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CONTENTS. ^''^V rc-aJt-
Prbfacb Page 9
Part i. Rules of Elocution. — Analysis
of the Voice 13
Quality of the Voice. — Roundness. . 14
Smoothness 15}"
Versatility 17
True Pitch 18
, Due Loudness 19
' Moderate ' Force, ' Declamatory '
Force, ' Empassioned ' Force. . . 20
Distinct Articulation 21
Correct Pronunciation 22
True Time 23
Exercises on Time 21
Appropriate Pauses 2-')
Rules for Rhetorical Pauses. . . .26
Right Emphasis. — Rules on Emphastis. 2S
Correct Inflections 30
Rules on the Rising Inflection. . . 32
" " Falling Inflection. . .34
" both Inflectiona In connexion. 36
Rule on the Circumflex or Wave. . 38
" " Monotone. . . .39
" " Harmonic Inflections. 39
" " Repeated Words. . .40
Exercises on the Rising Inflection. . 40
" " Falling Inflection. .43
" both Inflections in connexion: 51
Just Stress,— Radical Stress* . . .54
Explosion,— Expulsion, — Median
Stress, — Effusion 55
Suppression, — Vanishing Stress. . 56
Compound Stress 56
Thorough Stress, — Intermitted Stress,
or Tremor 57
Expressive Tones 53
Key to the Notation of Expressive
Tone 59
Rules on Expressive Tone. . . .60
Appropriate Modulation. ... 72
Part II. Pieces for Practice in Reading and Declamation 75
Less. I. Paul's defence before Festus and Agrippa 75
2. Cultivation of the Mind S. Rebd. 76
3. Physical Education Dr. Humphrey. 78
4. Self Education D. A. White. 79
,5. True Eloquence Daniel Webster. 81
6. Industry indispensable to the Orator. ..... H. Ware, Jr. 82
7. Genius Orville Dewby. 83
8. Antiquity of Freedom W. C. Bryant. 85
9. Sunrise on the Hills H. W. .Longfellow. 86
10. The Christian Character *. E. Cooper. 87
11. Advantages of a Popular Government Dr. Sharp. 89
12. Reverence for Law J. Hopkinson. 90
13. Birthplace of American Liberty Professor Stuart. 92
14. Character of Washington W. Smyth.* 93
15. Impressions from History G. C. Verplanck. 94
16. The Genius of Death G. Croly. 96
17. The Deep J. G. C. Braimard. 97
18. Parallel between Pope and Dryden Johnson. 98
19. The Puritans Macaulay. 100
20. Poetry Channino. 103
21. Causes of War. . H. Binney. 105
22. Foundation of National Character E.Everett. 105
23. Success of the Gospel President Wayland. 107
24. Power of the Soul R. H. Dana, Sen. 103
25. Hymn of Nature W. B. O. Peabody. 110
26. Universal Decay Greenwood. Ill
27. Eternity of God Id. 113
28. Two Centuries from the Landing of the Pilgrims. . . . Crafts. 115
29. The Upright Lawyer S. Greenleap. 116
30. Character of the present Age E. Everett. 117
31. The Founders of Boston President Quincy. 119
32. Human Culture S. J. May. 120
33. Grecian and Roman Eloquence J. Q. Adams. 123
34. Thanatopsis W. C. Bryant. 123
35. Trust in God Wordatcorth. 125
36. Memory W. G. Clark. 127
• The names of Americin authors, are distinjuished by tmall Capitals ; those of Forsign authon by
Italics. By this an.injement, the necessitv of a scparite list of writprs, is obyiatpd.
1*
VI CONTENTS.
LuBON. Paob.
37. OKI Ironsiilea O. W. Holmes. 128
.T3. Tlial Silciu Moon. . . • G. W. Doake. 129
39. Kvoiiiiig oil ihc Si. Lawrence Prop. Siiximan. 130
40. America lo LIncland W. Allsto.n. 131
41. The American Eagle C. W. Thomson. l.'i:i
42. The I^aai Kvi'iiing before Elemily J. A. Hili.house. 13ri
43. Character of Jesus .... S. C. Thacher. 136
44. Wonuui . Miss C. E. Beecheh. 13S
45. The Treadmill Song O. W. Holmes. MO
46. Darkne^i. . Byron. Ill
47. Ood Derz/uivin. 113
4S Niasara Mrs. Sioourney. 140
49. The~ United Stales G. Bancroft. 147
CO. Woiiter Van Twiller Washington Irvino. 149
r>l. I:ivoculion of Mirth Milton. UA
52. Marco Bozzaris F. G. Halleck. 1.")2
.'•.3. Waterloo Byron, l&l
f>4. Pruftsian Balilc Hymn Korner. 1.">G
55. Bernaniu del Carpio. . . , IHrs. Uemayis. l.'iS
56. Williatn Klefl Washi.voto.v Irving. 160
57. Palmyra William Ware. 161
53. Beauties of Nauire Samuel G. Howe. 162
59. An Interest ill!; Adventure William J. S.velling. 163
60. Thoughts on Politeness. . . . . . . . Geo. S. Hillard. 166
61. Same Su!)jecl concluded Id. 167
62. Collage on the Swiss Alps Buckminster. 163
6.3. Peter Stuyvesant Washington Irving. 169
61. Ode on .A.rl Charles Sprague. 171
6.5. Robert Burns F. G. Halleck. 172
66. The Fuliire Life W. C. Bryant. 174
67. The Spirit of Poetry H. W. Longfeixow. 175
63. The Soldier's Widow N. P. Willis. 170
69. The Sicilian Vespers J. G. Whittier. 177
70. Mexican Mythology Wm. H. Prescott. 173
71. Origin ami Progress of Language Samuel G. Howe. 130
72. ZenoUia's Aiiihilion William Ware. ISl
73. Trials of the Pool and the Scholar Geo. S. Hillard. 133
74. Tlie Yankees Samuel Kettel. 1S4
75. Custom of Whitewa.shing Francis Hopkinson. 135
76. Same Sul)jecl continued Id. .137
77. Same Suljject concluded Id. IS3
73. The Force of Curiosity Charles Sprague. 191
79. The Winds W. C. Bryant. 193
80. Daybreak Richard H. Dana, Sen. 194
81. The Light of Home Mrs. S. J. Hale. 196
82. A P.salm of Life H. W. I-ongfellow. 197
83. To the Condor E. F. Ellet. 193
84. A Child carried away by an Eagle Professor Wilson. 199
85. Siime Snt)j'3Ct concluded. ..... . Id. 201
86. Scene al I'lie Dedication of a Heathen Temple. . . William Ware. 20-1
87. Same Subject continued Id. 205
83. Same Subject concluded Id. 206
89. Hamilton and Jay Dr. Hawks. 207
90. Adams and Jelferson Daniel Webster. 2'i9
91. The Destiny of our Republic G. S. Hillard. 211
92. Posthumous Influence of the Wise and Good. . . Andrews Norton. 212
93. Look Alofi J. Lawrence, Jr. 213
64. Ode on War Wm. H. Burleigh. 214
95. The Last Days of Autumn Henry Pickering. 215
96. Man N. Y. Evening Post. 210
97. Pa.ssage down the Ohio James K. Paulding. 217
93. Spirit of Beauty . . Rufus Dawes. 213
99. Education of Females . Joseph Story. 219
100. The Voices of the Dead Orville Dewey. 221
101. The Jewish Revelation Dr. Noyes. 221
102. Incitements to .\merican Intellect G. S. Hillard. 222
103. Importance of Knowledge to the Mechanic. . . . G. B. Emerson. 224
104. Macer preaching oii the steps of the Capitol at Rome. William Ware. 226
105. Death a sublii*e and universal Moralist Jared Sparks. 223
106. Reform in Morals Dr Beecuer. 229
^^VU
^'
PN
CONTENTS. Vll
^"iS?: The Child of the Tomb „Wm B. Tappa/Im
108. Love and Fame H. T. Tuckekman. 232
109. Lumeiilaiion of Rebecca the Jewess. ...... ^- '-'^'^''^- ~Xi
110. Two Hundred Years Ago Grenville Mellen. 235
111 The Sffe Charles hPRAGUE. 237
112: The JBurlaiPlace at Laurel Hill ^- '^i.'^i,^'"''''''- o^^
113. The Good Wife George WBurnap. 239
114. A Good Daughter r^"'- ^- ^n'''^''^^- 9!?
115. Religion the Guardian of the Soul Orvh-lb De>v ey. 241
116. Features of American Scenery ^- „ ^- " oT?
117. Study of Human Nature essential to a Teacher. . . G. B. ^merson. ^d
118. Education • D«- ""?"'"';!I,- ^^
119. Progress of Science Edward Lveuett. 2 6
120. Purpose of the Bunker-Hill Monument Daniel \V ebster. 247
121. f he American Flag /Arooks' 2M
122. Greece in 1820 • • • /• G Brooks. 2oO
123 The Wild Boy Charles West Thomson. 2o2
124'. The Cure of Melancholy Carlos Wilcox. 2.53
125. My Native Village. • . John H. Brya-nt. 2.^
126. The Press. . Joseph T. Bucki.ngham. Z.^
127. Mount Auburn. ...•.••• Nehemiah Adams. 2o6
128. Tryii.g to Please Edward T.Channing. 2..7
129. Defence of CliarlesGreenleaf.- ^A n ^ ;tnS' o-q
130. The Genius of Aristiyihanes t:- e ^ T.™ opT
131. Responsibility of Americans. . • .... ^- ^- w f5J3' oko
132 The Mockiii" Bird Alexander Wilson. 2b2
133: The Europea'i and the American Nations. . . . Daniel Webster. 263
134. The Times, the Manners, and the Men. . . . • J. K. Lowell. 2bo
135. Liberty to Athens i^'??r%°- I?/, t" 9«7
136. The Arsenal at Springfield „ • H. W. Longfellow. 267
137. Immortality. . Richard H. Dana, feEN. 268
138. The Gray Old Man of the Mountain Harry Hibbard. 2^0
139. The Novel Reader Charles Sprague. 2a
140. Mountains of New Hampshire • • • "f^^^ "'^^- ori
141. Local Associations Harrison Gray Otis. 274
142. The Representative • i,""''!^"'''^- f~l
143. A Republican School-Room • A. B. MuzzE\ 2/9
144. The English Skylark Samuel H. Stearns. 280
14.5. The Invalid and the Politician ^ ■ ■'^'""/'«^- ^^^
146. New England Freedom and Enterprise. .... Josiah Q-jincy. 2>l
147. Freedom and Progress Charles G. Atherton. 23o
148. Scene from Marino Faliero ^ W ^ ^'°"- oor.
149. The Rich Man's Son, and the Poor Man's Son. . . ■ J- R- Lowell. 291J
150. New England's Dead. ^'^V G PE;'c''iviL 293
1.53! The First sLntlers in New Hampshire ^.^-.^'n-V'^'^' ono
154. Scrooge and Marley C^a,*s Dickens. 293
155. The Pilgrim Fathers of New England I^'?^^ ^Ihoate. 300
156. The Settlers of Connecticut ■ ^H^". Kent. 30-2
157. Benefits of CoUesiate Education 'S'"' ^ a? ^n«
153. Our Control over our Physical Well-being. . . . Horace Mann. 306
159. The Insolvent and the Bankrupt. . . • •, • •■' ^- ^srrie.m. 307
160. Extract from an Address delivered at Chapel HiU. . William Gaston. 3 1
161. The Lyre • Milton Ward. 3 2
162. Polish War Song James G. Perciv.^l. 3 4
163. Belshazzar ^, ' /T' , )'/ ?)'l
164. Elijah's Interview Thomas CamphelL 3 o
165. Dame Nature's Charms M., F "h Fvans' 313
166. Night in Eden Mrs. E. H Evans. 3 3
167. The Present Age Daniel Webster. 319
168. Melancholy Fate of the Indians /°^f ''^ ^■'°"^'- So
i69. Edmund Burke A. H. Everett. 322
170. National Self Respect t o n " q^r
171. Internal Improvement • • J-^' ^^^^"°™- :^.^~
172. Founders of our Government Wm. M. Riciiard.son. 326
17.3. Conduct of the Opposition ^^^^^'^ ^h'''^- HL
174. God the Creator. „ • ^^enehn. 323
75. Crescentius " „ MiSsLa>idon 329
176. Address to ll.e Ocean Barrtj Cormcall. .330
nil
CONTENTS.
LuaoN.
177. The Ursa Major ,
I7;<. Tho Kale ol "ryranny
17i). Iho Dowiil'iiU ol Tolaiul
ISl). Nll|Hll,.OIl !ll RoHl
ISl. Napol.'oii Hoiiainrlo
Itti Tho Tliiimlcr tilorin
183. Clu-ssical Lcaniiiiir.
184. The nunki-rHill Momimenl. .
IS.";. Appeal ill Favor of lliB Union. .
IS6. Fruiico ntul Kneliiiul
187. Mili'.ary Iiisiibonlinalion
188. Los.s of Nalioiial Character.
189. l^ifavette anil .\'a|xileoii
190. The Vision of Liburly
191. Shakspeare
192. SpcechofKienzi 10 ihe Romans. .
193. Same Sulijecl
194. Gustavu3 Vasa to the Swedes.
195. A Field of Bailie
196. Kesislance to Oppression. .
197. Duties of American Citizens.
19S. Political Corriiiition
199. Intelligence necessary to perpetuate Independence.
200. South American Republics
201. Excelloiice of Ihe Holy Scriptures
202. Speech of Mr. Griffin against Cheelham.
203. Sir Anthony Absolute ami Captain Absolute. .
20t. Antony's Address to the Roman Populace.
205. The Victor Aiisels
206. Impressment of American Seamen. ...
207. " New Eiijland, what is she ? " ....
203.'Partv Spirit
209. Restless Spirit of Man
210. Rectitude of Cliaractcr
211. Washiimlon. ~
212. Public Faith
213. Free [nslitntions favorable to Literature.
214. The Study of Klocution necessary for a Preacher. .
215. Relief of Kevolntionary Officers
216. Rapacity antWiarbarily of a British Soldiery.
217. Free Navigation of the Mississippi.
218. Our Duties to our Country
219. England and the United States
220. Massachusetts and New York
221. The Bible
222. Fate of Montezuma
223. Scenery aljoul Hasten Cleaver Hills. .
221. The Treasure that Wa.xelh not Old
225. The Youm; Mariner's Dream. . . • .
226. Gustavus Vasa and Cristieru
227. Tamerlane and Bajazet
22S. An Independent Judiciary
229. Memorials of \Vashin?ton and Franklin. , .
2.30. Dialogue from Henry IV
2:J1. The Love of Truth
232. Ener-ry ofthe Will
213. The Scholar's Mission
PxaiL
Henry Ware, Jr. 331
. Mtixon. 335
Thomas fumpUU. 3aS
. John Pieupont. 3.39
CllANNlNO. 310
Washington Iuvino. 312
JosEi'ii Stohv. 343
DANinr. Wedster. 345
. Jamks Madikon. 316
John C. Cai.iioun. ."MS
. Henry Clay. 3.">()
. Presiuent Maxcy. 351
. . . E. EVKHETT. 3.'J2
Henry Ware, Jr. .354
Ciiaiu.es Si'ragde. .3.')6
. Miss Mil ford. 357
Tliumiis Moore. 359
. Brooke. 360
. Shelleij. 3(51
Patrick Henry. 302
. Levi Woodbury. 364
. Geo. M'Duffie. 366
. JiTDGE Dawes. 367
Daniel Webster. 3G3
Beattie. 370
. • . . . . 370
. Sheridan. 372
. . . Sha/cspfure. 375
Milton. 377
Henry Clay. 378
Tristam Burges. 379
. William Gaston. 381
. Wilbur Fisk. 3-?3
William Wirt. 385
. Daniel Webster. 3S6
Fisher Ames. 3SS
. Edward Everett. 390
. Prof. Park. 391
Martin Van Buren. 393
. Wm. Livingston. 394
GotJVERNEUR Morris. 395
Daniel Webster. 397
E. Everett. 399
Gov. Skward. 402
Thos. S. Grimke. 404
Wm. H. Prescott. 405
. John A. Clark. 407
D. Huntington. 409
Dimond. 410
. Brooke. 411
. Rowe. 414
James A. Bayard. 417
J. Q. Adams. 419
Shakspeare. 421
George Putnam. 424
Thomas C. Upham. 425
George Putnam. 42'
PREFACE.
The design of this work is, to furnish a text-book for the systematic
teaching of reading and declamation. Of the reading books already in
general use, some, though possessed of high literary merit, afford no aid
to instruction in elocution ; while others offer but a few desultory re-
marks, and disconnected rules, which do not insure either an adequate
knowledge of principles, or a regular progress in the art of reading.
