so, till nature herself shall change no tint of words can spot thy snowy mantle, or chymic pou er turn thy sceptre into iron with Iheetosuiile upon him who eats his crust, the swain is happier than his monarch, from whose court thou art exiled. Gra- cious Heaven ! grant me but health, thou great be- stow er of it, and give me but this fair goddess as my coaipanion ; and shower down thy mitres, if it seem good unto thy divine providence, upon those heads w hich are aching for them. Pursuing these ideas, I sat down close by my table^ and leaning my head upon my hand, I began to fi- gure to myself the miseries ol confinement. I was in a right frame of it, and so I gave full scope to my imagination. I was going to begin with the millions of my fel- low-creatures born to no inheritance but slavery ; but finding, however affecting the picture was, that I could not bring it nearer me, and that the nmltitnde of sad groups in it did but distract me — — I took a single captive, and having first shut him up in a dungeon, i then looked through the twilight of his grated door to take his picture. 1 beheld his body half wastiid away with long cx- pectatrion and confinement, and felt wiiat kind of sictc- ness of the heart it was whic i arises from hope de- ferred. Upon looking nearer, I saw him pale and feverish ; in thirty years the western breeze had not «ncc fanned his })Iood — he had s'^en no sun, no raooB Descriptive Pieces. 155 hi all that time — nor had the voice of friend or Idns- nian breathed through his lattice. His children — But here my heart began to bleed — and I was forced to go on with another part of the portrait. He was sitting upon the ground upon a little straw, in the furthest corner of his dungeon, which was al- ternately his chair and bed : a little calendar of small sticks were laid at the head, notchsd all over with the dismal days and nights he had passed there — he had one of these little sticks in his hand, and with a rusty nail he was etching another day of misery to add to the heap. As I darkened the little light he had, he lifted up a hopeless eye towards the door, then (Cast it down — shook hi'; head, and went on with his work of aflliction. I heard his chains upon his legs, as he turned his body to lay his little stick upon the bundle. — He gave a deep sigh — I saw the iron enter into his soul — [ burst into tears — I could not sostain t4ie picture of confineiiaent which my fancy had drawn. SECTION VII. The Palace of Pleasure. ■ MtiTiroFGKT I was suddenly transported into the Palace of Pleasure, which I had seen descri!)ed the evening before; where, in spite of all the siiowy magnificence of the mansion, and all the specious charms of the goddess, that struck at first sight, I discovered, on a closer attention, sucli an air of affec- tation and illusion in both, uitii i^uch a look of real distress in many of her votaries, ill concealed under artificial smile\ as, j )incd to the impressions remain- ing on me from my wiiking thoughts, soon convinced me that the whole was a cruel trick, to deceive and ruin unhappy men. Whereupon I broke away with n, mixture of disdaiii aaid iiorror, and made Vrhat 15G Descriptive Pieces. haste I could from the enchanted valley in Avhich the palace stood. M'hcn 1 ^vas got to what 1 judged a r^afe distance, 1 began to lament in my oa\ n mind the misery of such as are taken i^i the snares of that wick- ed sorceress. 1 had not gone far on, « hen 1 u as met by t hat good old man >\ horn I had read of a few Jumrs before, as giving directions to those travellers tiiat were willing to hearken to him, and A\ho I re- membered was called the Genius of Education. Per- ceiving me in a pensive and melancholy mood, he addressed me very kindly, and inquired into the cause of it. I told him A\ here I had- I)een, and what I had ol> pcrved, with the sorrowful reflections I could not help making on the fateof numberless deluded wretches; and added, that being myself a young traveller in quest of Happiness, I was uncertain wliich way to take, lie looked at me with generous compassion, and bade me follow him, promising to put me into the right road. He conducted me along a winding ])ath up a hill, on the top of which dwelt a sedate and thoughtful man, well advanced in years, who he told me was a near relation of his. He lodged in an open pavilion, from whence there was a prospect of the Avhole country round, and appeared, as Me- ap- proached, to sit in a musing posture, on a chair of po- lished metal, whioh cast an uncommon lustre about him, and reflected strong and full the images of surrounding objects. He held in his hand a large te- lescope of exquisite workmanship, by the help of which the most distant things might be easily and distinctly discerned. I\Iy guide informed me that his name was Contem- plation; that he was one of the eldest sons of Wis- dom, and that he was posted on that hill by the sove- reign of a great adjoining empire, called Virtue, to di- rect those who v\'ere travelling towards her temple. IMethought his aspect was hale, serene, and piercing. There was something majestic in his wrinkles and gray hairs. A transparent mantle hun§ loose l)-cscripliy)c rieccs. 15r aI?out. Iiiiu, on which were wrouglit some myslerioiis figures Ihut 1 did not und'iiftand. i\s \\c entered Jus pavilion, he rose up with an erect and aMful mein, and came forward to receive us Avith a remarkable comj)osure and grace in ]iis mo- tions. Being struck witli reverence, 1 heheid him at first with respectful silence. But growing more confident by his encouraging look--^ I told him, tliat having been lately in the palace of that vile enchant- ress, Pleasure, 1 was so sensible of Jier destructive Aviles, that I had speedily made niy escape, and was now in search of ir.ip])iness. Contemplation said, that as he was tlie j)rofessecl friend and guardian of Youth, if I vrould trust mysoK to his care, he would midertake to conduct me. IlaAing joyfully accepted his ofier, and being warmly recommended to him by my former guide, he took rnc gently by the hand, and led me to the brow of t lie hill, from whence we could descry a wide-extended country below, and tra- vellers innumerable crossing it by a th'iusand diii'er- cnt roads. " That large tract," said he, « which you see towards the left hand, so variegated w ilh hill.-?, and dales, and groves, and streams, and so full of in- hal)itants and travellers, is the dominion of that jww- erful sorceress. Vice : for so ^]\q is propt'riy c?.iled, though she assujnes to herself the more lionourable name of Pleasure. " In that seemingly delicious"boles, you see, a great inn, the gate thereof stands always open, and into \\ hich passengers are continual- ly crowding. You may observe, that hardly any come out with tlie same countenance or shape with which they went in, but are tran-^formed into the like- ness of different beasts. A little Avay oil" is a large Hospital or Lazar-house, into which the poor v/rctch- es are flung from time to time, loaded with all man- ner of diseases, and condemned to sickness, pain and putrefaction." Directing the glass anothsr way, he next showed me the Tower of AinbitioB, built on the top of a very Descriptive Pieces. ]59 itigli hill, '' Tliither," said he, " you behold multf- fiules cluiihing- from diil'trcnt quarteip, struggling; ■\\ lio sh >uld get foremost, and pusliing down those he- fore them. On one side of i'., is a ftccp and Fllppery pn-cipicc, from wliich the most -part, after having with inHiiilc toil and contention gained it, tinuhle headlong irjto a bottomless gulf, and are never heard of more. On the other sitle, is a secret path whidi grows broad- er by degrees. At the entry to it, stands a Fmooth and artful villain, called Corriii)iion, holding in ojie hand rihijons, and in the other bags of money, whicU under many specious pretexts, he presents to travelJers, according to their several taste?. The path, after winding up the hill, leads do'.vn again I)y a straight descent, till it terminates in a dark dungeon, stylctl the Dungeon of Infamy. Vou observe w hat numl>erG are drawn into it. And of these there are not a few, who not only rejfxted for a long tinie the offers of Cor- ruption, but exclaimed loudly against Cill who embrac- ed tlltJU. " The valley ])cIow," continued my guide, bending down the telescope, " is possessed by Vanity, whose district, you may perceive, is still better peopled tiian those of the other retainers to Pleasure, which you have already seen. She allures into her gaudy man- sion, most travellers, by promising to lead them to the palace of her mistress through the Temple of Fame, which she pretend^^ is just in the ntighbourliood, and only to become at by parting through Iicr dwelling, although indeed the right road to it lies through the Temple of Virtue, hard by which it s'tands. Those who are so foolish as to be decoyed by her, are gene- rally consigned over to the scoiif of Kidicule, a for- midable figure, who wears on his face a perpetual sneer, and who, after treating them with proper marks of scorn, shuts them up in an obscure ccJl, call- ed the Cell of Contempt. After this. Contemplation pointed out to me, in a remote corner of the country, that looked as if it had Tjeen disjoined from, all tlie i-est, a castle, m hich he^aid 160 Descriptive ricccs. was inhabited by an old usurer, named Avarice, ^\ ho f^at starving amidst heaps of gokl, and u ho, tIioiig!i ni reality a chief retainer to Vice, refascd to acknow ledge licr under tlie form of Pleasure, and would never come near the coint of thiit jolJy godtlcss. "His castle, you sec, is situated in the centre of a deep wood, and defended with high waits, and strong fortifications. 'I hat iron gate which you perceive \ulh the assist- ance of the glas?, is the only entrance. It is secureel w ithin f)y many strong bolts. Without, stand two sharp eyed guards, with visages emaciated and ke(.r>, ealkd Hunger and Anxiety, who let none pass into ihe castle, till they have manifested their good affec- tion to tlie master of if, by ser\-iog a suihcient time in an outer yard, where some are digging, some hewing itones, others carrying on tlieir shoukters heavy bur- dens, and many iilhng great chests with earth. It is^ Temarkabie," added he, 'Mhat from the lowest cellar in the house there is a long subterraneous passiig?^ v, hieh (T'^'mJnunicates with the Cave of Povirtv." SECTION Yin. The Temple of Virtue^ Xhe Temple, in full sight of which we >\ ere now come, stood on the summit of the hilL Jily guide perceiving me captivated with the view of so glorious a structure, said, pointing to it, " That, sir, is the Temple of Virtue, [*nd the abode of Happiness. There the niouLter who so lately frighted yeu, Self will, and his gloomy partner, Bigotry, dare not venture. Spleen never spreads her sable wings Dvere. From lhenct3 are forever excluded Corroding Cares and Fearful Forebodings, with those infernal furies, bilter Strife, blind Passion, brutal Revenge, Jealousy of jauni. Thtre was no need of ad- ventitious decorations, and there were none. At the upper end of the temple, on a throus of state, appeared'the goddess. But how describe her wondrous form?' Her complexion was clear, health- ful, and animated with a native glow more bright than art can confer. Her features were regular, and' vv-ell proportioned'^ Irat had u itlml a kind of mascu- line air. Her eyes were blue, beautiful,' and piercing as light itself. In all her mein there was a happy mixture of dicnity a?}d modesty. No ornaracntf; :,' J 6'^ Ucsa-ipiivc i'icces. about her i)cr?on, but %\hat were decent and natural Ilcr hair flowed down lierneck in artless riui^icts. A sprig of laurel was wreathed round her temples. Slie wore a robe of the purest purple, which was girl with a zone about her waist, from uhich it feJi iji ample and easy fold?, alike graceful and unnicumbered. blie held in her hand an imperial sword, the emblem of power aiid authority. Before the throne, which was of alabaster, were placed various ensigns of dominion, a globe, crowns, ;:cej)tres, tables of law.s, .suits of ar- mour; instruments of war, trophies, and the several symbols of the finer arts. The presence of the goddess, so divinely great, over- whelmed me with veneration and rapture. I stood for some time immoveable, as if lost in admiration. When I was a little recovered from my ecstacy, my guide, pointing to the throne, said, " There sits the Divinity of the place, the daughter of those immor- tal powers, Wisdom and Love. She was brought forth at a birth with Happiness, her sister, and undi- vided companion ; and sent down from above as the best friend of men, and the surest directress of life, the guardian of youth, the glory of manhood, and the comforter of old age. By her instructions and laws, human society is formed and maintained ; and human nature, by converse with her, grows truly god- like." My guide then acquainted me with the names, and symbols of the numerous attendants of the goddess. On either side ol the throne, as its supporters, stood two illustrious personages, called Prudence and Jus- tice. Prudence held a rule in one hand, and in the other a serpent, which twined its inoifensive spires round her arm. Justice held in her hand a pair of scales. Tlie votaries, as they approached, were intro- duced to the presence by a young virgin of the most lovely appearance, who could not i>erform her task without blushing. Her name was Modesty. On the right hajid of the goddess, stood Domestic Tender- i>ess, Chastity with a veil, meek-eyed Charity, sacred iMrscr'iptitc Ficces. l6'3 Fricndfiliip, and heroic Indignation, of a stern aspect and awful mein, yraspin.^' the imperial sword ^vhich Viitne readied out to iiim, and Icadini^ up Public Zeal, iMagnanimity, and Honour, persons of a fearJcRS oounlenance and noble deportment, with several more •wliose names 1 have forgot. On her left hand \vere i)laced, amongst otherp, Ho- nesty, in her transparent vest ; Sincerity^ of an ingp- nuous face ; Resignation, leaning on a column, and looking up to heaven ; Clemency, liolding an olive branch ; and Hospitality, of a liberal and open man- ner, joining hands with Politcne??. Behind the throne, stood ranged, unruffied Serenity ; smiling Cheerful- ness j ever-blooming Joy, with a garland of tlowers in her iiand ; and ilie Gracep, encircled in each other's arms. There too appeared Industry, of a hale and active loolc, and Peace crowned with laurel, support- ing a Cornucopia between tjiem ; Credit linked hand in hand w ith Commerce ; and botli introduced by Ci- vil Liberty, holding her wand and cap. In Virtue's train, I likewise saw Riietoric, of a bold and enthusi- astic air; Poetry, with her lyre; Philosophy, with iier speculum; History with her pen; ScuJ^)turc^ Painting, and the rest of the Arts and Sciences^ each adorned with their resj>cctive symbols. The pre- sence of the goddess seemed to inspire the whole ge- nerous and amiable band, and gave a fresh lustre te^ their Ixiauty. SECTION IX. Descent into, the Dolgoatk Minc^ in 180G. I AVAs introduced yesterday to Mr. M , a ma-- nager of the mines, wlio called upon me this morr> ing, and conducted me to the Dolgoath mine, situat- ed three miles west from Rediath. It is the great- 16 i - Desert] the rieces. est mine in Cornwall, and is wrought principally for copper, althougii it allords tin and several other me- tals. My companion was a man of information and intelh'^cnce, ami 1 received from him uncommon ci' viMties. Our ride led us thro»gIi a mining region ; every thing here points towards this object ; it is the great concern of the country, and in some department or other of this business, almost every man, woman, and child is employed. For it,, agriculture, commerce, and manufactures are neglected, and that industry which, in more fortunate countries, is- employed to fertilize and adorn the surface of the ground, is here directetl to those treasures wliich are conceaJed be- neath the incumbent hills and mountainsi You would be astonislied to see what quantities of rubbish, the industry of the Cornish minei*s has col- lected on the surface ; it g^ivestiie country an appear- ance of sterility and ntdcness almost inconceivable. Redruth is in the centre of a circle of about twen- ty miles in diameter, within which are contained al- most all tlie important mines. I came into the couij- (ry with the impression tliat tin is its principal pro- duction, but Ifindtb.at copper is by far the greater concern, afid that tin is only a secondary object. The tin is less abmidant than formerly, but the copper much more so, and the latter ayticle now commands so high a price that the working of tlie copper mints is a very profitable business. Tlie expenses of llie Dolgoatli mine are about seven or eight thousand poiiuds sterling a month, and the dear profits for the last five months have been eighteen thousand pounds', that is, at tire rate of forty-three thousaiTfl U\'o hundred' pounds, or one hundred ninety- two thousand dollars a year. These facta make it very cAidcnt that the mining business in Cornwall is a great and' protltable concern. The miners arc under the immediate control of a chief who is called the captain of the mine. Mr. \\ introduced me to one of these captains, who Descriptive ricccs. 165 ohligingly undertock to conduct me tliFOugh the Fub- lorrciiiean regions of Dolgoath. First of al[, \\t repaired to the miiiers' \vardrobe> A\ Iicre, having talcing leave of Mr. 31 , 1 prepar- ed for my descent, l)y thro^ving off my own drets and putting on that of tJie mi.ier?. It consisted of a very large shirt, of very coarse materials, and made like the frocks ol the Connecticut farmers; then of a pair of largo sailor trov. sers, stjipcd across with white and black, of the coarsest stalf which is ever employ- ed for horse blankets, and, over all m as a loose coat, A\hich, like the rest of my apparel, exhibited the strongest evidence that it had often been below the surface. I m ore a pair of cow-skin shoes, ^vithout stockings, made fast by tow strings, passing under the sole and over the inste|». Over my head they drew a ■Rhite cap, which they crowned uith an oldliat with- out a brim. Besides the captain I had another guide, an expe- rienced miner v/ho went before, wJiile the captain fol- lowed me ; each of them carried a supply of candles tied to a button hole, and, like them, I bore a lightetl candle in niy left hand, stuck into a mass of wet clay. Although I was preparing, like vEneas, to dcscoid to the shades below, 1 could not boast of his epic digni- ty, for lie bore a golden branch, while I carried only a tallow candle. The mines of Cornwall are of much more difficult access than those of Derbyshire, for^^ instead of go- ing horizontally, or with only a gtnlle descent, into the side of a mountain, we are obliged to go perpen- dicularly down the shaft, which is- a pit formed by digging and blasting, and exactly resembles a well, except in its greater depth and varying size, which is sometimes greater and sometimes smaller, according to circumstances. The descent is by means of lad- ders ; at the termination of each ladder there is com- monly a resting place, foruied by a piece of timber or a plank fixed across, in the stones or earth, which- form the walls of the pit ; this supports the ladckv ICG Descriptive Pieces. above, and from it the adventurer steps on to the lad- der next below. "With each a lighted candle, Koheld by the thumb and forefinger of tlie left hand, as to leave tlic other three fingers at iil)crty to gra^p the roimds of the lad- der, and with the light hand devoted wholly to the same service, we commenced oar descent. It was laborious and hazardous, but we did not stop till we had descended four Jiundred feet. The rounds of the ladders are constantly wet and muddy, tnd therefore very slippery ; many of them, through length of time, are decayed and worn so very nn i!l, that they seem on the point of giving- way ; in de- scending perpendicularly with these disadvantages, the ulrcost caution is therefore requisite, on the part of a novice, lest he tlvould quit his foothold before he has a firm grasp v ith his fingers, or Itst, in the dim twilight shed by his candle, he should make a false ■ aim witii his foot or hand, or take an imperfect and untenable hold with either ; not to mention the dan- ger of the giving v,ay of the rounds of tiie ladder, any of which accidents would semi him to a place whence he would not return; for, the resting places at the het of the ladders, as they fill only a small part of the shaft, would diminish very Mttle, the chance of going quite to the bottom. Having arrived at tlie depth of four hundred feet, "5ve came to what the miners call an adit or level, that is, a passage running horizontally, or, at right angles M'ith the shaft. This passage liad been made through the solid rock, and was high enough to allow us to pass along stooping, which we did fir a considera!:)le distance, when the sound of human voices from below, imUcoted our approach to the populous regions of midnight; while the rattling of mechanical instru- ments, employed in breaking otf the ore, and the re-_ port from the explosion of gim-powdcr, echoed and reverberated along these narrow caverns, with the sul- phureous and suiibcating smoke, presented a combina- tion ot circumstances which might well have give Descriptive Pieces. 16 r uiic the impression llmt he had arrived in a worse place than the mine of Doli?oath. Troceeding along the adit, we came to another fchai't, down which we dcscendetl two hiuulrcd feet more, anil were then full six lumdrcd feet from the surface. This was the principal scene of labour ; at about this depth, there were great namf>ers of min- ers engaged in their respective employments. Some were boring the rock ; others charging w ith gnn-pow- dcr, the holes already made; others knocking off the ore Mith hammers, or prying it with pickaxes; oth- ers loading the buckets with ore to be drawn to the surface; others working the vindlafses, to raise the riibbi!-h from one level to another, and ultimately to the top; in short, all were busy; and, aJthough to us tlieir employnunts seems only another nariKi. for wretchedness, they appeared quite a content- ed and cheerful class of people. In their man- ners tJiey arc gentle and inicommonly civil, and most of them ])aid me some marl: of respect as a stranger. >\ e occupied three hours in exploring the mine, and, in this time, travclltd a mile under ground, in various directions. The employment was extremely ]al)orious W'c could rarely walk erect ; often we were obliged to crawl oji our hands and knees, over sliarp, rugged stones, and frequently it was necessa- ry to lie dov.n llat, and to work our vvay along by the points of the elbows, and extremities of the toes, like seals on a ))each. At out time we descend- ed, and, at another, ascended through a narrow aper- ture, where we could only with difficulty squeeze ourselves through, and we then continued our pro- gress by ste})ping on the projections of the rock, as men do in going up or down a well. My perspiration Avas so violent, that streams literally ran from my nose, locks, and chin, and in this state we came lo the cliannei ^\here the water of the mine fiows oii", through which we were obliged to w ade along, half leg deep, for thirty rods. 1 was upon tlie w hole; 1G8 Dcscripdvc Pieces, much gratifjcd and instructed. I saw the ore in its natural slate, imbedded iti solid rock, j)rincipally quariz and schii^t^s; the jiiine produces also some tin, cobalt, pyrites, bhie vitriol, and even silver. Very litlle ])rogress is made without blasting, and this destroys more lives than ail the other casualties of the business put together. Tliey expk)deject handled a thousand times: I had thoui;lit it exhautted long aijo. Littlo did 1 suppose, that in the wild \\oods of America, I was to meet w ilh a man whose eloquence would give to this topic, a new and more subl/icie pathos tlian J had ever Ix^fore m itne^^h.d. As he descended from the pulpit, to distribute Ihr^ mystic symbols, (iiere was a peculiar, a more than ln\- man solenniity in his air and nirinner, which made my blood run cold, and my whole frame to shiver. lie then drew a picture of the suJlerings of our Saviour — his trial before Pilatt' — his a.'cent up Calvary — Ids crucifixion — and his death. 1 icncw the whole iiistcj- ry ; but never, until then, had 1 heard the circum- stances so selectee.!, so arrani^ed, so coloured ! It was ail new : and I seemed to have heard it for the (irst time in ray life. His enunciation was so deliberate, that his voice trembled on every syllable ; and every heart in the assembly trejnbied in tuiison. flis peculiar phrases, had that fore of description, that the original scene appeared to be, at that mo- ment, acting" before cur eyes, \/c saw the very faces of the Jews — the starin,<^, frightful distortions of ma- lice and rage. We saw the builct — my soul kindled with a iiame of indignation, and my hands were invo- luntarily and convuisiveiy clenched. But uhen he came to touch the patiet:cf, the forgiving mcekiicss of our Saviour — uhtn he drew, to the life, his blessed eyes streaming in tears to Heaven — liis voice breatlnng lOsGofl, a soft and gentle praycv of pardon on Iiis en- emies, " Father forgive them, f)r they know not what they do" — the voice of the preacher which had all along, faultercd, qv&w fainter aiid fainter, until his utterance being entirely ohstruckd by the force ofhis feelings, he raised his hnndkeicliief io his eyes, and burst into a loud and irrcpresdble flood of grief. The eilect is inconceivalj'e. The whole iionse vq- i:Oiindccl with the mingird c-roan-, and sobs, and fhricks of the ccngrcgatioi]. 172 Pathetic Pieces. It was some time before the tumult had gubp/Idcct^ so far as to permit him to proceed. Indeed, judging T)y the usual, ?)ut fallacious standard of my crvvn Avcak- nesf, 1 began to lie vcjy uneasy for the situation of the preaclier. For I could not conceive, how he would be able o let his audience down from the height to whicli he liad woa.id them, witliout im- pairing the folemnity and dignity of his subject, or perhaps shocking them by the abruptness of the fall. But — no: the descent was as beautiful and sublime, js tJie elevation had been raj)id and enthusiastic. The first sentence with ^'.•llich he broke the awful iilence, was a quotation from Rousseau : " Socrates *iicd like a philosopher, but Jesus Christ like a God ! .'" I des])air of giving you any idea of the ef- fect produeed by this short sentence, ualessyou could perfectly conceive tlje ^\hole manner of the man, as well as the peculiar crisis in the discourse. Never be- fore, did I completely understand what Demcslhencs meant by laying sucli stress on delivery. You are to bring before you the venerable figure of the preacher — his blindness, constantly recalling to your recollection old Homer, Ossiau, and Milton, and associating with his performance, the melancholy grandeur of their geniuses — you are to imagii>e that you hear his slow, solemn, well-accented enunciation^ and his voice of aiiecting, trembling melody — you are to remember the pitch of passion and enthusiasm to ivhicli the congregation were raised — and then, the few minutes of portentous, death-like silence which leigned throughout the house— the preacher remov- ing his white handkerchief from his aged face, (even yet wet from the recent torrent of his tears) and hlowly stretching forth the palsied hand v>hicli holds it, begins the sentence — '' Socrates died like a philoso- pher" — then pausing, raising his other hand, prcssiiig them botii, clasped together, \V'ith warmth andener- ijy to his breast, lifting his sightless balls to Heaven, and pouring his whole soul into his tremulous voice — « but Jesus Christ— like a God !" If he had been Pcthciic Ficces. 178 indeed and in truth an angel of light, the effect could scarcely have been «iore divine. Whatever 1 had been able to conceive of the sub- limity of Masj-illon, or the force of Bourdaloue, had fallen far short of the power which I felt from the de- livery of this simple sentence. The blood, wliich^ just before, had rushed in a hurricane upon my brain,, 'and, in the violence and agony of my feeliMK^ had held my whole system in suspense ; nav» ran back into my heart, with a sensation v.liich 1 cannot describe ; d kind of sluuhlerini? dolicious horror ! The parox- ysm of blended pity and indignation to which 1 had been tran^jported, subsided into the dtejiest self-abase- ment, luimilily, and adoration. I had just been la- cerated and dissolved by sympathy, for our Saviour, as a fellow-creature; but now^ with fear and. trembling, I adored him as — " a Gi.d!" If this description gives you Ihe, inipression, that- this incomparable minister had any thing of shallow, theatrical trick in his manrvr, it does him great in- iusticc. I have never seen, in any other orator, such an uniou of simplicity and majtisty. He has not a gesture, an attitude, or an accent, to which he docs not seem forced, by tiie sentiment which he is express- ing His niLn 1 is too serious, too earnest, too solicit- ous, and, at the same time, too dignifi. d, to stoop to artifice. Although as far reinovcd from osttistation as a man can be, yet it is clear from the train, the style and substance of his thoughts, that he is, not only a very polite scholar, but a man of extensive and profound erudition^ 1 was forcibly struck with a short, yet beautiful character which he drew of our learned and amiable countryman, Sir Robert Boyle: he spoke of him, as if " his noble mind had, even be- fore death, divested herself af all influence from his frail tabernacle " of flesh ;-' and called him in his peculiarly em;)hatic and impressive manner, " a pure intelligence — the link between men and angels." This, man has bean before my imagination almost ever siixe. A Ihoufand times as I rode alang, I P2. 174 Pathetic Pieces, dropped the rein:; of my bridle, Piretclicd forth my hand, and tj'ied to imitjt ' his quotation from Rous- seau ; a thousand time? 1 abandoned the attempt in despair, and felt persuaded that his peculiar manner and poMer, arose fr< ci an erurgy of soul, Nvhich na- ture could give, hut \\hich no human being could justly copy. In short, he seems to I)e altogether a bein^- of a former age, or of a totally different nature from the rest of men. Guess my surprize, when, on my arrival at llich- fttond, and mentioning the name of this man, I found not one person who had ever before heard of James Waddcll ! Is it not strange, tliat such a genius as this, so accomplished a scholar, so divine an orator, should be permitted to languish and die in obscurity, within eighty miles of the m.etropoUs of Virginia ! SECTION ir. Dr. Mason's Intervicrj rvith Gsncrat Hamiltori. O^ the morning of Wednesday, the llth inst, shortly after the rumour of the General's injury hud created an alarm in the- city, a note from Dr. Post informed me that " he was extremely ill at Mr. Wm. Bayard's, and expressed a particular desire to see me as soon as possi!)Ie." I went immediately. The ex- change of melanchofy salutation, on entering th^ Ge- neral's apartment, was succeeded by a silence, which lie broke by saying, that he " had been anxious to see me, and have the sacrament admanlstered to him ; and that this was still his wish." I replied, that " it gave me unutterable pain to re- ceive from him anv request to which 1 could not ac- cede : that, in (he present instance, a compliance was incompatihlc with ali my obligations ; as it i^ a i 'at hi tic } 'trees. 175 priticipJe in our cluirchcs novir to admlnb^tcr the Lord's Supper privately to any perf ,n under any circumstdiiccs." lie 1115 -d me no fuitlier. 1 then remaikcd to him, tJiat, " iJic Ifoly Communion ii an exhibition and pledge of tlu' juercics which tlu; Son of (iod has purciiahcd j that the ahsence of (ho fiign does not iexcluchj from the merries tiiLfnified ; V hich were accessible to him by faith in tJuir gra- cious Author." " lam auare," Kiid he, " of that. It i.s only as a ?i'^n that I wanted it." A short pause ensued. 1 resumed the discourse, by ol)Pvrvin,£: tl>=it '*^ I had nothing to address to him in his iiillicliun, but that same gospel of the grace of God, wliicii it is my Oihce to preach to the most obscure and illiierate: that in ihe si^ht of God all nsen are on a level, as all have sinned, and come short of his glori/ ; and that they must apply to him for pard in and life, a; sinners, w hose only refuge is in his grace reigning li'l righteousness through our Lord Jesus Christ.^' " I {>erceive it to be so," said he; " I am a sinner: I look to his mercy.'* I then adverted to the " infi- nite merit of the Rf^deemer, as the propiliaiion for sin, tlia sole ground of oiw acceptance with God : the sole cliannel of his favour to us; and cited (he fallowing passages of scriptui'e: — There is no other name given under heaven among men, wiiereby ne must be saved, hut the na^ie of Jesvs. lie is able to save them to the uttermost ?iho eomeiinto God. by him, seeing he ever tiveth to make intercession for them. The blood of Jesus Christ cleanscth from all sin."^ — This last passage introduced the aliair of the duel, on which I remhided the Gt;ieral, that he was not to be instructed as to its moral aspect, that the precious blood of Christ was as efiectual and as necessary to wash away the transgression which had involved him in suffering, as any other transgression ; and that he must there, and there alone, seek peace for his con- science, and a hope that should " not make him asha- med." He assented, with strong emotion, to lliesc irO J'at/irtic Piecfs. representation?, and declared his abhorrence of the \\ liole tran.saclion "It Avas ahvays," added he, " against my principieiJ. I used every expedient to avoid the interview ; but 1 have found, for some time past, that my ht'e tm st l)e exposed to that man. 1 went to the fiikl dctcnnmcd not to take hia life." He repeated hi.s disavowal of all intention to hurt 3Ir. Kurr; the anguish of his mind in recollecting A\ Jiat had passed ; and Jiis humble hope of forgive- ness from his Ciod. I recurred to the topic of the divine compassion ; tlie freedom of pardon in tlie lledeenier Jesus to pe- rishing- sinners. " That grnce, my dear Genera', which brings salvation, is rich, rich" — "Yes," inter- rupted he, " it is rich grace." " And on that grace," contiimed I, " a sinner has the highest encouragement to repose his confidence, because it is tendered to him upon the surest foundation; the scripture testifying that Rc have rcdnnplion tlirough ike blvod of J sua, tlie forghcnc'ss of slna an ording to the richness of his grace." Here the Gt-neral, letting go my hand, which he had held from the moment I sat down at his bed-side, clasped his hands together, and, look- ing up towards heaven, said, with emphasis, " I have a tender reliance on the mercy of t!ie .Almighty,, tlu'ough the njerits of the Lord Jesus Christ." lie re-placed his hand in mine, and appearing somewhat spent, closed his eyes. A little after, he fastened , them on me, and I proceeded. " The simple truths of the gospel, my dear sir, wliich require no abstruse investigation, l»ut faith in the veracity of God w ho cannot lie, are best suited to your presi nt condition, and they are full of conso- lation." " 1 f^el them to be so," re|>Jied he. I then repeated these texts of scripture : — It is a faith- ful saving, and northy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save dinners, and of sin- ners the chief. /, even ff am he that blotteth out thi/ transgressions for mine orcn safer, and nill not remember thy sins. Co^ncnoiv, and let us reasyn together, sail/i Pathetic Pieces. ITy the Lord ; though your sins be os scarlet, they shall be nhite as S7101V ; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool. " This," said he, " is my sup- port. f*ray for me." " Shall I pray with you ?" " Yes." ' 1 prayed with hiui, and Jieard liini w his- per as I went along ; which I fc\ipposed to l)e his con- currence \\ith the petition?. At the conclusion he said, " Amen. God grant it." Being about to part with him, I told him " I had one request to make." He asked " uhat it v,as?" I answered, " that whatever might be the issue of his affliction, he would give his testimony against the practice of duelling." " I wilf," said he, " 1 have done it. liihat," evidrntly anticipating the event, " if that lie t.he issue, you Avill find it in writing. If it please God that I recover, 1 shall do it in a man- ner which will eiltctually put me out of its reach in future." I mentioned, once more, the importance of renouncing every other dependence for tlie eternal world, but the mercy of God in Christ Jesus; with a particular reference to the catastrophe of the morn- ing. The General \\as affected, and said, " Let us not pursue the subject any further, it agitates me." lie laid his hands upon his breast, witli symptoms of uneasiness, which indicated an increased diillculty of speaking. I then took my have. He pressed ray hanct ailectionately, and desired to see me again at a proper interval. As I was retiring, he lifted up his hands in the attitude of pi-ayer, and said fueljiy, " God be merciful to ." His voice suik, so that I heard not the rest distinctly, but understood him to quote the words of the publican in the gospel, and to end the sentence with, " me a sinner." I saw him, a second time, on the morning of Thursday ; l)ut from his appearance, anel what 1 had heard, supposing that he could not sj^j^eak without se- vere eflbrt, I had no conversation v.ith him. 1 pray- ed for a moment at his bed-side, in company with his overwhelmed family and friends; and for the rest, was one of the mourning spectators of his composure irS Pathclic Pieces. aiul dignity in fuflcvini^. His ininil remained in its lODner state: and lie viewed with calmness liis ap- }>roachini;- dissolution. I left hini hetueen twelve and one, and at t\\ o, as the public know, he breathed his last^ SECTION III. i^kc Close of Life. When we contemplate the close of life ; the ternii- nationof man's designs and hopes; tlie silence that now reigns among those who, a little while ago, were so busy or so gay ; w ho can avoid being touched w itJi sensations at once awful and tender ? Wliat heart but then warms with the glow of humanity? In wiiose eye does not the tear gather, on revolving on the fate of passing and short-ltved man ? Beliold llie poor man who lays down at last the bur- den of his wearisome life. No more shall he groan imder tjie load of j)overty and toil. No more bhall lie hefjr the insolent calls of the master, from whom he received ]iis scanty wag'^s. No more shall he be raised from needful slaaiber on his bed of straw, nor be hurried away from his Iiomely meal, to undergo the repeated labours of the day. While his humble grave is preparing, and a few poor and decayed neigh- bours are carrying hiiu thither, it is good for us to think, thiit this man too was our brother ; that for him the aged and destitute wife, and t!ie needy chiSdreu »vecp ; tliai, negle«te!e fortune— tlie world can- Pathetic Pieces. 181 Bot cnre me — T mast die. — It is not a preacher — it is not a reli,i;ious book — it is not a trilling cUclaimer— it is death itself tliat preachilh to me~-l ftel, 1 know not \s hat, shivering cold in my blood — I am in a dy- inij sweat — my feet, my hands, every part of my bo- dy is wasted — I am more like a corpse than a living ]3ody — I am rather dead than alive — I must dis — Whither am I going ? ^\ hat 'h ill become of me ? \Vhat Avill become of my body ? My God ! what a frightful spectacle ! I see it ! 'I'he horrid torches — the dismal shroud — the cofiin — tiie pail — the tolling bell^ — tl;e subterranean abode — carcases — worms — putreOicti )n — AVhat will become of my fioifl ? 1 am ignorant of its destiny — I am tumbling headlong into eternal night — my infidelity -tells me, my soul is no- thing but a portion of subtile matter — another world a vision — immortality a fancy — But yet, I feel, I know- not what, that trou!>l€s my infidelity — annihilatioti, terrible as it is, would appear tolerable to me, were not the ideas of h.-aven and hell to present themselves to me, in spite of myself — But I see that heaven, that immortal mansion of glory, shut against rae — I see it at an immense distance — 1 see it a place which my crimes forbid me to enter — J see a hell — hell, which I have ridiculed — it opens under my feet — 1 hear tiie liorrible groans of the damucd— the smoke of the bot- tomless pit choaks ray words, and wraps my thoughts in suifocating darkness." Such is the infidel on a dying-bed. Thi^ is not an im- aginary (light : it is nut an arbitrary invention, it is a description of what we see every day in the fatal visits to which our ministry engagcth us, and to which God sccins to call us to be sorrowful w itnesses of his dis- pleasure and vengeance. Tiiis is what infidelity comr-s to. This is what infidelity is good for. Thus most sec; tics die, although, while they live, they pretend to free themselve!? from vulgar errors. I a?k again, what charms are there in a state, that hath such uread« ful consequences ? How Is it pos'^iblc for men, I'atioH- al men, to carry their madness to s^ch an e-^eO'fs ? Q CHAP. VI. VEOMISC UO U3 PIECES. SECTION I. Novels and Romances. One of the most obvious distinctions of the works of romance is, an utter violation -jf all the relations between ends and mean?. Sometimes such ends are proposed to seem quite dissevered from means, inas- much to tJiere are scarcely and supposable means on earth to accomplish them : but no matter ; if we can- not ride we must swim, if wc cannot swim we must fly : the object is eifected by a mere poetical omnipo- tence that wills it. And very often pracl icable objects are attained by means the most fantastic, improbable, or inadequate ; so that there is scarcely any resem- blance between the method in which they are accom- plished by the dexterity of fiction, and that in which the same things must be attempted in the actual econ- omy of the world. Now, when you see this absurdi- ty of imagination prevailing in the calculations of real life, you may justly apply the epithet romantic. Indeed a strong and haf)itually indulged imagina- tion may be so aljsorbetl in the end, if it is not a con- cern ofabsolute immediate urgency, as for a while quits to forget the process of attainment. It has incantations to dissolve the rigid laws of time and distance, and place a man in something so like the presence of hi^ object, that he seems half to possess it ; and it' is hard while occupying the verge of Paradise, to I)e flung far back in order to find or make a path to it, with tlie slow and toihome steps of reality. In the luxury of promising himself that what he wishes will by some means take place at soms time, he forgets that he is FromiscuGus Ficces, J83 advancing no nearer to it — except on the w ise and pa- tient calculation that he must, by the simple movement 6f growing older, be' coming somewhat nearer to ev- ery event that is yet to happen to him. lie is like a traveller, Avho, aniid.