These defects in existing compilations, are, to teachers generally, the
grounds of just objection and complaint ; and the compilers of the pres-
ent work have been repeatedly solicited to prepare a volume such as is
now offered. Speaking with reference to a work of this nature, the late
Rev. Dr. Porter, of Andover Theological Seminary, in his ' Analysis of
Rhetorical Dehvery,' says, " The man who shall prepare a schoolbook,
containing proper lessons for the management of the voice, will prob-
ably do a greater service to the interests of elocution, than has yet been
done by the most elaborate works on the subject, in the English lan-
guage." And, in a note appended to this passage, " Since this remark
was made in my pamphlet on Inflections, several small works, well
adapted to the purpose above mentioned, have been published ; and one
is now in press, entitled, Lessons in Declamation, by Mr. Russell, of
Boston, concerning the utility of which, high expectations are justified
by the skill of the author, as a teacher of elocution."*
To some persons, the 'Rhetorical Reader,' founded on Dr. Porter's
' Analysis,' may seem to occupy the ground claimed for the present pub-
lication. The compilers would offer, in explanation, not merely their
own impressions, but the express objections made by many teachers,
when requesting the aid of a book more exactly adapted to the wants
felt in actual instruction. The Rhetorical Reader contains, it is admit-
ted, many excellent suggestions on elocution, and many pieces of emi-
■ nent merit as to their matter. But the marking of inflections, in partic-
ular, contravenes, in many parts of that book, the rules and principles
* The publication of the book mentioned above, of which the late Dr. Porter had seen
the proofs of the first half of the volume, was unavoidably suspended, in consequence of
a change of business, on the part of the publishers who had undertaken it. But tho
•whion are the guiues of practice.
X PREFACE.
of the work itself, and is wholly at variance with appropriate style in
reading. The pieces are, to a great extent, of a character better suited
to adults and professional readers, than to young persons at school ;
and the style of language, in some, is equally negligent and incorrect.
A single word of explanation, perhaps, is due, in relation to the ap-
parent coincidence of plan and rule, in some parts of the present work,
with those of the ' Rhetorical Reader.' The ' Analysis,' on which the
' Rhetorical Reader,' was founded, was compiled, to a considerable ex-
tent, as regards rules and examples, from materials handed, for that
purpose, to the Rev. Dr. Porter, by one of the editors of the present vol-
ume ; and the latter's mode of teaching, as an elocutionist, being, of
course, modified by the principles embodied m these materials, a man-
ual of instruction, if prepared by him, must necessarily produce a par-
tial resemblance of method to that of a work partly constructed on the
same data.
The compilers of the following work, have drawn, it will be per-
ceived, to a considerable extent, from that invaluable source of instruc-
tion in elocution, the Philosophy of the Human Voice, by Dr. James
Rush, of Philadelphia. The clearness of exposition, and the precision
of terms, in that admirable work, have greatly facilitated, as well as
clearly defined, the processes of practical teaching, in whatever regards
the discipline of the organs of speech, or the functions of the voice, in
utterance and articulation, in emphasis, inflection, modulation, and
every other constituent of elocution.
The pieces for practice in reading and speaking, which form the
larger portion of this volume, have been selected with great care, as re-
gards their character, not only in relation to the purposes of practice in
reading, but with reference to the intluence of a high standard of
excellence, — both in subject and style, — on the mind and taste of
young readers. Regard, also, has constantly been paid to the effect
which the pieces seemed adapted to produce, as favoring the cultivation
of elevated sentiment, and of practical virtue.
The preparation of the pieces for the purpose of applying the rules of
elocution, has been regulated by a regard to the importance of placing
before the reader, but one principle or rule at a time, of presenting it
clearly, and of repeating it with sufficient frequency to fix it firmly on
the mind. The marking by which the modifications of the voice are
indicated, is, accordingly, restricted, principally, to one subject in each ;
so as to avoid confusion, and to secure a full and lasting impression of
each rule or principle. In modulation and expression, however, where
there exists a natural complexity in the subject itself, the marking is, of
course, more !'-•••;'"<•«
i>
PRFFACE. XI
nite. The suggestive notatioa has been limited to such a number of
pieces, as seemed requisite to fix the prominent principles of elocution
permanently in the memory. But most of the lessons have been left
unmarked, in order to have the reader exert his own judgment in apply-
ing the rules, with the aid, when necessary, of the teacher.
The propnety and the advantage of any system of notation, for the
purposes of study in elocution, have been, by some writers, considered
doubtful. On this subject, Dr. Porter has made the following just ob-
servations :
" If there could at once spnng up in our country a supply of teachers,
competent, as living models, to regulate the tones of boys, in the form-
ing age, — nothing more would be needed. But, to a great extent,
these teachers are to be themselves formed. And to produce the trans-
formation which the case demands, some attempt seems necessary to go
to the root of the evil, by incorporating the principles of spoken lan-
guage with the written. Not that such a change should be attempted
with regard to books generally ; but in books of elocution, designed for
tiiis single purpose, visible marks may be employed, suflBcient to desig-
nate the chief points of established correspondence between sentiment
and voice. These principles oeing well settled in the mind of the pupil,
xnay be spontaneously applied, where no such marks are used."
Objections are made by some authors, — whose judgment and taste,
on other subjects, are unquestionable, — not only to any system of no-
tation indicating the modifications of voice which characterize appropri-
ate reading, but to any systematic instruction in the rules and principles
of elocution themselves.
Persons, even, who admit the use of rules on other subjects, contend,
that, in reading and speaking, no rules are necessary ; that a correct
ear is a suflicient guide, and the only safe one. If, by a 'correct ear,' be
meant a vague exercise of feeling or of taste, unfounded on a principle,
the guidance will prove to be that of conjecture, fancy, or whim. But
if, by a ' correct ear,' be meant an intuitive exercise of judgment or of
taste, consciously or unconsciously recognizing a principle, then is there
virtually imphed a latent rule ; and the instructor's express office, is, to
aid his pupil in detecting, applying, and retaining that rule.
Systematic rules are not arbitrary ; they are founded on observation
and experience. No one who is not ignorant of their meaning and ap-
plication, will object to them, merely because they are systematic, well
defined, and easily understood : every reflective student of any art, pre-
fers systematic knowledge to conjectural judgment, and seizes with
avidity on a principle, because he knows that it involves those rules
■which are the guides of practice.
Xn PREFACE.
"^V^len a skilful teacher," says Dr. Porter, "has read to his pupils a
sentence for ilieir imitation, is there any reason why he should have read
it as he did ? — or wly he or they should read it again in the same
manner ? Can that reason be made intelligible ? Doubtless it may, if
it is founded on any stated law. The pupils, then, need not rest in a
servile imitation of their teacher's manner, but are entitled to ask why
his emphasis, or inflection, or cadence, was so, and not otherwise : and
then they may be able to transfer the. same principles to other cases."
•• &nouid some still doubt whether any theory of vocal inflections can
DC adopted, which will not be perplexing, and, on the whole, injurious,
especially to the young, I answer, that the same doubt may as well be
extended to every department of practical knowledge. To tldnk of the
rules of syntax, every sentence we speak, or of the rules of orthogra-
phy and style, every time we take up our pon to wnte, would indeed be
perplexing. The remedy prescribed by a)mmon sense, in all such cases,
is, not to discard correct theories, but to make them so familiar as to
govern our practice spontaneously, and without reflection."
J. G.
W. B.
AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL READER AND
SPEAKER.
PART I.— RULES OF ELOCUTION.
ANALYSIS OF THE VOICE.
The chief distinctions of the voice, as they are presented in the
science of music, are comprehended under the heads of ' Rhythm',
including all the modifications of voice produced by 'time', 'mea-
sure', and 'movement'; — 'Dynamics', comprising the various ap-
plications' and degrees of ' volume', or 'quantity', 'loudness', and
'force'; — 'Melody', including 'pitch', 'intonation', or change of
' note', in ascending or descending the musical scale, and ' modula
tion', or change of key' ; — ' Quality', designating the voice as ' bary-
tone', or grave ; 'soprano', or high; 'tenor', or medium; 'pure',
or clear and smooth ; ' impure', or the reverse of the last.
The classification of vocal properties, as exhibited in eloaition,
according to the system developed in Dr. Rush's ' Philosophy of the
Voice', comprises, — 'Quality', 'Force', 'Pitch', and 'Time', — all
used in the same general references, as in music, — and ' Abrupt-
ness', — a property of voice which is exhibited in the sudden and
instantaneous explosion of forcible sound, as in the tone of violent
anger. This quality is properly but one of the modifications of
' force'.
* The analysis of the voicej^for the purposes of instruction
and practice in reading and declamation, may be extended, in
detail, to the following points, which form the essential prop-
erties of good style, in reading and speaking.
1. Good'Quality' of Voice; 6. Appropriate Pauses ;
2. Due ' Quantity ', or Loud- 7. Right Emphasis ;
ness; 8. Correct 'Inflections';
3. Distinct Articulation ; 9. Just ' Stress';
4. Correct Pronunciation; 10. ' Expressive Tones';
5. True Time; 11. Appropriate 'Modulation,'
* The larger type distinguishes those portions of Part I. wliich arc
most important to the learner, and which should be, in substance, im
pressed on the memory.
2
14 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART 1.
^ I. — QUALITY OF VOICE.
The chief properties of a good voice, are,
1. Roundness, 3. Versatility,
2. Smoothness, 4. Right Pitch.
1. Roundness.
This property of voice is exemplified in that ringing ful-
ness of tone, which belongs to the utterance of animated and
earnest feeling, when unobstructed by false habit. It is natu-
ral and habitual, in childhood ; it is exhibited in all good
singing, and in the properly cultivated style of public reading
and speaking.
This mode of voice depends, 1. on a true position of the body, as
preparatory to the easy and energetic use of the organs of speech ;
2. on deep and tranquil respiration, (breathing,) which furnishes a
full supply of breath, — the only means of creating a full vocal
sound ; 3. on energetic expulsion of the breath, or sending it forci-
bly up to the ' larynx', or upper part of the throat, by the action of
the lower muscles of the trunk, — those, chiefly, which are situated
in front, and below the ribs.
The true position of the body, for the ftmction of speech, implies
an attitude perfectly upright ; the head erect ; the shoulders held
back and down ; the chest well expanded and projected. The cav-
ity of the chest, being thus greatly enlarged, the lungs well supplied
with air, and the lower and larger muscles of the trunk, acting pow-
erfully, the voice seems, as it were, to ring clearly in the head, and
resound fully in the chest, at the same moment.
A full, deep, round, and ample sound, is thus imparted to the
voice. This tone has been termed, by Dr. Rush, the ' orotund', or
round tone. It belongs appropriately to public reading and speak-
ing, as contrasted with familiar talking. One great cause of the
feeble, stifled, thin, and imperfect Voices, which are heard so often
in reading and speaking, is the absence of that vigorous tone of
healthful acti\'ity, which is indispensable, alike to the free and ef-
fective play of the organs of speech, and to that vividness of feeling,
which is the true inspiration of the voice. This want of healthy
vigor and spirit, leads to stooping postures, a sunken chest, drooping
head, and consequently, to suppressed and imperfect tone. Reading
aloud becomes, in consequence of these faults, a fatiguing and ex
hausting labor, instead of an exhilarating and inspiring exertion.
Practice, in the style of vehement declamation, is the best means
of securing a round and full tone. — The following exercise should be
repeatedly practised, with the attention closely directed to the man-
agement of the organs, in the manner which has just been described,
as producing the 'orotund', or resonant quality of voice.
PART I.] READER AND SPEAKER. 16
Exercise on the ' Orotund '.
" Who is the man that, in addition to the disgraces and
mischiefs of the war, has dared to authorize, and associate to
our arms, the tomahawk and scalping knife of the savage ? —
to call into civilized alliance the wild and inhuman inhabitant
of the woods ? — to delegate to the merciless Indian, the de-
fence of disputed rights, and to wage the horrors of this
barbarous war, against our brethren ? — My lords, we are
called upon as members of this house, as men, as Christians,
to protest against such horrible barbarity I — I solemnly call
upon your lordships, and upon every order of men in the
state, to stamp upon this infamous procedure the indelible
stigma of the public abhorrence ! "
2. Smoothness of Voice, or 'Purity^ of Tone.
Smoothness of voice, in reading and speaking, is the same
quality which, in relation to vocal music, is termed 'purity'
of tone.
This property of voice consists in maintaining an undisturbed,
liquid stream of sound, resembling, to the ear, the effect produced
on the eye, by the flow of a clear and perfectly transparent stream
of water. It depends, like every other excellence of voice, on a
free, upright, and unembarrassed attitude of the body, — the head
erect, the chest expanded. It implies natural and tranquil respi-
ration, (breathing ;) — full and deep ' inspiration', (inhaling, or
drawing in the breath ;) and gentle 'expiration', (giving forth the
breath ;) a true, and firm, but moderate exercise of the ' larynx', (or
upper part of the throat ;) and a careful avoiding of every motion
that produces a jarring, harsh, or grating sound.
'Pure' tone is free from, 1. the heavy and hollow note of the
chest; — 2. the 'guttural', choked, stifled, or hard sound of the
swollen and compressed throat ; — 3. the hoarse, husky, ' harsh', * ree-
dy', and grating, style, which comes from too forcible ' expiration',
and too wide opening of the throat; — 4. the nasal twang, which is
caused by forcing the breath against the nasal passage, and, at the
same time, partially closing it ; — 5. the wiry, or false ring of the
voice, which unites the guttural and the nasal tones ; — 6. the af-
fected, mincing voice of the mouth, which is caused by not allowing
the due proportion of breath to escape through the nose. The nat-
ural, smooth, and pure tone of the voice, as exhibited in the vivid
utterance natural to healthy childhood, to good vocal music, or to
appropriate public speaking, avoids every effect arising from an un-
due preponderance, or excess, in the action of the muscles of the
chest, the throat, or any other organ, and, at the same time, secures
all the good qualities resulting from the just and well-proportioned
exercise of eafh. A true and smooth utterance, derives resonance
16 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART 1.
from the chest, firmness from the throat, and clearness from the
head and mi)iitli.
Without these quaUties, it is impossible to give right effect to the
heauty and grandeur of noble sentiments, whether expressed in
prose or in verse.
Childhood and j'outh are the favorable seasons for acquiring and
fixing, in permanent possession, the good qualities of agreeable and
effective utterance. The teacher cannot exert too much vigilance,
nor the pupil take too much pains, to avoid the encroachments of
faulty habit, in this important requisite to a good elocution.
The subjoined exercise should be frequently and attentively prac-
tised, with a view to avoid every sound which mars the purity of
the tone, or hinders a perfect smoothness of voice.
Exercise in Smoothness and '^ Purity'' of Voice.
" No sooner had the Almighty ceased, but all
The multitude of angels, with a shout.
Loud as from numbers without number, sweet,
As from blest voices uttering joy ; — heaven rung
With jubilee, and loud hosannas filled
The eternal regions ; — lowly reverent,
Towards either throne they bow ; and to the ground,
With solemn adoration, down they cast
Their crowns, inwove with amaranth and gold. —
Then crowned again, their golden harps they took, —
Harps ever tuned, — that, glittering by their side.
Like quivers hung, and with preamble sweet
Of charming symphony, they introduce
Their sacred song, and waken raptures high."
Note. The various passions and emotions of the soul, are, to a
great extent, indicated by the ' quality ' of the voice. Thus, the
malignant, and all excessive emotions, as anger, hatred, revenge, fear,
and horror, are remarkable for ' guttural quality', and strong ' aspi-
ration', or ' expiration', accompanying the vocal sound, and forming
'impure' tone; substituting a 'harsh', husky, aspirated utterance,
for the ' orotund', or the ' pure ' tone ; while -pathos, serenity, love,
joy, courage, take a soft and smooth ' oral', or head tone, perfectly
pure, or swelling into 'orotund'. Awe, solemnity, reverence, and
melancholy, take a deep, 'pectoral' murmur; the voice resounding,
as it were, in the cavity of the chest, but still keeping perfectly
'pure' in tone, or expanding into full 'orotund'. — See Section on
'Expressive Tones/
Young persons cannot be too deeply impressed with the impor-
tance of cultivating, early, a pure and smooth utterance. The ex-
cessively deep ' pectoral ' tone sounds hollow and sepulchral ; the
' guttural ' tone is coarse, and harsh, and grating to the ear ; the
nasal ' tone is ludicrous ; and the combination of ' guttural ' and
PAHT r.] READER AND SI'EAKER. m 17
' nasal ' tone, is repulsive and extremely disagreeable. Some speak-
ers, through excessive negligence, allow themselves to combine the
' pectoral', ' guttural', and ' nasal ' tones, in one sound, — for which
the word grunt is the only approximate designation that can be
found. AiTectation, or false taste, on the other hand, induces
some speakers to assume an extra fine, or double-distilled, ' oral '
tone, which minces every word in the mouth, as if the breast had
no part to perform in human utterance.
The tones of serious, serene, cheerful, and kindly feeling, are
nature's genuine standard of agreeable voice, as is evinced in the
utterance of healthy and happy childhood. But prevalent neglect
permits these to be lost in the habitual tones of boys and girls, men
and women. Faithful teachers may be of much service to young
persons, in this particular.
3. Versatility, or Pliancy of Voice,
Signifies that power of easy and instant adaptation, by which
it takes on the appropriate utterance of every emotion which
occurs in the reading or speaking of a piece characterized by
varied feeling or intense* passion.
To acquire this invaluable property of voice, the most useful
course of practice is the repeated reading or reciting of passages
marked by striking contrasts of tone, as loud or soft, high or low,
fast or slow.
The following exercises should be repeated till the pupil can give
them in succession, with perfect adaptation of voice in each case,
and with instantaneous precision of effect.
Exercises for Versatility, or Pliayicy of Voice :
Very Loud.
" And dar'st thou, then.
To beard the lion in his den, —
The Douglas in his hall ?
And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go ?
No ! by St. Bride of Bothwell, no ! —
Up, drawbridge, groom ! What ! warder, ho !
Let the portcullis fall ! "
Very Soft.
" I 've seen the moon climb the mountain's brow,
I 've watched the mists o'er the river stealing, —
But ne'er did I f^el in my breast, till now,
So deep, so calm, and so holy a feeling : —
'T is soft as the thrill which memory throws
Athwart the soul, in the hour of repose."
18 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART '
Very IjOio.
" I had a dream, which was not all a dream,
The bright sun was extinguished ; and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless ; and the icy earth »
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air."
Very High.
" I woke : — where was I ? — Do I see
A human face look down on me ?
And doth a roof above me close ?
Do these limbs on a couch repose ?
Is this a chamber where I lie ?
And is it mortal, yon bright eye,
That watches me with gentle glance ? "
Very Sloiu.
" Of old hast Thou laid the foundation of the earth ; and
the heavens are the work of Thy hands. They shall perish,
but Thou shalt endure ; yea, all of them shall wax old, like
a garment ; as a vesture shalt Thou change them, and they
shall be changed : but Thou art the same ; and Thy years
shall have no end."
Very Quick.
" I am the Rider of the wind,
The Stirrer of the storm !
The hurricane I left behind
Is yet with lightning warm ; —
To speed to thee, o'er shore and sea
I swept upon the blast."
4. True Pitch of Voice.
The proper pitch of the voice, when no peculiar emotion
demands high or low notes, is, — for the purposes of ordinary
reading or speaking, — a little below the habitual note of con-
versation, for the person who reads or speaks. Public dis-
course being usually on graver subjects and occasions, than
mere private communication, naturally and properly adopts
this level.
But, throug-h mistake or inadvertency, we sometimes hear persons
read and speak on too low a key for the easy and expressive use
PART I.] READER AND SPEAKER. 19
of the voice, and, sometimes, on the other hand, on a key too high
for convenient or agreeable utterance.
The following sentences should be repeated till the note on which
they are pitched is distinctly recognized, and perfectly remembered,
Bo as to become a key to all similar passages.
Exercise on Middle Pilch.
" In every period of life, the acquisition of knowledge is
one of the most pleasing employments of the human mind.
But in youth, there are circumstances which make it produc-
tive of higher enjoyment. It is then that every thing has
the charm of novelty ; that curiosity and fancy are awake,
and that the heart swells with the anticipations of future
eminence and utility."
Contrast this pitch with that of the pieces before quoted, as exam-
ples of ' high' and ' low'.
9 II. DUE QUANTITY, OR LOUDNESS.
The second characteristic of good reading, is the use of
that degree of loudness, force, ' volume', or ' quantity', of voice
which enables those to whom we read or speak, to hear,
without effort, every sound of the voice ; and which, at the
same time, gives that degree of force which is best adapted
to the utterance of the sentiments which are read or spoken.
All undue loudness is a great annoyance to the ear, and an injury
to the expression ; while a feeble and imperfect utterance fails of
the main purposes of speech, by being partly or entirely inaudible,
and consequently utterly unimpressive.
The failure, as regards loudness, is usually made on passages of
moderate force, which do not furnish an inspiring impulse of emo-
tion, and which depend on the exercise of judgment and discrimina-
tion, rather than of feeling.
It is of great service, however, to progress in elocution, to possess
the power of discriminating the various degrees of force which the
utterance of sentiment requires. The extremes of very ' loud ' and
very ' soft", required by peculiar emotions, have been exemplified in
the exercise on ' versatility' of voice.
There are tlfi^ee degrees of loudness, all of great impor-
tance to the appropriate utterance of thought and feeling,
required in the usual forms of composition. These are the
following : ' moderate', ' forcible', and ' empassioned'. The
first, the 'moderate', occurs in the reading of plain narrative,
descriptive, or didactic composition, addressed to the under-
20 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAKT I.
slunding, rather than to the feelings : the second, the ' forci-
ble', is exemplified in energetic declamation: the third, the
' empassioned', occurs in the language of intense emotion,
whether in the form of poetry or of prose.
The teacher's watcliful attention -will be required, in superintend-
ing the pupirs practice on the following examples, so as to enable
him to detect, and fix definitely, in his ear, the exact degree of
loudness appropriate to each ])assage. The exercises should be re-
peated till they can be executed with perfect precision, so as to form
a standard for all similar expression, in subsequent reading.
Exercite in ^Moderate'' Force.
" An author represents Adam as using the following lan-
guage. ' I remember the moment when my existence com-
menced : it was a moment replete with joy, amazement, and
anxiety. I neither knew what I was, where I was, nor
whence I came. I opened my eyes : what a^ increase of
sensation ! The light, the celestial vault, the verdure of the
earth, the transparency of the waters, gave animation to my
spirits, and conveyed pleasures which exceed the powers of
utterance.' "
' Declamatory ' Force.
" Advance, then, ye future generations ! We bid you wel-
come to this pleasant land of the Fathers. We bid you
welcome to the healthful skies, and the verdant fields of New
England. We greet your accession to the great inheritance
which we have enjoyed. We welcome you to the blessings
of good government, and religious liberty. We welcome
you to the treasures of science, and the delights of learning.
We welcome you to the transcendant sweets of domestic life,
to the happiness of kindred, and parents, and children. We
welcome you to the immeasurable blessings of rational exist-
ence, the immortal hope of Christianity, and the light of
everlasting Truth ! "
' Empassioned ' Force.
" Shame ! shame ! that in such a proud moment of life.
Worth ages of history, — when, had you but hurled
One bolt at your bloody invader, that strife
Between freemen and tyrants, had spread through the
world, —
PART I.] READER AND SPEAKER. 21
That then, — Oh ! disgrace upon manhood ! — e'en then
You should faher, — should cling to your pitiful breath, —
Cower down into beasts, Avhen you might have stood men,
And prefer a slave's life, to a glorious death !
It is strange ! — it is dreadful ! — Shout, Tyranny, shout
Through your dungeons and palaces, ' Freedom is o'er ! ' —
If there lingers one spark of her fire, tread it out,
And return to your empire of darkness, once more."
^ III. DISTINCT ARTICULATION.
" Correct articulation is the most important exercise of the voice
and of the organs of speccli. A reader or speaker, possessed of
only a moderate voice, if he articulate correctly, will be better un-
derstood, and heard with greater pleasure, than one who vociferates.
The voice of the latter may, indeed, extend to a considerable dis-
tance ; but the sound is dissipated in confusion : of the former voice
not the smallest vibration is wasted, — every soimd is perceived, at
the utmost distance to which it reaches ; and hence it even pene-
trates farther than one which is loud, but badly articulated.
In just articulation, the words are not hurried over, nor
precipitated syllable over syllable ; nor, as it were, melted to-
gether into a mass of confusion : they are neither abridged,
nor prolonged ; nor swallowed, nor forced, and, if I may so
express myself, shot from the mouth ; they are not trailed
nor drawled, nor let slip out carelessly, so as to drop unfin-
ished. They are delivered out from the lips, as beautiful
coins newly issued from the mint, deeply and accurately im-
pressed, perfectly finished, neatly struck by the proper organs,
distinct, sharp, in due succession, and of due weight."*
This department of correct reading, belongs, properly, to the
stage of elementary lessons. But as negligence in general habit,
and remissness in early practice, are extensively the causes of an
imperfect articulation, it may be of great service to young readers to
review the elements of the language, in successive practical exer-
cises, as embodied in a manual prepared by one of the editors of the
present work.f For facility of practice in difficult combinations of
letters and syllables, some of the exercises in Tower's ' Gradual
Reader', will also be found very serviceable. The preliminary Ex-
* Austin's < Chironomia,' pp. 37, 38.
f 'Russell's Lessons in Enunciation; comprising a Course of Ele-
mentary Exercises, and a statement of Common Errors in Articulation,
with the Rules of Correct Usage in Pronoimcing. Boston, Jenks &
Palmer.'
!2*J AJMERICAN COMMON- SCHOOL [PART I
crcises in Articulation ami Pronunciation, prefixed to the volume
prepared as an ' Introduction " to the present work, are designed to
serve the purpose ol" an extensive discipline in this department of
elocution. A brief course, of a similar nature, but adapted to juve-
nile readers, is contained in an elementary book compiled by one of
the editors of this Reader.*
A paf^o or a parajrrapii of every reading lesson, should, previous
to the regular exercise, be read bachwaril, for the purpose of arrest-
ing tlie attention, and securing every sound in every word.
Tiie design of the present volume, does not admit of detail, in the
department of elocution now under consideration. The importance,
however, of a perfectly distinct enunciation can never be impressed
too deeply on the mind of tlie pupil. An exact articulation is more
conducive than any degree of loudness, to facility of hearing and
understanding. Young readers should be accustomed to pronounce
every word, every syllable, and every letter, with accuracy, al-
though without labored effort. The faults of skipping, slighting,
mumbling, swallowing, or drawling the sounds of vowels or of con-
sonants, are not only offensive to the ear, but subversive of meaning,
as may be perceived in the practice of several of the following
examples.
1. " That lasts t\\\ night : that Vdist st'iW night."
2. " He can debate on efther side of the question : he can
debate on neither side of the question."
3. " The steadfast stranger in the ioxests sprayed."
4. " Who ever imagined such an ocean to exist ? — Who ever
imagined such a 7iotion to exist ? "
5. " His cry woved me : his crime moveA me."
6. " He could pay ?iobody : he could pai/i wobody."
7. " Up the high. Aill he /^eaves a Auge round stone."
8. " Tho' oft the ear the open vowels lire."
9. " Heaven's firs? s^ar alike ye see."
^ IV. CORRECT PRONUNCIATION.
That pronunciation is correct which is sanctioned by good
usage, or custom. Good usage implies the habit of persons
of good education, as regulated by the decisions of learning
and taste, exemplified in standard dictionaries, — a style
which is equally free from the errors of uneducated or neg-
ligent custom, and the caprices of pedantry, — which falls in
* 'Russell's Primary Reader : a Selection of easy Reading Lessons,
with introductory Exercises in Articulation, for Young Children. Bos-
ton • Tappan & Dennct.'
PART I.J READER AND 5 PEAKER. 23
with the current of cuhivated mind, and does not deviate
into peculiarities, on the mere authority of individuals.
Good taste in pronunciation, while it allows perfect freedom
of choice, as to the mode of pronouncing words liable to
variation in sound or accent, requires a compliance with
every fixed point of sanctioned usage.
The subject of pronunciation, Uke the preceding one, — articula-
tion, — belongs properly to the department of elementary instruc-
tion.* But as this branch of elocution does not always receive its
due share of seasonable attention, many errors in pronunciation are
apt to occur in the exercise of reading, as performed by even the ad-
vanced classes in schools. To avoid such errors, it will be found
useful to discuss closely and minutely, the correct pronunciation of
every word which, in any lesson, is liable to be mispronounced.
The standard of reference, in such cases, ought to be Walker's
Dictionary, Worcester's edition of Johnson and Walker combined,
or the same author's edition of Dr. Webster's Dictionary.
All reading lessons should, if practicable, be read to the class, by
the teacher, one day beforehand, so as to allow opportunity for care-
ful and critical study, at home, previous to the exercise of reading,
on the part of the pupils. Seasonable information will thus be ob-
tained, and errors avoided, instead of being merely corrected after
they have occurred, and when it is too late to secure good habit or
avoid bad.
§ V. TRUE TIME.
By true time, in elocution, is meant, an utterance well-
proportioned in sound and pause, and neither too fast nor
too slow. We should never read so fast as to render our
reading mdistinct, nor so slow as to impair the vivacity, or
prevent tiie full effect, of what is read.
" EVery thing tender, or solemn, plaintive, or grave, should be read
with great moderation. Every thing humorous or sprightly, every
thing witty or amusing, should be read in a brisk and lively manner.
Narration should be generally equable and flowing ; vehemence,
firm and accelerated ; anger and joy rapid ; whereas dignity, author-
ity, sublimity, reverence, and awe, should, along with deeper tone,
assume a slower movement. The movement should, in every in-
stance, be adapted to the sense, and free from all hurry, on the one
hand, or drawling on the other." The pausing, too, should be
carefully proportioned to the movement or rate of the voice ; and no
change of movement fi-om slow to fast, or the reverse, should take
place in any clause, unless a change of emotion is implied in the
language of the piece.
* The subject of Pronunciation forms a large part of the Elementary
Exercises contained in the 'Introduction' to this Reader.
24 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART I.
Exercises on Time.
The ' slowest ' and the ' quickest ' rates of utterance, have been
exemplified under the head of ' versatility ' of voice, and need not
be repeated here. They occur in the extremes of grave and gay
emotion.
There are three important applications of ' time ' in con-
nexion with ' rate', or ' movement', which frequently occur
in the common forms of reading and speaking. These are
the ' slow', the ' moderate', and the ' lively'. The first of
these, the ' slow', is exhibited in the tones of atve, reverence,
and solemnity, when these emotions are not so deep as to
require the slowest movement of all : the second, the ' mod-
erate', belongs to grave and serious expression, when not so
deep as to require the ' slow ' movement ; it belongs, also, to
all unempassioned communication, addressed to the under-
standing, more than to the feelings ; and it is exemplified in
the utterance of moderate, subdued, and chastened emotion :
the third rate, the ' lively', is perhaps sufficiently indicated by
its designation, as characterizing all animated, cheerful, and
gay expression.
All the exercises on 'time', should be repeated till they can be
exemplified perfectly, and at once. Previous to practising the fol-
lowing exercises, the pupil may be aided in forming distinct and
well-defined ideas of ' time', by turning back to the example under
'versatility', marked as 'very slow', and repeating it, with close
attention to its extreme slowness. He will observe that, in the re-
peating of this example, the effect of ' time', or proportion of move-
ment, is to cause a remarkable lengthening out of the sound of
every accented vowel ; an extreme slowness in the succession of the
sounds of all letters, syllables, and words : and, along with all this,
an unusual length in all the pauses. It is this adjustment of single
and successive sounds and their intermissions, which properly con-
stitutes the office of ' time ' in elocution : although the term is often
indefinitely used rather as s3nnonymous with the word ' movement',
as applied in music.
The ' slow ' movement differs from the ' slowest', in not
possessing the same extreme prolongation of sound in single
vowels, or the same length of pause. The slow succession
of sounds is, however, a common characteristic in both.
Example of ' Sloio ' Movement.
" Thou, who did'st put to flight
Primeval silence, when the morning stars,
Exulting, shouted o'er the rising ball ;
PART I.] READER AND SPEAKER. 25
O Thou, whose word from solid darkness struck
That spark, the sun, strike wisdom from my soul ! "
' Moderate'.
" There is something nobly simple and pure in a taste for
the cultivation of forest trees. It argues, I think, a sweet
and generous nature, to have a strong relish for the beauties
of vegetation, and a friendship for the hardy and glorious
sons of the forest. There is a grandeur of thought, connect-
ed with this part of rural economy. It is worthy of liberal,
and freeborn, and aspiring men. He who plants an oak,
looks forward to future ages, and plants for posterity. No-
thing can be less selfish than this. He cannot expect to sit
in its shade, and enjoy its shelter ; but he exults in the
idea that the acorn which he has buried in the earth, shall
grow up into a lofty pile, and shall keep on flourishing, and
increasing, and benefiting mankind, long after he shall have
ceased to tread his paternal fields."
' Lively '.
" How does the water come down at Lodore ?
Here it comes sparkling,
And there it lies darkling ;
Here smoking and frothing.
Its tumult and wrath in,
It hastens along, conflicting and strong,
Now striking and raging,
As if a war waging.
Its caverns and rocks among, —
Swelling and flinging,
Showering and springing,
Eddying and whisking.
Spouting and frisking.
Turning and twisting
Around and around, —
Collecting, disjecting,-
With endless rebound."
^ VI. APPROPRIATE PAUSES.
The grammatical punctuation of sentences, by which they
are divided into clauses by commas, although sufficiently dis-
3
26 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART 1.
.tinct for the purpose of separating the syntactical portions of
the structure, are nC'i Ai'.equate to the object of marking all
the audible pauses, which sense and feeling require, in read-
ing aloud. Hence we find, that intelligible and impressive
reading depends on introducing many short pauses, not indi-
cated by commas or other points, but essential to the meaning
of phrases and sentences. These shorter pauses are, for dis-
tinction's sake, termed ' rhetorical'.
Powerful emotion not unfrequently suggests another spe-
cies of pause, adapted to the utterance of deep feeling. This
pause sometimes takes place where there is no grammatical
point used, and sometimes is added to give length to a gram-
matical pause. Tliis pause may be termed the ' oratorical',
or the pause of ' effect'.