-t his indolent mushigs in some soft bower, where lie sat down to be shaded a little while from tiic rays of the noon, falls asleep, and dreams lie is in the midst of all the endearments of Jiouic, insensible that there are many hills and dales for him yet to traverse. But the traveller will awake ; £0 too will the man of fancy, and if he has tlie small- est capacity of just reflection, he m ill regret to have wasted in reveries the time which ought to have been devoted to practical exertion. But even though remim'ed of the ncccsi-ity of in- tervening means, the man of imagination w ill often be tempted to violate their relation w ith ends, by permit- ting himself to dwell on those happy casualties which the prohfic sorcery of his mind w ill promptly figure to him as the very things, if they would but occur, to accomplish his w ishes at once, %\ ithout the toil of a so- ber process. If they would occur — and things as strange vii^'-ht happen : he reads in the Ile^vspapers that an estate of twenty thousand pounds per annum was lately adjudged to a man w ho was working on tJic road. He has even heard of people dreaming that in such a place something valuable was concealed ; and that, on searching or digging that plac^, they found an old earthen pot, full of gold and silver pieces of the times of good king Charles the IMartyr. Mr. B. was travelling by the uiail coach, in which he met w itii a most interesting young lady, w horn he had never seen before ; they were mutually delighted, and w ere mar- ried in a few week ^. Mv. C. a man of great merit in obscurity, w as w alking across a field w hen liOrd U. in chase of a fox, leaped over a hedge, and fell oil his horse intaa ditch. ]\lr. (-\ w ith the utmost alacrity and kind solicitude helped his lordship out of the ditch, and recovered fur him his escaped horse. The con- ecqucnce was inevitable ; his lordship, superior to the 'iS-l J*romiscuous rUccs. j)ri(le of bei(ig mortified to have l^en seen in a coijdi^ lion Ko unlucky for giving tlie imprcssian of nobility, eonimenoed a friendship \v ith ]Mr. C. and introduced him into honoinablc society and the road to fortune. A very aJicient maiden lady of large fortune happen- ing to be embarrassed in a crowd, a young clergyman fjii'ercd her his arm, and politely attended her home; liis attention so captivated her, that she bequeatlied to him, soon after, I he w iiole estate, though she had many poor relations. That class of fictitious works called novels^ though much more like real life than the romances which pre- ceded them, (and which are now, with some altera'- f ions partly Qome into vogue again,) is yet full of these lucky incidents and adventures, m hich are introduced us the chief means towards the ultimate success. A young man without fortune, for instance, is precluded from making his addresses to a young female in a su- perior situation, whom he l>^lieveFnot indifferent to him, until he can approach her Mith such worldly ad- vantages, as it might not be imprudent or degrading for her to acc>f'[)t. Now how is this to be accomplish- ed?' — Why, I suppose by the exertion of his talents in some fair and practicable department ; and pcr- kaps the lady besides will generously abdicate for his i^ake some of the trapjjings and luxuries of rank. — Ycu really suppose thi£ is the plan ? I am sorry you have so muph less genius than a novel-writer. This young i?ian lias ?a\ uncle \yho lias been absent a long Jime, no body knew where, except the young man's lucky stars. JDuiing his absence, the old uncle has i^ainfcd a large fortune, ^v^th which he returns to lus native land, at a time most opportune for every o5ie, but a liighwayman, who attacks him m a road through a wood, but is friglitencd away by the young luro, •who happens to come there at tl^e in-^tant, to rescue and recognize his uncle, and to be in retu^ recog- nized and made the heir to as many thousands as the jady or her family could wish. Must not the read- er think it ^ery iikely that he too has some old"'uncle, Promiscuous FieCcs. 1S5 or acquaintance at least, returning m ith a ship-load of wealth from tiie East Indies; and very desirable that the highwayman sliould make one such attempt more ; and very (crtcdn that in that case he sliould be there in time to catch aJi that fortune sends? One's indignation is excited at the Immoral tendency of such lessons to young readers, ^vlio are thus taught to re- gard all sober regular |)!aiis for compassing an object \sith disgust or despondency, and to muse on impro- babilities till they ))ecome foolish enough to expect them, and to be melanclioly when they find they may expect them in vain. It is mipardonable that these pretended instructors by example should tluis ex- plode the calculations and exertions of manly resolu- tjon, destroy the connection between ends and mean?, and make the rewards of virtue so depend on chance, that if the reader does not either regard the whole fa- ble with contempt, or promise himself he shall receive DO favours of fortune in some similar v/ay, he must close the book with the conviction that he may hang or drown himself as soon as he pleases ; that is to say, unless he has learnt from some other source a better morality and religion than these books will ever teach him SECTION IL Duelling, Perw APS there is not any word in the English language less understood that honour, and but few that might not have been equally mistaken, without producing; equal mischief. Honour is both a motive and an' end. As « a principle of action," it diifers from Virtue only in degree, and therefore necessari- }y includes it, as Generosity includes Justice; and as " a reward," it can be deserved only by those ac- 0.2 186- Promiscuous Pieces. tions whicli no other principle can produce. To say of anotliei', " That lie is a man of Honour," is at once to attribute the principle, and to confer the re- gard : hut in the common acceptation of the word, HONOFR, as a principle, does not include virtue ; and therefore, as a reward, is frequently bestowed upon vice. Hence, (suck is the blindness and vassalage of human reason) ni«n are discouraged from virtue for fear of shame, and incited to vice by the hope of honour. Honour, indeed, is always claimed in spa- cious terms ; but the facts upon which the claim i« founded are often flagitiously wicked. Honour, as a principle, is the refinement of virtue ; as the end, it is the splendour of reputation, the re- ward of such virtue ; and the true man of honour is he, who, from the native excellence and real dignity of justice, goodness, and truth, is led to act at all times consistently with them ; ever reverencing his conscience and his character, and solicitous to fill up the great, the worthy part, far a!x)ve the narrov/ re- straint and coercion of the laws, or the fallible tes- timony of mere human judgment. And can it be supposed that a principle like this can ever allow, can fever justify the hazarding our own, or taking away the life of a brother, for a sligiit, nay, for the great- est affront imaginable ? Can it \ye. supposed that a principle Uke this can ever give rise to duels, or at- tain its great end and rev.ard, a splendid reputation, .in consequence oi them? IMen instigated by the meanest passions, with re- venge and guilt boiling in their hearts, preparing by *,he pistol or the sword to &nish each other's short and precarious existence; and to plunge, the one with all his vices blossoming upon hi?r., into aAvfuI eternity ; the other, to drag the miserable remains of life, haunt- ed with the distracting consciousness of his brother's, his friend's, perhaps his once dearest friend's murder jpon his soul. Perhaps he lives the sole hope and ^lay of some ancient and venerable house -, and after ^\ the labour and anxiety of youthful education \$^ Promiscuous Pieces. 187 past, is advancing on tlie great theatre of the world, th« delight of his friends, and the solicitous expecta- tion of his aiiectionate paixntf^, \\]jo, in tlic decline of life, see with transport their youth renewed, and the hopes and honour of their family re-llourishing hi their beloved son. But dearer, tenderer ties still remain to twine about the heart, to touch it with the keenest sensibility, ajid" to preserve it from the seducing calls of false Iionour and romantic bravery. If thou wilt needs engage in the desperate duel, sec, on one side, to unnerve thy wretcli'ed arm — Honoiu', reason, humanity, religion, disavowing the deed ; and from what source thea tihail Courage spring ? And, on the other side, see the faithftd and beloved partner of thy bed, with streaming eyes, and iinguish too great for utterance, pointing to the iittle pledges of your mutual aiiec- tion, and with dumb but expressive oratory, bcAvail- ing her widowed and their orphan state ! EXAill'LES. iiuoEN'io, in consequence of a quarrer with the illi- beral and brutish Ventosus, received a challenge from the latter, which he answered by the following bil- let : — " Sir, your behaviour last night lias convinced me t.hat you are a scoundrel; and j^our letter thi? morning, that you are a fool. Iff should accept your "•Jiallenge, 1 should myself be l)oth. I owe a dutv tro God and my country, which I deem it infamous to violate ; and I am entrusted with a life, "rtduch I think caiinot wdtaqat folly be staked against yours, J believe you have ruined, but you canr.ot degrade- nic. You may possibly, while you sr^eer over this ietttr, secretly exuit in your own safeAy ; but remem- ber, that, to prevent assassinatior, I have a sword ^ and to chastise insolence, a cano." FoRorvENEvs of injuries, -^nd a merciful disposi- tion towards those who hr^ve offended us, is not only an intaiiibie mark of a reeat and noble mind, but it 168 Promiscuous Fi'rccj. k our indispensable duty, as rcaPona])le creatures, anil peculiarly so as Christians. The following is a fine example of this virtue : Gaston, marquis de Kenty, an illustrious nobleman, was a soldier and a Chris- tian ; and. had a peculiar felicity to reconcile the seeming opposition between t hose characters. He had a command in the French army ; and had the mis- fortune to receive a challenge from a person of dis- tinction in the same service. The marquis returned for answer, That he was ready to convince the gen- tleman that he was in the wrong ; or, if he could not convince him, was as ready to a-^k his pardon. The other, not satisfied with this reply, insisted upon his jiieeting him w ith the sword ; to which the marquis gent this ans\ver: " That lie was resolved not to do it, since God and liis king had forbidden it ; other- wise, he would have him know, that all the endea- vours he had used to pacify him did not proceed from any fear of him, but of Almighty God, and his displeasure: that he should go every day about his tisual business, and if he did assault him, he w ould make him rei)cnt it." The angry man, not able to provoke the marquis to a due}, and meeting VSm one day by chance, drew his sword and attacked him. The marquis soon wounded and disarmed both him and his second, with the assistance of a servant who attended him. Bat then did this truly Christian no- bleman shew the difference betwixt a brutish and a Christian courage; for, leading tliem to liis tent, he refreshed them witJi wine and cordials, caused their i w^ounds to be dressed, and their swords to be restor- ed to them ; then dismissed thera with Christian and friendly advice ; and was never heard to mention the tiffair afterwards, even to his nearest friends. It was an usual saying with this great man, " That there v/as more true courage and generosity in bearing and forgiving an injury, for the bve of God, than in re- quiting it with another: in suffering, rather than re- venging ; because the thing was really more difficult. **^ Adding, '= that balls and bears had courage enough.. Promiscuous Pieces. 189 l?ut it \\as a {)rutal courap^e, uhcrcas that of men chould be such as become rational beings and Clirie- tians." A QUAURKL having arisen between a celebrated gen- tleman in the literary world and one of his acquaint- ance, the latter heroically, and no less laconically, ttoncluded a letter to the former, on tlie subject of the dispute, with, <* I have a life at your service, if you dare to take it." To Mhicb the other replied, " You say you have a lifo at ray service, if I dare to take it. I must confess to you, that I dare not take it : I thank my God, that I have not the courage to take it. But though 1 own that 1 am afraid to deprive you of your life, yet, sir, permit me to assure you, that I ara equally thankful to the Almighty Being, for merci- fully l)esto\ving on me sullicient resolution, if attack- od, to defend my own." This unexpected kind of reply had the proper effect ; it brought the madman back again to reason ; friends intervened, and the af- fair was compromised. Myktle, a character in " Steele's Cwiscious Lov- ers," delivers the following just sentiments on this subject : " How ma)iy friends have died by the hands of friends for the want of temper I There is nothing manly but w hat is conducted by reason, and agreea* ble to the practice of virtue and justice ; and yet how inany have been sacrificed to that idol the unreasonar ble opinion of men ! ■ Beircycd by honour, and compelled ut^ shainef They hazard being to preserve a name." Sir Walter Raleigh (a man of known courage and honour) being very injuriously treated by a hot- headed, rash youth, who next proceeded to chal- lenge him, and on his refusal spit upon him, and that too in public ; the knight, taking out his handkerchief, ^vith great calmness made him only this reply : — *' Young man, if I could as easily wipe your blood from my conscience, as I can this injury from my 190 Promiscuous Pieces. face, I would this moment take away your life." The consequence was, tliat the youth, struck with a sudden and strong sense of his niishehaviour, fell upon his knees, and ]>cgged fori^iveness. It is no uncommon thing, m ilh persons of duelling propensity, to make a very liberal but inexplicable, use of the term " Satisfaction." An honest country gentleman had the misfortune to fall into company with tw o or three modern men of honoui', where he happened to be very ill treated. One of the compa- ny, being conscious of his oiiencc, sent a note to him the next morning, telling him, " he was ready to give him satisfaction." " ^\ hy surely now (says the plain, honest man) tliis is fine doing: last night he sent me away very much out of temper; and this morning he fancies it would be a satisfaction to me to be run througli the body !" It is reported of the famous Viscount de Turrenne, that when he was a young officer, at the seige of a fortified town, he had no less than twelve challenges sent him ; all of which he put in his pocket without further notice : but being soon after commanded up- on a desperate attack on some part of the fortifica- tions, he sent a billet to each of his challengers, ac- quainting them, " that Uc had received tlicir papers, which he doftrred answering until a proper occasion offered, both for tliem and himself, to exert their courage for the king's service ; tliat being ordered to assault the enemy's works next day, he desired their company; wlien they ^ould have an opportunity of signalizing their own bravery, and of being witnesses of his." We may leave the reader to determine, in this case, who acted most like a man of sense, of tem- per, and of true courage. When Augustus Cjusar received a challenge from j\Tark Anthony (in his decline of fortune) to engage him in single combat, he very calmly answered the bearer of the message, " If Anthony is weary of bis life, tell him there are other w ays of death besides the point of my sword !" Now, who ever deemed rromiscuous ricrcs. Vjl tills an instance of cowardice ? All ages have admir- ed it as tlie act of a discictt and gallanl man ; who, ftih<-il)le (fins own ini|)()rtantx', knew how 1o treat the petulant and vindictive liumour of a discontented ad- vert^ary w ith its i)roper conti nipt. SECTION in. J compendious J'ictv of the principal Contents of the Holy Scriptures. That book which we call tjjk V'lni.K, (that i«, tuk Book, by way of eminence,) although it is comprised in cnc' volume, yjt in fact comprehtnds a irreat num- ber of diherent Jiarrativcs and compcMtion-, written at different times, by diiTcretit persons, in diilerent languages, and on diii'erent subjects. And taking the w hole of the collection togRt!i?r, it is an unquestiona- ble truth that there is no one bonk extant, in any lan- guage, or in any country, which can in any degree be compared with it for antiquity, for authority, for the importance, the dignity, the variety, and the cu- riosity of the matter it contains. It begins witii that great and stupendous event, of all others the earliest and most interesting to the hu- man race, the creation of tliis work!, of the heaven,, and the earth, of the herbs of the field, the "^ei and its inhabitants. All this it describes \s'\\ h a brevity and sublimity, well suited to the magnitude of the sul)- j^:ct, to tlie dignity of the A imighty Artificer, and un- equalled by any other writer. Lnr therf, bk j.i<;ht AND THRRE WAS Lif'.UT ; IS an iutauce of the sublime, which stands to this day unrivalled in any human composition. But what is of infinitely greater nmment, thic his- tory of the creation has settled forever that mot im- portant qnestion, which the ancient sages were never 102 Promiscuous Tieces. able to decide ; from wlicnce and from what causes tliis world, with all its inhal)ilants and appendages, drew its origin; ^^'hether from some inexpHcable ne- cessity, from a fortuitous concourse of atoms, from an eternal series of causes and eilccts, or from one su- preme, iiiteiiigcnt, self-existing Bring, the Author of all thing?, himself v.ithout beginning a?id without end. To this last cause the inspired historian has a?* crilied the formation of this system ; and by so doing has establislitd that great principle and foundation of all religion and all morality, and the great source of comfort to every human being, the existertce of one Godf the Creator and Preserver of the a\ orld, and the ^v•atchful Super intendant of all the ci'eatures that he has made. The Sacred History next sets before us the primjc^ val liappiness of our first parents in Paradise; their fall from this blisslul state by the wilful transgression of their Maker's conunand ; the fatal effects of this original violation of duty; the imiversal wickedness and corruption, it gradually introduced among man- kind; and the signal and tremendous punishment of that wickedness by the deluge ; the certainty of which is acknowledged by the most ancient writers, and ve- ry evident traces of ^vhich are to be found at this day in various parts of the globe. It then relates tlie peopling of the ^vo^Id again by tlie family of Noah ; the covenant ent .ed into by God with that patriarch, the relap-^e of mankind into wick- edness ; the calling of Abraham ; and the choice of one family and people, the Israelites, (or, as they were afterwards called, the Jews,) who were separat- ed from the rc.^t of the world to preserve the know- ledge, and the worship of a Suprcra3 Being, and the great fundamental doctrine of The Unity; while all the rest of mankind, even the wisest and most learn- ed, were devoted to polytheism and idolatry, and ther grossest and most abominable superstitions. It then gives us the history of this people, Avith their ViU'ious migrations, revolutiojis, and principal transactions* i'roDnsiuous Pieces. 193 It recounts their removal from llic land of Canaan, and their eptafilislimetit in Etcypt nndcr Joseph ; whose history is related in a manner so natural, ?;o ir4teresting, and aflecting, that it is impossible for any man of com- mon sensibility to read it withoHt the strongest emo- tions of tenderness arul delight. In the book of Exodus we have tlie deliverance of tins people from their bondage in Egypt, by a series of the most astonisjiiiig miracles ; and their travels through the wilderness for forty years under the con- duct of Moses ; during which tisnc (besides many oth- er rules and directions for their moral conduct) tliey received the Ten Commandments, written on two ta- bles of stone by the finger of God himself, and deli- vered by him to I\Ioses with the most aw ful ajid tre- mendous soJenmity ; containing a code of moral law infmiteiy superior to any tiling known to the rest o^ mankind in those rude and barbarous ages. The books of Leviticus, Numljftrs, and Deuterouo- my, are chiefly occupied w itla the various other laws, institutions, and regulations given to this people, re- specting tlvir civil government, their r.ioral cop- duct, their religious duties, and their ceremonial ob- servances. Among these, the book of Deuteronomy (which concludes what is called the Pentateuch or hve books of JMoses) is distinguished above all the rest by a con- cise and strikip.g recapitulation of the innumerable blessings and merries which they had received from God since their drp'^i-ture from Horeb \ by strong (}i' postulations on their pa^l rebellions conduct, and their sinmcfu! ingratitude for all these distinguishing marks of the Divine favour; by many forci')Ie and pathetic exhortations to repentance; and obedience in future 5 by promises of the most sitbstantial rewards if they returned to their duty ; and by denunciation.- of (hj severest pjuniMiments, if they continued disoVcdiont; and all tliis delivered in a strain of the most animal- ed, subiiiiic, and commanding cIo jucnce. R 194 Promiscuous Pieces. The historical books of Josliua, Judges, Saumcj, Kings, and thronicles, continue the Jiistory of the Jewish nation under their leaders, judges, and kingr, for near a thousand years : and one of the most pro« niinent and instructive parts of this history is the ac- count given of the life and reign of Solomon, his "wealth, his power, and all the glories of his reign ; more particularly that noble proof he gave of his piety and raunificencf, by the construction of that truly magnificent temple m hich bore his name ; the solemn and splendid dedicatioji of his temple to the service of God ; and that inimitable prayer which he then ofler- ed up to Heaven in the presence of the ^vhole Jewish people; a prayer evidently coming from the heart, sublime, shnple, nervous, and pathetic; exhibiting the justest and the warmest sentiments of piety, the most exalted conceptions of the divine nature, and every Avay equal to the sanctity, the dignity, and the solemnity of the occasion. Next to these follow the Jjooks of Ezra and Nelie- miah, which contain the history of the Jews fur a con- siderable period of time after their return from a cap- tivity of rO years in Babylon, about which time the name of Jews seems first to have been a})plied to tiiem. The book* of Ruth and Esther are a kind of uppendageto the public records, delineating the cha- racters of two very amiabh; individuals, distinguished by their virtues, and the very inlcresling incidtnts wiiich belel thenj, the one in private, the other in public life, and which were in souit* degree connected with the honour and prosperity of the nation to ■which they belonged. In the book of Job vf e have the history of a person- age of high rank, of remote antiquity, and extraor- dinary virtues; rendered remarkable by uncon.mon vicissitudes of fortune, by the most splendid prospe- rity at one time, by an accumulation of the heaviest calamities at another; conducting himself under the former \vith moderation, uprightness, and unbounded kindness to th** poor ; and wnder the latter, with the ^ Promiscuous Pieces. 19$ most exemplary patience and resignation to the will of Heaven. The composilion is throughout the great- er part highly poetical and figurative, and exhibits the noblest representations of tlie Supreme Being and a FiiperiHtendiug Providence, together with the most admirable lessons of fortitude and submission to the will of God under the severest aflhctions that can l>e- fal human nature. The Psalms, Avhich follow this book, are full of such exalted strains of piety and de- votion, such beautiful and animated descriptions of the power, t!ie wisdom, the mercy, and the goodness of God, that is impossible for any one to read them wil!j)ut feeling his Iieart iiillanud with tiic most ardent affection towards the great Creator and Go- vcrnour of the universe. The Proverl>s of Solomon, which come next in or- der, contain a variety of very excellent maxims o/ wisdom, and invaluable rules of life, which have no tvhere been exceeded except in the New-Testament. Tliey aiford us, as they profess to do at the very first outset, " the instruction of wisdom, justice, judgment, and equity. They give subtilty to the simple ; to the young man knowledge and discretion." The same may be said of the greater part of the book of Ecclesiastes, which also teaches us to form a just estimate of this w orld, and its seeming advantag- es of wealth, honour, power, pleasure, and science. The prophetical writings present us with the wor- thicot and most exalted ideas of the Almighty, the jijstest and purest notions of piety and virtue, the aw- fullest denunciations against wickedness of every kind, public and private ; i\\e, most affectionate expostula- tions, the most inviting promises, and tiie warmest concern for the public good. And besides all this, they contain a series of predictions relating to our blessed Lord, in which all the remarkable rircuRi- f-tances of his birth, life, ministry, miracles, doctrines, fcUlferings, and death, are foretold in so minute and exact a manner (more particularly in the prophecy of Isaiah) that you A\'0uld almost think lliey were de- ^6 Promiscuous FicccSf scribing all these things after they had happened, if you did not know that the.'^epropJiecies were confess- edly written many hundred years bc-fure Christ came into the world, and svcre all tiiat time in Ihe })Ossessioii of the Jews, who v/ere tJie mortal enemies of Chris- tianity, and therefore could never go about to forge pro!>ht.cies, which most evidently prove him to be what he professed to be, and what they denied him to be, the IMcs.siah and the Son of God. U is to this part of Scrij)ture Ihat our Lord particularly dirtcts our attention, ^vhen he says, '< Search the Scriptures^ for tiiey are they that testify of mc.^' The testimony iie alludes to is that of the prophets; than which rw> evidence can be more satisfactory and convincing to uuy one that reads them with care and impartiality^ and compares their predictions concerning our Sav- iour with the history of his life, given us by those who constantly lived and conversed with him.. This his- tory v.'e have in the New- Testament, in that part of it which goes by the name of Gospkls. It is tiiese that recount those wonderful and impor- tant events, with which the Christian religion and the divioe Author of it were introduced into the worlds and wliich have produced so great a change in the principles, tlie manners, the morals, and the temporal as weii as the spiritual condition of mankiud. They relate the first appearance of Christ upon earth ; his extraordinary and miraculous birth ; the testiiuony borne to him by his forerunner John the Baptist ; his tempiatioH in the wilderness j the openhig of his divine commission ; the pure, the perfect, the sui)- lime morality \vhich he tau,q:ht, er-pecially iij his inimi* table sermon from t,he mount ; the inJii^ite superiority which he shewed to every other moral teacher, both iu the matter and manner of his discourses; more- particularly X^y crusidng vice in its very cradle, in tlie first risings of v/icked desires and propensities in the heart; by giving a decided preference of the mildj gentle, passive, conciliating virtues, to tliat violent, vindictive, lii^h-spirited, unforgiving temper, which Promiscuous Pieces. 1^ has been always too much the favourite character of the world ; by requiring us to forgive our very ene- mies, and to do good to tliem that hate us ; by exclud- ing from our devotions, our ahus, and all our other virtues, all regard to fame, reputation, and applause; by laying down two great general |)rinciples of mo- rality, love to God and love to mankind, and deduc- ing from thence every other human duty ; by con- veying iiis instructions under tlie easy, familiar, and impressive form of paraljles ; by expressing himself in a tone of dignity and authority unknown before ; by exemplifying every virtue that be taught in his own unblemished and perfect life and conversation ; and above all, by adding those awful sanctions, which he alone, of all moral instructor.-, had the power to hold out, eternal rewards to the virtuous, and eternal punishments to tlie wiciced. Tiie sacred narrative then represents to us the higir character he assumed ; the claim be made to a divine original ; the wonderful miracles he wrought in prooi of his divinity ; the various propliecies which plainly marked liim out as the Messiah, the great deliverer of the Jews ; the declarations he made, that he came to oiier himself a sacrifice for the sins of all mankind; the cruel indignities, sufferings,^ and persecutionSy to Avhich, in consequence of this great design, he was ex- posed ; the accomplishment of it by the painful and ignonfinious death to -which she submitted ; by hi? resurrection after three days from the grave ; by his ascension into heaven ; by his sitting there at the right hand of God, and performijig the ofiicc of a me- diator and intercessor for the sinful sons of men, till he comes a second time in his glory to sit in judgment on all mankind, and decid-3 their iinal doom of happi- ness or misery forever. These are the momeutou^j the interesting truths, on which the Gospels princi- pally dwell. The Acts of the Apostles continue the history of our religion after our Lord's ascension; the astonish- ing and rapid propagation of it by a few illiterate R2 198 Fromfscuous Fieccs. tent-mikcrs and fiphernK n, through almost every part of tlie uorld, " by lif^uioristration of the spirit and of poTver;" without the aid of eloquence or of force, and in oppositli n to all the authority, all the power, and all the iulluence of the opulent and the great. The Epistles, that is, the letters addressed by the Apostles and their associates to diiTerent churches and to particular individuals, contain many admirable rules and directions to the primitive converts; many aii'cting exhortations, expostulations, and reproofs; many explanations and illustrations of the doctrines delivered by our Lord ; together witli constant re- ferences to facts, circumstances, and events, recorded in the Gospels and the Acts ; in which we perceive such striking yet evidently such unpremeditated and yndesigned coincidences and aureements between the narratives and the epistles, as form one most conclu- sive argument for the truth, authenticity, and genu- ineness of both. The sacred volume concludes with the Revelation df St. John, which, under the form of visions and va- rious symbolical representations, presents to us a pro- phetic history of the Christian religion in future f imes, and the various changes, vicissitudes, and revo- lutions it was to undergo in different ages and coun- kies to the end of the world. Is it possible now to conceive a uoliler, a more com- prehensive, a more useful scheme of instruction than this ; in which the uniformity and variety, so happi- ly blended together, give it an inexpressible beauty, nnd the whole cmposition plainly proving its Author to be divine? " The Bible is not indeed (as a great writer ob- serves) a plan of religion delineated with mhmte accu- yacy, to instruct men as in something altogether new, or to excite a vain admiration and applause ; but it is somewhat unspeakably more great and noble, com- prehending (as we have seen) in the grandest and most magnificent order, along with every essential of that ]!ilan, the various dispensations ei God to mankinA» Promiscuous Fiecc^ 199 from the formation of this earth to the consummation of ttU things. Other fjooks may aA'ord us much en- tertainment ami much instruction; may gratify our curiosity, may delight our imag. nation, may improve our understandings, may calm our passions, niay^x- alt our sentiments, may even rrajirove our hearts. But they have not, they cannot have that authority in what they aifirm, in what they require, in what they promise and tJireaten, that the Scriptures i;ave. There is a peculiar weight and energy in thcuiy Mhich is not to be found in any other writings. Their de- nunciations are more awful, their convictions strong- er, their consolations more powerful, their counsels more authentic, their warnings more alarming, and their expostulutif.ns more penetrating. There are passages in them tliroughout so subhme, so pathetic, full of Fuch energy and force upon the heart and con- science, yet without the least appearance of labour and study for that purpose ; indeed the design of the whole is so noble,^ so well suited to the sad condition of human kind; the morals have in them such puri- ty and dignity; the doctrines, so many of them above reason, yet so perfectly reconcileable with it ; the expression is so majestic, yet familiarized with such easy simplicity, that the more we read and stu- dy these ^^ritings with pious dispositions and judi- cious attention, the more we shall see and feel of the hand of God in them.*' But that M hich stamps upon them the highest va- lue, that which renders them, strictly speaking, z«e5- timnble^ and distinguishes them from ail other books in the world, is tliis, that Ihey, and they only, " con- tnitt the words of eternal life.'''' In this respect, every other book, even the noblest compositions of man, must fail us; they cannot give us that which we most want, and wliat is of infinitely more importance toj us than all other things put together, ETEiiNAi lifb. 200 I'roniiscuous I-'kces, SECTION IV. licjlections en the commencement of the Nineteenth * Century, -Mif^hty years begun From their first orb — in radiant circles run ! DRVDEV. Nothing is lasting on the world's wide stage, As sung, and wisely sung, the Grecian sage ; And man, who through the globe extends his sway, Reigns but the sovereign creature of a day ; One generation conies, another goes, Tinie blends the happy with the man of woes; A different face of things each age appears, And all things alter in a course of years. COOKE. The moralist has recommended hlated times for the purposes of meditation. At such periods the fa- culties are awakened, and the soul is set in motion. Thus stimulated, the sluggish current of our thoughts becomes quickened, flowing on with an accelerated rapidity. Such is precisely our situation. The com- mencement of a ce?ituiy, occurs not twice in our life. This is a serious consideration. — ]May it be rendered subservient to our moral improvement ! Standing as it were on an eminence, and looking around us, we find the i>ew revolving century replete with important, thougli obvious, topics of instruction. Tlie coraniencement of a century should suggest to us the inestimable value of our time. Time was granted to man for his improvement. By the protraction of life opportunities are aiibrded for our progress in knowledge, virtue, and piety. We were not raised into being that we might be idle spec- tators of the objects ^vi^h \\hich we are surrounded. The situation in which we are placed demands reite- rated exertion. The sphere in which we move catls Prounscuovs Flcces. 201 fpr the piiltiiJg forlli a,II Ibe aliiiily with uhich we 'iiay 1)0 ciidow't-d. Inquiries therefore should he made how iuiprovements can be hctt eiiccted, cither in our iiidividuaJ, social, or j-uhli^ capacities. 'I'hi? conduct \\ ill rell'jct an honour on f ur ratlon-ility. Tliis train of action ^viII elevate us in the f-cilc of being — inii)art a zest to our enjoyment, and p'epare us for the ho nours of immortality ! It is faid, tiiat tlie elder Cato repented of three thijigf — one of wliich uas liis hav- ing' spent a day \\ iliiout improvement. We cannot hegiti a century v.ithout heing irapres*:- ed witii the vicissitude by which sublunai-y aiiairs are characterized. Everything around us is in a state of const ant fluc- tuation. Neither nature nor art continue long in one position. The heavens aI)ove us are in perpetual nio- tion. The earth beneath us is ever changing its ex- ternal appearance. Tlie atmosphere around us is subject to incessant variations. Individuals, families, and nations, are altering their aspect, and assuming forms mi>ked by strong traits of novelty. Not only opinions, but even long established customs, at length lose tlieir hold en the uiind, and are shut out by- practices of a directly opposite tendency. Thus are we whirled around in the vortex of life by incidents the mobt strange, and by events the most contrary to our expectations. Change, in its endless variety of shapes, presents itself, and we observe, v> ith surprise^ the effects produced by h, both in ourselves and in oar friends with whom we are connected : Bvit surp to foreign climes we need notrtmge, Nor search the uncieut records of our race. To learn the dire effects oi time and chuni!;c, Which, in ourselves, alas ! we daily trace ; Yet, at the darlien'd eye, the witliev'd face, Or hoary hair, I never wil' repine ; But spare, O timk ! whate'er of mental grace. Of candour, love, or sympathy divine ; Whate'er oi fancy's ray? or frieiidship's Hame is min« MINSTUEL. 202 PromJs.^uuus twtcs. We should enter upon the new century uith the pleasing idea that tiie progressive series of events tends to hw.mxn improvrr,irnt. Tlie light which broke out at the aeraof the reform- ation, continues to ^tnd forth its rays, and uill illumi- nate (he most distant regions of the globe! The hu- man faculties, which had slumbered for agef, were then roused into action, and the discovery of the art of printing facilitated the spread of truth in districts whither its beams had not before penetrated. SiKCU that illustrious period, science has lifted up her head — conmierce has spread abroad her sail^ — and religion lias unfolded prospects of futurity highly favourabb to human felicity. Our ideas seem now to How in channels which cannot easily be interrupted. More jusi views of the Supreme Being are entertained, and clearer notions indulged respecting i\\Q rights and privileges of humanity. Man will henceforward be- come more sensible of his advantages, asd Mill, it if io be hoped, convey them entire and unmutilated to their posterity. The benevolent of every class rejoice m the prospect. Feeling for his species, the good man will exult in the recollection, that the night cf igno- rance and misery is passing away, and that it will be assuredly lost in the full lilaze of perfect day. Finally, let us, upon the commencement of the new century, idealize the perfections and g-ovemment of the Supreme Beinjy under whose saperintendance ever^ thing will be conducted to a happy conclusion. A fatherless world J an crphr.n universe ! are ideas agonizing to every weil-coPi.-titutcd JLind. The pre- sent system bears unequivccal marks of the wisdom and goodness by whic'i it was originally constituted. The parts theniselver, timl the relation they bear to each other, point out the ends for which they are in- tended. The sun, moon, and starf, perfi)rra with regularity their destined revo'iition. The earth ve- getates at the assigned period of fertility, and pours forth its stores for the sustenance and comfort of tliC human race, Tba intellectual and moral powers of 1 J'romlscuous I'icccs. 203 mail lead him to the perception, and by the force of motives properly weif^hed, impel hiin to the practice of right conduct. The RiiviiLAXioy with which ^ve are favoured, is in every respect honourable to the divine government. 'Ihe reasonableness of its doc- trines, the purity of its precepts, and the subiinuiy of its prospects, recommend it to our seiious i' ten- tion. Even the futility of the objections niau j to ils origin, shews in a more striking point ^i view its di- vinity — for the envenomed shafis of inadelity, re- cently aimed at the heavenly shield, have been seen to fall pointless to tii:; ground, in such ciicumttan- ces, and with such views, man* is eiupowcred to look abroad at the commcncemrnt of a ccntur//,'dnd to real- ize the per fcctiyni; and government of tiie sui'KEAiii BKiNG, with whom there is 7io vuriaulcncsi nor the shadow of turiiing ! m neglecting this privileg;?, he omits to discharge an important duty. He si/iks liimself upon a level witii the brutes, and relinquish- es meaos calculated to promote and secure his per- fection. From the honoural)le ideas vvJjich we have lieen taught to form of Deity, ws; cannot for a nioment suspect the equity with wlucii he presides over eve» ry part of his widt; extended empire ! The architect prides liimself on the proportion and regularity willi which his buildhigs have been raised. The ai list con- templates the niceness and accuracy after \vhich his pieces of mechanism have been constructed. The statesman congratulates him^eIi on the sagacity w 1 1 which his plans have been devised and accomplislu-d. In a similar manner the D^ity lias regulatcil ever} procedure of his government with the profoundest ■wisdom, in conjunction with a benevolence which ex- ceeds our loftiest coDci:ptions. Immediately after the creation, God surveyed the works of his hands and pronounced them to be — ,:^^ood ! And, hmuanly speaking, he must at all tunes look down with an eye of distinguished compliiccncy on the subserviency of his government to genera! icUcily. 