Note. The length of the rhetorical pause depends on the
length of the clause, or the significance of the word which
follows it. The full ' rhetorical pause ' is marked thus II,
the ' half rhetorical pause', thus | , and the short ' rhetorical
pause', thus ' . -
Rules for ' Rhetorical ' Paiises.
The ' rhetorical ' pause takes place, as follows :
EuLE I. Before a verb, when the nominative is long, or when
it is emphatic. — Ex. " Life II is short, and art II is long."
Rule II. Before and after an intervening phrase.
Ex. " Talents II without application II are no security for
progress in learning."
Rule III. Wherever transposition of phrases may take place.
Ex. " Through dangers the most appalling II he advanced
with heroic intrepidity."
Rule IV. Before an adjective following its noun.
Ex. " Hers was a soul II replete with every noble quality.'
Rule V. Before relative pronouns, prepositions, conjunctions,
or adverbs used conjunctively, when followed by a clause
depending on them. — Ex. " A physician was called in II
who prescribed appropriate remedies." " The traveller be
gan his journey II in the highest spirits II and with the
most delightful anticipations."
Rule VI. Where ellipsis, or omission of words, takes place.
— Ex. " To your elders manifest becoming deference, to
your companions II frankness, to your juniors II condescen-
s 7n."
PART 1.] READER AND SPEAKER. 27
Rule VII. Before a verb in the infinitive mood, governed by
another verb. — Ex. " The general now commanded his re-
served force II to advance to the aid of the main body."
Exercise on ' Rhetorical Pauses .
" Industry !l is the guardian ' cf innocence."
" Honor II is the subject ' of my story."
" The prodigal II lose many opportunities ' for doing good."
" Prosperity II gains friends, adversity II tries them."
" Time II once passed II never returns."
" He 1 that hath no rule ' over his own spirit, is like a
city ' that is broken down, and without walls."
" Better ' is a dinne? of herbs II where love \ is, than a
stalled ox II and hatred | therewith".
" The veil II which covers ' from our sight | the events '
of succeeding years, is a veil ' woven by the hand of mercy."
" Blessed II are the poor in spirit."
" Silver ' and gold II have I none."
" Mirth II I consider ' as an act, cheerfulness II as a habit '
of the mind. Mirth II is short ' and transient, cheerfulness II
fixed ' and permanent. Mirth II is like a flash of lightning,
that glitters ' for a moment : cheerfulness II keeps up a kind
of daylight ' in the mind."
" Some II place the bliss ' in action, some II in ease :
Those II call it pleasure, and contentment II these."
The habitual tendency of young readers being to hurry, in read-
ing, their pauses are Uable to become too short for distinctness, or to
be entirely omitted. In most of the above examples, the precision,
beauty, and force of the sentiment, depend much on the careful ob^
servance of the rhetorical pauses. The teacher may impart an idea
of their effect, by allowing each sentence to be read, first, without the
rhetorical pauses, — secondly, with pauses made at wrong places,-^
thirdly, with the pausing as marked.
Rule on the ' Oratorical ' Pause.
The ' oratorical ' pause is introduced in those passages
which express the deepest and most solemn emotions, such
as naturally arrest and overpower, rather than inspire, utter-
ance.
Examples. " The sentence was — death ! " " There is one
sure refuge for the oppressed, one sure resting-place for the
weary, — the grave ! " [AppUcation — See page 76.]
28 A>ISIli«AN CtOMAlON-SCHOOL [PARl I.
'^ VII. RIGHT EMPHASIS.
Emphasis distinguishes the most significant or expressive
words of a sentence.
It properly includes several functions of voice, in addition to the
element of force. An enplialic word is not unfrequently distin-
guished by the peculiar ' tune', ' pilch', ' stress', and ' inllection ' of
its accented sound. But all the^se properties are partially merged,
to the ear, in the great comparative force of the sound. Hence it is
customary to regard emphasis as merely special force. Tliis view
of the subject would not be practically incorrect, if it were under-
stood as conveying the idea of a special force superadded to all the
other characteristics of tone and emotion, in the word to which it
applies.
Emphasis is either ' absolute ' or ' relative'. The former
occurs in the utterance of a single thought or feeling, of great
energy : the latter, in the correspondence or contrast of tivo
or more ideas.
' Absolute ' emphasis is either ' empassioned ' or ' distinct-
ive'. The former expresses strong emotion. — Exaynple.
" False wizard, avaunt ! " * — The latter designates objects
to the attention, or distinguishes them to the understanding.
— Ex. " The fall of man is the main subject of Milton's
great poem."
' Relative ' emphasis occurs in words which express com-
parison, correspondence, or contrast. — Example. " Cowards
die many times; the brave, but o/ice."
Rules on Emphasis.
Rule I. Exclamations and interjections usually require
' empassioned ' emphasis, or the strongest force of utterance.
Exajnples. " Woe ! to the traitor, WOE ! " — " UP ! comrades,
UP!"— "AWAKE! ARISE! or be for EVER fallen!"
" Ye icefalls !
Motionless torrents ! silent cataracts !
Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven,
Beneath the keen full moon ? —
* Three degrees of emphasis are usually thus denoted m. tj^ae : the
first, by Italic letters ; the second, by small capitals ; and the third, by
large capitals. Thus, "You shall DIE, base d lo! and that before yon
doud has passed over the sun ! " — Sometimes a fourth, by Italic cap-
lUls,— thus, "Ne\t;k, NEVER, NEVEB < "
fXRT I.] READER AND SPEAKER. 29
God ! GOD ! the torrents, like a shout of nations,
Utter : the ice-plain bursts, and answers, God !
The silent snow-mass, loosening, thunders, GOD ! "
Rule II. Every new incident in a narration, every new
object in a description, and every new subject in a didactic
passage, requires ' distinctive ' emphasis, or a force of utter-
mce sufficient to render it striking or prominent.
Examples. " Their frail bark was, in a moment, overset,
und a watery grave seemed to be the inevitable doom of the
whole party." — " The eye rested with delight on the long,
low range of beautifully tinted clouds, which skirted the ho-
rizon." — " The power o^ faith was the subject of the preach-
er's discourse."
Rule III. All correspondent, and all antithetic, or con-
.rasted words, require a force sufficient to distinguish them
from all the other words in a sentence, and to make them
stand out prominently. When the comparison or contrast is
of equal force, in its constituent parts, the emphasis is exactly
balanced, in the words to which it is applied : when one of
the objects compared or contrasted, is meant to preponderate
over the other, the emphasis is stronger on the word by
which the preponderance is expressed.
Examples. " The gospel is preached equally to the rich
and to the poor.'" — " Custom is the plague, of wise men, and
the idol o[ fools.'" — " The man is more knave than fool.''^
Exercises hi ' Relative ' Emphasis.
1. " Virtue II is better than riches'."
2. " Study II not so much to shoto knowledge, as to acquire it."
3. " They went e+it fro9?i us, but they were not of us."
4. " He I that cannot bear a jest, should not make one."
5. " It is not so easy to hide one's faults, as to me7id them."
6. " I I that denied thee gold, will give my heart."
7. " You have done that | you shoidd be sorry for."
S. " Why beholdest thou the mote II that is in thy brother's
eye, but considerest not the beam II that is in thine oivn eye ?"
9. " As it is the part o^ justice II never to do violence; so it
is the part of modesty II never to commit offence."
10. '■'■ A. friend II cannot be known II in prosperity; and an
enemy II cannot be hidden II in adversity."
30 AMERICAN COMMOIt-BCHOOL [PART I.
Note. Emphatic clauses, (those in which every word if
emphatic,) are sometimes pronounced on a lower, sometime*
on a higher key, but always with an intense force.
Examples.
1. " Heaven and earth will v/itness, —
If ' Rome ' must ' fall, — that 7ve II are innocent.'
2. " This state had then 7io( one ship, — no, not ' one '
WALL ! "
3. " But youth, it seems, is not my only crime : I have
been accused II of acting a theatrical part."
4. " As to the present ministry, I cannot give them my con-
fidence. Pardon mc, gentlemen : Confidence is a plant of
SLOW groioth."
General Remark. Young readers are commonly deficient in em-
phasis, and, hence, feeble and unimpressive, in their style of read-
ing. Teachers should exert much vigilance on this point. At the
same time, an overdone emphasis is one of the surest indications of
defective judgment and bad taste. Faults which result from study
are always the most offensive. [AppUcation — See page 87.]
^ VIII. — CORllKCT INFLECTIONS.
' Inflection' in elocution, signifies an upward or downward
* slide ' of voice, from the average, or level of a sentence.
There are two simple ' inflections', or ' slides', — the upward
or ' rising', and the downward or ' falling'. The former is
usually marked by the acute accent, ['] — the latter, by the
grave accent, [^].
The union of these two inflections, on the same syllable, is
called the ' circumflex', or ' wave'. — When the circumflex
commences with the falling inflection, and ends with the ris-
ing, it is called the ' rising circumflex', — [marked thus v,] —
when it begins with the rising, and ends with the falling, it is
called the ' falling circumflex', — [marked thus, '^].
When the tone of the voice has no upward or dowmward
slide, but keeps comparatively level, it is called the ' mono-
tone', — [marked thus ~].
Examples : RisiNft inflection, — ' Intensive', or high, up-
ward slide, as in the tone of surprise, " Ha ! Is it possible ! "
— in the usual tone of a question that may be answered by
Yes or No,"' Is it really so?" — 'Moderate' rising inflection,
as at the end of a clause which leaves the sense dependent
on what fdUews it. " If we are sincerely desirous of advanc-
PART I.] READER AND SPEAKER. 31
ing in knowledge, we shall not be sparing of exertion." —
' Slight ' rising inflection, as when the voice is suddenly and
unexpectedly interrupted : " When the visitor entered the
r6oni " ^ * * ^
Note. The last mentioned inflection, may, for distinction's sake,
be marked as above, to indicate the absence of any positive upward
or downward slide, and, at the same time, to distinguish it from the
intentional and prolonged level of the ' monotone.'
'Falling' inflection, — ' intensive', or bold and low down-
ward slide, as in the tone of anger and scorn : " Down, sooth-
less hisulter .'" — The 'full', falling inflection, as in the cadence
at a period : " All his efforts were in vain."
The ' moderate ' falling inflection, as at the end of a clause
which forms complete sense : " Do not presume on wealth ; it
may be swept from you in a mom.ent." " The horses were
harnessed; the carriages were driven up to the door; the
party were seated ; and, in a few moments, the mansion was
left to its former silence and solitude."
The ' suspensive', or slight falling inflection, as in the
members of a ' series', or sequence of words and clauses, in
the same syntactical connexion : " The force, the size, the
weight, of the ship, bore the schooner down below the waves."
" The irresistible furce, the vast size, the prodigious weight
of the ship, rendered the destruction of the schooner in-
evitable."
The ' suspensive ' downward slide, is marked as above, to
distinguish it from the deeper inflection at the end of a clause,
or of a sentence.
table of contrasted inflections.
The Rising folloioed by the Falling.
1. " Will you go, or stay?"
2. " Will you ride, or walk ? "
3. " Did he travel for health, or for pleasure ?"
4. " Does he pronounce correctly, or incorrectly ? "
5. " Is it the rising, or the falling inflection ? "
The Falling foUoioed ly the Rising.
1. "I would rather go than stay."
2. " I would rather walk than ride."
3. " He travelled for health, not pleasure."
4. " He pronounces correctly, not incorrectly."
5. " It is the falling, not the rising inflection."
32 AMEUICAN COiMMON-BCHOOL [PART I.
EXAMPLES OF CIRCUMFLEX.
Tone of Mockery. " I 've ciiught you, then, at last ! "
Tro7iy. " Courajreoiis chief ! — the first in flight from pain !"
Punning. " And though heavy to weigh, as a score of fat
slieep.
He was not, by any means, heavy to sleep."
EXAMPLE OF MONOTONE.
Awe and Horror.
" I could a tale unfold whose lightest word
Would harrow Qp thy soul, freeze thy young blood,
]\Iake thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres,
Thy knotted and combined locks to part.
And each particular hair to stand on end,
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine."
Rules on the Rising Injieclion.
Rule I. The ' intensive' or high rising inflection, expresses
surprise and wonder. — Example. "Ha! laugh'st thou, Lo-
chiel, ray vision to scorn ? "
Rule n. The 'moderate' rising inflection takes place,
where the sense is incomplete, and depends on something
which follows. — Ex. " As we cannot discern the shadow
moving along the dial-plale, so we cannot always trace our
progress in knowledge."
Note. Words and phrases of address, as they are merely
introductory expressions, take the ' moderate rising inflection.'
— Exaynple 1. " Friends, I come not here to talk." — 2. " Sir,
I deny that the assertion is correct." — 3. " Soldiers, you fight
for home and liberty ! "
Exception. In emphatic and in lengthened phrases of ad-
dress, the falling inflection takes place. — Example 1. " On !
ye brave, who rush to glory or the graA'e ! " — 2. " Soldiers !
if my standard falls, look for the plume upon your Mng's hel-
met .'"* — 3. " My friends, my followers, and my children ! the
field we have entered, is one from which there is no retreat."
— 4. " Gentlemen and knights, — commoners and soldiers,
Edward the Fourth upon his throne, will not profit by a vic-
tory more than you."
Rule HI. The ' suspensive', or slight rising inflection, oc-
curs, when expression is suddenly broken off, as in the fol-
lowing passage in dialogue.
* Shniitins: tone.
PART I.] READER AND SPEAKER. ^
Ex. Poet. " The poisoning dame — Friend. You m^an —
P. I don't. F. You do."
JSote. This inflection, prolonged, is used in the appropriate
tone of reading verse, or of poetic prose, when not emphatic,
instead of a distinct rising or falling inflection, which would
have the ordinary effect of prosaic utterance, or would divest
the expression of all its beauty.
Ex. 1. " Here waters, woods, and winds in concert join."
2. " And flecks, woods, streams around, repose and peace
impart."
3. " The wild brook babbling down the mountain's side ;
The lowing herd ; the sheepfold's simple bell ;
The pipe of early shepherd, dim descried
In the lone valley ; echoing far and wide,
The clamorous horn, along the clifTs ab6ve ;
The hollow murmur of the ocean tide ;
The hum of bees, the linnet's lay of love,*
And the full choir that wakes the universal grove."
4. " White houses peep through the trees ; cattle stand
cooling in the pool ; the casement of the farm-house is cov-
ered with jessamine and honeysuckle ; * the stately green-
house exhales the perfume of summer climates."
Rule IV. A question which may be answered by Yes or
No, usually ends with the rising inflection. — Example. " Do
you see yon cloud ? "
Exception. Emphasis, as in the tone of impatience, of ex-
treme earnestness, or of remonstrance, may, in such cases as
the above, take the falling inflection. — Example. " Cd,n you
be so infatuated as to pursue a course which you know will
end in your ruin ! " — " Will 3^011 blindly rush on destriic-
tion ? " — " Would you say so, if the case were your own?"
Rule V. The penultimate, or last inflection but one, is, in
most sentences, a rising slide, by which the voice prepares for
an easy and natural descent at the cadence. — Example. " The
rocks crumble, the trees fall, the leaves fade, and the grass
withers."
£.Tcep^2o?z.^ Emphasis may sometimes make the penulti-
mate inflection fall, instead of rising ; as the abruptness of
that slide gives a more forcible effect. — Example. " They
have rushed through like a hurricane ; like an army of 16-
* The penultimate inflection of a sentence, or a stanza, usually rises,
so as to prepare for an easy rnrlencp. Sep Kut.f. V.
4
31 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOr, [PART I.
custs, they have devoured the earth ; the war lias fallen like
a water spout, and dchiged tlie laiul with blood."
Rules on the Falling I?t/lectio7i.
Rule I. The ' intensive, downward slide', or ' low', falling
inflection, occurs in the emphasis of vehement emotion. — £2;-
ainple. " On ! ON ! to the just and the glorious strife ! "
Rule II. The ' full ' falling inflection usually takes place at
the cadence, or close, of a sentence. — Example. " No life is
pleasing to God, but that which is useful to mankind." «
Exception. When the meaning expressed at the close of
one sentence, is modified by the sense of the next, the voice
may rise, instead of falling. — Examples. " We are not here
to discuss this question. We are come to act upon it." —
" Gentlemen may cry ' peace, peace ! ' But there is no
peace."
Rule III. The ' moderate ' falling inflection occurs at the
end of a clause which forms complete sense, independently
of what follows it. — Example. " Law and order are forgot-
ten : violence and rapine are abroad : the golden cords of
society are loosed."
Exception. Plaintive expression, and poetic style, whether
in the form of verse or of prose, take the ' slight ' rising in-
flection, in its prolonged form.
Example 1. " Cold o'er his limbs the listless languor grew;
Paleness came o'er his eye of placid blue ;
Pale mourned the lily where the rose had died ;
And timid, trembling, came he to my side."
2. " The oaks of the mountains fall : the mountains them-
selves decay with years; the ocean shrinks and grows again;
the moon herself is lost in heaven ;* but thou art for ever
the same, rejoicing in the brightness of thy course."