204 Promiscuous Pieces. IM.vM, however, furniphcd with scanty po^-ers of perception, is cooped up on fvery fide, and vainly istrives to disclose! ho secrets of futurity. " We know not what to-morrow brings fortii." This is a measure ordained in infinite wisdom. Tiie anticipation of our joys, or of our griefs, is often a burden too heavy to be borne. Pretensions, indeed, are made, to a knov/- iedge of our future destiny — but the impontion has been detected and exposed. Our wisest way is to throw the reins over a vain curiosity. Let us never attempt, on any occasion, to lift up the awful veil "■vhich divides the present moment from futurity ! Such a procedure shews only our own impiety and folly. Contrntrd with that portion of inf(;rmation which is commensurate with our faculties and conge- nial with our present situation, let us devote our know- ledge to the purposes of faith and pi'actice. A larg- er degree of intelligence cannot, perhaps, in this life, be the legitimate object of attainment. Ilencefor- wards, then, ht us dismiss our anxious thoughts, ba- nish our corroding cares, and shudder at (he indulg- ence of imjMous anticipations. In fine, let us calniiy and cheerfully resign ourselves to the disposal of that «REAT BEi.vo who canfiot cvr, and who will nllh con- summate abilid/ conduct the affairs of his nise and righteous govcriiment to the happiest ttrmination : — Immortal king i from all n-sutation free 1 Vv'hose endless being Vic'tr begcin to be; Who ne'cM- was nothing- — who was ever iill, Vv'hoso ki-.igdom did not rise, and Cijpnot fil On a 77iij.irtriQus throne^ Isigh rais'd above, E'en the fiiv change which hc:ivcnly orders prove ! "While their bright excclicrcc pi-ogrcsfiive grew, ' He pevfjct was — ne'er imperfection knew ! Ere v^orids began, with boundless goodness blest- Ne'er nt'eding to be l)ctter — always best 1 The penMve muse, •vvho thus a monrufui sigh Hath paid to stars that fall, and flow'rs that die ; While the short glories brief as fau' she inournBi To HIM, the GREAT EKDURER, jojful tUmS, «| Promiscuous Pieces. 905 Glad she adores, deprest by gloomy wanes, That undecreasing light, wlio all ordains ; On HIM she leans, reliev'd from withering things, And his immortal counsel raptur'd sings : That schtme of good, which all that dies survives, Whate'er decays, for ever fair that thrives : "Whose progress, adverse fates and prosperous chance, Virtue, and vice, and good and ill advance, Which draws new splendour from all mortal gloom, Which all that fades, but feeds with riper bloom ; Each h iman fall but props — each fall succeeds. And all that fancy deems obstruction — speeds : In nature's beauteous frame, as cold and heat, And moist and dry, and light and darkness meet — Harmonious in the mortal system — ^join Pleasure and fiain^ and glory and decline \ FAWCETT. SECTION V. On Writing Letters, The great utility and importance of Epistolary Writing, is so well known, and so universally ac- knowledged, that it is needless to insist on the ne- cessity of being acquainted with an art replete with so many advantages. Those who are accomplished in this art are too happy in their knowledge to need fur- ther information concerning its excellence ; and those who are unqualiGed to convey their sentiments to a friend, without the assistance of a third person, feel their deficiency so severely, that nothing need be said to convince them, that it is both their interest and their happiness to be instructed in what is so ne- cessary and agreeable. Had letters been known at the beginning of the world, Epistolary Writing would have been as old as love and friendship ; for, as soon as they began to S 2CG Promiscuous Pieces. flourish, the verba! messenj2;er was dropped, and the language of the htart was conimittcd to characters that fai hfully preserved it, and hcre'y secrecy was inaintaiued, and social intercourse rendered more free and extensive. The Roinaiis were perfect masters of this art, and placed it in the number of liberal and polite accom- plisliments ; and we find ( icero mentioning with great p easure, inso-neof his letters to At iiais, the eles^ant spe< imcn he had received from his son in this way. It seems indeed to liave formed a part in their education; and in the opinion of Mr. Locke, it well deserves to have a share in ours. The writing of fetters enters so much into all the occurrences of life, that no gentleman or lady can avoid shewing themselves in compositions of this kind. Occasions will daily force them to make this use of llieir pen, by which their sense, their abilities, and their education are exposed to a severer examination than by any oral discourse. Epistolary Writing, in the comiuun and just ac- ceptation of the word, is confined to those ctjmposi- lions which serve to transact the comtuon business of life, or to promote its most pleasing inten ourses. In this point of view, letter writing is the most necessa- ry, at the same time it is happily the most easy of all literary accomplishments. It was a just observation of the honest quaker, that, ]f a man think twice Off ore he .speak, he'' II speak twice the better for it. With great propriety the above may be applied to epistolary as well as to all sorts of writing. In letters from one relation to another, the different characters of the persons must be first; considered ; Thus a father in writing to a son will use a gentle au- thority ; a son to a father will express a filial d-uty. And again, in friendship, the heart will dilate itself with an honest freedom ; it will applaud with sincer- ity, and censure with modest reluctance. FronuscKOiis Pieces. 207 In letters concernin;^; trade, the snbjert matter will be constantly kept in view, and the greatest perspicu- ity and brevity observed by the diflVreiit corresjjon- dents ; and in like manner, these rules may be applied to all other subjects, and conditions of life, viz. a com- prehensive idea of the subject, and an unalVectcd simplicity, and modesty, in expression. Nothinrj more need be added, only that a constant attention to the above for a few months, will soon convince the learner, that his time has not been spent in vain. Indeed, an assiduous attention to the study of any art, even the most diflicult, will enable the learner to surmount every difficulty ; and writing letter.', to liis correspondents becomes equally easy as speaking in company ; and, if he carefully avoids artectation, Mill enable him to write in the language of the present times ; his thoughts will be clear, his sentiments judi- cious, and his language plain, easy, sensible, elegant and suited to the nature of the subject. As letters are the copies of conversation, just consider what you ■nould say to your friend if he was present, and write down the very words you would speak, which will rendtr your epistle unaflected and intelligible. When you sit down to write, call off your thoughts from every thing but the subject you intend to handle; consider it with attention, place it in every point of view, and examine it on every side before you begin. By this means you will lay a plan of it in your mind, which will rise like a well contrived building, beau- tiful, uniform and regular; whereas, if you neglect to form to yourself some method of going through the whole, and leave it to be conducted by giddy acci- dent, your thoughts upon any subject can never appear otherwise than as a mere heap of confusion. Consid- er, you are now to form a stile, or, in other words, lo learn the way of expressing what you think ; and your doiug it well or ill for your whole life will de- pend, in a great measure, upon the manner you fall in- to at the beginning. It is of great consequence there- fore to be attentive aad diligent at first •, and an ex- 206 Proj)iiscuoii5 Pieces. pressive, and easy manner of \vritlng,Jt is so usefal, so engaging a quality, that whatever pains it costs, jt amply will repay. As to the subjects, you are allowed in this way the utmost liberty. Whatever has been done, or thought, or seen, or heard ; your observations on what you know, 3'our inquiries about what you do not knew, the time, the place, the weather, every thing around stands ready for your purpose ; and the more variety you intermix, the better. Set discourses require a dignity or formality of stile suitable to the subject ; whereas letter-writing rejects all pomp of words, and is most agreeable when most familiar. But, though lofty phrases are here improper, the stile must not therefore sink into meanness: and to prevent its doing so, an easy complaisance, an open sincerity, and un- affected good nature, should appear in every place. A letter should Vv^ear an honest, cheerful countenance, like one who truly esteems, and is glad to see his friend ; and not lock like a fop admiring his own dress, and seemingly pleased with nothing but himself. Express your meaning as briefly as possible ; long periods may please the ear, but they perplex the un- derstancilDg. Let your letters abound with thoughts more than words. A short stile, and plain, strikes the mind, and fixes an impression ; a tedious one is seldom clearly understood, and never long remem- bered. But there is still something requisite beyond all this, towards the writing a polite and agreeable let- ter, such as a gentleman ought to be distinguished by ; and that is, an air of good-breeding and human- ity, which ought constantly to appear in every ex- pression, and give a beauty to the whole. By this, f would not be supposed to mean, overstrained or af- fected compliments, or any thing that way tending ; but an easy and obliging manner of address, a choice of words which bear the most civil meaning, and a generous and good natured complaisance. THE ORATOR. PART II. DIFFERENT KIXDS OF PUBLIC SPEAKIXG, C II A P. I. Eloquence of ropular Assemblies. Thl ancients divided all orations into three grand' classes, the Demonstrative, the Deliberative, and the Judicial. The scope of the Demonstrative, was to praise or blame ; that of the Deliberative, to ad- vise or dissuade ; that of the Judicial, to accuse or defend. The chief subjects of Demonstrative Elo- quence, were Panegyrics, Invectives, Gratulatory, and Funeral Oral ions. The Deliberative was em- ployed in matters of Public concern agitated in the Senate, or before the assemblies of the peoi>le. The Judicial, is the same with the eloquence of the Bar, employed in addressing Judges, who have powers to absolve or condemn. I have in the following selec- tions, preferred that train which Modern speaking points out, rather tiian the above division laid down by the ancient Rhetoricians. J\Iodcrn Eloquence is di- vided into three kinds, the Eloquence of Popular As- semblies, of the Bar and of the Pulpit ; each of which lias a distinct character, which particularly suits it. This division though in some respects diiTerent, yet in others, corresponds with the ancient one. The elo- quence of the Bar is jirecisely the same with what tJie Ancient Rhetoricians called the Judicial. The S3 210 Eiorjucncc of Eloquence of Popular Assemblies, though mostly of that kind which they term the Deh!)erative, yet ad- mits also of the Demonstrative, The Eloquence of the Pulpit is altogether of a distinct nature ; and as the ancient lllietoricians had no such kind of Ora- tor}'', it cannot be reduced under any of their divia- ious. SECTION I. The Eutogiwn of the perfect Speaker, Imagine to yourselves a Demostlienes addressing the most iliusirioiis assembly in the world, upon a point whereon the fate of the most illustrious of na- tions depended. — How awful such a meeting I How vast the subject ! — Is mn,n possessed of taieul:i ade- quate to the great occasion ? Adtqualc— yes s'jpe^ rior. By the power of his eloquence, the augustness of the assembly is lost in the dignity of the saojcct, for a while superceded, by the admiration of his tal- ents. — With what strength of argument, with what powers of the fancy, with what emotions of the heart does he assault and subjugate the whole m?*r., and at once captivate his reason, his imagination, and his passions ! — To effect this must be the utmost ef- fort of the most improved state of human nature !— Not a faculty that he possesses, is here unemployed ; not a facuhy that he possesses, but is here exerted to its highest pitch. All his internal powers are at work ; all his external, testify their energies. Within, the me- mory, the fancy, the judgment, the passions, all are busy ; without, every muscle every nerve is exerted ; not a feature, not a limb but speaks. The organs of the J'opitlar Assemblies. 21 i l)0(ly, attuned to tlic exertions of the mind, tliroufrli the kindred organs of the hearers, iusta'ifanccusi}', and as it were with an electrical spirit, vil)rate tho; e energies from soul to soul. — Notwithstanding: the (ji- versity of minds in such a uiuliitudc, by the lightning of eloquence, they are melted into one mass — tho whole asseiuhly, actuated in one and the same way, become, as it were, b'lt one man, and have bat one voice. — The universal cry is — Let us march ?e possessed those vlHa.e^es — what disputed succession — what reli- gious rage lias, wirh unholy violence, demolished those temples, and distorted fervent, but unohtru- ding pieiy, in the exercise of its duties ? — What merciless enemy has thiis spread the horrors of fire and sword — what severe visitation of providence has dried up tlie fountain, and taken from tiie face of the earth every vestisre of verdure ? — Or rather, what monsters have stalked over the country, tainting and poisoning, with pestiferous I^reath, what the voracious appetite could not devour ? To such questions, what must be the answer ? No wars have ravislicd these lands and depopulated these villages — nocivil discords have been felt — no disputed succession — no religious rage — no merciless enemy — no alfliction of provi- dence, which, while it scourged for the moment, cut ofl" t!ie sourcej of resuscitation — no voracious and poisoning monsters — no, all this has been accomplish- ed by the friendship, gensrositij and kindness of the English nation. They have embraced us with their protecting arras, and, lo ! t'lose are the fruits of their alliance. — What, then, sliall we be tohl, that under such cir- cumstances, the exasperated feelings of a whole peo- ple, tiius goaded and spurred on to clamour and re- sistance, were excited l)y the poor and feeble iniluence of the Becrums ! When we hear the description of the paroxysm, fever and delirium, into whirli despair had thrown the natives, when on the iianks of the pol- luted Ganges, panting for death, tliey tore more wide- ly open the lips of their gaping wounds, to accelerate their dissolution, and while their blood was issuing, presented their ghastly eyes to heaven, breathing their last and fervent prayer that the dry earth might not be sufiVred to drink their blood, but that it might rise up to the throne of God, and rouse the eternal providence to avenge the wron.^s of their countr3^ Will it be said tiiat this was brouQ:ht about by the incantations of these Becrums in their secluded Zg- Popular Assemblies. 21 •'i nana? or tliat they could inspire this enthusiasm and this despair inu) the breasts of a people who fth no i;ritvani e, and had sullered no tt^rture ? What motive then, could have such inlhience in their besoms ? VVliat nu)tive! That which nature, the common pa- rent, plants in the bosom of n;an, and which. thouy;li it may I)e less active in ihehulian t!ian in the E!it;lish- luan, is still c»;ng(nial with and makes part of his beinj; — that ftt'lin>; which tells him, that man was never nuidL; to be the property of man ; but that when ihrough pride and ins; lence of power, one hu- man (.reature dares to l^ra.iii.se over anL>ther, it is a power usurped, and rtsistaiice is a ust-qiieii' es of a ihousan! errors, r* niniues stiH to h'tinder, and whose at,'e has only are. sir, is he to be ahiiorrcd, wiio as he Las advanie'l iu 'i::?, bas receded from virtue, an I beco ues more niokul with less teuiptation •, — uho prostiiutes himseif for money whicli he cannot enjoy, and spends ti>e remains of his life iu the ruin of hisoouniry. But youth, sir, is act my only crime ; I have beeii aa-us' d of artiui^ a theatrical part A theatrical part may eiiher imply some peculiarities of gesture, or a dissimulai ion of my real sentiments, and an adoption of the opiidoriS and language of another man. \\\ tixe £rst sense, sir, the charge is too trifling to be confute*!, anri deserves only to be mentioned, to he despised. [ am at liherly, like every otlier man, to use my o'.va language ; and though, perhap^s, 1 raay have some am!>ition to please this gentleman, I shall not lay myself under any restraint, nor very solici- louily copy his diction, or his micD-, however matur- ed by age, or modelled by experience. If any man shall, by charging tue with tLeratrical behaviour, implv^ ihat I utter any sentiments but my own, I shall treat him as a calumniator, and a villian ; — nor shall any protection shelter him from the treatment hedtserverr. 1 shs,ll, ons';' h an o.casiun, without scruple, Ira-'uple upon a!i thor.e fornis vrith which v«^ealtii and dignity intfench themselves, — nor shall any thing l)utage re- strain my resentment ; — age, which always brings one privilege, that of •>eiag insolent an;l supsrciUous with- out puiiishmeiit. But with regard, sir, to those whom 1 have oix'cnJed, f am of opinion, that if I had acted a borrowed part, 1 should h^ve avoided their censure : the heatthdt offended them is the ardour of coaviciion, and that zeal for the service of ray country, which neither hope uor fear shall influence me to suppress. 1 will cot sit uacoQcernelv.hilemy liberty is invaded} Popular Assemblies, 225 nor look in silence upon public roMx-ry. f will ex- ert my endeavours, at whatever hazard, to repel the aga;ressor, and dra£^ the thief to justice, — whoever may protect thera in their villainy, — and, — whoever may partake of their plunder. SECTION XIII. Eulogy on Washington. It is natural that the gratitude of mankind should he drawn to their benefactors. A number of these Iiave successively arisen who were no lesss distin- guished for the elevation of their virtues, than the lustre of their talents. Of those, however, who were ))orn, and who acted ihrous^h life, as if they were born, not for themselves but for their country and the whole human race, how few, alas! are recorded in the long annals of ages, and how wide the intervals of time and space that divide them. In all this dreary length of way, they appear like five or ^ix light houses on as many thousand miles of coast : they gleam upon the surrounding darkness, with an inextinguishable splendour, like stars seen through a mist ; but they are seen like stars, to cheer, to guide, and to save. Washington is now added to that small number. Already he attracts curiosity, like a newly discovered star, whose benignant light will travel on to the world's and tijne's farthest hounds. Already his name is hung up by history as conspicuously, as if it sparkled in one of the constellations of the sky. The best evidence of reputation is a man's whole life. We have now, alas ! all Washington's before us. There has scarcely appeared a really great man, whose character has been more admired in his life time, or less correctly understood by his admirers. When it is comprehended, it is no easy task to delin- eate its CTaellences in such a manner, as to give to 226 Eloquence cf the portrait both interest and resemblance ; for it re- quires thought an 1 stu^ly to unrler.stand the true ground of the superiority of his character over many others, uiiom he resembled in the principles of ac- tion, and even in t!ic manner of ac:ing. But perhaps Jie excels all tlie ^rcat men that ever lived, in the .steadiness of liis adherence to Iiis maxims of life, and in the uniformity of all his conckict to t!ie same max- ims. These maxiius, thousjfh wise, were yet not so remarkable for their wisdom, as for their authority over his life: for if there were any errors in iiis judgment, (and he discovered as few as any man) we know of no blemishes in his virtue, lie was the patriot without reproach : he loved his country well enough to hold his success in serving it an ample recompense. Thus far self love and iove of country coincided: but when his country needed sa- crifices, that no other man could, or perhaps would be willing to make, he did not even hesitate. This was virtue in its most exalted character. More than once he put Ids fame at hazard, when he liad reason to think it would be sacrificed, at least in this age. Two instances cannot be denied : v/hen the army was disbaiided ; and again, when he stood, like Leonidas at the pass of Thermopylae) to defend our independ- ence a'l^ainsi France. It is indeeed almost as diffieuit to draw his cliar- acter, as the portrait of virtue. The reasons arc sim- ilar: our ideas of moral exvhat is called popularity. The fame lie enjoyed is of theki.id that will last fur ever; yet it was rather the eflert than the motive of his conduct Some fu- ture Plutarch will searcii for a parallel to his charac- ter. Epaminondas is perhaps the brightest name of all antiquity. Our Washington resembled him ia the purity rrnd ardour of his patriotism ; and, like him, he first exalted the glory of his country. Ihere, it is to l)e hoped, the parallel ends : for Thebes fell with Epaminondas. But such comparisons cannot be pursued far, a\ ithout dej).'3rting from the similitude. For we shall find it as difEcuilt to compare great men as creat rivers : some we admire for the length and rapidity of their current, and the grandeur of their cataracts ; others, or the majestic silence and ful- ness of their streams : we cannot bring them together to measure the diiTerence of their waters. The un- ambitious life of Washington, declining fame, yet courted by it, seemed like the Ohio, to choose its long way through solitudes, diffusing fertility ; or like his own Potow.nack, widening and deepening his channel, as he apprt)aches the sea, and displaying most the usefulness and sereuit}'' of his greatness to- wards the end of his course. Such a citizen \^ould do honour to any country. The constant veneration and alTertion of his country will shew, that it was worth of such a citizen. However his military fame may excite the won- der of mankind, it is chiefly by his civil magistracy, that his example will instruct them. Great generals have arisen in all ac^es of tlie world, and perhaps most in those of despotism and darkness. In times of violence and convulsion, they rise, by the force of the whirlwir.d, high enough to ride in it, and di- rect the storm. Like meteors, they glare on the black clouds with a splendour, that, while it dazzles and terrifies, make's nothing visible but the darkness. The fame of heroes is indeed growing vulgar : they iimiti{)ly in every long war; ihey stand in history, Popular Assemblies. 229 Und Ihickeii in their ranks, almost as undistinguished as their own soldiers. But such a cheif nia^^istrate as Washington ap- pears like the pole star in a clear sky, to direct the :;kilful statesman. His presidency will Ibrra an epoch, and be distinguished as the age of Washington. Already it assumes its higli place in the political re- gion. Like the milky Avay, it whitens along its allot- ted portion of the heuiisphere. The latest genera- tions of men ui!I survey, through the telescope of Ijislory, tii« space where so many virtues blend their rays, and delight to separate them into groups and distinct virtues. As the best illustration of them, the living monument, to which the first of patriots would have chosen to consign his fame, it is my ear- nest praver to heaven, that our country may sul)sist, «;vcu to that late day, in the plenitude of its liberty and happiness, and mingle its mild glory with Wash- isgion'£5. SECTION XIV. Eulogy on Hamilton. It is with really great men as with great literary works, the excellence of both is best tested by the e-xtent and durableness of their impression. The public has not suddenly, but after an experience of five and twenty years, taken that impression of the just celebrity of Alexan-.'£:u Hamilton, that no- thing but his exiraordiuary intrinsic merit could have made, and still less, could ha\e made so deep and maintained so long. In this case, it is safe and correct to judge by ciliects : we sometimes calculate the height of a nionntain, by measuring (he feagfh of its shadow. U 230 Eloquence of That wrher would deserve llie fame of a public bencfaclor, who could txhibit llie character of Ha- wiLTON, \\ilh the truth anti force that all who inti- jnatcly knew liini conceived it: his example would then take the same ascendant, as his talents. The portrait alone, however exquisitely finished, could not inspire genius where it is not ; but, if the world should again have possession of so rare a gift, it iiii2;lit awaken it where it sleeps, as by a sj)ark from Leaven's own altar ; for, surely, if there is any thing like divinity in man, it is in his admiration of vir- tue. But who alive can exhibit this portrait ? If our :ige, on that supposition more fruitful than any other, had j)roduced two Hamiltons, one of them might then iiave depicted the other. To delineate genius one must feel its power : Hamilton, and he alone, with all its inspirations, could have tansfustd its whole fervid soul into the picture, and swelled its li- nemenls into life. The writer's mind, expanding W'ith his own peculiar enthusiasm, and glowing \\ith kindred fires, would then have stretched to the di- mensions of his subject. It is rare, that a man, wlio owes so much to na- ture, descends to seek more from industry ; but lie seemed to depend on induf^try, as if nature had done nothing for him. His habits of investigation were very remarkable; his mind seemed to cling to his subject, till he had exhausted it. Hence tlie uncom- mon superiority of his reasoning powers, a superior- ity that seemed to be augmented from every source, and to be fortified by every auxiliary, learning, taste, wit, imagination, and eloquence. These were em- bciiishcd and enforced by his temper and manners, ]>y his fame and liis virtues. It is diihcult, in the midst of such various excellence, to say in what particular the effect of his greatness was most mani- fest. No man more promptly discerned truth ; no man more clearly displayed it : it was not merely juade visible — it seemed to come bright with illumi- Popular Assemblies. 231 nation from his lips. But prompt aaJ clear as he ^vas, fervid as Demosthenes, like Cicero, fall of re- source, he was not less remarkable for the copious- ness and conij)leteness of liis argument, that left little for cavil, and nothing' for doubt. Some men take iheir strongest argument as a weapon, and use uo other ; but he left nothing to be inquired for more — nothing to be answered. He not only disarmed his aitious ? Not of wealtli — no man held it rlieaper. Was it of popularity ? That weed of the dungliill, he knew when rankest was nearest lo withering. There is no doubt, that he desired glory, Avhich to most men is too inacoxssible to be an object of desire-, but fcfling his own force, and that h« was tall enough to reach the ton of Pindus or of He- Popular Assemblies. 333 licon, he longed to deck liis hrow M'ith the \s'reath of immortality. A vulgar ambition could as little com- prehend, as satisfy his views: lie tliirsted only for that fame, which virtue would not blush to confer, nor time to ccavey to the end of his course. The only ordinary distinction, to whici), we con- fess, he did aspire, was military ; and for that, in the event of a foreis^n war, lie would have };een soli- citt)us. He undoubtedly discovered the predomi- nance of a soldier's feelings ; and all that is honour, in the character of a soldier, was at home in his heart. His early education was in the camp ; there the first fervours of his genius were poured forth, and his earliest and most cordial friendships formed ; there lie became enamoured of glory, and was admitted to her embrace. Those who knew him best, and especially in the army, M'ill believe, that if occasions had called hiiu forth, he was qualified, beyond any man of the age, to display the talents of a great general. It may be very long, before our country will want jsisch military talents; it will probably be much long^ er, before it will again possess them. Alas! the great man who was, at all limes, so much the ornament of our country, and so exclusive- ly fitted, in its extremity, to be its champion, is with- drawn to a purer and more tranquil region. We are left to endless labours and unavailing regrets. Such honours Iliou lo her hero paid. And peaceful slept the mighty Hector's shade. The most substantial glory of a country, is in its virtuous great men : its prosperity will depend on its docility to learn from their example. That nation ia fated to ignominy and servitude, for which such men have lived in vain. Power may be seized by a na- tion, that is yet barbarous ; and wealth may he enjoy- ed by one, that it finds or renders sordid: the one is the gift and the sport of accident, and the other is U2 234 Eloquence of the sport of power. Botli are mutable, and have jKisscd away without Icaviiis^ behind them any other memorial than ruins that otVcnd tasle, and traditions that baffle conjecture. But the glory of Greece is imperishable, or will last as long as learning itself, vvhich is its monument : it strikes an everlasting root, and bears perennial blossoms on its grave. The name of Hamilton would liavc honoured Greece, in the age of Aristides. May heaven, the guardian of our liberty, grant, that our country may be fruitful of Hamiltoxs, and faithful to their glory. SECTION XV. Eulogy on Fisher Ames. Mr. Ames was distinguished among tlie eminent men of our country. All admitted, for they felt his extraordinary powers ; few pretended to douf>t, if any- seemed to deny the purity of his heart. His exem- plary life commanded respect ; the charms of his con- versation and manners won aflection. He was equally admired and beloved. His public career was short but ])rilliant. Called into the service of Iiis country in seasons of her most critical einergency, and partaking in the management of her councils during a most mteresting period of jier history, he obtained a place in the first rank of her statesiuen, legislators, orators, and patriots. By a powerful and original genius, an impressive and uniform virtue he succeeded, as fully perhaps as any political cliaracler in a republic agitated by divisions ever did, in surmounting the two pernicious vices, designated by the inimitable biographer of Agricola, insensibility to merit on the one hand, and envy on the other. Popular Assemblies. 28S The reader of liis works will, no doubt, concur \vit!i those who knew him and wlio heard him in pub- lic and private, in saying, tiiat he had a mind of high order, in some particulars of the highest, and that he has a just claim to be classed with the men of genius, that quality which it is so much more easy to discern than to define ; "that qualiiy, witliout which judg- ment is cold and knowledge inert ; that energy which collects, combines, amplifies, and animates.'" We observe in Mr Ames a liberal portion of all the fac- ulties and qualities tiiat enter into this character, un- derstanding, memory, imagination, invention, sensi- bility, ardour. As a speaker and as a writer he had tl:c {)ower to enlighten and persuade, to move, to phase, to charm, to astonish. lie united those decorativu^s ihat .'jelong to fine talents to that penetration and judgment tliat designate an acute and solid mind. Many of his opiu-" ions have the autiiority of })redictions fulfiiltrd and fulfilling. He had the ability of investigation, and, where it was necessary, did investigate with patient attention, going through a series of observation and deduction, and tracing the links which connect one truth with another. When the result of his resea,rc]i- es was exhibited in discourse, the steps of a logical' process were in some measure concealed by the col- ouring of rhetoric. Minute calculations and dry de- tails were employments, however the least adapted to his peculiar construction of mind. It was easy and delightful for him to illustrate by a picture, but pain- ful and laborious to })rove by a diagram. It was tlic prerogative of his mind to discern by a glance, so ra- pid as to seem intuition, those truths which common capacities struggle hard to apprehend ; and it was the part of his eloquence to display, expand, and enforce them. His imagination was a distinguishing feature of his mind. Prolific, grand, sportive, original, it gave him the command of nature and art, and enabled him to vary the disposition and the dress of his ideas ^yithout 2f)6 Eloquence rf end. Nou' it assembled most pleasing ima^^cs, adoni- f.d with all that is soft and beautiful ; and now rose in the storm, weilding the elements and flashing with the most awful splendours. Yery few men have produced more orisjinal com- biuatjons. He presented resemblances and contrasts \rhic!i none saw before, but all admitted to be just and striking. In delicate and powerful wit lie was pre- eminent. He did not systematically study the exterior graces of speakiiig, but his atitudc was erect and easy, his gestures manly and forcible, his intonations varied and expressive, his articulation distinct, and his whole manner animated and natural. His written composi- tions, it will be perceived, have that glow and vivacity which belonged to his speeches. AH the other elTorls of his mind, however, were probably exceeded by his powers in conversation, lie appeared amoiig his friends with an illuminated face, and with peculiar amenity and captivating kind- ness displayed all the playful felicity of his wit, the force of his intellect, and the fertility of his imagina- tion. On tlie kind or degree of excellence which criticism may concede or deny to ■Mr. Ames's productions, we do not undertake with accurate discrimination to de- termine. He was undoubtedly rather actuated by the genius of oratory, than disciplined by the precepts of rhetoric ; was more intent on exciting attention and interest and producing eflect, than securing the praise of skill in the artifice of composition. Hence critics, might be dissatisfied, yet hearers charmed. The a- bundance of materials, the energy and quickness of conception, the inexhaustible fertility of mind, which he possessed, as they did not require, so they forbade a rigid adherence to artificial guides in the disposition and employment of his inteilectual stores. To a cer- tain extent, such a spea;.tr and wriier may claim t« be his own authority. Fojndar Asseinblies. 237 Image croudcd upon iraa,q:c in his mind, lie is not cliargeable with affectalion in i be use of figurative language ; Jiis tropes are evidently proinjjte'l l)y imaE- ginalion, and not forced into liis service. Their nov- elty and variety create constant sr.rprise and delight. But they are, perliaps, too lavisldy employed. The fancy of his hearers is sometimes overplied with stiiti- nlus, and tlie importance of the tliought Hahlc to 1)6 concealed in the multitude and heauty of the meta- phors. His condensation of expression raay ])e thought to prochice occasional abruptness. He aimed rather at the terseness, strength, and vivacity of the, short sentence, than the dignity of the full and flow- ing period. His style is conspicuous for sententious brevity, for antithesis and point. Single ideas appear with sonnich lustre and])roininence, that the connec- tion of the several parts of his discourse is not always obvious to the common mind, and the aggregate im- pression of the composition is not always completely obtained. In those respects where his peculiar ex- cellencies came near to defects, he is rather to be ad- mired than imitated. In public speaking he trusted much to excitement, nnd did little more in his ck)sct than draw the out- lines of ids speech and reflect on it, till he liad received deeply the impressions he intended to make ; depend- ing for the turns and figures of languace. iilnstralions and modes of appeal to the passions, on his itnagina- tion and feelings at the time. This excitement con- tinued, when the cause had ceased to operate. After debate his mind was agitated, like the ocean after a storm, and his nerves were like the shrouds of a ship, lorn I)y the tempest. Mr. Amcs's character as a patriot rc.^^ts on the highest and firmest ground. He loved his country with equal purity and fervour. This afl'ection was the spring of all his eflbrts to promote her welfare. The glory of being a benefactor to a great people he could not despi:;e, but justly valued. He was covet- ous of tjjfi fame purchased by desert ; but he v"?a 9.- 5338 Eloquence of bovc amiiition ; and popularity, except as an instrn- meiit of public service, weighed uothing in the bal- ance by which he estimated good and evil. It is happy for mankind, when those who engage admiration deserve eslcera ; for vice and fjliy derive a pernicious influence from an alliance with qualities that naturally command applause. In the character of ?\if. Ames the circle of the virtues seemed to be complete, and eacli virtue in its proper place. The objects of religion presented themselves with a strong interest to his mind. The relation of the world to its Author, and of this life to a retributory scene in another, could not be contemplated by him without the greatest solemnity. The religious sense was, in his view, essential in the constitution of man. He placed a full reliance on the divine origin of Chris- tianity. If there was ever a lime in his life, whtn the light of revelation shone dimly upon his under- standing, he did not rashly close his mind against clearer vision, for he was more fearful of mistakes to the disadvantage of a system, which he saw to be ex- cellent and benign, than of prepossessions in its fa- vour. He felt it his duty and interest to inquire, and dis- covered on the side of faith a fulness of evidence little short of demonstration. At about thirty -five he made a public profession of his belief in the christian reli- gion, antl was a regular attendant on its services. In regard to articles of belief, his conviction was confin- ed to those leading principles, about which christians have little diversity of oi)iuion. Subtle questions of theology, from various causes often agitated, but nev- er determined, he neither pretended nor desired to in- vestigate, satisfied that they related to points uncer- tain or unimportant. He loved to view religion on the practical side, as designed to operate by a fe\^r simple and grand truths on the affections, actions, and habits of meti. He cherished the sentiment and e>r- perieuce of religion, careful to ascertain the genuine- ness and value of impressions and feelings i)y ^Ueif moral tendency. Popular Assemblies. 239 He of all men ^vas the last to cvonntcnance exclu- sive claims to purity of faitli, founded on a zeal for peculiar do,i?nias, \shich nuiltiliides of good men, approved friends of triitli, nfttrly rojcot. He was ro enemy to improvement, to fair inqniry, and chris- tian fiecdom ; but innovations in the modes of wor- sjiip and instruction, without pal|)al)le necessity or advantage, he discouraged, as lending to break the salutary associations of ti.e j)ious mind. His conver- sation and bciiaviour evinced the sincerity of his re- ligious impressions. No levity upon these subjects ever escaped Jiis lips; but his manner of rccui ring- to them in conversation indicated reverence and feel- ing. The su!;limc, the allecting character of Christ he never mentioned u'ithont emotion. He was gratel'ully sensible of the peculiar felicity of liis domestic life. In his beloved liorac Isis sickness found all the alleviatii>n, that a judicious and unwea- ried tenderness could minister ; and liis intervals of health a succession of every heartfelt satisfaction. The complacency of his looks, the sweetnesss of his tones, his mild and often pla\ful manner of impart- ing instruction, evinced his extreme delight in the society of Lis family, who felt that they derived from him their clrief happiness, and found in his conver- sation and example a constant excitement to noble and virtuous conduct. As a husband and father, he uas all that is provident, kind, and exemplary. He was rivlted in the regards of those who were in his ser- vice. He feit all the lies of kincJred. The delicacy, the ardour, and constanc}', with which he cherished his frier.ds, his readiness to the offices of go(;d neigh- bourhood, and his proi)ensity to contrive and execute plans of public improvement, formed traits in his character, each of remarkable strength. He cultiva- ted friendship by an active and punctual correspon- dence, which made the number of his letters vtry great, and which are not less excellent than nume- rous. 2?4iO Eloquence of He had no envy, for he felt no personal rivalry. His ambition was c»f tliat purified sort, which is ra- ther the desire of excellence tlian the reputation of it: he aimed more at desert, than at superiority. He loved to bestow praise on those who were competitors for the same kuid of public consideration as himself, not fearing tliat he should sink i)y their elevation. He was tenacious of his rights, but scrupulous in his respect to the rights of others. The obloquy of political opponents, was sometimes the price he paid for not deserving it. But it could liardly give him pain> for he had no vulnerable points in his character, lie had a perfect command of his temper ; his anger never proceeded to passion, nor his sense of injury to revenge. If there v/as occasional asperity in his language, it was easy to see there was no malignity in his disposition. He tasted the good of his exis- tence with cheerful gratitude ; and received its evil as became a chrisiian. In faint lines we have sketclied the character of this man of worth. If the reader ask, why he is represented without blemishes, the answtr is, that, though as a man he undoubtedly had faults, yet they were so few, so trivial, or so lost among his virtues, as not to be observed, or not to be remembered. SECTION XVI. The Character of Brutus. 