Rule IV. The ' suspensive', or slight falling inflection,
takes place in every member but one of the ' series', or suc-
cessive words and clauses, connected by the same conjunction,
expressed or understood.
Note 1. A succession of toords is termed a ' simple series',
— a succession of clauses, a ' compound series.' A succes-
sion of words which leave sense incomplete, is termed a
' commencing series', that which leaves complete sense, a
'concluding series'. — A 'commencing series' is read with
* Rising slide, for '•ontrast to the following clause.
PART I.] KEADER AND SPEAKER. 35
the ' suspensive', or slight falling inflection, on every member
but the last; a concluding series, with the 'suspensive' slide
on every member, except the penultimate, or last but one.
Examples. ' Simple Commencing Series' : " The dir, the
^arth, the water, teem with delighted existence." — ' Simple
Concluding Series': "Delighted existence teems in the dir,
the earth,* and the water."f — ' Compound Commencing Se-
ries' : " The fluid expanse of the ^ir, the surface of the solid
^arth, the liquid element of water, teem with delighted exist-
ence." — 'Compound Concluding Series': "Delighted exist-
erfce teems in the fluid expanse of the air, the surface of the
solid earth,* and the liquid element of water."!
Exception 1. Emphatic, abrupt, and disconnected series,
may have the 'moderate' or the 'bold' downward slide, on
every member, according to the intensitj^ of expression.
Examples: 1. "His success, his fame, his life, were all at
stake." — 2. "The roaring of the wind, the rushing of the
water, the darkness of the night, all conspired to overwhelm
his guilty spirit with dread." — 3. " Eloquence is action,
noble, sublime, godlike action." — 4. " The shore, which, but
a few moments before, lay so lovely in its calm serenity,
gilded with the beams of the level sun, now resounded with
the roar of cannon, the shouts of battle, the clash of drms,
the curses of hatred, the shrieks of agony."
Exception 2. Light and humorous description, gives the
' moderate ' upward slide to all the members of a series.
Example. " Her books, her music, her papers, her clothes,
were all lying about the room, in ' most admired disorder.' "
Exception 3. The language of pathos, (pity,) tenderness,
and beauty, — whether in verse or prose, — takes the ' suspen-
sive', or slight rising inflection, except in the last member of
the ' commencing', and the last but one of the ' concluding '
' series', which have the usual ' moderate ' rising inflection.
Ex. : 1. " No mournful flowers, by weeping fondness laid.
Nor pink, nor rose, drooped, on his breast displayed."
2. " There rapt in gratitude, and joy, and love,
The man of God will pass the Sabbath noon."
3. " There, (in the grave,) vile insects consume the hand
of the cirtist, the brain of the philosopher, the eye which
* ' Penultimate ' rising inflection, preparatory to the cadence, or clos-
ing fall of voice, at the end of a sentence,
f 'Full' fallins; inflection, for the cadence of a sentence.
4
36 AMEKICAN COWMON-SCllOOI- [PART X.
sparkled with celestial fire, and the lip from which flowed
irresistible eloquence."
Note 2. All series, except the plaintive, — as by their form
of numbers and repetition, they partake of the nature of ' cli-
max', or increase of significaiion, — should be read with a
growing intensity of voice, and a more prominent inflection
on every member.
Example. " The splendor of the firmament, the verdure of
the earth, the varied colors of the flowers which fill the air
with their fragrance, and the music of those artless voices
which mingle on every tree ; all conspire to captivate our
hearts, and to swell them with the most rapturous delight."
This remark applies, sometimes, even to the rising inflec-
tion, but, with peculiar force, to cases in which the language
is obviously meant to swell progressively in effect, from word
to word, or from clause to clause, and which end with a
do\^mward slide, on every member, as in the following in-
stance.
" I tell you ^though ^Jbu, though all the w6rld, though an
angel from HEAVEN, should declare the truth of it, I could
not believe it."
Rule V. All questions which cannot be answered by Yes
or iVb, end with the falling inflection.
Ex.: 1. "When will you cease to trifle?"
2. "Where can his equal be f6und?"
3. " Who has the hardihood to maintain such an ass^r
tion ?"
4. " Why come not on these victors proud ?"
5. " What was the object of his ambition ?"
6. " How can such a purpose be accomplished V
Exception. The tone of real or affected surprise, throwY*
such questions, when repeated, into the form of the rising in-
flection. — Example. " How can such a purpose be accom-
plished ! — To the diligent all things are possible."
Both inflections, — the Rising and the Falling, — in connexion.
Rule I. When negation is opposed to affirmation, the for-
mer has the rising, the latter the falling inflection, in what-
ever order they occur, and whether in the same or in different
sentences.
Examples: 1. " He did not call me, but y6u."
2. " He was esteemed not for wealth, but for wisdom."
n. " Study not for ami'isement, but for improvement."
PART I.] READER AND SPEAKER. 3^
4. " He called ybii, not me."
5. " He was esteemed for wisdom, not for wealth."
6. " Study for improvement, not for amusement."
7. " This proposal is not a mere idle compliment. It pro-
ceeds from the sincerest and deepest feelings of our hearts."
8. " Howard visited all Europe, not to survey the sump-
tuousness of palaces, or the stateliness of temples ; not to
make accurate measurements of the remains of ancient
grandeur ; not to form a scale of the curiosities of modern
art ; not to collect medals or collate manuscripts ; but to dive
into the depth of dungeons ; topliinge into the infection of
hospitals ; to survey the mansions of sorrow and pain ; to
take the gauge and dimensions of misery, depression, and
contempt; to remember the forgotten, to attend to the neglect-
ed, to visit the forsaken, and to compare and collate the dis-
tresses of all men in all countries."
Note. A similar principle applies to the reading of conces-
sions and of unequal anlftlSeses, or contrasts. In the latter,
the less important member has the rising, and the preponder-
ant one, the falling inflection, in whatever part of a sentence
they occur, and even in separate sentences.
Example: 1. "Science may raise you to eminence. But
virtue alone can guide you to happiness."
2. " I rather choose
To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you,
Than I will wrong such honorable men."
Exception. When negation is emphatic or preponderant, it
takes the falling inflection. — Example 1. He may yield to
persuasion, but he will never submit to force." — 2. " We are
troubled on every side, yet not distressed ; perplexed, but not
in despair ; persecuted, but not forsaken ; cast down, but not
destr6yed."
Rule II. In question and answer, the falling inflection
ends as far below the average level of the sentence, as the
rising ends above it. In this way, a certain exact corre-
spondence of sound to sound, in the inflections, is produced,
which gives to the full downward slide of the answer, a de-
cisive and satisfactory intonation, as a reply to the rising
slide of the question.
Examples: 1. " Are they Hebrews ? — So am "I. Are they
Israelites ? — So am H."
2. "What would content you, in a political leader? —
Talent ? N6 !— Enterprise ? No !— Courage ? No !— Repu-
4
38 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART I.
tdtion ? Nci ! — * Virtue ? N6 ! — The man whom you would
select, should possess not one, but all of these."
Rule III. When a question consists of two contrasted
parts, connected in syntax, by the conjunction Or, used in a
disjunctive sense, tlie former lias the rising, and the latter,
the falling inflection.
Ex. : 1. " Does he mean you, or me ? "
2. " Is this book yours, or mine ?"
3. " Did you see him, or his brother ? "
4. " Are the people virtuous, or vicious ; intelligent, or ig-
norant; affluent, or indigent ? "
Note. When Or is used conjunctively, the second inflec-
tion does not fall, but rises higher than the first. — Example.
" Would the influence of the Bible, — even if it were not the
record of a divine revelation, be to render princes more tyran-
nical, or subjects more ungovernable ; the rich more insolent,
or the poor more disorderly ; would it make worse parents,
or children, — husbands, or wives, — masters, or servants, —
friends, or neighbors ? — ort would it not make men more vir-
tuous,! and, consequently, more happy, in every situation ? "
Rule on the Circumflex, or Wave.
The circumflex, or wave, applies to all expressions used in
a peculiar sense, or with a double meaning, and to the tones
of mockery, sarcasm, and iroTiy.
Examples: 1. "You may avoid a quarrel with an if." —
"Your if is the only peacemaker: much virtue in an if."
2. " From the very first night, — and to say it I 'm bold, —
I 've been so very hot, that 1 'm sure I 've caught cold !"
3. " Go hang a calfskin on these reCTeant limbs !"
4. " What a beautiful piece of work you have made by
your carelessness !"
5. " The weights had never been accused of light con-
duct."
Rule on the Monotone.
The tones of grand and sublime description, profound rev-
erence, or awe, of amazement and horror, are marked by the
monotone, or perfect level of voice.
* In successive questions, the rising inflection becomes higher aJ
every stage, unless the last has, as in the above example, the falling vc
flection of consummating emphasis.
t The last Or is used disjunctively, and forms an example to the
Rule, and not to the Note.
PART I.] READER AND SPEAKER. 39
Note. A mono j^ne is always on a lower pitch than the
preceding part of a sentence ; and, to give the greater effect
to its deep solemn note, — which resembles the tolling of a
heavy bell, — it sometimes destroys all comma pauses, and
keeps up one continuous stream of overflowing sound.
Exam. 1. " His form had not yet lost
All her original brightness, nor appeared
Less than archangel ruined, and the excess
Of glory obscured. As when the sun, new-risen,
Look^s through the horizontal misty air.
Shorn of his beams, or from behind the moon,
In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds
• On half the nations, and with fear of change
Perplexes monarchs."
2. " And I saw a great white throne and Him that sat on
it, from whose face the heavens and the earth fled away ;
and there was found no place for them."
3. " Upon my seciire hour thy uncle stole.
With juice of*cursed hebenon in a vial.
And in the porches of mine ears did pour
The leperous distilment : whose effect
Holds such an enmity with blood of man.
That swift as (quicksilver it courses through
The natural gates and alleys of the body,
And, with a siidden vigor, it doth posset
And ciird, like eao-er droppings into milk.
The thin and wholesome bl5od ; so did it mine ;
And a most instant tetter barked about,
Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome criist,
All my smooth body."
Ride on ^Harmonic^ hiJlectio7is.
' Harmonic ' inflections, — or those which, in emphatic
phrases, are intended to prevent the frequent occurrence of
emphasis in the same phrase, from becoming monotonous to
the ear, — are applied in clauses of which every word is em-
phatic, and is marked by a distinct and separate inflection.
Example. " He has been guilty of one of the most shame-
ful acts II that ever degraded \ the nature II or the name II
of MAN."
Note. In such cases the inflections iisually alternate, in
order to give tlie more vivid and pungent force to vehement
emphasis.
ifO AMKUICA^^ COMMON-SCHOOL [PART I.
Rule 071 Repeated Words, Phrases, and Seyitences.
Words, phrases, ami sentences which arc repeated forefTect,
rise higher, or fall lower in inflection, besides increasing in
force, at every repetition.
Example 1. " From these walls a spirit shall go forth, that
shall survive when this edifice, shall be 'like an unsubstan-
tial pageant, faded.' It shall go forth, exulting in, but not
abusing, its strength. It shall go forth, remembering, in the
days of its prosperity, the pledges it gave in the time of its
depression. It shall go forth, uniting a disposition to correct
abuses, to redress grievances. IT SHALL GO FORTH,
uniting the disposition to improve, v/ith the resolution to
maintain and defend, by that spirit of unbought affection,
which is the chief defence of nations."
2. " What was it, fellow-citizens, which gave to Lafayette
his spotless fame? — The love of liberty. What has conse-
crated his memory, in the hearts of good men ? — The love
OF LIBERTY. What nerved his youthful arm with strength,
and inspired him in the morning of his days, with sagacity
and counsel?— THE LIVLNG LOVE OF LIBERTY. To
what did he sacrifice power, and rank, and country, and free-
dom itself?— TO THE LOVE OF LIBERTY PRO-
TECTED BY LAW."
EXERCISES ON INFLECTIONS.
Rising Inflection. Rule I.* — ' High Rising Inflection'. —
1. " Hd ! say you so ? "
2. " What 1 — confer a cr6wn on the author of the public
calamities?"
3. " Indeed I — acknowledge a traitor for our sovereign ?"
Rule II. ' Moderate Rising Inflection.' — Exercise 1. "In
every station which Washington was called to fill, he acquit-
ted himself with honor."
2. " As the evening was now far advanced, the party
broke up."
3 " Where your treasure is, there will your heart be '
also."
* The pupil should repeat each rule from memory, before commenc
jng the practice of the exercises adapted to it.
PART 1.] READER AND SPEAKER. 41
4. " Though we cannot discern the reasons which regulate
the occurrence of events, we may rest assured that nothing
can happen without the cognizance of Infinite Wisdom."
5. " Despairing of any way of escape from the perils which
surrounded him, he abandoned his struggles, and gave him-
self up to what seemed his inevitable doom."
6. " Had I sufiered such enormities to pass unpunished, I
should have deemed myself recreant to every principle of
justice and of duty."
Note and Exception. ' Words and phrases of address'. —
Exercise. " Listen, Americans, to the lesson which seems
borne to us on the very air we breathe, while we perform
these dutiful rights. — Ye winds, that wafted the pilgrims to
the land of promise, fan, in their children's hearts, the love
of freedom ! Blood which our fathers shed, cry from the
ground ; — echoing arches of this renowned hall, whisper
back the voices of other days ; — glorious Washington ! break
the long silence of that votive canvass ; — speak, speak, mar-
ble lips ; — teach us the love of liberty protected by
LAW !"
Rule III. Note. — ' Poetic Series'. — Example 1. " P6wer,
will, sensation, memory, failed in turn."
2 " Oh ! the dread mingling, in that awful hour,
Of all terrific sounds ! — the savage tone
Of the wild horn, the cannon's peal, the shower
Of hissing darts, the crash of walls o'erthrown,
The deep, dull, tambour's beat ! "
3. " All the while,
A ceaseless murmur from the populous town,
Swells o'er these solitudes ; a mingled sound
Of jarring wheels, and iron hoofs that clash
Upon the stony ways, and hammer clang.
And oreak of engines lifting ponderous bulks,
And calls and cries,* and tread of eager feet
Innumerable, hurrying to and fro."
4, " Onward still the remote Pawnee and Mandan will
beckon, whither the deer are flying, and the wild horse
r6ams, where the buffalo ranges, and the condor soars, — far
towards the waves where the stars plunge at midnight, and
amid which bloom those ideal scenes for the persecuted s4v-
* See foot note on next page.
4 =»fe
43 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAHT I.
age, where white men will murder no more for g6Id,* nor
startle the game upon the suns])ine hills."
Rule IV. ' Questions which may be answered by Yes or
No\ — Exercise 1. " Has not the patronage of peers increased ?
Is not the patronage of India now Vested in the crown ? Are
all these innovations to be made to increase the influence of
the executive power; and is nothing to be done in favor of
the popular part of the constitution, to act as a counterpoise ?"
2. " Your st*eps were hasty ; — did you speed for nothing ?
Your breath is scanty ; — was it spent for nothing ?
Your looks "imply concern ; — concern for nothing?"
Exception. ' Emphasis'. — Exercise 1. " Tell me not of
the honor of belonging to a free country. — I ask, does our
liberty bear generoiis Jriiits 1 "
2. " Was there a village or a hamlet on Massachusetts
Bay, which did not gather its hardy seamen to man the gun-
decks of your ships of war? Did they not rally to the battle,
as men flock to a feast ? "
3. "Is there a man among you, so lost to his dignity and
his duty, as to withhold his aid at a moment like this ? "
Rule V. ' Penultimate Inflection'. — Exercise 1. " All is
doubt, distrust,^^ and disgrace ; and, in this instance, rely on
it, that the certain and fatal result will be to make Ireland
hate the connexion, contemn the councils of England, and
despise her power."
2. " I am at a loss to reconcile the conduct of men, who,
at this moment, rise up as champions of the East India Com-
pany's charter ; although the incompetence of that company
to an adequate discharge of the trust deposited in them, are
themes of ridicule and contempt to all the world; and, al-
though, in consequence of their mismanagement, connivance,
and imbecility, combined with the wickedness of their ser-
vants, the very name of an Englishman is detested, even to
a proverb, through all Asia ; and the national character is be-
come disgraced and dishonored."
3. " It will be the duty of the historian and the sage, in all
ages, to omit no occasion of commemorating that illustrious
man ; and, till time shall be no more, will a test of the pro-
gress which our race made in wisdom and in virtue, be de-
* The penultimate inflection of a concluding series, or of a clause that
forms perfect sense, is the same in kind with that which precedes a period,
except in verse and poetic prose, which, in long passages of great beauty,
retain the suspensive slide.
PART I.] READER AND SPEAKER. 43
rived from the veneration paid to the immortal name of
Washington."
Exception. ' Emphasis'. — Exercise 1. " Let us bless and
hallow our dwellings as the homes of freedom. Let us make
them, too, the homes of a nobler freedom, — of freedom from
vice, from evil passion, — from every corrupting bondage of
the soul ! "
2. " If guilty, let us calmly abide the results, and peace-
ably submit to our sentence ; but if we ai'e traduced, and
really be innocent, tell ministers the truth, — tell them they
are tyrants; and strain every effort to avert their oppression."
3. " Heaven has imprinted in the mother's face something
bey6nd this world, something which claims kindred with the
skies, — the ane-eiic smile, the tender look, the waking, watch-
ful eye, which keeps its fond vigil over her slumbering babe.
— In the heart of man lies this lovely picture ; it lives in his
sympathies ; it reigns in his affections ; his eye looks round,
in vain, for such another object on earth."
Falling Inflection. Eule I. ' Intensive Downward Slide.'
Exercise 1. " Up ! all who love me ! blow on BLOW !
And lay the outlaioed fdo7is low ! "
2., " ' Macgregor ! MACGREGOR ! ' he bitterly cried."
3. " On ! countrymen, ON ! — for the day, —
The proud day of glory, — is come ! "
4. " To Xrms ! gallant Frenchmen, to ARMS ? "
5. " Oh ! SHAME on us, countrymen, shame on us ALL !
If we cringe to so dastard a race ! "
6. " Trimble, ye traitors ! whose schemes
' Are alike by all parties abhorred, —
TREMBLE ! for, roused from your parricide dreams,
Ye shall soon meet your fitting reward ! "
Rule II. 'Full' Falling Inflection, in the cadence of a
sentence. — Exercise 1. " The changes of the year impart a
color and character to our thoughts and feelings."
2. " To a lover of nature and of wisdom, the vicissitude of
seasons conveys a proof and exhibition of the wise and be-
nevolent contrivance of the Author of all things."
3. " He who can approach the cradle of sleeping inno-
cence without thinking that ' of such is the kingdom of
heaven,' or see the fond parent hang over its beauties, and
half retain her breath, lest she should break its slumbers, —
without a veneration beyond all common feeling, — is to be
avoided in every intercourse of life, and is fit only for the
shadow of darkness, and the solitude of the desert."
44 AMERICAN COMMON-SCUOOL [PART 1
Exception. ' Modified Cadence'. — Exercise 1. " This mon-
uinonl is a plain shaft. It bears no inscription, fronting the
rising sun, t'roni which the future antiquarian shall wipe the
dust. Nor docs the rising sun cause tones of music to issue
from its summit. But at the rising of the sun, and at the
setting of the sun, in the blaze of noon-day, and beneath the
milder etrulgence of lunar light, it speaks, it acts, to the full
comprehension of every American mind, and the awakening
of glowing enthusiasm in every American heart."
2. " I speak not to you, sir, of your own outcast condition.
— You perhaps delight in the perils of martyrdom. I speak
not to those around me, who, in their persons, their sub-
stance, and their families, have endured the torture, poverty,
and irremediable dishonor. They may be meek and hallowed
men, — willing to endure."
3. " The foundation on which you have built your hopes,
may seem to you deep and firm. But the swelling flood, and
the howling blast, and the beating rain, will prove it to be but
treacherous sand."
Rule III. 'iModerate' Falling Inflection, of complete sense.
Exercise 1. " Animal existence is made up of action and
slumber: nature has provided a season for each."
2. " Two points are manifest : first, that the animal frame
requires sleep ; secondly, that night brings with it a silence,
and a cessation of activity, which allow of sleep being taken
w^ilhout interruption, and Avithout loss."
3. " Joy is too brilliant a thing to be confined within our
own bosoms : it burnishes all nature, and, with its vivid col-
oring, gives a kind of factitious life to objects without sense
or motion."
4. " When men are wanting, we address the animal crea-
tion ; and, rather than have none to partake our feelings, we
find sentiment in the music of birds, the hum of insects, and
the low of kine : na f, we call on rocks and streams and for-
ests, to witness and share our emotions."
5. "I have done my duty: — I stand acquitted to my con-
science and my country : — I have opposed this measure
throughout ; and I now protest against it, as harsh, oppress-
ive, uncalled for, unjust, — as establishing an infamous prece-
dent, by retaliating crime against crime, — as tyrannous, —
cruelly and vindictively tyrannous."
Exception. ' Plaintive Expression'.
Exercise 1. "I see the cloud and the tempest near,
The voice of the troubled tide I h^ar ;
PART 1.] READER AND SPEAKER. ' 4S
The torrent of sorrow, the sea of grief,
The rushing waves of a wretched life."
2. " No deep-mouthed hound the hunter's haunt betrayed,
No lights upon the shore or waters played,
No loud laugh broke upon the silent air.
To tell the wanderers man was nestling there."
3. " The dead leaves strow the forest walk,
And withered are the pale wild flowers ;
The frost hangs blackening on the stalk,
The dew-drops fall in frozen showers : —
Gone are the spring's green sprouting biwers,
Gone summer's rich and mantling vines;
And Autumn, with her yellow hours,
On hill and plain no longer shines."
4. " What is human life, but a waking dream, — a long
reverie, — in which we walk as ' in a vain show, and disquiet
ourselves for naught ? ' In childhood, we are surrounded by
a dim, unconscious present, in which all palpable realities
seem for ever to elude our grasp ; in youth, we arc but gazing
into the far future of that life for which we are consciously
preparing ; in manhood, we are lost in ceaseless activity and
enterprise, and already looking forAvard to a season of quiet
and repose, in which we are to find ourselves, and listen to a
voice within ; and in old age, we are dwelling on the sha-
dows of the past,* and gilding them with the evanescent
glow which emanates from the setting sun of life."
Rule IV. and Note 1. 'Simple Comme7icing Series.'
Ex. 1. " The old and the young are alike exposed to the
shafts of Death."
2. " The healthy, the temperate, and the virtuous, enjoy
the true relish of pleasure."
3. " Birth, rank, wealth, learning, are advantages of slight
value, if unaccompanied by personal worth."
4. " Gentleness, patience, kindness, candor, and courtesy,
form the elements of every truly amiable character."
5. " Sympathy, disinterestedness, magnanimity, generos-
ity, liberiility, and self-forgetfulness, are qualities which uni-
versally secure the esteem and admiration of mankind."
' Compo7ind Commencing Series.'
Exercise 1. " In a rich soil, and under a soft climate, the
weeds of luxury will spring up amid the flowers of art."
* Falling slide of contrast to the preceding clause.
46 AMIilUCAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART I.
2. " All the wise institutions of t1ie lawgiver, all the doc-
trines of the s;lge, all the ennobling strains of the poet, had
perished in the ear, like a dream related, if letters had not
preserved them."
3. " The dimensions and distances of the pMnets, the
causes of their revoh'itions, the path of comets, and the ebb-
ing and flowing of tides, are now understood and explained."
4. " The mighty pyramid, half buried in the sands of
Africa, has nothing to bring down and report to us, but the
power of kings, and the servitude of the people. If asked
for its mural object, its admonition,^ its sentiment, its instruc-
tion to mankind, or any high end in its erection, it is silent;
— silent as the millions which lie in the dust at its base, and
in the catacombs which surround it."
5. " Yes, — let me be free ;t let me go and come at my
own will ; let me do business, and make journeys, without a
vexatious police or insolent soldiery to watch my steps ; let
me think, and do, and speak, what I please, subject to no
limit but that which is set by the common weal ; subject to
no law but that which conscience binds upon me ; and I will
bless my country, and love its most rugged rocks, and its
most barren soil."
Exception 3. ' Poetic and Pathetic Series'.
Ex. 1. " Wheresoe'er thy lot command.
Brother, pilgrim, stranger,
God is ever near at hand,
Golden shield from danger."
2. " Rocks of granite, gates of br^ss,
Alps to heaven soaring.
Bow, to let the wishes pass
Of a soul imploring."
3. " From the phantoms of the night,
Dreaming horror, pale affright,
Thoughts wfcich rack the slumbering breast,
* All emphatic series, even in suppositive and conditional expression,
being, like enumeration, cumulative in effect, and corresponding,
therefore, to climax in style, are propcrlj' read with a prevailing down-
ward slide in the 'suspensive' or sliglit form, which belongs to incom-
plete but energetic expression, and avoids, accordingly, the low inflec-
tion of cadence at a period.
•f- Emphasis, and length of clause, may substitute the 'moderate'
falling slide for the slight ' suspensive ' one. But the tone, in such cases,
will still be perfectly free from the descent of a cadence, which belongs
only to the period.
PART I.] READER ANXJ SPEAKER. 47
Fears which haunt the realm of rest,
And the wounded mind's remorse,
And the tempter's secret force,
Hide us 'neath Thy mercy's shade."
4. " From the stars of heaven, and the flowers of earth,
From the pageant of power, and the voice of mirth,
From the mist of the morn on the mountain's brow.
From childhood's song, and affections vow ;
From all save that o'er which soul * bears sway,
There breathes but one record, — ' passing away ! ' "
5. " When the summer exhibits the whole force of active
nature, and shines in full beauty and splendor; when the
succeeding season offers its ' purple stores and golden grain,'
or displays its blended and softened tints ; when the winter
puts on its sullen aspect, and brings stillness and repose, af-
fording a respite from the labors which have occupied the
preceding months, inviting us to reflection, and compensating
for the want of attractions abroad, by fireside delights and
home-felt joys ; in all this interchange and variety, we find
reason to acknowledge the wise and benevolent care of the
God of seasons."
6. " In that solemn hour, when exhausted nature can no
longer sustain itself, when the light of the eye is waxing dim,
when the pulse of life is becoming low and faint, when the
breath labors, and the tongue falters, when the shadow of
death is falling on all outward things, and darkness is begin-
ning to gather over the faces of the loved ones who are weep-
ing by his bedside, a ray of immortal Hope, is beaming from
his features : it is a Christian who is expiring."
Note 2. — Exercise 1. ' Repeated and heightening Rising
Inflection'. " I ask, will you in silence permit this invasion
of your rights, at once wanton, mischievous, uncalled for,
and unnecessary ? Will you patiently tolerate the annihila-
tion of all freedom, — the appointment of a supreme dictator,
who may, at his will, suspend all your rights, liberties, and
privileges? Will you, withon* " -^-rmur of dissent, submit
to a tyranny which nearly equals that of the Russian auto-
crat, and is second to that of Bonaparte* ?"
2. ' Repeated and increasing Falling Inflection '.t " Was
* The inflection of any clause always lies on the emphatic word ;
and, if that word is a polysyllable, on the accented syllable chiefly, al-
though not always exclusively.
f This inflection both begins higher, and ends lower, every time it is
repeated.
4S AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [pART 1.
it the winter's st6rm, beating upon tlic houseless heads of wo-
men and children ; was it hard labor and spare meals; — was
it disease: — was it the tomahawk; was it the deep malady of
a blighted hope, a mined enterprise, and a broken heart ; —
was it some, or all of those united, that hurried this forsaken
company to their melancholy fate ? "
3. "Yes, after he has destroyed my belief in the superin-
tending providence of God, — after he has taught me that the
prospect of an hereafter is but the baseless fabric of a vision,
— after he has bred and nourished in me a contempt for that
sacred volume which alone throws light over this benighted
world, — after having argued me out of my faith by his soph-
istries, or laiighed me out of it by his ridicule, — after having
thus wrung from my soul every drop of consolation, and
dried up my very spirit wdthin me ; — yes, after having ac-
complished this in the season of my health and my prosper-
ity, the skeptic would come to me while I mourn, and treat
me like a drivelling idiot, whom he may sport with, because
he has ruined me, and to whom, in the plenitude of his com-
passion, — too late, and too unavailing, — he may talk of truths
in which he himself does not believe, and which he has long
exhorted me, and has at last persuaded me, to cast away as
the dreams and delusions of human folly."
Simple Concluding Series.
Exercise 1. " It is a subject interesting alike to the old, and
to the young."
2. " Nature, by the very disposition of her elements, has
commanded, as it were, and imposed upon men, at moderate
intervals, a general intermission of their toils, their occupa-
tions, and their pursuits."
3. " The influence of true religion, is mild, and soft, and
noiseless, and constant, as the descent of the evening dew
on the tender herbage, nourishing and refreshing all the ami-
able and social virtues ; but enthusiasm is violent, siWden,
rattling as a summer shA^'pr rooting up the fairest flowers,
and washing away the richest mould, in the pleasant garden
of society."
Compoiind Concluding Series.
Exercise 1. " The winter of the good man's age is cheered
with pleasing reflections on the past, and bright hopes of the
future."
2. " It was a moment replete with jAy, amazement, and
anxiety."
PABT I.J KEADER AND SPEAKEK, 49
3. " Nothing would tend more to remove apologies for in-
attention to religion, than a fair, impartial, and full account
of the educiition, the chAracters, the intellectual processes,
and the dying moments of those who offer them."
4. " Then it would be seen, that they had gained by their
skepticism no new pleasures, no tranquillity of mind, no
peace of conscience during life, and no consolation in the
hour of death."
5. " Well-doing is the cause of a just sense of elevation of
character ; it clears and strengthens the spirits ; it gives high-
er reaches of thought ; it widens our benevolence, and makes
the current of our peculiar affections swift and deep."
6. " A distant sail, gliding along the edge of the ocean,
was sometimes a theme of speculation. — How interesting this
fragment of a world, hastening to rejoin the great mass of
existence ! What a glorious monument of human invention,
that has thus triumphed over wind and Wiive ; has brought
the ends of the earth in commi'mion ; has established an in-
terchange of blessings, pouring into the sterile regions of the
north all the luxuries of the south* ; diffused the light of
knowledge, and the charities of cultivated life ; and has thus
bound together those scattered portions of the human race, be-
tween which nature seemed to have thrown an insurmount-
able barrier ! "
Exception 1. — ' Disconnected Series'. — Exercise 1. "Youth,
in the fulness of its spirits, defers religion to the sobriety of
manhood ; manhood, encumbered with cafes, defers it to the
leisure of old age ; old age, weak and hesitating, is unable to
enter on an untried mode of life."
2. " Let me prepare for the approach of eternity ; let me
give up my soul to meditation ; let solitude and silence ac-
quaint me with the mysteries of devotion ; let me forget the
world, and by the world be forgotten, till the moment arrives
in which the veil of eternity shall fall, and I shall be found
at the bar of the Almighty."
3. " Religion will grow up with you in youth, and grow
old with you in age ; it will attend you, with peculiar plea-
sure, to the hovels of the poor, or the chamber of the sick ; it
will retire with you to your closet, and watch by your bed, or
walk with you, in gladsome union, to the house of Gdd ; it
will follow you beyond the confines of the world, and dwell
with you for ever, in heaven, as its native residence."
* Accidental Tailing' inflection,, for contrast.
so AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART I.
'Emphatic Series'. — Exercise 1. " Assemble in your par-
ishes, villa!j:es, and hamlets. Res61ve, — petition, — address.''
2. " This monument will speak of patrir)lism and courage ;
of civil and religious liberty; of free government; of the
moral improvement and elevation of mankind ; and of the
immortal memory of those who, with heroic devotion, have
sacrificed their lives for their country."
3. "I have roamed through the^ world, to find hearts no-
where warmer than those of New England, soldiers nowhere
braver, patriots nowhere purer, wives and mothers nowhere
truer, maidens nowhere lovelier, green valleys and bright
rivers nowhere greener or brighter ; and I will not be silent,
when I hear her patriotism or her truth questioned with so
much as a whisper of detraction."
4. " What is the most odious species of tyranny ? That a
handful of men, free themselves, should execute the most
base and abominable despotism over millions of their fellow-
creatures ; that innocence should be the victim of oppression ;
that industry should toil for rapine ; that the harmless laborer
should sweat, not for his own benefit, but for the luxury and
rapacity of tyrannic depredation : — in a w6rd, that thirty mil-
lions of men, gifted by Providence with the ordinary endow-
ments of humanity, should groan under a system of despot-
ism, unmatched in all the histories of the world."
Exception 3. — ' Poetic Series'.
Ex. 1. " He looks in boundless majesty abroad.
And sheds the shining day, that burnished plays
On rocks, and hills, and towers, and wandering streams,
High-gleaming from afar."
2. " Round thy beaming car,
High-seen, the Seasons lead, in sprightly dance
Harmonious knit, the rosy-fingered Hours,
The Zephyrs floating loose, the timely Rains,
Of bloom ethereal, the light-footed Dews,
And, softened into joy, the surly Storms."
3. " Hear him compare his happier lot, with his
Who bends his way across the wintery wolds,
A poor night-traveller, while the dismal snow
Beats in his face, and dubious of his paths.
He stops and thinks, in every lengthening blast,
He hears some village mastiff's distant howl,
And sees far streaming, some lone cottage light;
Then, undeceived, upturns his streaming eyes,
And clasps his shivering hands, or, overpowered
PART I.] READER AND SPEAKER. ' 51
Sinks on the frozen ground, weighed down with sleep,
From which the hapless wretch shall never wake."
4. " There was neither tree, nor shrub, nor field, nor
h6use, nor living creatures, nor -visible remnant of what hu-
man hands had reared."
5. " And I, creature of clay, like those here cast ar6und,
I travel through life, as I do on this road, with the remains
of past generations strewed along my trembling path ; and,
whether my journey last a few hours more or less, must still,
like those here deposited, shortly rejoin the silent tenants of
some cluster of tombs, and be stretched out by ihe side of
some already sleeping corpse."