15i{trTi:s killed his benefactor and friend, Cesar^ because Cesar had usurped the sovereign power. — Therefore Brutus was a patriot, whose character is to be admired, and whcse example should be imita- ted, as long as republican liberiy sliali have a friend or au eneiiiy in the world. Popular AssonblU s. 211 This short argument sceras to have, hitherto, vhi- dlcated the fame of Brutus from reproach ajul even from scrutiny ; yet, perhaps, no character hns bccii more over-ratele approbation of his example horribly cor- rupting and pernicious ? CHAP. ir. Eloquchfc of the Bar. The ends of speaking at tlue Eat are diiTerent from those of Popular Assemblies. In the latter the great object is persuasion ; the Orator aims at determining the hearers to some clioice or conduct, as good, or fit, or useful. For accomplishing this end, it is encum- bent on him to apply liimself to all the principles of action in our nature ; to the passions ar:d to the heart, as well as to the understanding. But at the former, conviction is the great object. There, it is not the speaker's business to persuade the judges to what is good or useful, but to show them what is just and true; and of course it is chiefly, or solely to the un- the Bar. 2'i3 derstandingtliat his e'lDquence ought to he addre.sr.ed. The Speaker at the Bar addresses himself to one or a few Judges, and these too, persons generally of a.:^e, gravity, and authority of character. The Speaker who addresses a popular audience has all the advan- tages, wiiich a mixed and nuuierous assembly aJTord^ foreruploying, to his advantage, all the arts of Speech- The nature and management of the suljjects which belong to the Bar, require, therefore, a diliercnt spe- cies of Oratory from that of popular assemblies, both in matter and delivery. In the latter the Speaker has a much wider range, lie is seldom confined to any precise rule ; he can fetch his topics from a greater variety of quarters and employ every illusiratioii Avhich his fancy or imagination can suggest. Here lie is at liberty to embellish his delivery with every thing that is elegant, graceful, and animated. But at the Bar, the field of speaking is limited to precise law and statute. Imagination is not allowed to take its scope. The advocate has always Ijefore him the line, the square and the compass. There it is his business to be continually applying to the sul)jects under the debate. His delivery, therefore, is considerably cir- cumscribed, when compared Avitli that of the popular orator. It should be adapted to the nature of his com- position, accurate, precise and iaipressive. The an- cients took a m'jCii larger range in their pleadings than tlie moderns. The judicial Orations of Demost- henes and Cicero are, therefore, not exact models of the manner of speaking vvliich is adapted to the pre- sent state of the Bar. For altliough these were plead- ings spoken in civil or criminal causes, }et, in fact, the nature of tlie Bar ancitntly, both in Greece a!id Rome, allowed a much nearer a})proacii ^o Popula?- Eloquence, thin wiiat it now does. This will evi- dently appear from the different specimens of -incicnS. and modern pleading M'hich are annexed, ■ ' V 2 'MG r.logucnce f>J SECTIOiN I. J' a Ill's defence before Jgrippti. CnARACT£RISTICS. .^mjirrsvive dignify — aufal elevation — sul/lbpe enthn- siiisni — solemn, but decisive fortitude. The etc- knod'lcdgnicnt of former habits of persecution should be marked nith a tone and manner expressive of in- gc7iH0!is, but by no means abject contrition. The recapitulation of the ivords of the heavenly vision, demands the mingled expressions of supernatural cu:2, and a restrained, but conscious exultation I iHiN'K iTjyself happy, king Agrippa, because I shall answer for myself this day before thee, touching all llie things whereof I am accused of the Jews ; es- perialiy because I know thee to he expert in-all cus- toms and cjuestions which are among the Jews ; where- of I beseech thee to hear me patiently. My manner of life fropj my youth, v/hich was at the first among my own nation at Jerusalem, know all the Jews, who knew pje from the beginning, if they would testif}', tiiat after the most rigorous sect of our reli- gion, I lived a Pharisee. And now I stand and ara judged for the hope of the promise made of God un- to our fathers ; unto which promise our twelve tribes, instantly serving God day and night, liope lo come. For this hope's sake, king Agrippa, I am accused of the Jews. VVhy sJiould it he thought a tiling incredi- ble to you, that God should raise the dead ? I verily thought with myself, that I ought to do many things contrary to tlie name of Jesus of Nazareth ; which things 1 also did in Jerusalem -, and many of the saints did shut up in prison ; and when they were put to death I gave my voice against them ; and I punished them oft in every synagogue, and compelled them to blaspheme; and being exceedingly mad against them, I persecuted them even unto strange cities. the Bar. 24J Wlieretipon as I went to Damascus, with authority tind coramission from the chief priests, at mid day, O Jving! I saw in the way a Jight from lieaven, above the brightness of the sun, shinina: round about me, and them that journeyed with me. And wlien we were all fallen to earth, I heard a voice speaking unto me and saying in the Hebrew tongue, " Saul, Saul, why persecutes! thou rae ? It is hard for thee to kick against the goads." And I said, " Who art thou, lord?" And J:e said, "lam Jesus, M'hom thou per- secutest ; but arise, and stand upon thy feet; for I have appeared unto thee for this purpose, to make thee a minister, and a witness both of these things tliou hast seen, and of those things in the which I will appear unto thee ; delivering thee from this people, and from the Gentiles, unto whom now I send tlice, to open tlieir eyes, and to turn them from darkness lo light, and from the power of Satan ttiito God ; that they may receive forgiveness of sins, and inheritance among them which are sanctified by faith that is in me." Whereupon, O king Agrippa ! I was not diso- bedient unto tiie lieavenly vision, l>ut slicwed first unto them of Damascus and at Jerusalem, andtlirou'^^h- .ont all tlie coasts of Judea ; and then to the Gentiles, that they should repent and turn to God, and do works meet for repentance. For these causes the Jews caught me in the temple, and went about to kill me. Having therefore obtained help of God, I continue unto this day witnessing bothtosnnll and great, say- ing n(»ne otlier 4hings than those which the prophets and Moses did say should come, — that Christ should suffer, and that he sJiould be the first tliat should rise from the dead, and should shew light unto this peo- ple, and tb the Gentiles. And as he thus spake for liimself, Festussaid, with a loud voice, "Paul thou art beside thyself; much learning doth make thee mad." But he said, — I am not mad most noble Fcstus, but speak forth the v/ords of truth and soberness : for the king know- cthof these things, before whom alsj 1 speak freely ; 21:3 Eloquence of for r am persuaded that none of thefe things are hid- den ftoui hiiu ; for this tliing was not done in a corner. King Agrij)pa I Ijclievest thou the prophets ? I know that thou beiievest. T{icn Agrippa said unto Paul. " Almost thou per- suadest ine to be a christian." And Paul said, — I would to God, tliat not oniy thou, but also all that hear me this day, were both almost, and altogether such as I am, except these bonds. SECTION II. ScnfencE passed by Jiidge Wilda, on John Sialcry for the iii/niman viurder of his slave, in Janu- anj, ISO'J. John Slater, you liave Ijeen convicted, l)y a Jury of your country, of the wilful ir.urder of your own slave; and I am sorry to say, the short, inipressive, uncontra<^Uctcd testimon}', on which that conviction vas founded, leaves but too little room to doubt its proj)riety. The annals of humnn depravity mic;Iit be safely challenged, for a parallel to this unfeeling, blocd}^, and diabolical transaction. You caused your unofi'enciing, unresisting slave, to ])e bound hand and foot, by a refinement in cruel- ty, compelled his companion, perhaps, the friend of his heart, to chop oil his head with an axe ; and to cast his body, yet convulsed with the agonies of death, into the water! And this-deed you dared to perpetrate iu the harbour of Charleston, within a few yards of the shore, nnblushingly in the face of open day. Had your murderous arm been raised against your equal, whom the iaws of self-defence, and t!ie more eiiicacious iaws of the land, unite to protect, your the Bar. 240 erijiie would nut Jiave l)etn without precedent, ani';oanded licence, cr absolute autiinrity. The master, who punishes, not only consults the future happiness of him who is Xhc iniracdiite su" ject of correction, but propagates cl)cJicnce through the whole school ; and establish- es regularity f)y exemplary justice. The victorious obstinacy of a single i)oy would make his future cn- 262 Eloquence of zled by visions of diadems, and stars and garters and titles of nobility : he has been taught to burn "witli restless emulation at the names of Cromwell, Csesar, and Bonaparte, His enchanted island is destined soon to relapse into a desert •, and in a few months, we find the tender and beautiful partner of his bosom, whom he lately " [)ermitted not the v.inds of'' sum- mer " to visit too roughly," v/e find her shivering, at raidniglit, on the winter banks of the Ohio, and mingling her tears with the torrents that froze as they fell. Yet this unfortunate man, thus deluded from his interest and his happiness — thus seduced from the paths of innocence and peace — thus confounded in the toils which were deliberately spread for him, and overwhelmed by the mastering spirit and genius of another — this man, thus ruined and undone, and made to play a subordinate part in this grand drama of guilt and treason — this man is to be called the prin- cipal offender ; while he, by whom he was thus plun- ged and steeped in misery is comparatively innocent, — T. mere accessory. Sir, neither the human heart nor the human under- Stiindlng will bear a perversion so monstrous and ab- surd ; so shocking to the soul ; so revolting to rea- son. O ! no sir. There is no man who knows any thing of this affair, wlio does not know that to every body concerned in it, Aaron Burr v.-as as the sun to the planets which surround him ; he bound them in their respective orbits, and gave them Iheir Jight, their heat and their motion. Let him not then shrink from the high destination which he has courted ; and having already ruined Dleniicrhassett in fortune, cha- racter and happiness forever, attempt to finish the tragedy by thrusting ti^at ill-fated man between Jiim- self and punishment. the Bar. 263 SECTION YIl. The oration of JEschhics aga'.mt Dciuosihcncs, on the crown. In such a situation of alFairs, and in sucli disor- der, as you yourselves arc sensible of, tlie ouly me- thod of saving the ^vrccks of government, is, if I mistake not, to allow full lil-erty to accuse tliose who have invaded your laws. But if you sliut them up, or suller others to do this, I propliecy tliat you will fall insensibly, and that very soon under a tyrannical power. For you know, Athenians, that govcrnmeat is divided into three kinds ; monarchy, oligarchy, and democracy. As to the t\vo former, ihey arc gov- erned at the will and pleasure of those \Uio reign in either ; whereas established laus only, reign in a pop- ular state. I make these observations, therefore, that none of you may he ignorant, I^ut on the contra- ry, that every one may he entirely assured that the day he ascends the seat of justice, to examine an ac- cusation upon the invasion of the laws, that very day- he goes to give judgment upon his own independence. And, indeed, the legislature, who is convinced that a free state can support itself no longer than the laws govern, takes particular care to prescribe this forni of an oath to judges, " I will judge according to the laws." The remembrance, therefore, of this being deeply implanted in your minds, must inspire you with a just abhorrence of any persons whatsoever who dare transgress them by rash decrees ; and that far from ever looking upon a trangression of this kind as a small fault, you always consider it as an enormous and capital crime. Do not sufler, then, any one to make you depart from so wise a principle — But as, in the army every one of you would be ashamed to quit the post assigned him by th.e general ; so leit every one of you be this day ashamed to abandon the post which the laws have given you in the common- 2C4 Elorjucnce of wealth. W]iat post ? — that of protectors of the gov- ernment. IMiist we in your person crown the author of the pu])!ic calamities, or must we destroy hiiu ? And, Jndcedj what unexpected revolutions, what unthought of catastrophes have we not seen in our days ? — The lung of Persia, that king who opened a passage through Mount Athos ; who bound the Hellespont in chains ; who was so iaiperious as to command the Greeks to acknuu ledge him sovereign both of sea and land: who in his letters and dispatches presumed lo style himself the sovereign of the world from the ri- sing to the setting of the sun ; fights now, not to rule over the rest of mankind, but to save his own life. Do not we see those very nun who signalized their zeal in the belief of Delphi, invested both with the glory, for which that powerful king was once so con- spicuous, and with the title of the ciuef of the Greeks against him? As to Thebes, which borders upon At- tica, have we not seen it disappear in one day from the midst of Greece? — And with regard to the unhappy Lacedamonians, what calamities have not befallen Them only for taking but a small part of the spoils of the temple. Thcj' who formerly assumed a superiority over Greece, are they not now going to sen(l ambassadors to Alexander's court ; to bear the name of hostages in his train ; to become a spectacle of misery ; to bow the knee before the monarch; submit themselves and their country to his mercy ; and receive such Jaws as a concjueror, they attacked first, shall think fit to prescribe them ? Athens itself, the common re- fuge of the Greeks? Athens, formerly peopled with ambassadors, who flocked to claim its almighty protec- tion, is not this city now obliged to fight, not to obtain a superiority over the Greeks, but to preserve itself from destruction? Such are the misfortunes which Demosthenes has brought upon us, since his intermed- dling with the administration. ^ the Bar. 265 Imagine tlien, Athenians, when he shall Invite the confidants and accomplices of his abject psnldy to range themselves around him, towards the close of ]iis harangue; imac^ine then, Athenians, on your side, that you see the ancient benefactors of luis common- wealth drawn up in battle array, round this rostrum where I am now speak in^^, in order to repulse that audacious band. Ima.q;ine you hear Solon, who strengthened the popular government by such excel- lent laws ; that philosopher, that incomparable legis- lator, conjuring you with a gentleness and modesty becoming his character, not to set a higher value up- on Demosthenes' oratorical flourishes than upon your oaths and your laws. Imagine you hear Aristides, who made so exact and just a division of the contributions imposed upon the Greeks for the common cause : that sage dispenser, who left no other inheritance to his daughters, but the public gratitude, which was their portion; irna- gine, I say, you hear him bitterly bewailing the out- rageous manner in which we trample upon justice, and speaking to you in these words. VVhat ! because Arth- niius, of Zeilia, that Asiatic, who passed through Athens, where he even enjoyed the riglits of hospital- ity, had brought gold from the 3\Iedes into Greece ; your ancestors were going to send him to the place of execution, and banislied him, not only from their city, but from all the countries dependent on them ; and will not you blush to decree Demosthenes, who has not, indeed, brought gold from the Modes, but has re- ceived such sums of money from all parts to betray you, and now enjoys the fruits of his treasures ; will not you, I say, blush to decree a crown of gold to Demosthenes ? Do you thiiik thdt Themistc^cles, and tne heroes who were killed in the battles of Marathon and Platea, do you think the very tomlir. of your an- cestors will not send forth groans, if you crov/n a mail who, by his own confession, has been Tor ever conspi- ring with i)arbariaTi3 to ruin Greece I X 2GG Bloqiiencc of As to myself, O earth ! O sun J O virtue ! and you ■who are the springs of true discernment, lights both natural and acquired, by which we distinguish good from evil, — 1 call you to witness, that I have used all my endeavours to relieve the state, and to plead lier cause. I could have wished my speech had been eqaul to the greatness and importance of the subject : at least, I can flatter myself with having discharged my duty, according to my abilities, if I have not done it according to my wishes. Do you, Athenians, from the reasons you have h eard, and those which your •wisdom Avill suggest, do you pronounce such a judg- K2ent, as is conformable to strict justice, and the common good demands from you. SECTION YIII. Emmefs Vindication. I AM asked if I have any thing to say why sea- -tence of death should not be pronounced upon me. Was I to suffer only death, after being adjudged guil- 4y, I should bow in silence — but a man in my situation, lias not only to combat with the difficulties of for- tune, but also Avith the difficulties of prejudice ; the sentence cf the law which delivers over his body to the executioner, consigns his character to o]:!loquy. The man dies, but his memory lives, and that mine may not forfeit all claim to the respect of my coun- trymen, I use this occasion to vindicate myself from some of the charges advanced against me. I am ac- cused of being an emissary of France : 'tis false ! I am no emissar}' ; I do not wish to deliver ray country to any foreign power, and least of all to France. No ! never did I entertain the idea of establishing French jiowcr in Ireland. I did not create the rebellion for France, but for Liberty ; — God forbid ! On the coa- the Bar. 207 trary, it is evident from the introductory paragraph of the address of the Provisional Government, that every hazard attending an independent efl'ort was dee- med preferable to the more fatal risk of introducing a French army into the country. When the fluctua- ting spirit of French freedom was not fixed and bound- ed by tlic chains of a military despot, it might have been an excusable policy to have souqht the assistance of France, as was done in the year ITOS ; then it might not have I)ecn so great a hazard to have accepted of French aid under a guaranteeing treaty, such as Frank- lin obtained for America. But, in the present day, could the Provisional Government have formed such a plan, they would have exhibited such a proof of mental imbecility, as to unfit them for the common. offices of Vik, Small would be our claims to patriot- ism and to sense, and palpable our aflectation of the love of liberty, if we were to encourage the pro- fanation of our shores by a people who are slaves tliemselves, and the unprincipled and abandoned in- struments of imposing slavery on otliers. If such an inference is drawn irom any part of the Proclama- tion of the Provisional Goverment, it caluranialet? their views, and is not warranted by the fact. How could they speak of freedom to their countrymen — how assume such an exalted motive, and meditate the introduction of power, which has been the ene- my of Freedom in every part of tiie globe? Review- ing the conduct of France to other countries ; seeing how she has behaved to Italy, to Holland, and to Switzerland, could u-«! expect better conduct towards us ? No .' — Let not then any man attaint my memory by believing, that I could have hoped freedojn through the aid of France, and betrayed the sacred cause of Liberty, by committing it to her most determined foe. Neither let any man hereafter, abuse my name, or jny principles, to the purpose of so base and wicked a delusion. Oh ! my countrymen, believe not those who would attempt so parricidal an imposition upon your understandings. Deliver my country into the iJGS Eloquence of liands of France ! What ! meditate such a cruel as- sassination of her political life ! Had I done so, I liad not deserved to live; and djing with such a ■^veight upon mv character, I had merited the honest execration of that country which gave me birth and to which I wouhl have given freedom. Had I been in Switzerland, I would have fought against the French, for I am certain, the Swiss are hostile to the French. In the dignity of Freedom, I would have expired on the threshold of that country, and they should have entered it only by passing over my lifeless corse. Is it, then, to be supposed, that I should be slow to make the same sacrifice to my native land ? Am I, who lived but to be of service to ray country — who resigned for that service the worship of another idol I adored in my heart, and who would subject myself to the bondage of the grave to give her independence — am I to be loaded with the foul and grievous ca- lumny of being an emmissary of France ? My Lords, it may be part of the system of an- gry justice to bow a man's mind by humiliation to meet the ignominy of the scaffold, but worse to me than the scaflold's shame, or the scaflold's terrors, would be the imputation of having been the agent of PYench despotism and umbition ; and while I have breath, I M'iil call upon my countrymen not to believe me guil- ty cf so foul a crime against their liberties and their liappiness. Though you, my Lord, sit there a Judge, and I stand here a culprit — yet, you are but a man, and I am another ; I have a right, therefore, to vindicate my character and motives from tne as- perGions of cahimny ; and, as a man to whom fame is dearer than life, I will make the last use of that life in rescuing my name and my memory from the af- flicting imputation of having been an emissary of France, or seeking her interference in the internal re- gulation of our affairs. Did I live to see a French army approach this country, I would meet it on the shore, with a torch in one hand, and a sword in the other — I would receive thcra with all the destruction the Bar. 269 of war ? I would animate my countrymen to immo- late them in their very boats before our native soil should be polluted Iw a foreign foe. If they succeed- ed in landing, I would burn every blade of grass before them — raze every house — contend to the last for every inch of ground — and the last spot in which the hope of freedom should desert me, that spot would I make my grave! What I cannot do, T leave a legacy to my country, because I feel conscious that my death were unprofitable, and all hope of liberty extinct, the moment a French army obtained footing in this island." SECTION IX. First part of 3Ir. Griji}i's Speech, in the trial of M. Livingston, Esq. against J. Cheethaniy for a libel, in 1807. The defendant (Chcetliani) stands convicted of the serious offence of publishing against the plaintill (Liv- ingston) a false and defamatory accusation. And you (gentlemen) are the organ to pronounce the sentence of violated law. What damages will you give ? This Hbel, gentlemen, is not a solitary ebullition of passion. It is a part and parcel of a deliberate and extended system of at- tack. The defendant foretold that he would wage a " terrible warfare" against the plaintiff : and this prediction he has indeed tremendously accomplished. With a step steady as time, and an appetite keen as death, he has been seen waging against the plaintiff a warfare, not of conquest, but of extermination. He has been seen opening on the plaintiff tlie batteries of the press. Yes, gentlemen, the defendant has forced the press to become the disturber of domestic quiet, the assassin of private ruputation. Our press, gentle- X 2 '^"0 Eioen so much is said, some- thing will be believed. Constant attrition wsars away the solid rock. But character, gentlem^ji, is the Bar. 27 1 not made of rock. It is at once the most valuable and delicate of all human possessions : It is tarnished even by too much handlinj^. The plaintifl' has been xvriltcn down. Any man in society may be lorittc.i doim. No man is proof against the artillery of the press. But has it come to this ? Shall the press of our country be indeed converted into a tremendous engine for ivriting down character ? Why, gentle- men, if it is to be thus prostituted, instead of being a blessing, it would be a scourge. Instead of ren- dering national thanksgiving for its institution, our country ought to be on bended knees in fervent sup- plication to heaven for its abolition. For it would be a scourge, compared with which, the inquisitorial wheel and revolutionary guillotine would be instru- ments of mercy. During this assassination of his character, it is not to be supposed that the mind of the plaintiff has been at rest. Put yourselves in his situation. What would be your feelings while slanders the most vile, while calumnies the most base, were circulating a- gainst you through the medium of a widely extended public news-paper; to be read by your cotempora.- ries — your friends — and sneering enemies ; to de- scend to posterity, and be read by your children and grand children ; to be re-published perhaps by some future libeller when you would be slumbering in your graves, to the mortification and disgrace of your de- scendvints, who might then be destitute of the means of detecting the calumny ? Oh, gentlemen, your hearts would be tortured on the wheel of agonizing sensi- bility. You would find no balm in innocency — no physician there. What you would suffer, the plain- tifl' has suffered. I should think meanly of him did I suppose him capable of retiring from the feelings of nature, and wrapping himself up in the mantle of in- sensibility. He this day appeals to a jury of his country. He has a right to demand of you, and iu his name, gentlemen, do I solemnly demand of you, i\ill remuneration for every honest man's confidence 272 Eloquence of M'hich has been estranged from him, for every wretched hour, for every sleepless night that lie or his may ^e presumed to have endured from the cir- culation of this calumny. What damages will you give? Look gentlemen, at the libel, it accuses the plaintijT of cheating at cards — of being detected in cheating at cards. It su- peradds to the imputation of dishonesty, the charge of foul dishonour. Were the plaintiff accused of trea- son or murder, he might arm himself with a stern de- nial, and appear intrepidly before the tribunal of the public. But this loathsome charge, this rotting accu- sation, this "pestilence whicji walketh in darkness" deprives the unfortunate accused even of the misera- ble comfort of public denial. Where is this offence charged to have been committed ? At an assembly room — where the fascination of music and enchant- ment of beauty — the " pride, pomp and circumstance of elegant conviviality would elevate any man not lost in debasement, — the plaintilf comes. He comes, not to participate the bounties of the temple of festivity, but to profane its rites. With an eye darkly bent on gain he comes — leagued with his brother, not in the prosecution of some honourable enterprise, but for the polluted and polluting purpose of treacherously rob- bing an unsuspecting friend. Is the plaintiff guilty of this charge ? With his standing in society, without the excuse of poverty, or the extenuation of sordid education, has he indeed sunk to this^ Then he ought to be branded with a mark as indelible as that stamp- ed by the hand of omnipotence on the forehead of Cain. The hiss of contempt, and murnuir of indig- nation are the music to which he should be forced to march all the days of his life. But if the plaintiff is innocent and who doubts hisinnocency ? what shall we say of the defendant ? In the solitude of the closet he composed the libel. Deliberately did he publish it through the extended medium of the press. lie commissioned the'four winds of heaven to teil the the Bar. 273 tale of infamy to a hissing world. Nor was his mal- ice yet appeasetl. Knowing that news-i)apers might be destroyed, impressions on memory impaired by the lapse of time, he stamped liis libel on the records of tlie court. He wrote it with a pen of iron on ta- blets of marble. There it has insultingly remained for months: there it will remain forever. With what apology does the defendant come into court ? — He acknowledges the innocency of the plain- tiff. After permitting his k)athsome publication to range uncontradicted for more than two years, he now comes forward, not with a news- paper recantation co-extensive with the circulation of the libel, but he insults the plaintifl'with a mere oral acknowledgment of his iiuiocency. Is this extorted acknowledgment to be forced upon us as a peace-offering for past suffer- ings ? Does it eradicate impressions on the public mind? Can it tear the libel from the records of the court ? — Tliis death-bed repentance will not save him. A jury can look forgivingly on the hunahle defendant who approaches in the sack-cloth of sincere contrition, but they frown with indignation at the penitence of the tongue when the heart is known to he yet filled with the bitterness of gall* I am one of those who believe that the luart of the wilful aud the deliberate libeller is blacker than that of the high-way robber, or his who com-ai?s the crime of midnight arson. The man vvho plunders on the high- way, may have the semblance of an apology for what he does. An affectionate wife may (lemand subsistence ; a circle of helpless chiklren raise to him the supplicating hand for food. He may he driven to the desperate act by the high mauflate of imperative necessity. The mild features of the husband and the father may intermingle with those of the rohljcr and soften the roughness of the shade. But the rol^btr of character plunders that which " not enrichtth him," though it makes his neighbour " poor indeed." —The man who at the midnight hour consumes his iieiglwbour's duelling, does him an injury which per- 2r4 Eloquence of haps is not irreparai)le. Industry may rear another habitation. The storm may indeed descend upon him until charity opens a neighbouring door: the rude wind of heaven may whistle around his uncov- ered family. But he looks forward to better days : he has yet an liook left to hang a hope on. No such consolation cheers the heart of him whose character has been torn from him. If innocent he may look, like Anaxagoras, to the Heavens ; but he must be constrained to feci that this world is to him a wilder- ness. For whither shall lie go ? Shall he dedicate himself to the service of his country ? But will his country receive him? V/ill she employ in her coun- cils, or in her armies, the man at whom the " slow unmoving finger of scorn" is pointed? Shall he be- take himself to the fire-side? "There, there^s the rub.'' The story of his disgrace will enter his own doors before him. And can he bear, think you, can he bear the sympathising agonies of a distressed wife? Can he endure the formidable presence of scrutini- zing, sneering domestics ? Will his children re- ceive instruction from the lipsof a disgraced father? Gentlemen, I am not ranging on fairy ground. I am telling the plain story of my client's wrongs. By the ruthless hand of malice his character has been v.autonly massacred •, — and he now appears before a jury of his country for redress. Will yoa deny him this redress ? — Is character valuable? On this point I will not insult you with argument. There are cer- tain things, to argue which is treason against nature. The author of our being did not intend to leave this point afloat at the mercy of opinion, but with his own hand has he kindly plaiited in the soul of m::n an in- stinctive love of character. Tliis high sentiment has no affiuity to pride. It is the ennobling quality of the soul : and if we have hitherto been elevated above the ranks of surrounding creation, human nature owes its ehvation to the love of character. It is the love of character for wldcdi the poet has sung, the phi- losopher toiled, th? hero bled. It is thQlove of char- the Bar. 375 rncccr Mhich wrouglit mirarles at ancient Greece: the love of character is the eagle on w liich Rome rose to empire. And it is the love of character animating the Jjosom of her sons, on which America must de- pend in those approaching crisis that may " try men's souls." Will a jury weaken this our nation's hope? VVill they by their verdict pronounce to the youth of our country, that character Is scarce worth pos- sessing? We read of that philosophy which can smile over the destruction of property — of that religion which enables its possessor to extend the benign look of for- giveness and complacency to his murderers. But it is not in the soul of man to bear the laceration of slander. The philosophy Avhich could bear it we should despise. The religion which could l.'car it, we should not despise — but we shouKl be constrained to say, that its kingdom was not of this world. Second Part of Mr. GriffnCs Speech. In a case like the present, where the jury have a right, and wliere it is their duty, to award exempla- ry damages, it becomes you, gentlemen, to look a- r6und and enquire what amount of verdict \ht inte- rests of the nation demand, ^'e o5!g!?t to be a hap- py people. Omnipotence has exhausted itself in scattering blessings around us. — I'ut is there no blot on the map of our pvosptjity ? Yes, ger.tlemen, tiicre is a foul, a deadly blot. A fiend lias entered our po- litical Eden ;— raud this fiend is the spirit of Iiceviioi;s-' ncss. I speak of the licentiousness of the to/^guc, and the licentiousness of the press. This is the mon- ster that stalks Ihronch our land " seeking v.hon: ')e maj' devour," and scattering r.round him " fire brands arrows, and death." He obtrudes his " miscrtiited front" into the hailov.ed retirements of private life ■--•beckoas thi? ma"ii of hcno-ir to the field of death — 27G Eloquence of tears tLe laurel from the brow of the " warwora" sol (Her — and wrests from the venerable patriot his hard earned honours. Innocency is no shield against him: he delights to sport on the ruins of spotless integrity. lie spares not even the sanctuary of the grave. All men, of all parties, groan under his oppression — It is a melancholy remark, but made, 1 fear, with too much correctness, that there is no portion of the globe where the licentiousness of the tongue and of the press has become so outrageous as in these Uni- ted States. It is an encreasing evil amongst us. And it feeds on the vitals of our country. It has driven into retirement, and will continue to drive in- to retirement, our most estimable characters, what- ever may be their political denomination: for who will expose himself to the laceration of calumny? Individuals have i)een found, and individuals will a- gain be found, who, for the salvation of their coun- try, will expose themselves to death — will even court it in the "imminent, deadly breach." But where are the individuals who will expose themselves to the daggers of defamation? This spirit of licentiousness vitiates the public sentiment, and contaminates the very mind of the nation. It turns into wormv/ood and gall the benevolent feelings of the human heart, — makes man the foe of man, and may unsheath the sword of civil war- If permitted to continue, it will render our country tired of freedcmi ; and if free- dom must be attended v/ith this torrent of licentious- ness, perhaps the sooner our country becomes tired of it the better. For "dear as freedom is, and in my soul's just estimatioii, prized a!)ove all prire," — reputation is still dearer; — 'ind if reputation cannot be preserved under the protection of freedom, our countrymen vdll seek shelter, they ought to seek shelter under the strong arm uf despotism — of that despotism which palsies the tongue and fetters the pen. What has destroyed other republics ? The ene- my was not from without: the world in arms could never extinguish a nation of freemen. Let those who the Bar. 277 c!oul)t this, look to the streiglits of Therraopylas. — let them Jock to Baiiker-liill. The enemies of re- publics is within. The destroying angel of freedom has ever been the spirit of licentiousness. Our na- tion must be saved from thh spirit, or we are lost ; shortly shall we follow to the tomb, the republics of other times. The friend of his country looks around hira and anxiously inquires, what power is there to save us. But one power on earth can save us ; and that power is — a jury. If America is to be saved from the fate of other republics, jurors must be our saviours. Jurors can do more for us than generals. The heroes of the revolution created our nation ; — it is the high prerogative of jurors to preserve it. How are they to preserve it? By keeping pure and dignified the mind of the nation — by preserving un- contaminated its morality. If it is asked, how does the existence of a nation of freemen depend on their icarality ? I answer ; were men angsls, they would scarcely need the form of government ; — were they devils, they must be bound in fetters of iron ; and as they approximate the one slate, or the oth- er, their government may be free, or must be se- vere. It is thine, virtue, to preserve empires ! Thou hast ever been the guardian angel of freedom ! Pre- serve pure and dignified the mind of a nation, and its body is invincible. It may defy an armed world. It is a very Sampson in might. It is the deprava- tion of its mind that severs the locks of its strength. How are jurors to preserve the morality of our na- tion ? — how arrest the devastations of licentiousness ? By their verdicts ; by writing upon the records of our courts, in legitable characters, the unchangeable decree, that the violator of character shall be as sure- ly and severely punished by a verdict in damages as the violator of property or of person. Were ju- rors in earnest to pursue this course, we should find that the fiend defamation would not dare to stalk thus boldly through our land ; — the tongue cf slander would be ooDstrained to remain sileat :--aiid fear Y 278 Eloquence of would hermetically seal the lips of calumny. But that great vork is not to be accomplished by trifling verdicts. A nation is not to he saved by an oblation of pence. Trivial damages may exasperate, but can- not ititimidale malice. The times require exempla- ry verdicts — and mercy to individuals is treason against the nation. This is not the cause of individ- ual against individual onl}'. The nominal parties to this suit dwindle into comparative unimportance ; and the American nation rears her august form, entreat- ing to be saved from her Avorst enemy, — to be saved from licentiousness. This is the cause of man against the worst passion of man ; it is the cause of virtue against vice. I address mj^self to you, gen- tlemen, as the grand inquest of the nation. I appeal to you as the Areopagus of America. I invoke you as that only power which can bind in fetters, and cast out from amongst us, the destroying demon of licen- tiousness. The spirit of our beloved country looks to you. You are convened in the justly proud me- tropolis of the land of freedom. What you are about to do will be "recorded as a precedent." In the eyes of the nation, in the eyes of a world, you are this day to pronounce the value of American character. The honour of our city — the honour of the nation— your own honour is at stake. Act worthy of the dig- nity of your station — act worthy of yourselves. SECTION X. Cicero's Oration against Verrcs. An opinion has long prevailed, not only here at home, but likewise in foreign countries, both dan- gerous to you, and pernicious to the state, viz. that in prosecutions, men of wealth are always safe, how- ever clearly convicted. There is now to be brought the Bar. 279 upon his trial before you, to the confusion, I hope, of the propagators of this slanderous imputation, one, ^vhosc life and actions condemn him in the opiuioa of all impartial persons ; but who, according to his own reckoning, and declared dependence upon his riches, is already acquitted ; I mean Caius Verres. 1 have undertaken this prosecution (fathers) at the general desire, and with the great expectation of the Roman people, not that I might draw ^wvy U])oii that illustrious order of which the accused happens to be ; but with the direct design of clearing your jus- tice and impartiality before the world. For I have brought upon his trial, one, whose conduct has been such, that, in passing a just sentence upon him, you will have an opportunity of re-establishing the credit of such trials ; of recovering whatever may be lost of the favor of the Roman people ; and of satisfying foreign states and kingdoms in alliance with us, or tributary to us. I demauil justice of you (lathers) upon the robber of the public treasury, the oppressor of Asia Minor and Pamphilia, the invader of the rights and privileges of Romans, the scourge and curse of Sicily. If that sentence is passed upon him which his crimes deserve, your authority will be ven- -erabie and sacred in the eves of the public. But if his great riches should bias you in his favour, I shall still gain one point, viz. to make it apparent to all the M'orh?, that what was wanting in this case was not a criminal nor a prosecutor ; but just ice, and adequate punishment. For, as those acts of violence, hy which he has got his exorbitant riclies, were done openly, so have his attempts to pervert judgment, and escape due pun- ishment, been public, ancl in open defiance of decenc}'. He has accordingly said, that the only time he ever was afraid, was when he found the prosecution com- menced against him by me ; lest he should not have time enough to dispose of a sufficient number of pre- sents in proper hands. Nor Jias he atteaipted to se- cure himself by the legal way of defence upon his 2E0 Eloquence of trial. And, indeed, where is the learning, the elo- t'jueDce, or the art, which would be suilicieut to qual- ify any one for the defence of him, whose whole life has been a continued series of the most atrocious orimes? To pass over the shameful irregularities of liis youth, what does his qusstorship, the first pub- lic employment he held, what does it exhibit, but one continued scene of villanies; Cneius Carbo plunder- ed of the public money by his own treasurer ; a con- sul stripped and betrayed ; an army deserted and re- duced to wsnl; a province robbed; the civil and re- ligious rights of a pcopie violated. The eraploy- ment he held in Asia Minor and Panrphylia, what did it produce, but the ruin of those countries ; in which Jjouses, cities, and temples where roI)bed by him. There he acied over again t!ie scene of his qujestor- ship, bringing^ by his had j)ractices, Cneius Dolabel- Ja, whose substitute he was, into disgrace with the people, and then deserting him ; not only deserting, but even accusing and betraying him. What was his conduct in his prajtorship here at home? Let the plundered temples, and public works neglected, that lie might embezzle the money intended for carrying them on, bear witness. How did he discharge the of- fice of a judge ? Let those, who suffered by his injus- tice, answer. But his prastorship in Sicily, crowns all his works of wickedness, and finishes a lasting monument to his infamy. The mischiefs done by him in that unhappy country, during the three years of his iniquitous administration, are such, that ma- ny years under the wisest and best of praetors, will not be sufficient to restore things to the condition, in which he found them. For it is notorious, that du- ring the time of his tyranny, the Sicilians neither en- joyed the protection of their own original laws, of the regulations made for their benefit by the Roman senate, upon their coming under the protection of the commonwealth, nor of the natural and unalicnabl'» rights of men. No inhabitant of that ruined coun- try has been al)tc to keep possession of any thing, biu the Bar, 281 what has either escaped the rapaciousness, or been neglected by the satiety of that universal plunderer- His nod has decided all causes in Sicily for these three years. And his decisions have broke all law, all pre- cedent, all right. The sums he has, by arbitrary tax- es, and unheard-of impositions, extorted from the industrious poor, are not to be computed. The most faithful allies of the commonwealth have been trea- ted as enemies. Roman citizens have, like slaves, been put to death with tortures. The most atrocious criminals, for money, have been exempted from the deserved punishments ; and men of the most unex- ceptionable characters condemned and banished un- heard. The harbours, though sufficiently fortified, and the gates of strong towns, opened to pirates and ravagers. Tlie soldiery and sailors, belonging to a province, under the protection of the commonwealth, starved to death. Whole fleets, to the great detri- ment of the province, sufl'ered to perish. The an- cient monuments of either Sicilian or Roman great- ness, the statues of heroes and princes carried off; and the temples stripped of their images. And these his atrocious crimes have been committed in so pub- lic a manner, that there is no one, who has heard of his name, but could reckon up his actions. Now, Verres, I ask what you have to advance a- gainst this charge ? Will you pretend to deny it ? Will you pretend, that any thing false, that even any thing aga:ravated is alleged against you ? Had any prince, or any state, committed the same outrage against the privileges of Roman citizens, should we not think we had sufficient ground for declaring immediate war a- gainst them ? What punishment ought then, to be inflicted upon a tyrannical and wricked prjetor, who dared at no greater distance than Sicily, within siglit of the Italian coast, to put to the infamous death of crucirixiou, that unfortunate and innocent citizen, Publius Gavius Cosanus, only for his having asserted Y3 282 Eloquence of his privilege of citizenship, and declared his inten- tion of appealing to the justice of his country against a cruel oppressor, \?ho had unjustly confined him in prison at Syracuse, from whence he had just made his escape? The unhappy man arrested, as he was •going to embark for his native country, is brought be- fore the wicked prastor. With eyes darting fury, and a countenance distorted with cruelty, he orders the helpless victim of his rage to be stripped and rods to be brought ; accusing him, but without the least shadow of evidence, or even of suspicion, of hav- ing come to Sicily as a spy. It was in vain, that the unhappy man cried out, " I am a Roman citizen, T have served under Lucius Pretius, who is now at Fanormus, and will attest my innocence." The bloodthirsty pra3tor, deaf to all he could urge in his own defence, ordered the infamous punishment to be inflicted. Thus, fathers, was an innocent Roman citizen publicly mangled with scourging ; whilst the only words he uttered amidst his cruel sufferings, were, " I am a Roman citizen." With these he ho- ped to defend himself from violence and infamy. 13ut of so little service was this privilege to him, that Avhile he was thus asserting his citizenship, the or- der was given for his execution — for his execution upon the cross ? liberty ! — O sound once delightful to every Ro- man ear ! — O sacred privilege of Roman citizenship J Once sacred ! now trampled upon ! — But what then ! Is it come to this? Shall an inferior magistrate, a governor, who holds his whole power of the Roman people in a Roman province, within sight of Italy, bind, scourge, torture with fire and red hot plates of iron, and at last put to the infamous death of th^ cross, a Roman citizen? Shall neither the cries of innocence expiring in agony, nor the tears of pitying spectators, nor the majesty of the Roman common- wealth, nor the fear of the justice of his country, re- strain the licentious and waiiton cruelty of a monster, \ the PnlpiL 283 who, in confidence of his riches, strikes at the root of liberty, and sets mankind at defiance? I conclude witli expressing my hopes, that your wisdom and justice, fathers, will not, by suffering the atrocious and unexampled iHsoIencc of Caius Verres to escape the due punishment, leave room to appre- hend the danger of a total subversion of authority, and introduction of general anarchy and confusion. CHAP. III. Eloquence of the Pulpit, SECTION I. Remarks on Pulpit Eloquence. Eloquence is the art of speaking with prbpriety, elegance, and eflect. To enlighten the understanding, please the imagination, move the passions, and influ- ence the will, are the important ends it proposes to ac- complish. The darkness which envelopes the human understanding must be dispelled by a clear exhibi- tion of truth. — A combination of noble images pre- sented to the mind, in the rich or agreeable colouring of a finely finished picture, tends to swell the imagina- tion with vast conceptions, and transport the soul with sublime ideas.— The creative faculty, from her exuberant stores, produces those expressive figures, and exhil)its these vivid feautures, which, when asso- ciated with objects of desire or aversion, love or ha- tred, pity or contempt, awaken the liveliest sensibility and precipitate the passive assembly, into all the per- turbatiou of passion.'-Would the ©rator not only agi- 284 Eloquence of tate the soul, and inspire generous feelins:, but pro- duce volition, and propel to action, he must employ an artful mixture of the truths which convince, and the imagery which interests ; he must incorporate ar- gumentation with [jathos, and the eiTorts of reason with the ebullitions of passion, before he can force his way to the heart, and wield at will its active powers. The eloquence of the pulpit possesses advantages peculiar to itself. The dignity and importance of its subjects tend to solemnize Christian assemblies, and ought to interest every heart. The preacher has lib- erty and leisure to chuse his theme, and appears in public with all the advantages of mature preparation. The largeness and solemnity of his audience inspire animation, and powerfully prompt to exertion. His style may be embellished with the highest ornaments, and his delivery adorned with all the variegated gra- ces of action. Canflidatcs for the sacred ministry should possess good natural talents: a clear understanding, to dis- criminate truth from error ; a lively imagination, to open extensive fields of thought, and exhibit interest- ing objects in the most advantageous points of view; a retentive memory, to which he may commit the different sets of ideas, and the various parts of know- ledge he collects in the course of his study, and may have occasion to use in the discharge of his duty ; and an original gift of utterance, to fit him for speaking with freedom and fluency, on any subject which he thoroughly understands. Without a considerable share of such inestimable talents, I may venture to affirm, all the learning and industry in the world will be unal)le to render him an eloquent preacher. Besides the possession of these natural and neces- sary qualities, much remains to be acquired by stud^ and observation : An extensive knowledge of natural and revealed religion ; of the theory and practice of moral, relative, and religious duties ; of the doctrines the Ihilpit, 2S5 of £;racc, the practice of piety, and pure, experimental godliness: A comprehensive knowledge of the scrip- tures in their connection, depciidance, and leading de- sign ; of the meaning and application of particular passages ; of the principal idea contained in every text he undertakes to illustrate, and of the best method of dividing, explaining and impressing the instructions deduced from it, on the hearts of his hearers : An in- timate acquaintance with the opinions, passions, and propensities of mankind ; the various scenes and cir- •cumstances through which they pass, the motives by •which they are most easily actuated, and the avenues which lead most direct iy to the heart ; with the char- acters, sentiments and humours, which prevail among the people he is destined to address. The preacher must be acquainted with ])Ooks as well as with men. The clearest commentaries on scripture, and the most judicious systems of divinity should hold the highest rank ia his estimation ; but such as possess sublime moral sentiments, unfold the obligations, characters, and connections of men, ex- plain the principal sciences with elegance and accura- cy, inspire the brightest train of thought, enrich tlie soul with exalted perceptions, improve the taste for composition, give a compass and purity of expression, and afford materials for forming a stile, in which sim- plicity and grandeur, elegance and chastity, animation and ease, copiousness and perspicuity, harmoniously unite ; — are also entitled to a frequent and attentive perusal. Every book of real merit, indeed, may con- tribute to assist him in his official capacity, but such as contain the best precepts and specimens of elo- quence which either ancient of modern times have produced, should be selected with judgment, studied with diligence, digested by mature reflection, and ren- dered subservient to the great ends of the gospel-min- istry. It must always be recollected, however, that the most extensive reading will be of little advantage to the Christian clergyman, unless it be accompanied ])y the reiterated practice of careful composition. It 286 Eloquence of is this which converts the materiaJs of reading to the nourishment of tlwuarht, which establishes a habit of arrangement, of viewing objects with accuracy and distinction, and of expressing sentiments with variety, fullness, and freedom. The gospel preacher must maintain an unremitting regard to the great ends of his office ; which are, to honour his divine Master, by a faithful exhibition of revealed truths, and an ample declaration of his coun- sels to men ; to promote the best interests of his fel- low-creatures, by conscientiously explaining the doc- trines, and enforcing the duties of religion, by endeav- ouring to confirm their faith, increase their comfort, and influence their practice : to adapt his discourses to the nature of the times, and the capacities of his hearers ; — by trying to stop the progress of prevailing vices, directing to the proper uses of national calami- ties, and exciting to the grateful acknowledgment of public mercies; by avoiding unedifying conjectures about points confessedly obscure, matters of mere speculation, and the peculiarities of party opinion, which tend to foster a disputatious temper, and to "minister questions rather than godly edifying ;"— - by guarding against those minute criticisms, abstract- ed reasonings, and learned investigations, which are not level to the comprehension of a common audience, and turning his thoughts into such a shape, as shall bid fairest for drawing the attention, enlightening the minds, and allecting the hearts of his hearers ; — by confining himself in every discourse to a single lead- ing truth, character, virtue, or vice, which, when properly explained, placed in interesting views, and enforced by suitable motives, can scarcely fail to penetrate and pcssess the heojt. the Pulpit. 237 SECTION ir. The Commandments. And God spake all these words, saying ; I am the Lord, thy God, which brought tlice out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage : Thou shall have no other gods before me. Thou shalt uot make unto tliee any graven image, or any likeness of any thing that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth. Thou slialt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them : for I the Lord thy God, aiu a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers up- on the children, unto tlie third and fourth generation of them that hate me ; and shewing mercy unto thousands of them that love me, and keep my com- mandments. TJiou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain, for the Lord will not hold him guiltless tliat taketh his name in vain. Remember the sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days shalt thou labour, and do all thy work. But the seventh day is the sabbath of the Lord thy God : in it thou shalt not do any work, thou, nor thy son, nor thy daughter, thy man-servant, nor thy maid servant, nor thy cattle, nor the stranger that is within thy gates ; For in six days the Lord made heaven and €arth, the sea, and all that in them is, and rested the seventh day : wherefore the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and hallowed it. Honour thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee. Thou shalt not kill. Thou shalt not commit adulter}'. Thou shalt not steal. Thou shalt not bear false witness agaicst thy neigh- bour. 333 Eloquence of ^ Thou slialt not covet thy neighbour's house, thou shall not covet thy neighbour's wife, nor his man-ser- vant, nor his maid servant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor anything that is thy neighbour's" SECTION HI. Natkanh Parable. And the Lord sent Nathan unto David ; and he went unto him, and said unto him : ♦' There were two men in one city ; the one rich, and the other poor. The rich man had exceeding many flocks and herds: But the poor man had noth» ing, save one little ewe lamb, which he had nour- ished and brought up; and it grew up together with liim ; and with his children ; it did eat of his own meat, and drank of his own cup, and lay in Jiis bo- som, and was unto hira as a daughter. And there came a traveller unto the rich man, and he spared to take of his own flock and of his own herd, to dress for the wayfaring man, that was come unto hira ; but took the poor man's lamb, and dres- sed it for the man that was come unto hira." And David's anger was greatly kindled against the man ; and he said to Nathan ; "As the Lord liveth, the man that hath done this thing shall surely die. And he shall restore the lamb fourfold, because he did this thing, and because he had no pity." And Nathan said unto David, '* Thou art the man." the Pulpit. 289 SECTION IV. Parable of the Prodigal Son. THE parable of the prodigal is no less beautiful and pathetic, than it is instructive and consolatory. It sets before us, in the most striking view, the pro- gress and the fatal consequences of vice, on the one hand; and, on the other, the paternal readiness of our Almighty Father to receive the returning penitent to pardou and racrcy. It is peculiarly instructive to youth ; and would liecome very instrumental to pre- serve them from the pernicious alluretnents of sin and folly, if they would seriously reflect upon it; if they would contemplate, in the example of the pro- digal before tJiem, the nature and the effects of those vices which brought him to extreme distress, and whicli will ever bring to distress all those who indulge thcni. A certain man liad two sons : and the youngest of tacra said to his father, " Father, give me the portion of goods that falleth to me." And he divided unto thcia his living. And not many days after, the youn- gest son gathered all together, and took his journey into a far country, and there wasted his substance with riotous living. And when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine in that land, and he began to be in want. And he went and joined himself to a citizen of that country, and he sent him into his fields to feed swine. And he would fain have filled his belly with the husks that the swine did eat : and DO man gave unto him. And when he came to him- self, he said, ' How many hired servants of my fa- ther's have bread enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger ?' I will arise and go to my father, and will say to him, ' Father, I have sinned against hea- ven, and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son : make me as one of thy hirer! servants.' •\nd he arose, and came to his father. 2'JO Eloquence of But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw liirn, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck and kissed him. And the son said unto him, ♦Father, f have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son.' But the father said to his servants, Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet. And bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it, and let us eat, and be merry. For this my son was dead, and is alive again •, he was lost, and is found.' And they began to be mer- ry- Now his elder son, was in the field, and as he came and drew nigh to the house, he heard music and dan- cing. And he called one of the servants, and asked what these things meant. And he said unto him, 'Thy brother is come, and thy father hath killed the fatted calf, because he hath received him safe and sound.' And he was angry, and would not go in : therefore came his father out, and intreated him. And he answering, said to his father, ♦ Lo these ma- ny years do"! serve thee, neither transgressed I at any time thy commandments, and yet thou never ga- vest me a kid, that I might make merry with my friends. But as soon as this thy son was come, who hath devoured thy living with harlots, thou hast kil- led for him the fatted calf.' And he said unto him, * Son, thou art ever with me, and all that I have is thine. It was meet tliat we should make merry, and be glad : for this thy brother was dead, and is alive asrain: and was lost and is found.' SECTION V. The AtJiei&t Jlis stupendous attainments^ if he knows there is ?io God. IIow wonderful the process by which a man can grow 'o (lie immense intelligence that can knovj that the Pulpit. 291 there is no God. What ages and what lights are ne- cessary for this siupendons attainment ! This intel- ligence iiiv^olvcs the very attributes of Divinity, while a God is denied. For unless this man is om- nipresent, unless he is at this moment in every place in the universe, he cannot know but there may be in some place manifestations of a Deity by which even he would be overpowered. If he does not know abso- lutely every agent in the universe, tlie one that he does not know may be God. If he is not himself the chief agent in the universe, and does not know what is so, that which is so may be God. If he is not in absolute possession of all the propositions that con- stitute universal truth, the one which he wants may be, that there is a God. If he cannot with certainty assign the cause of all that he perceives to csist, that cause may be a God. If he does not know every thing that has been done in the immeasurable ages that are past, some things may have been done by a God. Thus, unless he knows all things, that is, unless h& precludes another Deity by being one him- self, he cannot know that the Being whose e:Mistence he rejects, does not exist. But he must know that he does not exist, else he deserves equal contempt and compassion for the temerity with which he firmly a- vows his rejection and acts accordingly. And yet a man of ordinary age and intelligence may present himself to you with the avowal of being thus distin- guished from the crowd; and if he would describe the manner in which lie has attained this eminence, you would feel a melancholy interest in contemplating that process of which the result is so portentous. Surely the creature that thus lifts his voice, and de- fies all invisible power M'ithin the possibilities of in* ilnity, challenging whatever unknown being may hear him, and who may, if he will, appropriate that title of Almighty which is pronounced in scorn, to cvincer his existence, by his vengeance; surely this man was not as yesterday a little child, that would tremble and cry at the approach of a diminutive reptile. ^93 Eloquence oj SECTION VI. ruf.ections on the Omnipresence of the Deiti/, and the thoughtlessness of man. It is a cause for wonder and sorrow, to see mil- lions of rational creatures growing into their perma- nent habits, under the conforming efikacy of ever}' thing wliich they ought to resist, and receiving no part of those habits from impressions of the Supreme Object. They are content that a narrow scene of a diminutive world with its atoms and evils, should usurp and deprave and £nish their education for im- mortality, while the Infinite Spirit is here, whose transforming companionship would exalt them into his sons, and leari them into eternity in his likeness. Oh why is it so possible that this greatest inhabitant of every place where men are living, should be the last whose society they seek, or of whose being con- stantly near theai they feel the importance? V/hy is it possible to be surrounded with the intelligent Real- ity which exists wherever we are, with attributes that are infinite, and not feel respecting all other things which may be attempting to press on our minds and affect their character, as if they retained with difficul- ty tlieir shadows of existence, and were continually on the point of vanishing into nothing? Why is this stupendous Intelligence so retired and silent, while present, over all the scenes of the earth, and in all the paths and abodes of men ? Why does he keep his glory invisible behind the shades and visions of the material world ? Why does not this latent glory some- times beam forth with such a manifestation as could never be forgotten, nor ever be remembered without an emotion of religious fear? And why, in contempt of all that he has displayed to excite either fear or love, is it still possible for a rational creature so to live, that it must finally come to an interview with him in a character completed by the full assemblage of those the Pulpit. 293 acquisitions which have separately been disapproved by him through every stage of the accumulation. Why is it possible for feeble creatures to maintain their little dependent beings fortified and invincible in sin, amidst the presence of divine purity ? Why does not the thought of such a being strike through the mind with such intense antipathy to evil as to blast with death every active principle that is beginning to pervert it, and render gradual additions of depravity, growing into the solidity of habit, as impossible as for perishable materials to be raised into structures amidst the fires of the last day ? How is it possible to forget the solicitude which should accompany the conscious- ness that such a being is continually darting upon us the beams of observant thought, (if we may apply such a terra to omniscience,) that we are exposed to the peircing inspection, compared to which the con- centrated attention of all the beings in the universe besides, would be but as the powerless gaze of an in- fant? Why is faith, that faculty of spiritual apprehen- sion, so absent, or so incomparably riiore slow and reluctant to receive a just perception of the grandest of its objects, than the senses are adapted lo receive the impressions of theirs ? While there is a spirit per- vading the universe with an infinite energy of being, why have the few particles of dust which enclose our spirits the power to intercept all sensible coramuni- catiou with it, and to place them as in a vacuity wh€re the sacred Essence had been precluded or extinguish- ed? If there is such a being as we mean by the term God, the ordinary intelligence of a serious mind will be quite enough to see that it must be a melancholy thing to pass through life, and quit it^ just as if there were not Through what defect or infatuatioa of mind then have you been able, during so many years spent in the presence of a God, to continue even to this hour as clear of all raarksand traces of any divine influen- ■ c€s having operated on you, as if the Deity 'were bu apoeiical fiction, or an idol in some temple ef Asia 29'Jf Eloquence nf Obviously, as the immediate cause, through want oi thought concerning hira. And why did you not think of him? Did a most solemn thought of hira never once penetrate your soul, while admitting the })roposition that there is such a Being? If it never did, what is reason, what is mind, what is man ? If it did once, how could its ellects stop there? How could a deep thought, on so singular and momentous a subject, fail to impose on the mind a permanent necessity of frequently recalling it ; as some awful or magnificent spectacle will haunt you with a long recurrence of i(s image, even if the spectacle itself were seen no more ? Why did you Dot think of him ? How could you estimate so mr.inly your mind with all its capacities, as to feel no regret that an endless series of trifles sliould seize, and occupy as their right, all your thoughts, and deny them both the liberty and the am- bition of going on to the greatest Object ? How, while called to the contemplations which absorb the spirits of heaven, could you be so patient of the task of counting the Hies of a summer's day ? Why did you not think of him ? You knew your- self to be in the hands of some Being from whose power you could not be withdrawn ; was it not an equal defect of curiosity and prudence, to indulge a careless confidence that sought no acquaintance with liis nature and his dispositions, nor ever anxiously inquired what conduct should be observed toward him, and what expectations might be entertained from him? You would have been alarmed to have felt yourself in the power of a mysterious stranger of your own feeble species ; but let the stranger be om- nipotent, and you cared no more. Why did you not think of him ? One would sup- pose that the thought of him must, to a serious mind, come second to almost every thought. The thought of virtue would suggest the thought of both a law- giver and a rewarder ; the thought of crime, of an aveog^J^ » ^^® thought of sorrow, of a consoler ; tlis I he Pntpii. 205 thought of an inscrutable mystery, of an intelligence I hat understands it ; the thought of that ever moving activity which prevails in tho'sj'ste:-!! of the universe, of a supreme agent; the thought of the human fa- mily, of a great father ; the thought of all l)eing, of a creator ; the thought of life, of a preserver ; and the thought of death, of a solemn and uncontrollable disposer. By what dexterity therefore of irreligious (•aution, did you avoid precisely every track wliere the idea of him would have met you, or elude that idea if it came ? And what must souud reason pro- nounce of a mind which in the train of millions of thoughts, has wandered to all things under the sun, to all the permanent objects or vanishing appearan- ces in the creation, but never fixed its thought on the Supreme Reality ; never approached, like Moses, •' to see this great sight ?" It would be interesting to record, or to hear, tlie history of a character which has received its form, and reached its maturity, under the strongest opera- tions of religion. We do not know that there is a more beneficent or a more direct mode of the divine agency in any part of the creation than that which *' apprehends" a man, as apostolic language expres- ses it, amidst the unthinking crowd, and leads him into serious reflection, into elevated devotion, into progressive virtue, and finally into a noliler life after death. When he has long been commanded by this influence, he will beliappy to look back to its first op- erations, whether they were mingled in early life al- most insensibly with his feelings, or came on him with mighty force at some particular time, and in connexion with some assignable and memorable cir- cumstance, which was apparently the instrumental cause. He will trace ali the progress of this his bet- ter life, with grateful acknowledgment to the sacred power which has advanced him to a decisiveness (.f religious habit that seems to stamp eternity on his character. In the great majority of things, habit is a greater plague than ever aiQicled Egypt j iu rcli- 29G Eloquence of gious character, it is a grand felicity. The devout man exults in the indications of his being fixed and irretrievable, lie feeh this confirmed habit as the grasp of the liand of God, which will never let him go. From this advanced state he looks with firmness and joy on futurity, and says, I carry the eternal mark wpon me that I belong to God ; 1 am free of the universe ; and 1 am ready to go to any woiM to which he shall please to transmit me, certain that every where, in height or depth, he will acknowledge me for ever. SECTION VI r. The Liberty of Man, and the Foreknovoledge and Providence of God. The foreknowledge and providence of the De- ity, and that lil)erty which doth truly belong to man, as a moral agent, are things perfectly consistent and naturally connected. The proof of our liberty is to every individual of the human race the very same, I am persua led, with the proof of his existence. I feel that I exisi^ and I feel that I am free ; and I may with reason turn a deaf ear upon every argu- ment that can !)e alledged in either case to disprove my feelings. I feel tliat I have power to flee the danger that I dread — to pursue the good that I covet — to forego the most inciting pleasure, although it be actually within my grasp, if I apprehend that the present enjoyment may be the means of future mis- chief — to expose myself to present danger, to sub- mit to present evils, in order to secure a future good .—I feel tliat I have power to do the action I ap- prove—to abstain from another that my conscience would condemn ; — In a word, I feel that I act from my own bo^^jes, and my owu fears j and whenever the Pulpit. 297 I act from other motives, I feel that I am misled by my own passions, my ouri appetites, my own mista- ken views of things. A lleling alwavs succeeds these unreasonable actions, that, had my mind exerted its natural powers, in considering the action I was a])out to do, — the propriety of it in itself and its consec^uen- ces, I might and I should have acted otherways. — Having these feelings, I feel all that liberty which renders the morality of a man's actions properly his own, and makes him justly accountable for his con- duct. The liberty, therefore, of man, and the foreknowl- edge and providence of God, are equally certain, although tlie proof of each rests on different princi- ples. Our feelings prove to every one of us that we are free : reason and revelation teach us that the De- ity knows and governs all things, — that even " the thoughts of man he understandeth long before," — long before the thoughts arise — long before the man himself is born who is to think them. Now, when two distinct propositions are separately proved, eacli by its proper evidence, it is not a reason for denying either, that the human mind, upon the first hasty view, imagines a repugnance, and may perliaps find a difficulty in connecting them, even after the distinct proof of each is clearly perceived and understood. There is a wide difference Ijetween a paradox and a contradiction. Both, indeed, consists of two dis- tinct propos'cions ; and so far only are they alike : for, of the two parts of a contradiction, the one or the other must necessarily be false, — of a paradox, both are often true and yet, when proved to be true, may continue paradoxical. This is tlie necessary consequence of our partial views of things. An in- tellect to which nothing should be paradoxical wouid be infinite. It may naturally be supposed that para- doxes must abound the most in metaphysics and di- vinity, " for who can find out God unto perfection ?" yet they occur in other subjects ; and any one who nhould universally refuse his assent to propositions 29S Bloquence of separately proved, because when connected they may seem paradoxical, would, in many instances, be just- ly laughed to scorn by ths masters of those sciences tvhich make tlie highest pretentions to certainty and demonstration. In all these cases, there is generally in the nature of things a limit to each of the two contrasted pro- positions, beyond which neither can be extended without implying the falsehood of the other, and changing the paradox into a contradiction : and the ■whole difficulty of perceiving the connection and agreement between such propositions arises from this circumstance, that, by some inattention of the mind, these limits are overlooked. Thus, in the case before us, M^e must not imagine such an arbitrary exercise of God's power over the minds and wills of subordinate agents, as should convert rational beings into mere machines, and leave the Deity charged vvith the follies and tiie crimes of men, — nor must we, on the other hand, set up such a liberty of created beings, as, neesssarily precluding the Divine foreknowledge of liumau actions, should take the government of the moa! world out of the hands of God, and leave hiui nothing to do with the noblest part of his creation. SFXTION viir. On the Character and Government of God. He is the unsearchable God, and his government must be like himself. Facts^ concerning both, he has graciously revealed. These we must admit upon the credit of his own testimony •, with these we must sat- isfy our wishes, and limit our inquiry. " To intrude into those things which he hath not seen" because God has not disclosed them, whether tiiey relate ty the Pulpit. 29^ his arrangements for this world or (he next, is the ar- ro^fi^ance of one " vainly puRcd up by his fleshly mind*" There are secrets in our Lord's procedure which he •will not explain to us in this life, and which may not, perhaps, he explained in the life to come. We can- not tell how he makes evil the minister of good : how he combines physical and moral agencies of diflercnt hind and order, in the production of blessings. We cannot so much as conjecture what bearings the sys- tem of redemption, in every part of its process, may liave upon the relations of the universe; nor even what may be all the connections of providence in the occurrences of this moment or of the last. ' Sucli knowledge is too wonflerful for us : it is liigh, we can- liot attain to it.' Our Sovereign's ' way is in the sea, and his path in the deep waters ; and his footsteps arc not known.' When, therefore, we are surrounded with difficulty ; and when we cannot unriddle his conduct in particular dispensations, we must remember that he is God i that we are to ' walk by faith ;' and to trust him as implicitly when we are in the valiey of the shadow of death,' as when his ' candle shines upon our heads.' VVe must remember that it is not for us to be admitted into the cabinet of the King of king.';{; that creatures constituted as we are could not sustain tlie view of his unveiled agency ; that it Mould con- found, and scatter, and annihilate our little intellects. As often, then, as he retires from our observation, blending goodness ?. ith majesty, let us lay our hands upon our mouths and worship. This stateliness of our King can afford us no just ground of uneasiness. On the contrary, it contributes to our tranquillity: For we know, that if his administration is mysterious, it is also iiisc. 'Great is our Lord, and of great power; his un- derstanding is infinite.' That infinite understanding A\ atches over, and arranges and directs ail the affairs of his church and of the world. Wc are perplexed at "every step ; embarrassed by opposition ; lost in confu- sion ; fretted by disappointment ; and ready to con- 300 Eloquence of cladc, in our haste, that all things are against our own good, and our ^Master's honour. But ' this is our in- firmity ;' it is the dictate of impatience and indiscre- tion. We forget the 'years of the right hand of the Jlost High.' We are slow of heart in learning a les- son which shall sootheour spirits at the expense of our pride. We turn away from the consolation to be de- rived from believing that though we know not the con- iiccti )ns and results of holy providence, our Lord Je- sus knows them perfectly. With him there is no ir- regularity, no chance, no conjecture. Disposed, be- fore his eye, in the most luminous and exquisite order the whole series of events occupy the very place and crisis where they are most eflectually to suljscrve the purposes of his love. Not a moment of time is wast- ed, nor a fragment of action misapplied. What he does, we do not, indeed, know at present, but so far as we shall be permitted to know hereafter, we shall see that his most inscrutable procedure was guided by consummate wisdom : that our choice was often as foolish as our petulance was provoking ; that the success of our own wishes would have been our most painful cliastisemcnt ; would have diminished our happiness, and detracted from his praise. Let us therefore, study to subject our ignorance to his knowledge ; instead of prescribing, to obey ; in- stead of questioning, to believe ; to perform our part without that despondency which betrays a fear that our Lord may neglect his; and tacitly accuses him of a less concern than we feel for the glory of his own name. Let us not shrink from this duty as imposing too rigorous a condition upon our obedience, for a third character of iiis administration \s rigJdeonsness. 'The sceptre of his kingdom is a right sceptre.* If ' CiCuds and darkness are roundabout him, right- eouness and judgaient are the habitation of his throne.' In theiiraes of old his redeemed ' wander- ed in the wilderness in a solitary way ; but, .never- theless, he led them forth bv the right wajs that they might go to a city of habitation.' lie loves his church the Pulpit, 301 aiui the members of it too tenderly to lay upon t]ie;a any burdens, or expose them to any trials, which arc not indispeiisable to their J^ood. It is right for them to ' go througli fire and through v.aier,' that he may * brine: them out into a wealthy place,' — right to' en- dure chasiening,' that' they may be partakers of his lioliness' — right to • have the sentence of death in themselves,' that they may ' trust in tlie living God, and that his strength may be perfected in their weak- ness.' It is right that he should 'endure with much Jopg suffering the vessels of wrath fitted to destrt»c- tioa :' that he should p^Tmit ' iniquity to abound, the love of many to wax cold,' and the dangers of his church to accumulate, till the interposition of his arm be necessary and decisive. In the day of final retri- bution not one mouth shall be opened to complain of injustice. It will be seen that 'the Judge of all the earth has done right ; that the works of his hands have been verity and judgment, and done every one of thera, in ' truth and ut)righfness.' Let us, then, think not only respectfully, but reverently of his dis- pensations, rejiress the voice of murmur, and rebuke the spirit of discontent ; wait, iu faith and patience till he become his own interpreter, when ' the heavens shall declare his righteousness, and all the people see his glory.' SECTION IX. T/ie Divinity of Jesus Christ. I CAKNOT find, in the lively oracles, a single distinc- tive mark of deity which is not applied, without re- serve or liinilation, to the only begotten Son. * All things that the Father hath are his.'' Who is that mys- terious Word that was 'in the beginnings with God ?' Who is the ' Alpha and Ojiega, the begin- A a 302 Eloquence of uing and the ending, the first and tlie last, the AI- jTiighiy ? Who is lie that 'J^nows what is in man, be- cause he searches ihi- deep and dark recesses of the ])cart ? Who is iJie OiiiJiipresent, that has promis- ed, 'Wherever two or three are gathered together in my name, there am in the midst of tliera ? the light of ivhose counienance is, at the same moment, (he joy of heaven, and the salvation of earth : Mho is encircled hy the Serajihim on high, and ' walks in the snidst of the golden cajidiesticks : who is in this as- sembly ; in all the assem))lies of his pcoj)le : in every worshipping family : in every closet of prayer : |a every holy heart. ' Whose hanrls have stretched out the heavens and laid the foundations of the earth ?' Who hatli replenished them w ith inliabitants, and gar- nislied them with beauty ; having created all tilings that are in both, visible and invisible, whether they be thrones, or dominions, or principalities or pow- ers ?' By Jl'hom do ' all things consist ?' Who is ' tlie governor among the nations, having on his vesture and on his thigh a name written ' King of kings and Lord of lords ' //^om is it tlie Father's will that 'ail men should honour, even as they honour himself?' Whom has he commanded his angels to worship? -t,c'^o??z to obey ? Before ivliom do the devils tremble? Who is qualified to redeem millions of sinners ' fro in the wrath to come,' and preserve them, by his grace, to his everlasting kingdom ? ?