Rule V. — [No separate exercises on this rule are deemed neces-
sary ; as it is so fully illustrated in the examples to the rule.]
Both I?7jleciio7is, in connexion.
Rule I. — Exercise 1. " It is not a parchment pedigree, — it
is not a name derived from the ashes of dead men, that make
the only charter of a king. Englishmen were but slaves, if,
in giving crown and sceptre to a mortal like ourselves, we
ask not, in return, the kingly virtues."
2. " The true enjoyments of a reasonable being do not
consist in unbounded indulgence,*" or luxurious ease, in the
tumult of passions, the languor of indolence, or the flutter of
light amusements. Yielding to immoral pleasures corriipts
the mind ; living to animal and trifling ones, debases it :
both, in their degree, disqualify it for genuine good, and con-
sign it over to wretchedness."
3. • " What constitutes a state ? —
Not high raised battlements, or labored mound.
Thick will, or moated gate ;
Not cities proud, with spires and turrets crowned,
Not bAys and broad-armed ports,
Where, laughing at the storm, proud navies ride ;
Not starred and spangled courts, —
Where low-browed baseness wafts perfume to pride !
No ! — men, — high-minded men, —
Men who their duties know.
But know their rights, and, knowing, dare maint^tin."
Note. ' Concession and Unequal Antitjiesis.'
Ex. " The clouds of adversity may darken over the Christian's
* The pen'jltimate inflection falls, when a sentence ends with the ris-
ing slide
62 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART I.
p4th. But he can look up wilh filial trust to the guardian
care of a benefioenl Father. "
2. " I ailiuil lliat the Greeks excelled in acuteness and ver-
satility of nnnd. But, in the linn and manly traits of the
Roman character, I see something more noble, — more worthy
of admiration."
3. " We war against the leaders of evil, — not against the
helpless tools : we war against our oppressors, — not against
our misguided brethren."
4. " Still, still, for ever
Belter, though each man's life blood were a river,
That it should flow, and overflow, than creep
Through thousand lazy channels in our veins,
Dammed, like the dull canal, with locks and ch6.ins,
And moving, as a sick man in his sleep,
Three paces, and then faltering : better be
Where the extinguished Spartans still are free,
In their proud charnel of Therm6pylae,
Than stagnate in our marsh."
Exception. 'Emphatic Negation'.
Exercise 1. "I '11 keep them all ;
He shall not have a Scot of them ;
N6, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not."
2. " Do not descend to your graves with the disgraceful
censure, that you suffered the liberties of your country to be
taken away, and that you were mutes as well as cowards.
Come forward, like men : protest against this atrocious at-
tempt."
3. " I am not sounding the trumpet of war. There is no
man who more sincerely deprecates its calamities, than I
do."
4. " Rest assured that, in any case, we shall not be willing
to rank last in this generous contest. You may depend on
us for whatever heart or hand can do, in so noble a cause."
5. " I will cheerfully concede every reasonable demand, for
the sake of peace. But I will not submit to dictation."
Rule II. 'Question and Answer'. — Exercise 1. "Do you
think these yells of hostility will be forgotten ? — Do you sup-
pose their echo will not reach the plains of my injured and
insulted country, that they will not be whispered in her green
valleys, and heard from her lofty hills ? — Oh ! they loill be
heard there : — yes, and they will not be forgotten."
2. " I will say, what have any classes of you, in Ireland, to
hope from the French ? Is it your property you wish to pre-
PART I.] READER AND SPEAKER. S3
serve ? — Look to the example of Holland ; and see how that
nation has preserved its property by an alliance with the
French ! Is it independence you court ? — Look to the exam-
ple of unhappy Switzerland : see to what a state of servile
abasement that once manly territory has fallen, under France !
Is it to the establishment of Catholicity that your hopes are
directed? — The conduct of the First Consul, in subverting-
the power and authority of the Pope, and cultivating the
friendship of the Mussulman in Egypt, under a boast of that
subversion, proves the fallacy of such a reliance. — Is it civil
liberty* you require? — Look to France itself, crouching un-
der despotism, and groaning beneath a system of slavery, un-
paralleled by whatever has disgraced or insulted any nation."
3. " Shall I be left forgotten, in the dust.
When Fate, relenting, lets the flower revive ?
Shall Nature's voice, — to man alone unjust, —
Bid him, though doomed to perish, hope to live ?
Is it for this fair Virtue oft must strive
With disappointment, penury, and pain ?
No : Heaven's immortal spring shall yet arrive,
And man's majestic beauty bloom again,
Bright through the eternal year of Love's triumphant reign."
Rule III. ' Disjunctive "Or'"\ — Exercise 1. " Will you rise
like men, and firmly assert your rights, or will you tamely
submit to be trampled on ? "
2. " Did the Romans, in their boasted introduction of civil-
ization, act from a principle of humane interest in the welfare
of the world ? Or did they not rather proceed on the greedy
and selfish policy of aggrandizing their own nation, and ex-
tending its dominion ? "
3. " Do virtuous habits, a high standard of morality, pro-
ficiency in the arts and embellishments of life, depend upon
physical formation, or the latitude in which we are placed ?
— t Do they not depend upcn the civil and religious institu-
tions which distinguish the country?"
[The remaining rules on ' inflection,' as they are of less
frequent application, are thought to be sufficiently illustrated
by the examples appended to each rule. A repetition of these,
however, may be useful, as an exercise in review.]
* In paragraphs constructed like the above, the successive questions
rise one above another, in inflection, so as at last to reach a very high
note.
f The above rule applies to cases in wliich the conjunction Or is. or
may be, understood.
64 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAKT I.
^ IX. JUST STRESS. •
The next characteristic of good reading and speaking, is
just 'stress'. This word, — as used bj'- Dr. Rush, in his Phi-
losophy of the voice, — is meant to designate a peculiar modi-
fication of force, which distinguishes speech from music. A
long drawn musical sound has its most forcible part, — in con-
sequence of 'swell' and 'diminish', — at the middle portion of
the note. The tones of speech on the contrary, — although,
in a few cases, they approach to this mode of voice, — usually
have the chief force of each sound at the opening or the clos-
ing part. In music, the increase of force is, comparatively,
gradual ; in speech and reading, it is frequently abrupt. To
these distinctive modes of voice the tjerm 'stress' is applied.
To understand the application of this term, in detail, it becomes
necessary to advert to the mode of creating vocal sounds. In vocal
music, the result is obtained by full ' inspiration', (inhaling or draw-
ing in the breath,) and, comparatively slight 'expiration', (giving
forth the breath.) In this mode, much breath is drawn in, much re-
tained, or withheld, and little given out at a time ; and thus are pro-
duced those smooth, pure, and gradually increasing tones, which are
appropriate to music, — all the breath that is given forth, being con-
verted into sound, and none escaping, that is not vocalized. In notes
of very short duration, singing? and speech are, it is true, brought
nearer to a resemblance. But this resemblance is more apparent than
real ; as may be observed in the execution of every good singer,
which, in the most rapid passages, still produces the genuine effect
of song, as differing from speech. The resemblance is owing solelj
to the brevity of sound, in such cases, which does not afford time foi
broad and marked distinctions to be dravvn by the ear.
The modes of voice which constitute speech, or are exem
plified in reading, are the following :
I. Radical Stress. This form of force includes two modes,
— 'explosion' and 'expulsion'.
1. 'Explosion' is an abrupt and instantaneous burst of
voice, — as, for example, in violent anger.
This, being an instiiictive, unconscious, involuntary, impulsive
emotion, does not allow time or disposition for any intentional or de-
liberate effect, but makes the creation of vocal sound seem an irre-
pressible, spontaneous, electric production of nature, lying equally
out of the reach of the understanding and the will. This tone has
its contrast in the deep, calm, and regular swell of the tone of rev-
erence, or the ample volume, and deliberate force, of conscious
authority and comman(J, in which the speaker is self-possessed and
self-directed, and controls his vocal effects for purposes understood
orfeh.
PABT I.] READER AND SPEAKER. 55
Contrast, for instance, the following angry shout of Douglas,
when enraged by the defiance of Marmion, with the examples of
reverential invocation and authoritative command, which occur in sub-
sequent paragraphs.
Example of ^Explosion'.
"Up drawbridge ! groom ! What, warder, HO !
Let the PORTCULLIS fall ! "
The sounds of all the accented vowels, in this style, fall upon the
ear with an instantaneous, clear, sharp, abrupt, and cutting force, at
the initial or ' radical' part of each.
2. 'Expulsion', — a conscious, intentional, and deliberate
force, coming upon the ear with great power ; as, for example,
in the language of authoritative command.
Example of ^Expulsioii '.
"Vanguard ! to right and left the front unfold!"
In this style, bold and forcible as it is, and even sudden as is its
commencement, the accented vowels do not startle the ear with the
abrupt shock of the tone of anger, exemplified above. There is a
partial, though very brief, swell, perceptible, in the 'radical', or in-
itial part, of each sound. — Both of the preceding examples are
classed under the head of ' radical ' stress ; as their chief force lies
in the 'radical', or first part of each sound.
II. Median Stress. This mode of force is exhibited in,
1. 'Effusion', — a moderate, gentle, and gradual swelling
of tone, — as, for example, in the calm and tranquil utterance
o{ reverential feeling, in which no disturbing impulse agitates
or forces out the breath, but the voice, somewhat as in music,
glides out, with a smooth effusive stream of sound, enlarging
as it flows, but never bursting out into irregular violence.
Example of ^Effusion'.
" But chiefly Thou, O Spirit ! that dost prefer,
Before all temples, the upright heart and pure,
Instruct me, for Thou know'st."
The ' effusive' style avoids every thing abrupt or sudden in the
formation of sound, and swells gradually to its ' acm^', (chief point,)
at the middle of each sound, — in the manner of music ; and from
this point 'diminishes', or decreases, to the close. This species of
'stress' is accordingly denominated 'median', — from the word me-
dium, or middle.
2. 'Suppression', — a powerful force of 'explosion' or 'ex-
pulsion', kept down, in the very act of giving forth the voice,
and converted into the 'median' form, as in the case of a per-
son communicating, in great earnestness of feeling, with an-
66 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART I.
Other, standincf al a distance, and yel exceedingly anxious not
to be heard by a third person, slill farther oil', — or, as in the
tone of extreme earnestness, uttered by the watcher in the
chamber of a sick jierson.
Examples of ^Suppression'.
1. " Hark ! James, listen ! for I must not speak loud. I do
not wish John to hear what I am saying ! "
2. " Stop softly ! speak low ! make no noise ! "
This mode of voice may be termed a ' half whisper'; it is the ' as-
pirated' and' impure' tone, which lies halfway between the ordinary
tone of the voice and a whisper. It is caused by allowing a vast
quantity of breath, not ' vocali/ed ' , to rush out along with the sound
of the voice. It is, in fact, 'explosion', or 'expulsion', merged, as
it were, or drowned, in a stream of ' aspiration', and made to assume
the style of ' median stress' .
III. Vanishing Stress. Besides the 'radical', or initial,
and the 'median', or middle, 'stress', there is also a 'vanish-
ing', or final 'stress', which begins softly, swells onward, and
bursts out suddenly, and leaves oft^ abruptly, at the very close
of a sound, as in the jerking termination of the tone of i?«-
patient feeling.
Thus, in the language of maddened impatience, as uttered by
Queen Constance, in her frenzy of grief and disappointment, at the
overthrow of all her hopes for her son, in consequence of the peace
formed between France and England :
Example of ^Vanishing Stress'.
"War ! war ! — no peace : peace is to me a war ! "
In tones of this class, the voice withholds its force, and delays the
explosion or expulsion, till the last moment of the emphatic sound,
and then throws it out with an abrupt, wrenching force, which re-
sembles that of a stone suddenly jerked from the hand. This
species of stress, as it lies at the ' vanish', or last point, of a sound,
is termed 'vanishing stress'.
IV. Compound Stress. The designation of 'compound
stress', is applied to that mode of forming tones, which
throws out the force of the voice in such a manner as to
mark, with great precision, the 'radical' and the 'vanish', or
the beginning and the end, of each accented or emphatic
sound.
Thus, in the tone of surprise, which is marked by a bold, ' upward
slide', beginning very low, and ending very high, the voice strikes
with peculiar force on the first and last points of the slide, in order
to stamp it more distinctly on the ear, as the vehicle of intense enfo-
tion. A striking example again occurs in the language of Queen
PART I.] READER AND SPEAKER, 87
Constance, in the situation mentioned before, when overwhelmed
with astonishment at the news she has just received.
Example of ' Compound Stress \
" Gone to be married ! gone to swear a peace !
Gone to be friends ! "
V. Thorough Stress. This designation is applied to that
species of force, which marks all the forms of 'stress', 'radi-
cal', ' median', and ' vanishing', with intense power, on the
same sound ; so as to cause the character of all to be deeply
felt, as in a bold shout, or any other very impressive form of
voice, which indicates intense emotion.
Example of ' Thorough Stress '.
" Awake ! arise ! or be for ever fallen ! "
In this shout of the arch-fiend to his fallen host, the tone, it •yill
be perceived, is not that of mere volume or quantity, of mere loud-
ness or physical force, as in the mechanical act of calling, or the
voice of a public crier. It has the wide ' falling inflection' of author-
ity and command, and the forcible ' radical' stress and 'expulsive' ut-
terance of courage; and to preserve the effect of all these, it must
not only begin and close vividly, but exhibit a ' median' ' swell', and
a distinct ' vanish'. It must, in other words, give distinctive force
and character to the beginning, the middle, and the end of each ac-
cented sound.
VI. Intermittent Stress, or Tremor. The 'tremor',
(trembling,) or ' intermittent ' stress, takes place in the utter-
ance of all those emotions which enfeeble the voice, by their
overpowering effect on feeling ; as, for example, in fear and
grief and sometimes joy, when extreme. This mode of ut-
terance characterizes, also, the feeble voice of age, or the tone
of a person shivering with cold.
Examples of the former will be found in the section on 'Expressive
Tones'. Of the latter we have instances in the language, both of
the old woman and the farmer, in Wordsworth's ballad, ' Goody
Blake and Harry Gill'.
Examples of Tremor.
1. " She prayed, her withered hand uprearing,
While Harry held her by the arm, —
rm T \ ^God '. ivho art never out of hearing,
\ Tremor \ { rn. t i. i m»
L -* ( Uh ! may he never more be warrn .'
2. " No word to any man he utters,
Abed or up, to young or old ;
But ever to himself he mutters,
[tr.] ^Poor Harry Gill is very cold !'"
58 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART I.
Exact discrimination and disciplined facility, in distinguisliing and
exeeutini^ tlic dillerent forms of 'stress', are indispensable to the life
and appro|>riatencss of good reading. Without the command of
clear and full ' radical stress', the voice has no elficacy : without the
expression embodied in tiic 'median' and 'vanishing' forms, it is
destitute of feeling. The preceding examples should be practised
till they become perfectly familiar. The importance of this branch
of elocution, in connexion with expressive tones, will be yet more
distinctly perceived, when the student arrives at that stage of the
subject, in which frequent references are made to the distinctions of
' stress'.
^ X. EXPRESSIVE TONES.
The word 'tone', in elocution, may be used, as in music to
signify the interval which exists in successive sounds of the
voice, as they occur in the gamut, or musical scale. But it
is commonly used as eijuivalent, nearly, to the term 'expres-
sion', in music, by which is meant the mode of voice as
adapted, or not adapted, to feeling. Thus we sneak of the
' tones' of passion, — of a ' false' tone, — of a 'school' tone.
Every tone of the voice implies, 1. a certain 'force', or
'quantity', of sound; — 2. a particular 'note', or 'pitch'; —
3. a given 'time', or 'inovement'; — 4. a peculiar 'strfs.s '; —
5. a special 'quality', or character ; — 6. a predominating 'in-
flection'. Thus, the tone of aive, has a ' very soft force', a
' very low pitch', a ' very slow movement', ' median stress',
and ' pectoral quality', or that deep murmuring resonance,
which makes the voice seetn as it were partially muffled in
the chest, together Avith a partial ' monotone', prevailing at
the opening of every clause, and every sentence. All these
properties belong to the natural utterance of awe ; take away
any one, and the effect of emotion is lost, — the expression
sounds deficient to the ear.
[xx] Example 1. " The bell | strikes | 6ne. — We take
[oo] no note of time,
[ = ] But from its loss : to give it, then, a tongue,
[m.s.] Is wise | in man. As if an angel | spoke II
[p-g.] I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright,
^ It is the knell of my departed hours.
Where are they ? — With the years beyond the fl6od."
* These marks indicate [xx] 'very soft,' [^^] 'very low', [= ] 'very
slow'; [m. s.] 'median stress '; [p. q.] 'pectoral quality'. See Eey to the
Notation nf 'Expressive Tone', on next page.
PART I ] READER AND SPEAKER. 69
The first five of the properties of voice which have been enume-
rated, are the ground of the following classification and notation.
Key to the Notation of ' Expressive Tone.'
^ Force'.
[I] 'loud'; [II] 'very loud'; [x] 'soft'; [xx] 'very soft';
[<] 'increase'; [>] 'decrease'.