/^oraistth the dead, in trespasses and sins ?' ' having life in himself, to quicken whom he w ill,' at whose voice shall all that are in their graves ' come forth ; and death and heli' surrender their nimierous and forgotten captives ? Who shall weigh in the balance of Judgment, the desiinies of angels and men ? dispose of the thrones of paradise? and bestow eternal life? Shall 1 sub- mit to the decision of reason ? Shall I ask a res- ponse from heaven ? SItall I summon the devils frooi their * chains of darkness ?' The response from hea- ven sounds in my ears ; reason approves, and the devils confess — This, O Christians, is none other than the Great God ©ur S vviour ? the Viilpit, 303 It^dced the dottrine of our Lord's divinity is not, as difuct, more interesting to our faith, than, as a prbic'Jyle^ it is cs'^ential to our hope. If he were not ♦ the true God,' he rould not be ' eternal life.' When pressed down hv c;uilt and lans^uisIiiuL,' for happiness, 1 look around for a deliverer such as ray conscience and jny heart and the word of God assure me I need, insult not my at^ony hy direct ins: me to a creature — to a man, a mere man like myself! A. creature! a man ! My Redeenit r owns my person. My immor- tal spirit is his proptrtij. VV^ben I come to die, I must commft it into his hands. My soul ! My in- finitely precious soul, committed to a mere man! be- come the property of a mere man ! I would not thus entrust my body to the highest angel in heaven. It is only the ' Father of spirits,' that can hcivt proper- ty in spirits, and be their refuge in the hour of tran- sition from the present to the approaching world. In short, the divinity of Jesus, is in the system of grace, the sun to which all its parts are subordinate, and all their statioiis refer — which binds them in sa- cred concord ; and imparts to them their radiance, and life, and vigour. Take from it this cep.tral lu- minary, and the glory is departed — Its holy harmo- nies are broken — The elements rush to chaos — Tiie light of salvation is extinguished for ever ! But it is not the deity of the Sou, simply consider- ed, to which our attention is direcied. We are to contemplate it as subsisting in a personal union with the human nature. Long before this epistle was written (the epistle to the Hebrews) had he ' by himself purged our sins, and sat down at the right liaud of Majesty on high.' It is, therefore, as 'God raanifesterl in the flesh ; a.o nay own brother, while he is ' the express image of the Father's person,' as the Mediator of the new co- venant, that he is seated on the throne. Of this throne, to whicli the pretensions of a creature were mad and blasphemous, the Majesty is, indeed, maintained by his divine power ; but the foundaiion is laid iu his 304 Eloquence of IMediatorial character. I need not prove to this au' dience, that all his p:racious offices and all his redeem- ing work originated in the lov« and the ele<^tion of his Father. Obedient to that will, which fuliy accord- ed with his own, he came down from heaven ; ta- hcrnacled in our day ; was 'a man of sorrows and acquainted with griefs'; submitted to the* contradic- tions of sinners;' the temptations of the old Ser- pent, and the wrath of an evenging God. In the merit of his obedience which threv/ a lustre round the divine law ; and in the atonement of his death by which he offered 'himself a sacrifice without spot unto God,' repairing the injuries of man's rebellion, expiating sin through the blood of his cross ; and conciliating if? pardon w ith inanile purity, and unai- teraijle truth ; summarily, in his perfurming those conditions on wiiich was suspended all God's mercy to man, ar^l all man's enjiyment of God, in these stupendous ' works of righteousness' are we to look for the cause of his present glory. * He humbled liiraself and l)ecame obedient unto death, even the death of the cross ; wherefore God also hath highly exalted hira, and given hira a name which is above every name; that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, of things in heaven and things in earth, and things under the earth ; and that every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glo- ry of God the Father.' ' Exalted' thus, ' to be a Prince and a Saviour,' he fills heaven with his beau- ty, and obtains from its blest inhabitants the purest and most reverential praise. ' Worthy,' cry the min- gled voices of his angels and his redeemed, ' worthy is ihe Lamb (hat was slain to receive power, and rich- es, and wisdom, and strength, anvl honour, and glo- ry, and blessing.* * Worthy' again cry his redeemed \a a song which belongs not to the angels, but in which with holy ecstary, we will join worthy, art thou, for thou wast slain, and hast redeemed us to God by thy blood.' ' the Pulpit 305 SECTION X. Rem.irks on the Sufferings of our Saviour, Thr sufferiiigs of tlie Saviour may be ex",mplifie(l in nufuherless instances, hut in none so easily and so fully, as iu the redemption of the world by the means of a Mediator, "obedient unto death, even the death of tlic cross." The sail never belield such a scene. History records no such a transaction. The scheme would never have entered the mind of any finite in- telligence — "It is the Lord's doing, and it is marvel- lous in our eyes." " The thing j>roceedeth forth fron the Lord of Hosts, who is wonderful iu counsel and excellent in working " " It is the wisdom of God in a mystery ;'' and the more we are eidiglilened from above to examine its sublime contents, the more of their perfection sliall we discover, the more worthy of God will they appear. " For it became him, for whom are all things, and by whom are aJl things, ia hringinjf many sons unto glory, to make the Captain of tlien' salvation perfect through su fieri ii2:s." The sufferings of the Saviour are described in the {;osj>el3 with siniplicitN' and grandeur combined. No- tliing can add to the solemnity and force of the exhi- bition ; and if we are not affected with the relation, it shews that our hearts are harder than the rocks, which could not retain their insensibiliiy when"th« Lord of life and glory" expired. The subject has of- ten come under your review. Somctiines we have called upon you to consider his sufferings as- peculiar and unparalleled ; and you have heard a plaintive Saviour sayin?, " is it nothing to you, all ye that pass by? behold and see if there be any sorrow like unto my sorrow, which is done unto me, wherewith the Lord hath afliictcd me in tjie day of his fierce an- ger." We have sometimes considered his su[lt2rings as foreknown, and led you to imagine what were his feelings while reading the prophecies^ or foretelling Aa3 oOO Etoqxterue • of himself t lie cirrnmstanrcs of his passion. From your eye fulurity is kiiuUy couccdJed. Could some of you be immediately informed of the troubles throiieh which perhaps one year only '.vill require you to wade, you would be ovcrw helmed in the prospect. But he saw the end from llie beqiiiiiin::^, and advanced with Judas, and the high-priest, and tlie nails, and the cross full in view. You have seen that his sull'erings. were not the sufTtrings of an hour or a day ; they were perpetual: from lletlileljem to Calvary " he was a man of sorrov.s, and acquainted with grief." You have seen him sutTering in his condition, in his char- acter, in his oody. In his soul. This morning you have been led to another view of the same interest- ing subject, tiie accomplishment which our Saviour derived from them; "he was mide perfect througli suiTerings.'* fn perusing' history, wliat characters principally engage and improve us ? Those who have strugglelish at Jerusalem." In wliat docs every Christian rej-ice? God forbid tliat I should glory, save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ." What is the theme of every minister? "I determined to know nothing, save Je- sus Christ, and hin^ crucified." What is the language of the glorified above? "Worthy is the Jamb that was slain." Thus the su Strings of the Saviour were the means of displaying the glories of his character, and of procuring for him unbounded and everlasting lioncurs. 308 Eloquence of SECTION xr, Pxive religion and genuine devotion. The groat sentiment which, u))on this sii!)iec(, I >vish to impress upon your mind, and which I seize every opportunity to inculcate, is this, — that in what- ever point of lij^lit you }jlare religion, whether you consider it as an act, or an affection ; morality, from a pure and proper principle, comprises the whole of it. The spirit of religion is tiie \oyc of rectitude, rectitude living and realized in tlie divine nature ; tiie exercise of reIic:ion is tiie practice of that recti- tude. J;istlce and mercy are not the adjuncts of re- ligion, hutrelii>iun itself. In giving iliis account of it, I repeat the definition which one of tlie apostles lias left us. " Pure reli- gion and undeSled I e fore God and the Father"" pure religion" — not ogt'ihcr i;i a chorus of praise to God ; all the iiiiisical instrinuents in the uorM, united in a sacred concert ; all knees of all the nations, bent to^cihcr before tiie throne of hii^h heaven ; this sort of praise, astending from all the earth at oucty in itself considered, would yield no satisfaction to the object of worship, any more than all tiie frankincense of the eartii, ascending in one cloud to heaven, or ail the fnnts of the earth, ))resented upon one spa- cious altar: — but peace prevailing among all nations: equity reigning all around ti^e globe; all mankind concurring to promote the general good, and dwel- ling in fraternal amity together ; tiiis social order, this moral harmony, this concord of faculties, this music of min'ls, were an anthem that would enter the ear of him who *' is a spirit : of him who hear- kens to the silver chime of the spheres, and who set the silent hariaonies of nature. !=»- SECTION XII. Tranniion from Time to Eternity. Whoever left the precincts of mortality without easting a vvisiiful look ofi what he left beliind, and a trembling eye on the scene that is before him? Be- ing formed by our Creator for enjoyments even in this life, we are endowed with a sensibility to the objects around us. We have affections, and we delight to in lilre tiie n : \Yt have hearts, and we want to be- stow them. Bad as the world is, we fiiid in it objects of affection and attachment. Even in this waste and liowling vvildf-rness, there are spots of verdure and ui Ilea ity, »)f power, to charm the mind and make us cr}' ont, ^' It is good for us to be here." When, after the observation aud experience of years, ws have found out the objects ol the soul, and Ihe PulpiL. 311 met with minds rongenial to our own, wLat pangs must it give to the litart, to think ol parting forever? We even coiitrdct an atta( Iiment to inanimate o! jects. The tree uiulcr wliose shade ue ii;ive ofleii sat ; the fielerson shall be juissing that was worthy of thy afieciion or esteem. And 'f among imperfect creatures, and in a troubled world, the kind, the tender aud the generous afifeclions, have such power to charm the heart, that even the tears which they occasion delight us, what j'ly un- speakable and glories will they j)rodure, wlun ihcy exist in perfect minds, aud are improved by the purity of the Leavens! fiECTION XIII. Early Piety. Now is your goMen age. When the morning of life rejoices over your h£ad, every thing around y^u 313 Elojucnccof puts on a milling appearance. All nalure wears a fare of beauty, and -is aninaated with a spirit of .joy : You walk up and down in a new world •, you crop the unblown riowcr,anddrink llie uiitasiedspring. Full of spirit, and high in hope, you set out on the journey of life: Visions of bliss present tliemselves lo view : Dreams of joj^, willi sweet delusion, amuse I lie vacant mind. You listen,and accord to the songof hope, " Ttvmor- row shall be as this day and much more abundant." But ah .' ray friends, the flattering scene will not last. The spell is quiclly broken, the enchantment soon over. How hideous will life appear, when experience takes ofl' llie mask, and discovers the sad reality ! Now thou hast no weariness to clog tliy waking ]iours, and no care to disturb thy repose. But know, child of th." earth, that thou art lorn lo trou'jle, and that care, i hrough every sub.'jtquent j)aih of life, will hunt thee like a ghosl. Healih now sparkles in thine eye, thcbi'ood fiows j)ure in thy veins, and tli}^ spirits are gay as tlie morning: Butalas! the time will come, Mhen diseaycs, a numerous and direful train, will as- JLail thy life ; the time will come when pale and ghast- ly, and strctclied on a bed, " chastened ^v'ith pain, an-d the multitiuie of thy bones wiili strong pain, thou w lit be ready to choose strangling and death, rather than life." You are now Iwppy in your earthly companions. Friendship, which in the world is a feeble sentiment, witli you is aslrona: passion. But shift the scene for a few years, and behold the man of thy right hand l^ecome unto thee as an alien. Bcliold the friend af tiiy youth, who was one with tl)ine own soul, striving lo supplant thee, and laying snares for tliy ruin ! I mention not these things, ray friends, to make you miserable before the time. God fori)id that I should anticipate the evil day, unless I could arm you against it. Now, remember your Creator, coiisecrate to him the early period of your days, and the light of his countenance will shine upon you tlirough life. Aiiiid lite Pulpii. 313 nM tlic c]iana:cs of this fluctuating scene, you liave a frknd that never fails. Then, let the tempest beat, ami the floods descend, you are safe and happy un- der the shelter of the Rock of ages. SECTION XIV. Devotion a Source of Happiness. Whatever promotes and strengthens vlrtnc, whatever calms and regulates the temper, is a source of happiness. Devotion produces these effects in a remarkable degree. It inspires composure of spirit, mildness, and benignity ; weakens the painful, and cherishes the pleasing emotions, and, by these means, carries on the life of a pious man in a smooth and placid tenor. Besides exerting this habitual influence on the mind, devotion opens a field of enjoyments, to which tlie vicious are entire strangers ; enjoyments the more valuable, as they peculiarly belong to retirement when the world leaves us, and to adversity when it becomes our foe. These are t!ie two seasons, for which every wise man would most wish to provide some hidden store of comfort. For let him be pla- ced in the most favourable situation which the hu- man slate admits the world can neither always arause him, nor always shield him from distress. There will be many hours of vacuity, and many of dfjentioii in his life. If he be a stranger to God, and to devo- tion, how dreary will the gloom of solitude often prove? With what oppressive weight will sickness, disappoint^ roent, or old age, fall upon his spirits ! But, for those pensive periods, the pious man has a relief prepared. From the tiresome repetiticni of the comnaun vani- ties of life, cr from the painful corrosion of its cares and sorrow?, devotion transports hiai into anew rc- IJ b tJl-i Eloquence of gion ; and surrouiKls liiin there with siidi objects as are the most fitted to cheer the dejection, to calm the tumults, and to heal the wounds of his heart. If the world lias been einpfy and delusive, it gladdens him with the prospect of a iiigher and better order of things about to rise. If men have been ungrateful and base, it displays before him the faitlifulness of that supreme Being, who, though every other friend fail, will nev- er forsake him — Consult your experience, and you will find that the two greatest sources of inward joy are, the exercise of love directed towards a deserving object, and the exercise of hope terminating on some high and assured happiness. Both these are supplied by devotion ; and therefore we have no reason to be surprised, if, on some occasions, it fills the hearts of good men with a satisfaction not to I e expressed. Tiiese are pleasures wliich belong (o the highest powers, and best affections of the soul,^ To tliee, O Devotion ! we owe the highest improvement of our nature, and much of the enjoyment of our life. Thou art the support of our virtue, and the rest of our souls in this turbulent world- Thuu composest the thoughts : Thou calmest the passions : Thou ex- altest the heart. Thy communications, and thine on- ly, are imparted to the low, no less than to the high ; to the poor, as well as to the rich. In thy presence, worldly distinctions cease ; and under thy inftuence, worldly sorrows are forgotten. Thou art thmpared with the ini|)erfect sense, in which man is tlie maker of what are called the works of man. If some of the greater works of man excite our amaze- ment, how much more is his idea adapted to awaken it, who made the materials out which those works were framed ; wlio formed the fingers by means of vliich they wci-e fashioned; and who inspired th? un- derstandings ])y the light of which they were designed. If we admire the inventors of inanimate machines that move, with what admiration must we think of him who made " the moving creature that hath life." AH the works of all the human race combined, all the fabrics they have constructed, all the systems of matter or motion they have composed, how compli- cated soever their parts, or extensive their dimen sioDS, or beautiful tlieir appearance, or powerful their eflfect, or excellent their uses, are proofs of a faint aud feeble power, compared v.ith the production oi a fly. 3iG Eloquence of All tlic engines which human ingenuity has fraiucit, whatever the variety, or the vigour, or the value, of iheir mo veiueuts, display a hand that shrinks into no- thing before that energy, that rolls the blood through the veins of a reptile •, that communicates to a worm Us faculty of creeping upon the earth ; that indues the meanest creature, which moves and feels with its wondrous power of willing and perceiving. — Where is the artist, beneath the sun, who can breath into in- sensate clay the breath of life ? who can kindle a soul of the dullest degree ? who can animate, for one mo- ment, one particle of dust ? . The consideration that God is our maker makes it tvident that he must be our preserver. This inference <• annot be made with respect to any human artist ; be- cause no human artist is the framer of any thing, in ?hat radical and strict sense, in which the Almighty is ihe former of all things. That which man has made juay continue to be what he made it, when its maker is distant, when its maker is dead. The work of man may subsist in the absence, may survive the dissolu- tion of its author : it may exist for successive ages, jiwd for successive ages remain" a work to wonder at," when the hand, that gave it its beauty and excellence, iias lost its cunning forever. For want of deepl}'^ reflecting upon the difference betueen the forming hand of the creature, and that of the Creator of all, we are some of us apt, perhaps, carelessly and inconsiderately, to conceiveof our con- tinuance in life as depending upon certain powers and })ioperties iu our animal composition which were originally communicated to it by its author, but which are now entirely its own ; inherent in itself, without hanging on the divine support. \^^e do not, with sufiicient closeness to the idea, consider, that he who put together, and put into motion, the great machi- nery of nature, is its author in a sense, whi-:h requires the incessant action of his hand, in order to hold it together, and to support its operations. the PulpiL 31? It is not so proper to say, that the Creator has coramutiicated a principle of life to the animated world, as that he is himself the great principle of uni- versal vitality. It is not so accurate to say, that he has laid down laws for nature to observe, as that lie himself perpetually operates with that benignant re-- gularity which is neressary to the welfare of his liv- ing works. lie is the great spring and Impulse that actuates all things. He is himself the attracting power that holds the particles of all bodies together, and combines all bodies info the beautiful systems we see them compose. He is himself the living soul that inhabits, and animates every living thing ; that propels every drop through every vein ; that produ- ces every pulsation of every artery, every motion of every limb, every action of every organ, throughout the whole animal kingdom. Every operating prin- ciple, through the ample compass of things, is God, that moment willing, God, that moment acting. He is the life of the wnrld : at once the maker, the in- spector, and the mover, of all things. Water we call tlie element of one animal : air, we say, is the element of another.- the vital presence of God him- self is the univtrsal eltuient, in which all living crea- tures " live an 1 move, and have their being." This is the voice of reason and philosophy, as well as of scripture. He that made all things, must be every moment necessary, to the support of every thing. As, according to that particular constitution of nature, under which we live, when you Jift With yonr hand a body high in the air, if you wisli to pro- long its elevation, you must not only lift it thither, but hold it there ; as, if you. take away your hand from under it, that instant it falls : so, according to the eternal nature of things, the being, that called us into existence, must every moment hold our soul in the life, to which he lias raised us. If he withdraw- his hand, we drop. " In ]!is hand is the soul of eve- ry living thing, and the breath of all mankiivl." Whatev.r we subsist upoji, subsists itself, upon him. Ail that sjstains us, it is God that sustains. Bb^ Sis £logiience of Our deppndacce upon iiim is the most comprehen- sive, complicated, and profound nature. Whatever name we give to its prop, God is the staff of every life. That whatever it he, on which it leans, leans upon him. WJien your seasons are fruitful, it is not only he who covers your vallies with corn, whocau- !=es to rise the suns that ripen it, who prevents your hread from failing; — but who gives to that bread its nutritive power. When your seasons are healthful, it is not only he who preserves your air from pollu- tion, but who empowers the purest air to supply you M'ith life. When your slumbers are sound, it is not only he who protects your pillow from pain, but who imparls to sleep its restorative property. The civil polity, that defends your person from violence, is the result of Avisdom which he has illuminated, ami of passions which he has implanted. The medical art, that raises you from the bed of sickness, pro- ceeds from understandings, which his inspiration hath given, and is supplied with materials, which hir? hand liath furnished. The arm, that saves you from Tiolent death, is an instrument made, and moved by liim. So completely is our breath in the hand of God. lie is the soul within us ; he is the shield without us ; the word by which we live ; the word by whicli ■we die. So the Scripture tells us it is ; so reason tells ns it must be. Man, the partial maker of a single thing, possesses but a partial power over it ; God the perfect maker of all things, must be every moment necessary to the support of every thing. The habitual recollection of this close and intimate eeonexion between the giver and the receiver of life, Igetween the living God, and the living creature is ^vhat I would earnestly recommend to all befoi'e mc, as being adapted, in the highest degree, at once to entertain the understanding of contemplative, and gratify the heart of afiectionate piety. The perfect- ly uninterrupted and the infinitely extended activity of diviae power, in the preservation of universal nJ> the Putpil. Sid turCj preseiUa to reason a confemplalion, of all others the roost sublime; wliile religious sensibility is soo- thed by the idea of beina; completely in the hand of a power, to whom it feels the most animated love, and iii whom it reposes the most tranquil trust. SECTION XVf. The Triwnph of Life and the Triiwiph of Death. SiJARP is the sting of death, great the victory of the grave, shrill and terrible their iriuiiipli, when simply considtred in themselves, and without regard to Jesus, the restorer of life, the vauqui.sher of the grave. Terrible, in t?ie first place, are the harbingers of death, formidable his menaces, tremendous the pre- paratives he makes for the destruction of life and the subversion of happiness. What a salde host of dis- asters, of diseases, of pestilences, mardi before liim! What infirmities, what pains, what struggles announce his arrival J What tears, what sobs^ v»hat wringing of hands, what shrieks of agony are seen and heard in his train 1 And how nuraermis, how deeply- wounding, the darts supplied him for destruc- tion ! Is there any motion, any occupation, auy ailiic- lion, an}' enjoyment, any gratification which may not prove mortal to man? How every thing sliudders at his approach J How quickly as he advances fades every flower on the path of life ! How every sound of joy and gladness is hushed at his tremendous call. What profound and awful silence, what (kjcctiou, Avhat doleful apprehensions reign where he appears ! How ghastly is the countenance of the man wiio lies pale and wan, faint and spiritless, on the bed of sick- ness, longing in vain for heli>, for relief and recove- rv, siu!y the hoary head which could no longer sustain its beams. Tlicrc are mingled the ashes of the blooming youth witli those of riper man, the ashes of the great and the powerful with the ash- es of iheir meanest slaves. Here falls the strong man, who seeiuefl to brave every toil, every burden, every misfortune ; there c^ecays the beauty, who flourished like the vernal flower, and promised her- self and others so rich a harvest of delight. All, all that is of the earth must revert to the earth from which it was taken. Wiioever thou art, O man, that walktst on the ground, thou walkest on the territory of death ; wherever thou scttcst thy foot, thou tread- est on t!ie graves of the dead, thou raisest the dust that was formerly auimatedj the fleshly garment of thy I rot her. Terrific is the triumph of death, as liis arrival is the Pulidt. 321 itenerally uncxpeotrd and Iiis power irresistible. Now he seizes one of us \\\ the inloxication of pleas- ure, then ill the careless repose of the nii^ht, now uinidst preparatives for the enjoyment of life, then iu the various distraction':, of business aufl allairs. Now lie suddenly snatches one from the circle of his gay companions, tlieu the poor man from his bosom friend, DOW au unexpected mischance at once strikes iiim down, then an apparently trilling disorder in a few tlays or hours Lecomcs incurable. Rarely do we hear Ins footsteps from afar, seldom are we aware of his approach, ere his hand is alrea'ly lifted for the fatal l)low. And of how little avail are in general the ear- lier warnings of his approach ! How vain all the ef- forts of art, how fruitless the struggles of nature ! Here neither youth nor vigour, nor grandeur and au- thority, nor virtue and merit can protect. Death ap- pears, and the most subtile energies of man recoil dis- mayed, and his most shining prerogatives disappear, and every attempt at resistance, is a proof of the ut- most imbecilit}'. And the proper business of death, how tremend-' ous! Who is not seized with profound horror at the sight of it! Gradual decay of the vital powers, total cessation of all spontaneous and mechanical motion of the body, universal darkness, profound tiight, frig- idity, numbness, rigour, separation from the whole vis- ible world, the grave, corruption, dissolution : this is the work of death ; this the victory which he obtains over all that is mortal ! And now consider besides the circumstances of this awful scene, the agony that sei- zes on the dying person, the wishes for longer life which are only abandoned so late, the ties which knit him to the bj-slanders soon to be dissolved, the mul- tiplication of his suflerings by theirs, the reproaches which his conscience often makes him, and the appre- Lensions that so frecjuently torment him with pros- pects of an uncertain futurity : how much more dread- ful must not all this make the triumph of death ! Yes, terrific is this triumph ; since even the contc- 322 Eloquoice of qiienres that filtcnd the ravages which death commits, an deplorable, are abundant sources of tears and la- niKiiation. lion- painful the separation, bow deep, how iiioiirable the wounds of the widow and tiiC or- j)han ; liow irreparable is freqiently their loss ! Here a worthy father taken from his still weak uneducated sons, a careful aHectionare mother from her daughter, still in want of her further support and example ; there one hearty, generous friend carried off from an- other. Here a thousand wise, public spirited plans and projects are rendered abortive j there the quick- est and juost lively parts are checked in their activity and hopeful capacities prevented from unfolding. Here llie industrious man is deprived of the fruit of his labour ; there the bu'ls of noble actions blighted in their first cftbrts. Here pleasure, transports, hopes, Iiappiness of a thousand kinds are destroyed, there full and various sources of want, of trouble and mise- ry are opened. Here the forlorn widow and helpless ©rphan sit bathed in tears ; there distress and indi- gence surround others who are bewailing the loss of their benefactors, their patrons, their guides. Thus sad and gloomy, my dear friends, is the path of death ? Thus terrific his appearance and the doleful conse- quence of his destructive sway ! Thus tremendous bis triumph over all that lives and breathes ! Yes, in this ghastly form must death appear to every one who considers it solely in itself, solely in its proximate ef- fef!ts, and without the light of superior information, without the prospect of a better futuiity. Is then however, this triumph of deatli entirely what it appears to be ? Is it likewise to the cliristain, what it must be to the unbeliever and to the doubter? Uests it on a solid basis ? Will it last for ever ? No, chxistiacs, to-day ye are celebrating with me the res- urrection of our Master and Lord. To day we are celebrating the triumph of life, of life regained and fixed for ever by the risen Jesus. Oh rejoice in this \''ith me, and ponder with me. how much grandeur, the Fuipa. 323 more glorious, more substantial in his triumph than tiie specious, evanesccMt triumph of fleath. Is the dominion of death iinivtrsal, does it extend over all that is transitory and mortal ; so is the do- minion of life no less, and yet far more extensive, as it extends over all that was, and is, and is to come. No- thing parishes, nothing dies totally and forever. No- thing perishes that shall not be rtstored, nothing dies that shall not live again. Even in tlie vegitable king- dom, death and corruption are the germ and prepa- ratives for new entrances and forrts of life The seed- corn cannot spring up, not blossom, not bear fruit, ex- cept it die. And if the winttr with its frost seem to starve and to kill, yet the genial spring revives all again with renovated pomp and heanty. T.et then the earth be covered with graves, and the dead be heaped on the dead ; all this is no more than sowing; f( r the future general harvest, and tliis harvest will he the richer and more glorious, the richer the sovring was. In the long, wide field of God, the father of man- kind, nothing is sown that shall not again shoot up, ,ind bloom in far more beauty and perfection, than it did in his former state. Nay, even without regard to this rcvivihcaiion of all that once was dead, the do- minion of death, apparently so universal, is not so in fact. No, only dust, only substances tliat arc formed of dust, only the visible, gross, terrestrial shell of liv- ing and spiritual beings are subject to his destructive power. The energy by which they are animated, is indestructible, the spirit that inhabits them has no d^ath to fear, no dissi>lution and corruption ; it thinks and lives and acts even then, and thinks and lives and acts still more freely and nobly, when its shell is de- molished, when its shell in the grave lies a prey to corruption. Only the dust returns to the earth from whence it is taken; but the spirit ascends to God, whose breath, whose iiaage it is, with whom it has al- ready been in affinity and comnmnion. And to whom it V6 destined and able ever nearer to approach, ivitli whom to have ever greater communion. O death, 324i Eloquence of where is then thy sling ? O grave, where is thy victo- ry ? How limited is thy power! How fallacious is thy triumph ! Thou hast (Icmolishcd the tabernacle of clay,but the inhabitant of the tabernacle which thou liast destroyed, has risen upon its ruins, is not des- troyed with it : that still lives which tiiou didst intend to aiiiiihilafe. The immortal, which thou thoughlest to shut up in the dark and silent tomb and to bind with the bonds of corruption at the same time with the mortal, has soared aloft to its creator God, and lives and rejoices in the splendor of his light. SECTION XVII. Domestic Happiness. NoTiiixG can more usefully engage our attention than Human Nature and Human Life. The proper study of mankind is Man. His origin and his end 4 the structure of his body, and the powers of his mind ; his situation and Jiis connexions ; are all capable of yielding us boundless ar^d edifying instruction. In observing mankind, the private and familiar views of their character are by far the most curious, interesting, an c{ profitable. The greater part of our history is composed of minute and common incidents ; and little an'! ordinary things serve more to discover a man, and cojiduce more to render him useful than splendid and rare otcurrences. AI)road a man ap- pears cautious ; at home he is unreserved. Abroad Jie is artificial ; at home he is real. Abroad he is useful ; at home he is necessary ; and of this we may be fully assured, that a man is in truth what he (s in his own family, whether vicious or virtuous, ty- rannical or mild, miserable or happy. Oue of the most agreeable scenes v.e can ever sur- vey upon earth, is a peaceful and happy family ■■■ the Palpit. 3,25 where friendship comes in to draw more closely the bonds of nature ; where the individuals resemble the human body, and if one raemt)er sulfer, all the mem- bers sulTer with it, and if one member be honoured, all the members rejoice ; where every care is divi- ded, every sorrow diminished, every joy redoubled) by discovery, by sympathy, by communion ; where mutual confidence prevails, and advice, consolation, and succour are reciprocally given and received. To such a sight God himself calls our attention : " Be- hold how good and pleasant a thing it is for brethren to dwell together in unity !" Some things are good but not pleasant, and some things are pleasant but not good. Here both are combined, and the effect is fragrant as the sacrad perfume, and re\iving as the influences of Heaven. " Who will shew me any good ?" is the cry. The world passing along Iiears it, and says, Follow me, emulate this splendour^ mix with this throng, pur- sue these diversions. We comply. We run, and we run in vain. The prize was nigh us when we be- gan ; but our folly drew us away from it. Let us return home, and we shall find it. Let us remem- ber that happiness prefers calmness to noise, and the shades to publicity ; that it depends more upon things ■cheap and common, than upon things expensive and singular ; that it is not an exotic which we are to im- port from the ends of the earih, hut a plant which grows in our own field and in our own garden. It does not depend upon rakk and affluence. It is confined to no particular condition ; the servant may enjoy it as well as the master ; the mechanic as well as the nobleman. It exhilarates the cottage as well as the palace. What am I saying ; VV^hat says -common opinion ? Dost it not iuvarial)ly associate more enjoyment with the lowly roof, than with the towering mansion ? Ask those who have risen from iuferior life, whether their satisfaction has increased with their cii'cumsiances ; whether they have never advanced to the brow of the eminence they have as- Cc 326 Eloquence of ccndctl, ami looking down sighed, " Ah J happy vale, from how ranch was I sheltered while I was in ibce !" There can be iu'l^ed but one opinion concern- ing the wretchedness of those who have not the ne- cessaries of life. But " Nature is content with little, and Grace with less." " Better is a dinner of herhs where love is, than a stalled ox and hatred therewith.'* " Better is a dry morsel and quietness therewith, than a house full of sacrifices and strife." "Let not ambition mock thy useful toil, " Thy HOMELY joys, and destiny obscure ; ♦' Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile, " The short and simple annals of the poor." In vain will he be tempted to go abroad for com- pany or for pleasure, whose home supplies him with both. " And what," says he, " are the amusements and dissipations of the world ? 1 Jiave better enjoy- ments already ; enjoyments springing fresh from our rural walks, from our social evenings, from our reading and conversation, from our cheerful lively mutual devotion. Here are pleasures per- petually renewing, and which never cloy. Here are eutertainnients placed easily within our reach, and which require no laborious preparatiou, no costly arrangement. Here J acknowledge only the domin- ion of nature ; and follow only the bias of inclina- tion. Here I have no weaknesses to hide, no mis- takes to dread. Here ray gralilicatior.s are attend- ed with no disgrace, no remorse. They leave no stain, no sting liehind. I fear no reproach from my understanding, no reckoning from my conscience ; my prayers are not hiu{jered. My heart is made better. I am softened, prepared for duty, allured to the Throne of Grace. And can I be induced to exchange all this, O ye votaries of the world, for your anxieties, con Tusiou, agitations, and expense? Shall I part with my ease and independence, for the trammels of your silly forms, tlie encumbrance of your fashif)ns, the hyp'icrisics of your crowds ? Shali I resign ray freeJom for the privilege of your slave- the Pulpit. ^21 ry, which so often compels you to disguise your sen- limenls, lo subdue your genuine feelings, lo applaud folly, to yawn under a lethargy of pleasure, and to sigh for the hour of retirement aud release ? Shall I sacrifice my innocent endearments, to pursue the fa- tal routine of your dissipation, tlie end of which is heaviness, and from which you return deprived of seasonaI»Ie rest, robSed of peace of mind, galled by redei tion, disinclined to prayer, feeling the presence of God irksome, and the approach of death intolera^ ble ?" " Domestic Happiness, thou only bliss " Of Paradise tliit has ascap'd the fall ! " Thoti art not kiiowu where pleasure is ador'd, " Thrit rrelii!£ goddess with a zoneless waist, "Fovs-'king thee, what shipwreck, have we made " Of honour, diguily, aad fair renown." SECTION XVIII. On Patience. Patience is to be displayed in bearing provoca- tion. " It must needs be that offences will come." Our opinions, reputations, connections, offices, bu- sinesses, render us widely vulnerable. The charac- ters of men are various ; their pursuits and their in- terests perpetually clash. Some try us by their ig- norance, some by their folly, some by their jierverse- ness, some by their malice. There are to be found persons made up of every thing disagreeable and mischievous ; born only to vex, a burden to them- selves, and a torment to all around them. Here is an opportunity for the triumph of patience, here is a theatre on which a man may exhibit his character, and appear a fretful, waspish reptile, or a placid, pardoning God. We are very susceptive of irrita- S2S Moquoice ftf tion ; anger is eloquent ; revenge is sweet. But to stand calm and collected ; to suspend the blow, which passion -was urgent to strike ; to drive the reasons of clemency as far as they will go ; to bring forward fairly in view the circumstances of mitiga- tion ; to distinguish between surprise and delibera- tion, infirmity and crime ; or if an inflict ion be deem- ed necessary, to leave God to be both the judge and the executioner — This a christian should labour after. His peace requires it. People love to sting the passionate. They wlio are easily provoked, commit their repose to the keeping of their enemies ; they Jie down at their feet, and invite them to strike. The man of temper places hiaiself beyond vexatious interruption and insult. *'He that hath no rule over his own spirit, is like a city that is broken down and without walls," into which enter over the ruins, toads, serpents, vagrants, thieves, enemies ; while the man, who in patience possesses his soul, has the command of himself, places a defence all around liim, and forbids the entrance of such unwelcome, company to o fiend or discompose. His wisdom requires it. " He that is slow to an- gler is of great understanding: but he that is hasty of spirit exalteth folly." " Anger resteth in the bo- som of fools." Wisdom gives us large, various, comprehensive, sailing round views of things ; the very exercise operates as a diversion, affords the mind time to cool, and furnishes numberless circum- stances tending to soften severity. Such is the meek- aess of wisdom. Thus candour is the oiTspriug of knowledge. His dignity requires it. " It is the glory of a man to pass by a transgression." " Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good." The man pro yoked to revenge, is conquered, and loses the glory of the struggle ; while he who forbears, comes oft' a victor, crowned with no common laurels ; for, " he tfeat 13 slyw to anger is better than the mighty ; and the Pulpit. 320" hetliat rukth his spirit, than he that taketha city.'* A flood assails a rock, and rolls ofl", unable to make an irapressiou ; while straws and boughs are borne ofT in triumph, carried down the stream, " driven with the -.vind, and tossed." It is also required by examples the most worthy oi our imitation. What provocations had Joseph re- ceived from his brethren .' but he scarcely mentions the crime, so eaij:er is he to announce the pardon: *' and he said, I am Joseph your brother, whom j'e sold into Er:;ypt : now therefore be notj^^rievcd, nor angry with yourselves that ye sold ine hither ; for God did send me before you to preserve life." Hear David : they rewarded me evil for 2;ood, to the spoil- ing of my souK But as for me, when they were sick uiy clothing was sackcloth : f humbled my soul with fasting, and my prayer returned into my own bosom. I behaved myself as though he had been my friend or brother; I bowed down heavily, as one that mourneth for his mother!" View Stephen, dying under a shower of stones : he more than pardons ; lie prays ; he is more concerned for his enemies, than for himself-, in praying for himself, he stood; in praying for Lis enemies, he kneeled ; he kneeled and said, "Lord lay not this sin to their charge-" A greater than Joseph, a greater than David, a great- er than Stepheii, is here. He endured every kind of insult ; but " wjien he was reviled, he reviled not again: when he suffered, he threatened not; but committed himself to Him that jadgeth righteously." Go to the foot of the cross, and behold him sufler- ing for us, " leaving us an example that avc should follow his steps." Every thing conspired to render the provocation heinous ; the nature of the offencci the meauness and obligations of the oiieuders, Iho righteousness of his cause, the grandeur of his per- son ; ail these seemed to call for vengeance. The creatures were eager to punish. Peter drew hh i>word. The sun resolved toshineon sucli criminals iiQ ions-er. The rocks asked leave to crush ihec). 33G £lo(juenc€ of The earth trembles under the sinful load. The very- dead cannot remain in their graves. He siifftrs them all to testify their sympathy, but forbids their revenge; and lest the Judge of all should pour forth his fury, he instantly cries, " Father, forgive them, for they l^ill you violate her sanctuary ? Will you profane her temple of justice? Will you commit sacrilege while von kneel at iier al- tar ? SECTION II. Disqui^Jtion on Fat riot ism. It is the opinion of many, that self-love is tTieerantl impelling spring in the huma.-i machine. This senti- I) d 338 Select Speeches, nic'it is cither utterly false, or the principle, as dia- ulnyed in some actions, hecornes so f xceedingly refin- ed, as (o merit a much more eairagina; name. For, if the man. Mho weeps in secret Uv the miseries of others, and privately tenders relief; who sacritices his ease, his property, Jiis Jicalth, his reputation, andevea his life, to save his country, be actuated hy self-love ; it is a principle inferior only to that, which prompted tiie Saviour of the wdrld to die for man ; and is but unot.'jer name for perfect disinterestednes''. Patriotism, wlietlier we reflect upon tlie benevolence which gives it birth, the ina;^nitude of its olject, the happy ellVcts which it produces, or the height to which it exalts the human character, by the glorious actions of ^vhic!l it is the cause, must be considered as the no- blest of all the social virtues. The patriot is influen- ced by love for his fellow men, and an ardent desire to preserve sacred and inviolate their natural rigiits. His philanthropic views, not confined to the small cir- cle of his private friesids are so extensive, as to em- brace the liberty and happiness of a whole nation. — That he may be instrumental under heaven to main- tain and secure these invalual)le l)lessings to his coun- try, he devotes his wealth, his fame, his life, his all ; glorious sacrifice ! what more noble ! To the honour of hutnanity, the histories of almost every age and nation are replete with examples of this elevated character. Every period of tiie world has afforded its heroes and patriots: men who could soar above the narrow views and crovelling principles, which actuate so great a part of the human species, and drown every selfish consideratiiii in the love of their country. But we need not advert to t!ie annaJs of other ages and nations, as the history of our own country points with so much pleasure .veuei'afion,and gratitude, to llie illustrious Washington. Before hi'.n the heroes of antiquity, shorn of their beams, like stars before the rising sun, hide their heads with shame. Uniting in his own charac ter, the courage and enterprising spirit of lTanuibal>the prudent wis- Select Speeches, 339 do«i of Fabius, the disintcresUdiiess of Cincinna^us, and the virtues and military talents of the Scipios,he could not fail to succetd in the glorious undertaking of giving lihert}' and happiness to a people who dared to be free. Whilst he lived, he proved a rich bless- ing to his country, a bright example to the dawning patriotism of the old world, the terror of despotism, and the delight and admiration of all mankind. SECTION III. Burke^s Enhgy on /lis Son. Had it pleased God to continue to mc the hopes of succession, I should have been, according to my me- diocrity, and the mediocrity of the age I live in, a sort of founder of a family ; I should have lefi a son, ^vho, in all the points in which personal merit can be viewed in science, in erudition, in genius, in taste, in honour, in generosity, in humanity, in every libe- ral sentiment, and every liberal arcomplishraent, would not have sliewn himself infcriour to the duke of Bedford, or to any of those wliom he traces Jn his line. His grace very soon uould l.ave wanted all plausibility in his attack upon that provision which belonged more to mine than to me. HE would soon liave supplied every deficiency, and symmetrised every disj)roport ion. It would not have been for that: successor to resort to any stagnant wasting reservoir of merit in me, or in any ancestry. He had in him- self a salient, living spring, of generous and manly action. Every day he lived he would have repurclias- cd the bounty of the crown, and ten times more, if ten times more he had received. He was made a public creature ; and had no enjoyment whatever, but in the performance of some duly. At this exi- gent moment, the loss of a finished man is not easily supplied. 340 Select Speeches, But a Disposer whose power we are little able to resist, and whose wisdom it hehoves us not at all to dispute ; has ordained it in another manner, and (whatever my querulous weakness might suggest) a far better. Tlie sform lias gone over me; and I lie like one of those okloalcs which the late hurricane lias scattered about me. I am stripped of all my honours ; I am torn up by the roots, and lie prostrate on the earth ! Tiiere, and prostrate tJiere, I raostunfeign- cdly recognise the divine justice, and in some degree su])mit to it. Bul whilst I humble myself before God, I do not know that it is forbidden to repel the attacks of unjust and inconsiderate men. The pa- tience of Job is proverbial. After some of the con- vulsive struggles of our irritable nature, he submitted himself, and repented in dust and ashes. But even so, I do not find him blamed for reprehending, and %viih a considerable degree of verbal asperity, those ill-natured neighbours of his, who visited liis dung- }iiil to read moral, political, and economical lectures on his misery. I am alone. I have none to meet m)' enemies in the gate. Indeed, my lord, I greatly de- ceive my self, if in this hard season I would give a l)eck of refuse wheat for all that is called fame and iionour in the world. This is the appetite but of a few. It is a luxury ; it is a privilege •, it is an in- dulgence for those who are at their ease. But we arc all of us made to shun disgrace, as we are made to shrink from pain, and poverty, and disease. It is an instinct ; and under the direction of reason, in- stinct is always in the right. I live in an inverted order. They who ought to have succeeded me are gone before me. They who should have l;een to me as posterity are in the place of ancestors. I owe to the dearest relation (which ever must subsist in mem- ory) that act of piety, which he would have per- formed to me ; I owe it to him to shew that he was not descended as the duke of Bcfiford would Jiave it, from an unworthy parent. ■Stleit Speeches. 341 The Importance and Blessings of Unkn. It has often given me pleasure to ol)serve, that in- dependent America was iu)t composed of detached and distant territories, bnt that one connected, fer- tile, wide-spreadinor country, was the portion of our Mcstern sons of Jihcrty. Providence has in a partic- ular manner blessed it with a variety of soils and pro- ductions, and watered it with innumerable streams, for the delight and accommodation of its iuha!)ilants. A succession of navigal)le waters forms a kind of chain round its borders, as if to bind it together ; ■while the most noble rivers in the world, running at convenient distances, present them with highways for the easy communication of friendly aids, aud the mu- tual transportation and exchange of their various commodities. With equal pleasure I have as often taken notice, that Providence has been pleased to give this one con- nected country to one united people ; a people de- scended from tlie same ancestors, speaking the same language, professing the same religion, attached to the same principles of govtrnment, very similar in their manners and customs ; and who, by their joint counsels, arms, and cHorts, fighting side by side, throu-ihoui a long and bloody war, have nobly estab- lished their general liberty an^ independence. - Tills country and this people seem to have heea raade for each otiier; and it appears as if it was tlie design of Providence, that an iuheritanee so proper and convenient fur a band of t)rethren, united to each other by the strongest ties, should never be split into a number of unsocial, jealous, and alien sovereign- ties. Similar sentiments have hitherto prevailed among all orders and flenominations of men among us To all general purposes, we have uniformly been one peo- ple liacJb individual citizen every where enjoying the same national rights, privileges, and protection. As a nation, we have mad* peace and war . as a na< Dd2 312 Select Spcsches. tion, we have vanquished our common enemies : as a. nation, we have formed alliances, and made trea- ties, and tnlered into various compacts and conven- tions wit!i ft)reign stales. Queen Ann, in her letter of the 1st July, I70G, to Ihe Scotch Parliament, makes some observations on the importaiue of the Union then forming between England and Scotland, which merit our attention. 1 shall present the public with oi>e extract from it. "An entire and perfect union will be the solid foundation of lasting peace : it will secure your reli- gion, liberty, and property ; remove the animosities amongst yourselves, and the jealousies and dilVer- cnces betwixt our two kingdoms. It must increase your strength, riches, and trade ; and by this union the whole island, being joined in alfertion, and free from all appreliensions of different interests, will be enabled to resist all its cjwviies. We most earnestly recommend to you calmness and unanimity in this great and Aveighty aflair, that the union may be brought to a happy conclusion, being the only effec- tnnl way to secure our present and future haj)piness ; and disappoint the designs of our and your enemies, who will, doubtless, on this occasion, nsc their nt- viost endeavours to prevent or deliVj this nnion.^^ A strong sense of the value and blessings of Union induced the people, at a very early period, to institute a federal government to preserve and perpetuate it. They formed it almost as soon as they had a \)o- litical existence ; nay, at a time, when their haiiita- tions were in flames, when many of them were bleed- ing in the field. It is worthy of remark, tliat not only the first, but every succeeding Cosigress, as well as the Convention, invariably joined with the people in thinking that the prosperity of America depended on its Union. To preserve and perpetuate it, was the great object of the people in forming the Convention ; and it is also the great object of the plan which tJie Convention has ad- vised them to adopt. With what propriety, tlicre- Select Speeches. 343 fore, or for wliat good purposes, arc atJempts at llw's particular period urule, /)y some men, to depreciate tlie iinponaii!'e of the Ui»ion ? or why is it suggested that three or four confederacies would be better than one? 1 ani persuaded iu my own mind, that the peo- ple have always thouj:;lit ri:4;ht on tliis subject, and that their universal and uniform attachment to the cause of the Union, rests on great and weighty reasons. They who promote the idea of substituting a num- ])er of distinct confederacies in the room of tiie plan of the Convention, stem clearly to foresee that the rejection of it uould put the cotiiiniiancc of the Uiion in the utmost jeopiifdy : that certainly would be tlift case ; and I sincerely wish that it may be as clearly foreseen by every good citizen, that wiienever the di solution of the Union arrives, America will liavc reason to exclaim, in the words of the Toet, " FaKEWELL ! A LO:vG F.VREW£LL, TO ALL MY 0U£AT- xnss ?" SECTION IV. On the DaTigcr of IJ'ar bctvcecn the States. If these states should either be wholly disunited, or only united in partial confederacies, a man must be far gone in Utopian speculations who can serious- ly doubt that the subdivisions into which they mie:ht be thrown, would have fiequent and violent contests uith each other. To presume a want of (uotives for such contests, as an argument against their exists sue, would be to forget that men are ambitious, '.i- die- live, and rapacious. To look for a continuation of Jiarmony between a number of independent uncon- nected sovereignties, situated in the same neighbour- hood, would be to disregard the uniform cofsrse of Lumau events, and to set at defiance the accumulated experience of ages. Sii Select Speeches. Tlie causes of hostility amoniif nations are intnime- rable. There are some wiiicli have a gciural and al- most constant operation u[)on tiie collective bodies of society. Of tliis description are the love of power, or the desire of pre eininen 'e and dominion — the jealousy of power, or the desire of equality and safety. There are otiiers which have a more circum- scribed, though an eqnally operative influence, with- in their spheres : such are the rivalships and coinpc- titioiis of commerce between commercial nations. And there are others, not less numerous than either of the former, which take their origin entirely in pri- vate passions ; in the attachments, enmities, inte- rests, hopes, and fears, of leading individuals in the communities of which tiiey are members- IMen of this class, whether the favourites of a kiiigor of a people, have in too many instances abused the con- fidence they possessed ; and assuming the pretext of sorce public motive, have not scrupled to sacriace the national iranqnility to personal advantage, orperson- al gratiiication. To multiply examples of the agency of personal f?onsiderations in the production of great national events, either foreign or domestic, according to their direction, would be an unnecessary waste of time. Those who have but a superficial acquaintance with the sources from which they are to be drawn, will themselves recollect a variety of instances ; and those wIjo have a tolerable knowledge of human na- ture, will nut stand in need of such lights, to form their opinion either of the reality or extent of that agency. From what has taken place in other countries, ^vho'se situations have borne the nearest resemblance to our own, what reason can we have to confide in those reveries, which wculd seduce us into the ex- pectation of peace and cordiality between the mem- bers of the present confederacy, in a state of separa- tion ? Have we not already seen enough of the falla- cy and extravagance of those idle theories which Select Speeches. S45, have amused us with promises of an exemption from tiie imperfections, the weaknesses, and the evils inci- dent to society in every shape? Is it not umc to awake from the deceitful dream of a golden age, and to adopt as a practical maxim for the direction of our political conduct, that «c, as well as the other inha- l)itants of the glolie, arc 5ct remote from the happy empire of perfect wisdom and perfect virtue ? So far is tlie general sense of ntankind from corres- ponding with the tenets of those, who endeavour to lull asleep our apprehensions of discord and hostility between the States, in the event of disunion, tliat it has, from long observation of the progress of society ». become a sort of axiom in politics, that vicinity or nearness of situation, constitutes nations natural ene- mies. An intelligent writer expresses himself on this sn])jeet to this e fleet : "NEicHBOuurKG katioss (says he,) are naturally ekemies of each other, un- less their common v.eakness forces them to league in a coNFEUERATE REPUBLIC, and tlicir constitution prevents the diflcrenccs that neighbourhood o(casions> extinguishing that secret jealousy, which disjjoses all states to aggrandize themselves at the txper.ce of their neighbours." This passage, at the same tiaie, points out the evil and suggests the Er.JMEuy, SECTION V. Subject Continued, It is sometimes asked, with an air of seenung triumph, what inducements the states could have, if disunited, to make war upon each other? It would he a full answer to this question to say, — precisely' the same inducements which have, at dijfierent time?, deluged in blood all the nations in the world- But tnifortunately for us, the question admits of a more 3i6 Select Speeches. particular answer. There arc causes of diiTerence within our ini!uediate conlemplation, of the tenden- cy of wliieh, even under the restraints of a federal constitution, we have had sufiicient experience to en- able us to^form a j idgment of wiiat might be expect- ed, if those restraints were removed. Territorial disputes have, at all times, been found one of the most fertile sources of hostility among na- tions. Perliaps the greatest j)rop()rtion of the Avars that liave desolated tiie earth have sprung from this origin. TJiis cause would exist, aurjng us, in full force. We have a vast tract of unsettled territory within the boundaries of the United States. There still arc discordant and unsettled claims between several of them ; and tlie dissolution of the union would lay a foundation for similar claims between them all. In the wide field of western territory, therefore, we perceive an ample tlieatre for hostile pretensions, without any umjnre or common jcidge to interpose between the contending parties To reason from the past to the future, we shall have good ground to ap- prehend, that tlse sword would some times be appeal- ed to as the arbiter of their differences. The circum- stances of the dispute between Connecticut and Penn- sylvania, respecting the lands at Wyorair.g, admon- ish ns not to he sanguine in expecting an easy accorii- modation of such diiTerences. The articles of confe- deration o!>iiged the parties to siil)mit the matter to the decision of a federal court. The submission was made, and I'le court decided in favor of Pennsylva- nia. But Connecticut gave strong indications of dis- satisfaction with that dclernn'nalion ; nor did she appear to be entirely resigned to it, till by iiegocia- tiou and management, something like an equivalent was found for the loss sl-c supposed herself to have sustained. Nothing here said, is intended to convxj' the slightest censure on the conduct of that state — She, no doubt, sincerely !)elieved herself to have been inj >red by tiie decision ; and states, like individual-!, acquiesce with j;reat reluctance, in determinations to their ilisadvantai^e. Select Spccchca. 347 The competitions of coiniucrce would he another fruitful source of coiilcniiou. The states less favor- ably cir •umstaiK ed, wouhl be desirous of escaping from tlie disadvantages of local situation, and of sharing in the advantages of their more fortunate neighbours. Ea».'!i state, or separate confederacy, would pursue a system of conunertial polity, peculiar to itself. This would occasion distinctions, perfer- cnces and exclusions, which would beget discontent. TJie i.abits of intercourse, on the basis of equal pri- vileges, to which we have been accustonierl from the earliest settlement of tlie country, would give a keen- er ed'-;e to tliose causes of disrontent, than they would naturally have, independent of this circum- stance, ii'c s/iould be rcadij to dchomrmitc injuries^ those things which ivcre in na/i/?/ the jnstijiaOle acts of indrpendtnt sovrrdghtics (onsiiUing a disiii.ct in- terest The spirit of enterprise, A\hich characteri- zes the commercial part of America, has left no oc- casion of displayiiig itself unimprovtd. ft is not at all probable, that this unbridled spirit would pay much respect to those regulations of trade, by w hich panicular states might endtavour to secure exclusive benefits to their own citizens. The in fi actions of these regulations f)n one side; tl;e eflor'.s to prevent and repel them on the oilier, would naturally lead to outrages, and these to reprisals and wars. The public debt of the Union would he a further cause of collision between the separate stales or cdd- federavics. The apportionment, in the first instance, and the progressive extingiiishiucnt, afierwards, would he alike productive of ill liuuiour and animosi- ty. How would it he possible to agree upon a rillc of apportionment, satisfactory to all? i'here is scarce- ly any that can he proposed, which is etitirely free from real objections. These, as usual, Mouid be ex- aggerated by the advirse interests of tiie parties. If even the rule adopted s'louid in practice just ify the equality of its priiicip'e, still delinquencies in [)ay- iiientj on the part of stf:iie of the states, wou'd result 34!8 Select Speeches. from a diversity of other causus — the real deficiency of resources-, the iiiis!naria.Q;tmcnt of their finarnes ; accidental disorders ill t!je administratioii of the gov- ern icent ; aiid in addition to the rest, the reluctauce with uhich men commonly part with money, for pur- poses that have outlived the exigent ies which produc- ed them, and interfere with the supply of immediate wants. Delinquencies, from whatever causes, would be productive of complaints, recriminations, and quarrels. TJ^ere is, perhaps, nothing more likely to disturb t!ie Iranqui'lity of nations, than their being hound to mutual contributions for any common ob|cct, which does not yield an ecpal and coincident benefit. For it is an observation as true as it is tri'e, that there is nothing men dillerso readily about as the payment of money. America, if nc^t connected at all. or only by the feeble tie of a simple Ica,a:ue ofi'cnsive and defensive, would, J^iy the operation of such opposite and jarring alliances, be gradually entanghd in all the pernicious iafjvrinths of European politics and wars ; and by the destructive contentions of the pans into which s!ie was divided, would ()e likely to become a prey to t!ie artifices and machinations of powers ecjually the enemies of them all. Divide et impcra must be the molto -of every nation that either hates or fears us. SECTION Vf. Character of Mo&es. Asio^rc; those occasions, wdiich Iiave lifted man above his ordinary sphere, noi;e have displayed with more splendor, either talents, or virtues, than the rev- olutions of relieion and empire. The conquest of na- tions, and the subversion of governments, formed, as well as exhibited, Nebuchadnezzar, Cyrus, Alex?.n- Select Speeches, 349 *i€r, Hannibal, Cajsar, Timur-bec, Kouli Kli^n, Fred- eric 2(1. Ilyfler Ali, and various others of a similar character. To all these the pride of victory, the ex- tension of conquest, and the increase of dominion, rose in full view ; and, ^rith a fascination wholly irre- sistible, prompted them to contrive, to dare, and to attempt, beyond the limits of ordinary belief. When we contemplate these men, however, our admiration is always mingled with disgust ; an Select Speeches. 85J> thor of every public and private good, I assure my- self tliat it expresses your sentiments not less than my own: nor those of my fellow-citizens at large less tlian either. No people can f^e bound toackuowl- edgfi and adore the invisible hand, which conducts the affairs of men, more than the people of the Uni- ted Stales. Every step by which they have advan- ced to the character of an independent nation, seems to have been distinguished by some tok^n of provi- dential agency. And in the important revolution just accomplished in the system of their united gov- ernment, the tranfjuil deliberations and voluntary con- sent of so many ilistinct communities, from which the event has resulted, cannot be compared with the means by which most governments have been estab- lished, without some return of pious gratitude along with an humble anticipation of the future blessings which the past seem to presage. These reflections, arisiug out of the present crisii, liave forced them- selves too strongly on my mind to be siippressed. You will join with me, I trust, in tliinkiiJg that there are Done under the influcjice of wlifCh, the proceedings ©f a new and free govcrnfiient can more auspiciously Goramence* By the article estaJ^Iishing the oieculive depart- ment, it is made the duty of the president " to re- commend to your consideration, such measures as he shall judge necessary and e:cpedleiit." Tiie circum- stances under wjiich I now meet -you, will at({uit me from entering into that subject i'arlher than to" refer you to tlie great constiluliunai charier under which we are assejuiiled ; and v.diich ia dehniiig your pow- ers, designates the ol)ject3 to which your attention is to be giveii- It will be morfccon&isteut willi th(isc circumstances, and far more congenial with the feel- ings which actuate me, to substitute in place of a re- commendation of particular measures, the tribut'j that is due to the talents, the rectitude, and the pa- triotism wliicii adorn the characters selected to devise suid. adopt then:, lu these hoiiouiablc rjuaJilicaiiuns, 3o6 Select Speeches. I behold the surest pledges, that as on one side, no Jocal prejudices or attachments, no separate views nor party animosities, will misdirect the comprehen- sive and equal eye which ouglit to watch over this great assemblage of communities and interests : So, on another, that the foundations of our national poli- cy will be laid in the pure and immutable principle^ of private morality ; and the pre-eminence of a free government be exemplified by all the attributes which can win the affections of its citizens, and command the respect of the world. 1 dwell on this prospect with every satisfaction which an ardent love for my country can inspire ; since there is no truth more thoroughly established than that there exists in the economy and course of nature, an indissoluble union between virtue and hap- piness — between duty and advantage — between the genuine maxims of an honest and magnanimous po- licy, and the solid rewards of public prosperity and felicity. Since we ought to be no less persuaded that the propitious smiles of Heaven can never be ex- pected on a nation that disregards the eternal rules of order and right which Heaven itself has ordain- ed. And since the preservation of the sacred fire of liberty, and the destiny of the republican model of government^ are justly considered as deeply, perhaps as finally staked, on the experiment entrusted to the hands of the American people. Instead of uiKlertaking particular recommendations in which I could be guided by no lights derived from official opjK>rtunities> I shall again give way to my entire confiilence in your discernment and pursuit of the public good: For I assure myself,, that whilst you carefully avoid every alteration which might en- danger the benefits of an united and effective govern- ment, or which ought to await the future lessons of experience ; a reverence for the characteristic rights of freemen, and a regard for the public harmony, will sufficiently influence your deliberations on the ques- tion, how far the fornier can be more irapregnably Select Speeches. 357 fortified, or the latter be safely and more adranta- geously promoted. Having thus imparted to you my sentiments, as they have been awakened by the occasion which brings us together, 1 shall take my present leave ; but not without resorting onee more to the benign Parent of the human race, in humble supplication, that since he has been pleased to favour the American people with opportunities far deliljerating in perfect tranquillity, anddispositionsfor deciding with unparralleled unan- imity on a forai of government for the security of their union, and the advancement of their happiness; so his divine blessing may be equally conspicuous in the enlarged views, the temperate consultations, and the wise measures on which the success of this go- vernment must depend. SECTION IX. Select Paragraphs— from J f ashing f on'' s Fareweli Address, 171)6. The unity of government which constitutes you one people is a main pillar in the edifice of your real independence, the supportof your tranquillity at home, your peace abroad ; of your safely ; of your pros- perity ; of that very liberty which you so highly prize. But as it is easy to foresee, that from diil'er- ent causes atid from dilTerent quarters, much pains will be taken, many artifices employed lo weaken in your minds the conviction of this trutli ; as this is * the point in your political fortress against which t c batteries of internal and external eijemies will be most constantly and actively (though often covertly and insidiously) directed, it is of infinite moment, that you should properly estimate the iruiTiense value of your national union to your collective and indi- vidual happiness ; that you should cherish a cordial. 358 Select Speeches, habitual and inimovaI)le attachment to it ; accusfora- ins; yourselves to think and speak of it as the pal- Jadium of your political safety and prosperity ; watch- ino: for its preservation with jealous anxiety •, dis- counieuanciiig whatever may suggest even a suspi- cion thai it can iu any event be abandoned ; and in- dignantly frowning upon tlie first dawning of cver*y attempt to alienate any portion of our country from the rest, or to enfeeble the sacred ties which now link together the various parts. For this you have every inducement of sympathy and interest. Citizens hy birth or cliolce, of a com- mon country, that coniitry has a right to concentrate your affections. The name of American, which be- longs to yon, in your national capacity, must always exalt the just pride of patriotism, more than any appellation derived from local discriminations. With slig]it shades of ciifierence, you have the same reli- gion, manners, habits and political principles. You have in a common cause fought and triumphed toge- ther ; the indept^ndance and liberty yon possess are the work of joint councils, and joint efforts, of com- mon dangers, sufferings and successes. But these considerations, however powerfuHy they address themselves to sour sensi!>ility, are greatly outweighed by those which apply more immediately to 3'our interest. — Here every portion of our country finds the most commanding motives for carefully guarding and presej-ving llie union of the whole. Tiie north, in an unrestrained intercourse with the ^onth, protected by the ecfial laws of a common go- vernment, finds in the productions of the latter, great additional resc urces of maritime and commercial en- terprise and precious materials of manufacturing in- dustry — The 3Qxdh in t?!e same Intercourse, bene6t- tiiig by the agency of the north sees its agriculture grow and its commerce tApaml. Turning partly in- to its own thaiinels the seamen of the norths it finds its particular navigation invigorated •, and while it contiibutes, in diffirejit vays, to nourish and incxease ?ieleci Speeches. 359 the general mass of the national navigation, it looks forward to the pioiection of a maritime strength, to which itself is iinequally adapted — The east., 'n\ ^ like intercourse wiili the west, already (iiids, and in the progressive iuiprovement of interior communi- cations, by laud ainl water, will moreaud rcore Cud a valuable vcut for tlie commodilies which it brings from abroad or manufactures at h^'^^e. — The ivcst derives from the east, supplies rfqdit>ite to its growth and curafort — and what is i){rhaps of still greater consequence, it must of necessity owe the secure en- joyment of indispeusalile outlets for its oun produc- tions to the wei»-rht, influence, and the future mari- time strength »)f the Atiantic side of the union, di- re^ ted hv an indissoluble community of interest as one nation. — Any other tenure by which tlse west can hold this essential advantage, whether derived from its own separate strength, or from an apostate and unnatural connection with any foreign power, must be m'nnsirally precarious. While then every part of our countr}' thus feels an immediate and paj-ticular interest in union, all the parts combined cannot fail to hrd in the united mass of means and cflorts greater strength, greater resour- ces, proporlionabfy greater security from exKrnal danger, a less frequent interruption of tlieir pca'C by foreign nations , — and what is of inestlmal)le v-^Iuc, they must derive from union an rxeniplion from those broils and wars between themselves, uliicJi so fre- quently afilict neighbouring ctjiintrics, not licd loge- tlicr by the same government ; whi h thtirown rival- ships alone would be sufiicient to produce, but wl."''-h opposite foreign alliances, attaciimcnts and intriguexi ■would stimulate and embitter. In contemplating the causv,.s which may disturb ov.r union, it occurs as a ntatter of a serious concern, that any ground should have been furnished {ox cha- racterizing parties by gcogropldcal discrimin?tious ; riort/'.ern aud ioui/ien: <:tt>-rific an?l ive^t'rri ; — whence designing meu niay ejideavour to ei^cite a ).e- 300 Select Speeches, lief that there is a real diOercnce of local interests and views. One of the expedients of party to ac- quire influence, within particular districts, is to mis- represent the opinions and aims of other districts. You cannot shield yourselves too much against the jealousies and heartburnings which spring from th^se misrepresentations -, tliey tend to render alien to each other those who ouglit to be bound together by fra- ternal affection. All o!)struclions to the execution of the laws, all combinations and associations, under whatever plau- sible cliaracter, with the real design to direct, cou- troul, counteract, or awe the regular deliberations and actions of the constituted authorities, are des- tructive of the fundamental principles of our govern- ment, and of fatal tendency. They serve to organ- ize faction ; to give it an artificial and extraordinary force ; to put in the place of the delegated will of the nation, the will of a party,often a small but artful and enter;jriz'ng minority of fhe community; and accord- ing to the alternate triumphs of different parties, to mai;e tlie pulilic administration the mirror of the ill- concerted and incongruous projects of faction, rather than tlie organ of consistent and wholesome plans, digested by conmion counsels and modified by mutu- al interests. Ilowfvcr coi'Mnations or associations of the above descriptii-n rn^iy now aiid then answer popular ends, the} are Ii!:eiy, in the course of time and things, to becv)me potent ergines, by which, cunning, ambitious, and ui}princi])U"d njcn, will be enabled to subvert the power of the pcoj)!e, ar.d to usurp fur themselves the reins of goveriiraont ; destroying afterwards the very engines vhich have lif((d them to m^just dominion. How far in the discharge of my olficial duties, I Iiave been guided by the principles that have been de- lineated^ tlic public records and other evidences of iry conduct must w h\-,crs to you ai;d lo the world. To myself, the assurasice <^f my own conscience is, that 1 have at least Relieved mystlf to be guided by then?. THE ORATOR, PART J II. rrECES IN POETRY. General Rules for Reading Poetnj, RULE I. As the exact tone of the passion, cmo- lion, or sentiment, which verse excites, is not, at the coraraencenient of a piece with \vhich we are not acquainted, easy to hit, it will be proper to begin a poem ill a simple and almost prosaic stN'le, and so pro- i-ced till we are Avanned by the subject, and feel the passion or emotion wc wish to express. RULE IL Pronounce poetry with that measured, harmonious flow, which distiiip;uishe5 it from prose. Avoid, in humouring the smoothness and melody of verse, all monotony sing-song, and bombastic cant, which too often usurp the place of graceful and har- monious reading-. RULE III. In verse, every sylla])le must have the same accent, and every word tJic same emphasis as in prose. If by observing this rule, some poetry should be reduced to prose, the fault must rest with the poet, not with the reader. In the first example which follows, the word as should have no accent, i. e. it is a light syllable in both lines — the word excellent in the second, and do- qiie7ice in the third example, must have the accent upon the first syllables, and not upoo the last, 0.3 the verse requires : Ff 362 Rules for Reading Voetry. Eye nature's walks, shoot folly a^ it flies, And catch the manners living as they rise, Their praise is still the style is excellent ; The sense they humbly take upon content. False eloquence like the prismatic glass, Its gaudy colours spreads on every place. • KULE IV. The vowel e, which is frequently cut ofif and supplied by an apostrophe, as th', ev'ry, gen'- lous, daug'rous, &c. ought to be both written and pronounced. — Such words as giv'n,heav'n,&c. should have the c in the last syllable written but not pro- nounced. — To should not be written f but to and also pronounced. Why the present poets write looked, lov- ed, asked, &c. instead of look'd, lov'd, ask'd, &c. when the verse neither admits of them, nor are they ever so pronounced in prose when it is properly read, is a query I leave to themselves to solve. RULE V. In familiar, strong, argumentative sub- jects, the falling inflexion should prevail, being more adapted to express activity, force, and precision : whereas light, beautiful, and particularly plaintive subjects, naturally take the rising inflexion as more expressive of such sentiments and feelings. RULE VI. Sublime, grand, and magnificent de- scription in poetry, frequently require a lower tone of voice, and a sameness of inflexion approaching to a monotone. RULE VII. A simile in poetry must be read in a lower tone than that which precedes it. RULE Vlir. Where tlicre is no pause in the sense at the end of a verse, the last word must have the same inflexion it would have in prose. Over our heads a chrystal firmament Whereon a sapphire throne, inlaid with pur'e Amber, and colours of the flowery arch. CHAP. I. Narrative Pieces. SECTION I. The following Examples contain Verses, the sound of which is an Echo to the Sense. Soft and Bough. Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows, And the smooth stream in smoother number flows : But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, The hoarse rough verse should like the torrent roar» Slow Motion, When Ajax artrives some rock's vast weight to throw, The line too labours, and the words more slow. Sfvift and Easy. Not so when swift Camilla scours the plain. Flies o'er the unbending corn and skims along the main. Felling Trees. Loud sounds the axe redoubling strokes on strokes : On all sides round the forest hurls her oaks Headlong. Deep echoing groan the thickets brown Then rustling, cracking, cracking, thunder down. Sound of a Bew String. •The string let fly, Twanged short and sharp, like the shrill swallows cry 864 Narrative Pieces, Scylla-and Ckari/ddi^. JDire Scylla there a scene of horror forms, And here Charybdis fills the deep with storms. When the tide rushes from her rumbling caves, The rough rock roars ; tumultuous boil the 'waves. Boisterous and Gentle Sounds. Two craggy rocks projecting to tlie main, The roaring winds tempestuous rage restrain : Within, the waves in softer murmurs glide, And ships secure without their haulsers ride. Laborious and Impef^ious Motion. , With many a weary step and many a groan, Up the high hill, he heaves a huge round stone ; The huge round stone resulting with a bound, Thunders impetuous down and smokes along the ground. Regular and Slow Movement. Frst marcli llie heavy mules securely slow ; O'er hills, o'er dales, o'er crags, o'er rocks they go. Slow and Diffiadt Motion. A needless Alexandrine ends the song ; That, like a Avounded snake, drtlgs its slow length along. A Boclc torn from the Brow of a Mountain. Sllll gathering force, it snokes, and urg'd amain. Whirls, leaps, and thunders down, impetuous to the plain. Nttrratlve Pieces, 365 Extent and Violence of the Waves, The waves behind impel the waves before. Wide rolling, foaming high, and tumbling to the shore. Pensive Numbers. In those deep solitudes and awful cells, Where heavenly- pensive Contemplation dwells. And ever-musing melancholy reigns. The Rage of Battle. Arras on armour clashing bray'd Horrible discord ; and the madding wheels Of brazen fury rag'd. Sound Imitating Reluctance, For who to dumb forgetfulness a prey, Tiiis pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd : Left the warm precincts of the cheeiful day, Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind. SECTION II. Othello's Apology. That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter, It is most true ; true, I have married lier \ The very head and front of ray ofi'ending Hath this extent ; no more. Rude am I in speech, And little bless'd with the set phrase of peace ; For since these arms of mine had seven years pith, Till now some nine moons wasted, they have us'd Their dearest action in the tented field ; And little of this great world can I speak, rf2 866 Kanative Pieces. Move than pertains to feats of broils and battle ; And therefore little shall I grace my cause, In speaking for myself. Yet, by your patience, I will a round uuvarnish'd tale deliver, Of my whole course of love ; what drugs, what charms, What conjuration, and what mighty magic (For such proceedings I am charg'd withal) I won his daughJer with. Her father lov'd me, oft invited me. Still questioned me the story of my life, From year to year ; the battles, sieges, fortunes, That I have past. I ran it through, ev'n from my boyish days, To the very moment that he bade me tell it. Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances, • Of moving accidents by flood and field ; Of hair- breadth escapes in theimminent deadly breacli, Of being taken by the insolent foe, And sold to slavery ; of my redemption thence, And with it, aii my travel's history : Wherein of antres vast, and desarts wild. Rough quarries, rocks, and hills, whose heads toucia heaven, It was my bent to speak. — AH these to hear Would Desderaona seriously incline. But stili the house-afi'airs would draw her hence, Which ever as she could with haste dispatch. She'd come again, and with a greedy ear Devour up my discourse : which I observing. Took once a pliant hour, and found good means To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart, That I would all ray pilgrimage dilate ; Whereof by parcels she had something heard, But not distinctively. I did consent. And often did beguile her of her tears. When I did speak of some distressful stroke That my youth sufier'd. My story being done, She gave me for my pains a world of sighs. She "swore, in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange j Narrative Pieces. 367 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wond'rous pitiful She vvish'cl she had not heard it yet she wish'd That Heaven had made her such a man : she thank'd me, And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her, I sliould but teach him how to teli my story, And that would woo her. On this hint I spake ; She lov'd me for the dangers I had past ; And I lov'd her, that she did pity them. This only is the witchcraft I have us'd. SECTION III. Discourse between Adajji and Eve retiring to ref,t. Now came still evening on and twilight gray, Had in her sober livery all things clad. Silence accorapanicd ; for beast and l>ird, They to their grassy couch, these to their nests Were slunk ; all but the wakeful nightingale. She all night long her amorous descant sung : Silence was pleas'd. Now glow'd the firmament With living sapphires: Hesperus, that led The starry host, rode brightest, till the Moon, Rising in clouded majesty, at length Apparent queen unveil'd her peerless light, And o'er the dark her silver mantle threv/. When Adam thus to Eve : " Fair consort, the hour Of night, and all things now retir'd to rest, JMind us of like repose ; since God hath set Labour and rest, as day and night to men Successive : and the timely dew of sleep, Now falling with soft slumberous weight, inclines Our eye lids. Other creatures all day long Rove idle unemploy'd, and less need rest : Man hath his daily work of Ijody and mind Appointed, which declares his dignity, 26S Narrative Pieces. And tlic regard of Heaven on all his ways ; While other animals unaclive range, And of their doings God takes no account. To morrow, ere fresh IMorning streak the east With first approach of lip;ht, we must l)e risen, And at our pleasant labour : to reform Yon flowery arbors, yonder allies green, Our walk at noon, with bra;nches over j;rown, That mock our scant aian urine;, aiul require More hands than ours to lop tlielr wanton growth. Those blossoms also, and those dropping gums, That lie bestrown, unsightly and unsmooth, Ask ridi lance, if we mean to tread witJi ease. Mean while, as Nature wills, uight bids us rest." To whom thus Eve, with perfect beauty adcyn'd : •' My author and disposer, what thou bidst Unargu'd I obey : so God ordains With thee conversing I forget all time ; All seasons and their change, all please alike. Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, Willi charm of earliest birds ; pleasant the sun, When first on this delightful land he spreads His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower, Glistering with dew ; fragrant the fertile earth After soft showers ; and sweet the coming on Of grateful evening mild ; then silent night, With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon. And these the gems of heaven, her starry train ; But neither breath of morn, when she ascends With charm of earliest birds ; nor rising sun On this delightful land ; nor herb, fruit, flower. Glistering with dew ; nor fragrance after showers; Nor grateful evening mild ; nor silent night With this her solemn bird -, nor walk by moon, Or glittering star-light, without thee is sweet. But wherefore all night long shine these? for whom This glorious sight, when sleep hath shut aH eyes ?'* To whom our general ancestor reply'd : «* Daughter of Gud and man, accomplish'd Eve, These have their course to luiish round the earth. Narrathe Pieces. 8€I0 JJy morrow evening ; and from land to land Jn order, though to nations yet unborn, Ministering light prepar'd, they set and rise ; Lest total darkness should by night regain Her old possession, and extinguish life In nature and all things ; which these soft fires Not only enlighten, but, with kindly heat Of various influence, foment and warm, Temper or nourish ; or in part shed down Their stellar virtue on all kinds that grow On earth, made hereby aptcr to receive Perfection from the sun's more potent ray. These then, though unbeheld in deep of night, Shine not in vain ; nor think, though men were none, Tliat heaven would want spectators, God want praise: Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth Unseen, both when we wake, and Mhen we sleep. All these with ceaseless praise his works behold, J3othdayand night. How often, from the steep Of echoing hill or thicket have we heard Celestial voices to the midnight air, Sole, or responsive each to others' note, Singing their great Creator ? Oft in bands, While they keep watch, or nightly rounding walk VVitli heavenly touch of instrumental sounds, In full harmonic number join'd, their songs Divide the night, and lift our tiioughts to heaven." Thus talking hand in hand alone they pass'd On to their blissful bower There arriv'd, both stood, Both turn'd : and under open sky ador'd The God that made both sky, air, earth, and heaven, Which they beheld, the moon's resplendent globe, And starry pole. ♦* Thou also mad'st the night. Maker Omnipotent, and thou the day, Which we, in our appointed work eniploy'd, Have finish'd, happy in our mutual help, And mutual love, the crown of all our bliss Ordain'd by thee ; and this delicious place For us loo large, where thy abundance wauls 370 Didactic Pieces, Partakers, and uncropt falls to the ground. But thou hast promis'd from, us two a race, To fill the earth, vrho shall with us extol Thy goodness infinite, both when we wake, And when we seek, as now, thy gift of sleep." 'CHAP. II. Didactic Pieces. SECTION I. Not /ting formed in Fain. ■ Let no presuming ioipious railer tax Creative wisdom, as if ought was form'd In vain, or not for admirable ends. Shall little haughty Ignorance pronounce His works unwise, of which the smallest part Exceeds the narrow vision of her mind ! As if, upon a full proportion'd dome. On swelling columns heav'd, the pride of art ? A critic-fly, whose feeble ray scarce spreads An inch around, with blind presumption bold, Should dare to tax the structure of the whole. And lives the man, whose universal eye Has swept at once the unbounded scheme of things Mark'd their dependance so, and firm accord, As with unfaultering accent to conclude. That this availeth nought ? Has any seen The mighty chain of beings, lessening down From infinite perfection, to the brink Of dreary nothing, desolate abyss ! From which astonish'd thought, recoiling, turns? Till then alone let zealous praise ascend. And hymns of holy wonder, to that Power, Whose wisdom shines as lovely in our minds. As on our smiling eyes his servant sun. Didactic Pieces. 871 SECTION II. Indignant Sentiments on National Prejudices and Hatred ; and on Slavery. Oh for a lodge in some vast wilderness, Some boundless contiguity of shade, Where rumour of oppression and deceit, Of unsuccessful or successful war, Might never reach me more. My ear is pain'd, My soul is sick with every day's report Of wrong and outrage with which earth is fiU'd, There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart, It does not feel for man. The natural bond Of brotherhood is sever'd, as the flax That falls asunder at the touch of fire. He finds his fellow guilty of a skin Not colour'd like his own ; and having power To enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause Dooms and devotes him as his lawful prey. Lands intersected by a narrow frith Abhor each other. Mountains interposM, Make enemies of nations, who had else, Like kindred drops, been mingled into one. Thus man devotes his brother, and destroys ; And worse than all, and most to be deplor'd. As human Nature's broadest, foulest blot. Chains him, and tasks him, and exacts his sweat With stripes, that Mercy, with a bleeciing heart, Weeps when slie sees inflicted on a beast. Then what is man ! And what man seeing this. And having human feelings, does not blush And liang his head, to think himself a man ? I would not have a slave to till my ground, To carry me, to fan me while I sleep. And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth The sinews bought and sold have ever earn'd. No : dear as freedom is, and in my heart's Just estimation priz'd above all price ; I had much rather be myself the slave, 3r2 Didctcilc IHecei, And wear the bonds, than fasten them on him. We have no slaves at home — then why abroad? And they themselves once ferried o'er the wave That parts iis, are emancipate and loos'd. Slaves cannot breathe in England ; if their lungs Receive our air, that moment they are free ; They toucli our country, and their shaci Not for the doctrine, but the music there. 3 Tiiesc equal syllables alone require, Though oft the ear the open vowels tire ; \\ iulc (xpiclives their feeble aid to join; And ten low words oft creep in one dull line : While they ring round the same unvary'd chimes, With sure returns of still expected rhymes ; WJicre'er you iir.d " the cooling western breeze," In the next line, it " whispers through the trees :" In chrystal streams "with pleasing murmurs creep,'* The reader's threatcn'd (not in vain) with " sleep j" Then, at the last and only couplet frauglit With some unmeaning thing they call a thought, A needless Alexandrine ends the song, That like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along. Leave such to tune their own dull rhymes, and know What's roundly smooth, or languishingly slow ; And praise the easy vigour of a line, [join* Where Denham's strength, and Waller's sweetness True ease in writing comes from art, not chance, As those move easiest who have learn'd to dance. 'Tis not enough no harshness gives ollence, The sound must seera an echo to the sense : Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows, And the smooth stream in smoother number flows ; But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roar: W^hen Ajax strives some rock's vast Meight to throw, The line too labours, and the words move slow ; Not so, when swift Camiiia scours the plain, Fiieso'er the unbendingcorn,and skims along the main. Hear how Timotheus' vary'd lays surprise, And bid alternate passions fall and rise ! While, at each change, the son of Libyan Jove Now burns with glory, and then melts with love ; Nov/ his fierce eyes with sparkling fury glow, Now sighs steal out, and tears begin to flow : i*ersians and Greeks like turns of nature found, And the Vicrld'6 victor stood suain. IIov.' many sink in the devouring flood, Or more devouring flame. How many bleed, By shameful variance betwixt man and man. How many pine in want and dungeon glooms, Shut from the common air, and common use Of their own limbs. How many drink the cup Of baleful Grief, or eat the bitter bread Of Jflisery. Sore pierc'd by wintry winds, How many shrink into the sordid hut Of cheerless poverty. How many shake With all the fiercer tortures of the mini, Pathetic Fiec&s. 383 Unbounded passion, madness, guilt, remorse. How many, rack'd with honest passions, droop In deep retir'd distress. How many stand Around tlie death-bed of their dearest friends, And point the parting anguish. Thought fond man Of these, and all the tliousand nameless ills, That one incessant struggle render life One scene of toil, of suffering, and of fate, Vice in his high career would stand appall'd, And heedless, rambling Impulse learn to think; The conscious heart of Charity would warm, And her wide wish Benevolence dilate ; The social tear would rise, the social sigh ; And into clear perfection, gradual bliss, Kefining stilJ, the social Passions work. SECTION II. Leonidas's Farewell. Here pausVl the patriot. With religious awe Grief heard the voice of virtue. No complaint The solemn silence broke. Tears teas'd to flow : Ceas'd for a moment; soon again to stream. For now, in arras before the palace rang'd, His brave companions of the war demand Their leader's presence ; then her griefs renew'd, Too great for utl'rance, intercept her sighs, And freeze each accent on her fault'ring tongue. In speechless anguish on the hero's breast She sinks. On ev'ry side his children press, Hang on liis knees, and kiss hishonour'd hand. His soul no longer struggles to confine Its strong compunction. Down the hero's cheek, Down flows the manly sorrow. Creat in woe, Ami*! his children, who incioss him round, 384 Pathetic Pieces, He stands indulging tenderness and love In graceful tears, when thus, with lifted eyes, Address'd to heaven : Thou ever-living Pow'r, Look down propitious, sire of gods and men ! And to tJiis faithful woman, whose desert May claim thy favour, grant the hours of peace. And thou, ray great forefather, son of Jove, O Hercules, neglect not these thy race ! But since that spirit I from thee derive. Now bears me from tliem to resistless Tate, Do thou support their virtue ! Be they taught, Like thee, with glorious labour life to grace, And from their father let them Icaru to die ! SECTION III. The Funeral, -No place inspires Emotions more accordant with the day. Than does the field of graves, the land of rest: — Oft at the close of ev'ning-pray'r, the toll, The fun'ral-toll, announces solemnly The service of the tomb ; the homeward crouds- Divide on either hand : the pomp draws near ; The choir to meet the dead go forth, and sing, " / ain the resurrection and the life.'''* Ah me ! these youthful hearers rob'd in white, They tell a mournful tale ; some blooming friend Is gone, dead in her {)rime of years : — 'twas she, The poor man's friend, who, when she could not give, WItli angel tongue pleaded to those who could, With angel-tongue and mild beseeching eye. That ne'er besought in vain, save v.'hen shepray'd For longer life, with heart resigu'd to die, — Rf^joic'd to die ; for happy visions biese'd • Pathetic Pieces. 385 Iler voyas^e's last days, and, hov'ring round, Alighted on her soul, giving presage That heav'n was uigh : O what a burst Of rapture from her h'ps ! wliat tears of joy ilcr heav'nward eyes suffus'd ! Those eyes are clos'd: Yet all her loveliness is not yet flown : She smiPd in death, and still her cold pale face Retains that smile ; as when a wavcless lake, In wliicli the wint'ry stars all brigiit appear, Is sheeted by a nightly frost with ice, Still it reflects the f.uc of heav'n unchang'd, Uiiruilled by the breeze or sweeping blast. Again tltat kntlM The slow procession stops : The pall withdrawn, Death's altar, thick-emboss'd \V ith melancholy ornaments, — (the name, The record of htr blossoming age,) — appears fuvil'd, aiwi on it dust to dust is thrown, The final rite. Oh ! hark that sullen sound 1 Upon the lower'd bier the shovell'd clay J/alJs fast, and fills the void — SECTION IV. The Grave, ^dvr in tlie lone church-yard at night I've seen, By glimpse of moonlight cbeq'ri ng through the trees, The school boy with his satchel in his hand, Whistling aloud to I:)ear his courage up, And lightly tripping o'er the long flat stones (With nettles skirted, and ivith moss o'ergrown) That tell in homely phrase who lie below ; Sudden he starts .' and hears, or thinks lie Jwnrs, The sound of something purring at his heels ; Full fast he flies, and dare not. look behind him, 'Till out of brealh he overtakes his fellows ; Who gather round, and wonder at the tale II h 386 Pathciic Pieces. Of horrid apparition, tall and ghastly, Til at walks at dead of night, or takes his stand O'er some new open'd grave : and, strange to tell! Evanishes at crowing of the cock. The new-made widow too, I've sometimes spied, Sad sight ! slow moving o'er the prostrate dead ; Listless, she crawls along in doleful black, While, bursts of sorrow gush from either eye, Fast- falling dossil her now untasted cheek. Prone on the lovely grave of the dear man She drops : wliilst busy, meddling memory, In barbarous succession, musters up The past endearment of their softer hours, Tenacious of its theme. Still, still, she thinks She sees him, and indulging the fond thought, Clings yet more closely to the senseless turf. Nor heeds the passenger who looks that way. Invidious grave ! how dost thou rend in sunder Whom Love has knit and Sympathy made one ! A tie more stubborn far, than Nature's band. Friendship ! mysterious cement of the soul ! Sweet'ner of life and solder of society \ I owe thee much. Thou hast deserved from me, Far, far beyond what I can ever pay. Oft liave I prov'd the labors of thy love, And the warm eilbrts of the gentle heart Anxious to please. O ! when my friend and I In some thick wocu] have wander'd heedless on, Hid from the vulgar eye, and sat us down Upon the sloping co\vslij>cover'd basik. Where tlie pure linjpid stream has slid along In grateftd errDrs, through the undtruood Sweet nutrm'ring: methoughtiheshrill-tonsrued thrush Mended his song of love; the sooty blackbird IMellow'd his pipe, ar.d soften'd ev'ry note ; The eglanti-^e smell'd sweeter, and ihe rose Assum'd a dye more chep ; whilst ev'ry How'r Vied >\ith Vf? Allow plant in luxury Of drtss. Oh ! then the longest summer's day Promiscuous Pieces. 38? SccmM too, too ranch in haste ; still the full heart Had not imparted lialf : 'twas happiness Too exquisite to last. Of joys departed, Not to returu, how [}aiuful the reiiiembrance I C II A P. V. Promiscuous Pieces, SECTION r. Collins* Ode on the Passions, Tew productions of genius are to be found in the Englisli Language, the recital of which is better cal- culated fur that exercise and preparation of the Or- gans indispensable for the higher graces of Oratorical expressions, than the following Ode of Coxliks. When Music, heavenly maid, was young, While yet in early Greece she sung, The passions oft, to hear her shelly Throng'd around her magic cell. Exulting, tremliling, raging fainting, Posscss'd beyond the Muse's painting. By turns, they felt the glowing mind Disturbed, delighted, rais'd, refin'd : Till once, 'tis said, when all were fir'd, Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspir'd. From the supporting mirtles round They snatch'd her instruments of sound ; And as tiiey oft had heard apart Sweet lessons of her forceful art, Each (for madness rul'd the hour) Would prove his own expressive power. oSS Promiscuous Pieee^s, First, Fear, Lis hand, its skill to try. Amid the cliords bewilder'd laid .; And hack recoil'd he knew not why, Even at the sound himself had made. Kext, Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire i In lightnings own'd his iiccret stings. In one rude clash he struck the lyre — And swept, with hurry'd hands, the strings. With woful measures, wan Despair — Low sullen sounds his grief iDeguil'd ; A solemn, strange, and mingled air ; 'Twas sad, by fits — by starts, 'twas wild. But thou O Hope ! witli eyes sa fair, What was thy delighted measure ! Still it whjsper'd promis'd pleasure, And bade the lovely scenes at distance haik Still would her touch the strain prolong ; And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, She cali'd on echo still through all her song j^ And, where her sweetest theme she chose, A soft responsive voice was heard at every elose ; And Hope, enchanted, sniil'd, and wav'd her golden hair : And longer had she sung — but, with a frown Kevenge impatient rose. He threw his blood stain'd sword in thunder down : And, with a withering look, The war denouncing trumpet took. And blew a blast, so loud and dread, Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of wo ; And, ever and anon, he beat The doubling drum with furious heat. And though, sometimes, each dreary pause between,- Dejected Pity at his side, xitT soul subduing voice applied. Yet still he kept his wild unaltered mcin ; While each sfraiu'd ball of sisht— seem'd bursting from his head. Promisaious Pieces. 389 Thy mirnbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd ; Sad proof of thy distressful stale. Of difltriiig themes the veering song was mix'd ; And, now, it courted Love ; now, raving call'd on Hate* With eves up-rais'd, as one inspir'd'i Pale Melanclioly sat retir'd ; And Troni her wild sequestered seat, In notes by distance made more sweet, Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul ; And, dashing soft, from rocks around, Bubbling runnels join'd the sound. Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole^ Or o'er some haunted streams, with fond delay, (Round an holy calm diJVusing, Love of peace and lonely musing), In hollow murmurs died away. But, Oj how alter'd was its sprightlicrtone ! When Oieerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, Her bow across her shoulder flung, Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew. Blew an inspiring air, tliat dale and thicket rung, The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known. The oak-crown'd Sisters, and their chaste-ey'd QueeHj Satyrs, and sylvan Boys, were seen Peeping from forth their alleys green : Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear ; And Sport leapt up, and seiz'd his beeclien spear. List came Joy's ecstatic trial. He, with viny crown advancing. First to the lively pipe his hand address'd ; But, soon he saw the brisk awakening viol, Wliose sweet entrancing voice he lov'd the best. They would have thought who heard the strain, They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maid^, Amkl the festal sounding shades. Hh2 SSK) Promise nous Ficcc.s, To somcjnucarifcl ininslr^l dancins:^ ; While, as bis Hyinir fingers kiss'd the strings, LovT franiM with Mirih a gay fauiastic round, (Loose were her tresse- .seen, lier zone unbound ) And he, amid hi.> frt^lic j)!ay, As if lie would liie rhorndns: ^li'' ''^pay, Slicok ti^.ousand odours from his dewv wincfs. SECTION IL A Tea Party. When the party commences, all starth'd and all Glum, 'ihey talk of the weather, thsir corns, or sit mum : Th.cy will tell you of ribbons, of camljric, of lace, How cheap they were sold' — and will tell you the place. They discourse of their cohls, and they hem and they cou2:h, And complain of tlieir servants to pass the time off^ But Tj5\, that enlivencr of wit and of soul. More loquacious Ijy far than the draughts of the bowl, Soon loosejis the tongue and enlivens the mind, And enlightens their eyes to the /«2/i/.s of mankind. It 1 rings on the tapis their jieighbor's defects, Tlie faults of their friends, or their wilful neglects; xlemindsthcm of many a good-natur'd tale Abont those who are stylish and those mIio are frail* Till the sweet tcmj)er'd dames are converted by tea, Into character ma nglers — Gimtiikophngi. in harnHess chit chat an acquaintance they roast, And serve up a friend, as they serve up a toast, Some gen tie /a!/a'/;<75, or some fenvile mistake, Is like sweetmeats delicous, or rclish'd as cake : A bit of broad scandal is like a dry crust, Tt would stick in t^e throat, so they butter it first Promise tious Picce^^. i?[>t VVitli a Utile affected crootl iiat\ire, and cry No'jod)/ regrets t/ie tfiinq- df" per ikan [. Ah (adies, and was it by Hi-aveu desi^n'c} Tiiat. ye should he iiiercirul ;<;viiig, aiul kin(J / Did it form you like ant^ek .Jiid sfiui you. heiows, To prophesy peace — to bid ciiarity flow ! And have you thus iefr your priiiu val estate, And wander so widely — so strange)}' of late? Alas ? the sad cause 1 ttx) plainly can see, These evils have all come u])on you thro' Tea. Cursed weed, that (an make our fair spirits resi^i- Tlie character mild of their mission divine, That can blot fro n their bosoms that tenderness true^ Which from female to female forever is due. Oh liow nice is (he texture, how fragile the frame Of that delicate blossom, a female's fair fame ! 'lis the sensitive plant, it recoils from the breath, Andshrinks from the touch as if pregnant with death- How often, how often, has iiniocence sigh'd, Has beauty been reTt of its honor, its pride, Has virtue, thoiigh pure as an angel of light, Been painted as dark as a demon of night •, All od'ered up victims — in auto de /e, At the gloomy, cabcils, the dark orgies of tea. If I, in the remnant that's left me of life. Am to suffer the torments of slanderous strife, Let me fall, I implore, in the slang-wanger's claw,, Where the evil is open, and sufijert to law. Not nibbled and mumbled; and put to the rack, jiy tlie sly undermining of tea party clack : Condemn me, ye gods, to a newspaper roasting, But spare me ! oh spare me, a tea-table toasting J SECTION III. The Thr€€ Black Crows, or the Progress of Untruth. TWO honest tradesmen meeting in the Strand, One took tiie otiier, br iskly, by the hand 3 d^2 Promiscuous Fieccs. Hark ye, said lie, 'tis an odd story this, About t!ie crows ! — I don't know what it is, Reply'd his friend — No ! I'ju surprised at that ; Wiiere I come from, it is tlie common chat : But you sliall hear; an odd affiiir indeed ! And that it happen'd, they are ail as^reed : N'>t to detain you from a thing so strange, A gentleman that lives not far from 'Change, This week, in short, as all the allei/ knows. Taking a puke, has thrown up t/iree black crovcs. Impossible! — Nay but it's really true; I have it from good hands, and so may you — From whose, 1 pray ? so liaving nam'd the maD, Strait to inquire his curious corarade ran. Sir, did you tell — relating the aifair — Yes, Sir, I did ; and if it's worth your care, Ask Mr. Such-a one, he told it me ; But by the bye, 'twas ivoo black crows, r^otthree-^ Resolv'd to trace so wondVous an event, Whip to the third, the virtuoso went. Sir, — and so forth — Why, yes ; the thing is fact, Though in regard to number not exact ; It was not ^fua black crows, 'twas onlv one. The truth of that you may depend upon. The gentleman himself told me the case — Where may 1 find him — Why, in such a place. Away goes he, and having found him out, Sir, be so good as to r«soIve a doubt — Then to his last informant he referred, And begg'd to know, if ^n/e what he had heard ; Did you, Sir, throw up a black crow? — Not W—r Bless me ! how people propagate a lie! Black crows have been thrown up, Mrce, txDO,and oiiej And here I find all comes at last to iio/ie ! Did you say nothing of a crow at all / Crow — Crow — perhaps I might, now I recall The matter over — And pray. Sir, what was't ? — Why, I was horrid sick, and, at the last, I did throw up, and told my neighbor so, Something that was as blacky Sir, as a crow^ Frmnhcuaus Pieces, 393 SECTION IV. The Mariner's Dream, JN slumbers of miJuis^ht, the sailor-hoy lay ; His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind \ But \witch-worn anoy ! sailor-boy ! never again Shall home, love or kindred, thy wishes repay ; UubJess'd and unhouonr'd, down deep in the main, Full many a score fathom, thy frame shall decay. No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee, Or redeem form or frame from the merciless surge ; But the white foam of waves shall thy winding sheet be, 'And winds, in the midnight of winter, thy dirge. On beds of green sea flow'r thy limbs shall be laid-; Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow ; ©f thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be made, And ev'ry part suit to thy mansion below. Days, months, years and ages, shall circle away, And still tlie vast waters above thee shall roll — Earth looses thy pattern forever and aye— - Oh ! sailor- boy ! sailor-boy ! peace to Ihy souJ*. THE ORATOR. PART IV. DIALOGUES, Src, The player's profession,- Lies not in trick, or attiuide, or start, Nature's true knowledge is the only art, The strons; felt passion bolts into his face, The mind unlouch'd, what is it but grimace! To this one standard, make your just appeal, Here lies the golden secret, learn lo Feel ; Or fool, or monarch, hajipy or distress'd, No actor pleases that is not possessM. A single look mere marks the internal woe, Than all the windings of the lengthening oh ! Up to the face the quick sensation flies, And darts its meaning from the speaking cyts ; Love, transport, madness, angei, scorn, cesiiair, And all the passions, all the soul is there. CHAP. I. SECTION I. A tr(y[f05al of Marriage. Hardcastle. Blessings on my pretty innocence i Digest out as usual, my Kate. Goodness! what a quaiitiiy of supcifii-cus silk hast thru got arout llif'c girl ! I coi;l<; never teach the fools of this age, that tlic indig:n! world couiu bt; cloilied out of the trimnungs of the vaiu. S9G Dialogues, Miss TIardcdstic, You know our agreement, Sir. You allow me the morning to receive and pay visits, and to dress in my ow4) manner, and in the evening, I put on my liouse-wife dress to please you. Hard. Well, rejucml)€r I insist on the terms of our sgrceruent ; and by the bye, 1 l)elieve 1 shall have occasion to try your obedience this very evening. Miss Hard. 1 protest, Sir, I don't compreliend your meaning. Hard, Then, to be plain with you, Kate, I expect the young gentleman 1 have cliosen to be vour Jius- band from town t'lis very day. I have his father's letter, in wJiich he informs me his son is set out, and that he intends to follow himself shortly after. Miss Hard. Indeed! 1 wish I had known some- thing of this before. Dear me, how shall I behave? It's a thousand to one I slian't like him ; our meet- ing will be so formal, and so like a thing of business, that I shall find no room for friendship or esteem. Hard. Depend upon it, chihl, I'll never controul your choice ; but Mr. Marlow, wliom I have pitched upon, is the son of my old friend, Sir Charles Mar- low, of whom you have heard lue talk so often. The young gentleman has been bred a scholar, and is de- signe(l for an employment in the service ®f his coun- try. I am told he's a man of an excellent understand- ing. Miss Hard. Is he ? Hard, Very generous. Miss Hard. 1 believe I shall like him. Ha rd, Yo u n g a n d b r a ve . Miss Hard. I'm sure I shall like him. Hard. And very handsome. Miss Hard. My dear papa, say no more [/;issing his hand] he's mine, I'll have him. Hard. And to crown all. Kale, he's one of the niobt bashful and reserved young fellows in all the world. Miss Hard. Eli ! you have frozen me to death again. That word reserved, lias undone all the rest Dialogues, 357 of Ins accomplishments. A reserved lover, it is said, ihvays makes a suspicious husband. Hard. Ou the contrary, luodest)' seldom resides ill a breast that is not enriched w ith nobler virtues. It was the very feature in his character that first struck nie. Miss Hard. He must have more striking features to catch nie, I promise you. However, if lie be so young, so handsome, and so every thin;^, as you mention, 1 believe lie'II do still. I think I'll have him. Jlard. Ay, Kale, but there is still an obstacle. It's more than an even wager he may not liave you. Miss Hard. My dear papa, why will you raoftify one so ? — Well, if he refuses, instead of breaking my heart at his indillerence, I'll only break my glass for its ilattery ; and set ray cap to some newer fash- ion, and look out for some less diificult admirer. Hard. Bravely resolved ! In the mean time, I'll go prepare the servants for his reception ; as we seldom see company, they want as much training as a compa- ny of recruits, the first day's muster. \_Exit Hardcastle, Miss Hard. This nev.s of papa's puts me all in a flutter. Young, handsome ; these he put last ; but I IJUt them foremost. Sensible, good-natured ; I like all that. Rut then reserved and sheepish, that's much against him. Yet can't he he cured of his timidity, by being taught to he proud of his wife ? Yes, and can't I — But I vow I'm disposing of the husband be- fore I have secured the lover. SECTION II. Careifs Lecture on Ml:nicri/, PATEKT \^n nOWLAS. Patent, Walk in. Sir ; your servant. Sir, your servant — have you any particular business with mc? li 398 Dialogues. Doidas. Yes, Sir, my friends have lately discov- ered that I have a genius for the stage. Fai. Oh, you wouhl be a player, would you, Sir ? pray, Sir, did you ever play ? Dow. No, Sir, but I flatter myself — Pat. I hope not, not Sir ; flattering one's- self is ♦he very worst of hypocrisy. Dow. You'll excuse me. Sir. Fat. Ay, Sir, if you'll excuse me for not flattering you. — I always speak my mind. Dow. \ dare say you will like my manner. Sir. Fat. No manner of doubt, Sir — I dare say I shall — pray, Sir, with which of the ladies are you in love ? Don. In love. Sir ! — ladies ! [looking round.'] Fat. Ay, Sir, ladies — Miss Comedy, or Dame Tragedy ! Dory, I'm vastly fond of Tragedy, Sir. Fat. Very well, Sir ; and where is your fort ? Doio. Sir? Fat. I say. Sir, what is your department ? Doii\ Department? — Do you mean my lodging, Sir ? Fc'.t. Your lodgings. Sir ? — no, not I: ha, ha, ha, I should be glad to know what department you wotild wish to possess in the tragic walk — the sighing lover, the furious hero, or the sly assassin. Dovj. Sir, I should like to play King Richard the Third. Pet. An excellent character indeed — a very good character ; and I dare say yoa will play it vastly well, Sir. Dow. I hope you'll have no reason to complain. Sir. Fat. I hope not. Well, Sir, have you got any fa- vourite passage ready ? Dow I have it all by heart, Sir. Pat. You have. Sir, have you ? — I shall be glad to liear you. Dow. Hem — hem — hem — [clearing his throat.'] What, will the aspirng blood of Lancaster Sink in the ground — (thought it would have mounted. See how my sword weeps for the poor king's death ; Dialogues. 39^ ©h ! may sucli purple tears, be always shed On those who wish the downfall of our house ; If there be any spark of life yet remaining Down, down to hell and say I sent thee thither, I that have neilher/JiV?/, love^wov fear. rat. Hold, Sir, hold — in pity hold, /a, za, za. Sir, — Sir — why, Sir, 'tis not like humanity. You wont find me so great a barbarian as Richard ; — you say he had neither/)^?,?/, love, nor fear, — now, Sir, you will find that I am possessed of all these feelings for you at present, — I pity your conceit, I love to speak my mind ; and — I fear you'll never make a player. Dow, Do you think so. Sir ? tat. Do I think so. Sir! — Yes, I knov/ so, Sir ? now, Sir, only look at yourself — your two legs kissing as if they had fallen in love with one anotiier ; — and your arms dingle dangle, like the fins of a dying tur- tle [tnimics Imi] 'pon my soul, Sir, 'twill never do,— pray, Sir, are you of any profession ? Dow. Yes, Sir, a linen draper .' Fat. A linen draper ! an excellent business ; a very good business — you'll get more by that than by playing, — you had better mind your thrumbs and your shop — and don't pester me any more with your Richard and your — za, za, za. — this is a genius !— plague upon such geniuses I say. SECTION III. A dialogue lettoeen Mr. AddlsGii cmd Dr. Sivifi. Dr. Swift. Surely, Addison, fortune was exceed- ingly bent upon playing the fool (a humour her la- dyship, as well as most other ladies of very great quality, is frequently in) when she made you amm- ister of state, and me a d'vine. Addison. I must confess we were both of us out ef our elements. But you do not mean to insinuate?, 4)09 Dialogrws. ihat, if our destiaies Lad been reversed, all would have heen right ? Sivift. Yes, I do. — You would have made an excel- lent bishop, and I should have governed Great Brit- xiiii as I did Ireland, with an absolute sway, while I talked of nothing but liberty, properly, and so forth. Addison. You governed the mob of Ireland ; but I never heard that you governed the kingdom. A nation and a mob arc difierent things. Swijt. Aye ; so you fellows that have no genius for politics may suppose. Bat there are times when, by putting himself at the head of a mob, an able man may get to the head of the nation. Nay, there are times when the nation itself is a mob, and may be treated as such by a skillful observer. Addison. I do not deny the truth of your axiom ; but is there no danger, that froai the vif issitudes of Imrcan affairs, the favourite of the mob should be mobbed in his turn ? Sioift. Sometimes there may ; but I risked it, and it answered my purpose. Ask the lord lieutenants, who were forced to pay court to me instead of my courting them, wheilier they did not feel my superi- ority. And if I could make myself so considerable when I was only a dirty dean of St. Patrick's, with- out a seat in either house of parliament what should I have done if fortune had placed me in Er.gland, unincumbered with a gown, and in a situation to mak& inyself heard iu the house of loids or of commons ? Jddison. You would doubtless have done very marvellous acts ! perhaps you might have then been as zealous a v>'higas Lord Wharton himself; or if the wliigs have oiTiiuded the statesmen, as they unhappily did the doctor, who knows but yoii might have .'jrought iu the Pretender ? pray let me ask you one question between you and me ; if you had been first niiiiister under that prince, would you have tolerated the Protestant religion or not ? Sidft. Ha J My. Secretary, are you witty upon me : i.\o you think, because Sunderland took a fan? Dialo^ircs. 401 cy to make you a great man in ihe state, that he could also make you as great in wit as nature made me ? No, no ; wit is like grace, it must come from above. You can no more get that from the king, than my lords the bishops can the other. And though I will own you had some, yet believe me, my friend, it was no match for mine. 1 think you have not vanity enough to pretend to a competition with me. Addison. I have been often told by my friends that I was rather too modest ; so, if you please, I wilt not decide this dispute for myself, but refer it to Mer- cury, the go'J of wit, who happens just now to be coming this way, Mith a soul he has newly brought to the shades. Hail divine Hermes ! a question of precedence in the class of wit and humour over w^hicli you preside, having arisen between me and my countryman, Dr. Swift, we beg leave Mercury. Dr. Swift I rejoice to see you. — How does my old lad ? How does honest Lemuel Gullivfr? Have you been in Lilliput lately, or in the Flying Islaiuls, or with your good nurse Clumdalclitch ? Pray, when did you eat a crust with Lord Peter ? Is Jack as mad still as ever ? I hear the poor fellow 13 almost got well by more gentle usage. If he had but more food he would be as much in his senses as bro- ther Martin himself. But Slartin, they tell me, has spawned a strange brood of fellows, called Method- ists, Moravians, Kutchinsonians, who are madder than Jack was in his worst days. It is a pity you are not alive again to be at them ;-tliey would Uo. ex- cellent food for your tooth ; and a sliarp tooth it was as ever was placed in the gum of a niorial •, aye, and a strong one too. The hardest food would not break it, and it could pierce the thickest skulls. Indeed it' was like