'Pitch\
[°] ' high '; [°°] ' very high '; [,] ' low '; [<,„] ' very low'.
'Key\
\^'\ ' lively', — (full tone ;) [[?] ' plaintive', — (' semitone'.)
' Time'.
[u] 'quick'; [u u] 'very quick'; [ — ] 'slow'; [ = ] 'very
slow'.
^Stress'.*
[r.s.] 'radical stress'; [7)1. s.] 'median stress'; [v. s.] 'van-
ishing stress '; [c. s.] ' compound stress '; [th. s.] ' thorough
stress '; [s. s.] ' suppressed stress '; [tr.] ' tremor '; [ef. s.]
' effusive stress '; [expul. s.] ' expulsive stress '; [explo. s.] ' ex-
plosive stress'.
' Quality'.^
\h.q.'\ ' harsh quality '; \sm.q.'\ 'smooth quality '; [a. 5'.] 'as-
pirated quality '; [pu. t.'\ 'pure tone'; [p. g.] ' pectoral quality ';
[.§• (?•] 'guttural quality'; \n. q.'\ ' oral quality'; [pro. g'.] ' oro-
tund quality'.
Comhinations.
[h.g.q.'] ' harsh guttural quality'; [sm.p.q.l ' smooth pec-
toral quality', &;c
The above Key, thoua-h, at first sight, intricate, will occasion no
serious difficulty to students who have read attentively the Sections
on 'Stress' and 'Quality.' The notation will be found of great
service, not only by suggesting appropriate 'expression', which a
young reader might otherwise overlook, but by enabling the pupil to
prepare for the exercise of reading or declaiming, by previous study
and practice.
It is a humiliating fact, that, in many schools, the sublimest and
most beautiful strains of poetry, — take, for example, Milton's invo-
cation, "Hail holy Light!" — are, from the neglect of 'expressive
tone', called out in the same voice with which a clerk repeats the
number or the mark on a bale of goods, or read with the ' free and
easy ' modulation of a story told by the fireside, — or perhaps, with
* See ij IX. 'Stress'. t See ^ I. 'Quality'.
60 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAHT I.
the pompous moutliinp of the juvenile hero of a ' spouting club',
with the hiiifTiiisliini: tone of a sick person, or with the suppressed,
half- whispering utterance of a conscious culprit.
The notation of 'expression' has been adopted with a view
to the early formation of correct habit.
RULES ON EXPRESSIVE TONE.
Rule I. The tones of anger, vexation, alarm, fear, and
terror, have an utterance 'extremely loud, high, and quick',
'abrupt', and 'explosive', — or, sometimes marked by 'expul-
sive' and by 'vanishing' stress, — an 'aspirated', 'harsh', and
•guttural ' voice, and are characterized, throughout, by the 'fall-
ing inflection'.
Example of Anger.
Notatioji. " He hath disgraced me, and hindered me o( half
[I I] a inillion; laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains,
[° °] scorned iny ?idtion, thivarted my bargains, cooled my
[u u] friends, heated mine enemies : and what 's his r^a-
\h. g. q.'\ S071 ? I AM A ih\x. — Hath not a Je^v eyes, hath not
[earp^cs.] a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections,
pAssions ? fed with the sajne food, hurt with the
See Key same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by
to the same means, loarmed and cooled by the same win-
Notation, ter and summer as a CuRfsTiAN is ?"
Vexation.
' [I I] " Say you so ? sXy you so ? — I say unto you
[° °] again, you are a shallotv, cowardly, hi?id, an4 you
[u u] LIE. Our plot is a good plot as ever was laid; our
[explo.s.] frieiids true and constant ; a good plot, good
[a. p. friends, nnd full oi expectation: an excellent pZo<,
Sf vJ:ry good friends. What a frosty-spirited rogue
g. q.'\ is this! — An I were now by this rascal, I could brain
him with his lady's fIn. — Oh! I could divide my-
self, and go to buffets, for moving such a dish of
SKIMMED MILK with SO honorable an action !"
Alarm.
[I |] [° °] [^ "] " Strike on the tinder, h6 !
[expul. s.] Give me a taper ; call up all my people !
[a. & oro. g.] Get more tapers ;
[Shouting, Raise all my kindred ! —
CaUing.] Call up my BROTHER !—
So?ne I ONE way, so7ne another !
Get weapons, h6 !
And raise some special officers of night /"
PART I.] READER AND SPEAKER. 61-
Fear.
[II] "OA/ sAvE me, Htibert, SAVE me : my eyes are 6uT,
[** **] Even with ihe fierce looks of these bloody men !
[u u] Alas ! what need you be so boisterous rough ?
[expul. I will not struggle, — I will stand | stone | still.
r.s.] For Heaven's sake, Hubert ! let me not be bound! •
\a.o.q.'\ Nay, hear me, Hubert I drive these men away,
[' Tre- And I will sit as quiet as a lXmb ;
mor\ I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word,
through-^ox LOOK | upon the irons | angerly ;
out.] Thrust but these vien away, and I '11 forgive you,
Whatever torments you do put me to."
Terror.
[II ° ° u u] " Awake ! AWAKE !—
[expul. Ring the ALARUM bell: MtjRDER! and TREASON!
^m.s. Banquo, and Donalbain ! Malcolm! AWAKE ?
pro- Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit,
longed.] And look on death itself .' — Up ! up ! and see
[g.^o.q.]The great doom's image .'— MILCOLM ! BANQUO i
[Shout.]As from your graves rise up, and walk like sprights,
[Call.] To countenance this horror .'"
Rule II. Wonder and asto7iishme7it are expressed by 'loud,
high, and slow utterance'; 'vanishing stress'; 'aspirated' and
slightly ' guttural ' ' quality '; and prolonged ' downward slide'.
— Astonishment exceeds wonder, in the degi-ee of these pro-
perties.
Example of Wonder.
[I] " What is 't .?— a spirit ?
[°] Sie .' hoiv it looh about ! Believe me, sir,
[ — ] It carries a brave form ! — but 't is a spirit !—
[v. s.] I might call him
[a. o: q.] A thing divine ; for nothing natural
I ever saw so noble .'"
Astonishment.
[I] ^'■Alonzo. What harmony h this 1 — my good friends ,
["] hXrk !
[ — ] Gonzalo. Mdrvellozis sweet music !
[v. s.] Alon. Give us kind keepers, heavens!-- What were
[a.p.q.]TJii.sE ?
Sebastian. A living drollery ! Now I will believe
6
62 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART I.
That there are unicornis: that, in Arabia,
There is one tree, the 'phoenix^ throne; one phctniz
At this hour rHgning there.
Antonio. I 'II believe both ;
And what does the want credit, come to 7W^,
And I '11 be sivorn V is tri^e."
Note. Amazement, when it does not go to the utmost ex-
treme, has a louder, but lower and slower utterance, than 05-
tonish7nent : the other properties of voice are of the same
description as those expressed in astonishment, but increased
in degree.
Amazement.
[I] " Gon. V the name of something holy, sir, why stand you
[*] In this strange stare ?
[ ] [o] Al07lZ0. Oh I it is MONSTROUS ! MONSTROUS !
\v. s.] Methought, the billows spoke, and told me of it ;
[a. Sf The winds did sing it to me ; and the thunder,
p. g.] That deep and dreadful organ-pipe pronounced
The name of Prosper; it did lass my trespass!"
Rule III. Horror and extreme amazement have a 'softened'
' force', an extremely ' low ' note, and ' slow ' movement, a
' suppressed stress', a deep ' aspirated pectoral quality', and a
prevailing ' monotone '.
Example of Horror.
[x] " Now, o'er the one half Avorld
[o o] Nature seems dead ; and wicked dreams abiise
[ — ] The curtained sleeper ; witchcraft celebrates
[5.5.]Pale Hecate's oflerings ; and withered murder,
[a.p. Alarumed hj his sentinel, the wolf,
J.] Whose howl 's his watch, thijs with his stealthy pace,
With Tarquin's ravishing strides, towards his design
Moves like a ghost. — [^ J Thou sQre and firm-set earth !
Hear not my steps which way they walk, for fear
The very stones prate of my whereabouts,
And take the present horror from the time,
Which now suits with it."
* The omission of any mark, indicates the moderate or middle 'pitch',
•force', or 'rale'. The absence of the notation for 'pitch', in the above
case, is equivalent to 'middle pitch'.
PART I.] READER AND SPEAKER. 63
Extreme Amazement.
[x] "Oh! answer me:
[oo] Let me not burst in ignorance ! but tell
[ = ] Why thy canonized bones, hearsed in death,
\s. 5.] Have bvirst their cerements ! why the sepulchre,
\a. p. qJ\ Wherein we saw thee quietly iniirned,
\Tre7n0r.] Hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws,
To cast thee up again ! [^o] What may this mean,
That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel
Revisit'st thiis the glimpses of the moon.
Making night hideous ; and we fools of nature,
So horribly to shake our disposition,
With thoughts beyond the reaches of our s6uls ?"
Rule IV. Awe- has usually a 'suppressed' force, a 'very
low ' note, and a ' very slow ' movement. Solevinity, rever-
ence, and sublimity, have a ' moderate ' force, a ' low ' note,
and a ' slow movement '. — All four of these emotions are ut-
tered with 'effusive median stress', and deep, but 'pure', 'pec-
toral quality'; together with a prevalent ' monotone'.
Note. When great force is expressed in the language, the
tone becomes ' loud ' in awe.
Example of Aive.
[ ] "0 Thou unutterable Potentate !
[o o] Through nature's vast extent, sublimely great ! —
[=] But here, on these gigantic mountains, here,
[ef. Thy greatness, glory, wisdom, strength, and spirit,
m.s.] In terrible sublimity appear !
[pu. Thy awe-imp5sing voice is heard, — we hear it '
t. The Almighty's fearful voice : attend ! It breaks
p.g.] The silence, and in solemn warning speaks.
[o o] Thou breathest ! [| ^ ^ — ] forest oaks of centuries
Tiirn their uprooted trunks towards the skies.
[00] Thou thixnderest! [IIqo =] adamantine mountains break,
Tremble, and totter, and apart are riven !
[00] At God's almighty will,
[lo — ]The affrighted world falls headlong from its sphere!
[00 =]P]anets, and siins, and systems disappear!"
Sole?nnity.
[o][ — ] " Father ! thy hand
[ef. Hath reared these venerable columns ; Thou
m.s.] Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down
64 AMERICAN COMMON SCHOOL [PART 1.
[pu. t. Upon the naked earth, and, forthwith, rose
p.g.] All these ITiir ranks of trees. They, in thy siin,
Buddod, and shook their green leaves in thy breeze,
And ^Uoi towards heaven. The century-living crow,
Who«:e birth was in their lops, grew old and died
Among tlicir branches, till, at last, they stood,
As now lliey stand, massy and tall and dark,
[^00 =]Fu shrine for humble worshipper to hold
Communion with his Maker !"
Reverence.
[x o — ] " Oh ! let me often to these solitudes
\ef. m. s.] Retire, and in Thy presence reassure
[pu.t.p.q.'\ My feeble virtue. Here, its enemies,
The passions, at thy plainer footsteps shrink,
• [>] And tremble, and are still.
[xx o<j =] Be it ours to meditate,
In these calm shades. Thy milder majesty.
And, to the beautiful order of Thy works.
Learn to conform the order of our lives ! "
SulUmity.
[o — ] " Hail ! h5ly Light, offspring of heaven first born, —
\ef. Or, of the Eternal, coeternal beam
m. 5.] May I express thee unblamed ? since God is Light,
[pro. And never but in unapproached light
g-.] Dwelt from eternity, — dwelt then in thee,
BrigJit effluence of bright essence increate ;
[oo\ Or hearst thou, rather, pure ethereal stream,
Whose fountain who shall tell ? Before the sun.
Before the heavens thou wert, and, at the voice
Of God, as witli a mantle, didst invest
The rising world of waters, dark and deep.
Won from the void and formless infinite.'
Rule V. Revenge is 'loud' and 'low' in utterance: when
deliberate, it is ' slow ', — when violent, it is ' quick': it has
the ' median stress '; and ' aspirated ' ' pectoral ' and ' guttural
quality', combined. It is marked by a prevalent ' downward
slide'.
Example 1.
[I I] " ON them, hussars ! — Now give them rein and heel !
[o] Think of the orphaned child, the imurdered sire :
PART I.] READER AND SPEAKER. OS'
\expul. Earth cries for blood, — [| |] in THUNDER on them
S ] WHEEL I
\oro.q.'\ This hour to Europe's fate shall set the triumph seal !"
[I |] 2. Skylock. " There I have another bad match : a
[o] BANKRUPT, a PRODIGAL, who dare scarce show his
[u] head on the Rialto ; — a beggar, that used to come
\ezpul.s.^ so smug upon the mart : let him look to his bond :
[h. g. ^ he was wont to call me usurer ; let him look to
pec. q.] HIS BOND : he was wont to lend money for a
CHRISTIAN COURTESY: LET HIM LOOK
TO HIS BdND ! "
Rule VI. Scorn is characterized by ' loudness', by drawl-
ing 'slowness', and a tone which, in the emphatic words,
begins on a 'high' and slides to a 'low' note; by 'thorough
stress', and often, a laughing ' tremor', making the beginning,
the middle, and the end, of every emphatic sound, distinct,
and prominent, and cutting to the ear. The ' quality ' of the
voice in this tone, is strongly ' aspirated', but not ' guttural':
the 'inflection' is usually ' falling', but, sometimes, becomes
the ' wave ', or ' circumflex '.
Example 1.
[II] "TAow slIve, thou wretch, THOU COW-
ARD!
[th. s.] Thou little valiant, great in villany I
[a.o.q.] Thou ever strong upon the stronger side !
Thou fortune's champio)i, that dost never fight
But when her hi'anoroiis ladyship is by
To teach thee safety .'"
[II — ] 2. " Pale, TRii3iBLiNG, COWARD \— {Tremor. 1
\th. 5.] there I throw my gage :
\a. g.] By that, and all the rights of knighthood Use,
Will I make good against thee, arm to Irm,
What I have sjioke, or thou canst worse devise."
Rule VII. Indignation is marked by full 'loudness', 'low'
note, and deliberate ' slowness '; a swelling ' median stress ';
and the effect arising from the blending of 'pectoral' and
• guttural ' tone, to all the extent consistent with ' pure ' ' oro-
tund', in vehement style. The characteristic inflection is
uniformly ' falling '.
[ I ] Exam. " In this complicated crisis of danger,
[A weakness, and calamity, terrified and insulted by
66 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART 1.
[ — ] tlic neighboring ])dv-crs, unable to act in America,
[expid.m.s.l or actiMt,^ onlj' to 1)0 destkoyed, wiifeRE II is the
[oro.q.] MAN II wlio will venture to flatter us with the hope
of success from perseverance in measures pro-
ductive of these dire effects? — Who [ has the
EFFKONTERY to attempt it ? WHERE II is that
man ? Let him, if lie DARE, stand forward,
and SHOW his fAce."
Rule VIII. Courage, joy, ardent love, and ardent admira-
tion, are distinguished by 'loud', 'high', and 'lively' utter-
ance; swelling 'median stress'; perfectly smooth and 'pure'
'quality' of tone; and frequent 'fulling' inflections.
Note. Joy is sometimes expressed by ' tremor ', ardor by
'aspiration ', and coxirage by ' orotund' utterance.
Example 1. Courage and Ardent Admiration.
[I I] ^'■Now 1 for the fight I — 7iow \ for the cannon
[°°] ^ peal!—
[u u] FORW^ARD! — through blood, and T(!>il, and
[expul.r.s.^ CLOUD, and fire !
[pro. 5-.] Glorious — the suout, the sh6ck, the crash of
ST^EL,
The volley's roll, the rocket's blasting spire !"
2. Joy.
"Thou ChildofJoy!
Shout round me : let me hear thy shouts, tkou hap-
py Shepherd Boy .'"
3. Ardent Ij)ve a?id Admiration.
[I] " Oh ! speak again, bright angel ; for thou art
[°] As glorious to this sight, being o'er my head,
[\j] As is a winged messenger of heaven
\m.s.^ Unto the white upturned wondering eyes
[pu.o.q.^ Of viortals, that fall back to gaze on him,
M When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds,
And sails upon the bosom of the air."
Rule IX. Excessive grief and sorrow, are expressed by
' loud ' ' high' and ' slow' utterance ; ' tremor', or ' intermittent
stress'; and ' pure ' ' quality ', — where not interrupted by sob,
or ' aspiration'. The ' falling inflection' prevails throughout
the utterance of these emotions.
Example.
[I] [°] " Capulet. 'Ha ! let me see her : — Out, aids .' she 's cold :
[ — ] Her blood is settled ; and her joints are stiff;
PART I.] READER AND SPEAKER. 67
[a. g.] Life and these lips have long been separated ;
[tr.] Death lies on her, like an untimely frost
Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.
[sob] Accursed time I tmforUmate old vian !' "
[I I] ''Lady Capulet. ' Accursed, unhXppy, WRiTCHED,
[°J HATEFUL day !
[ — ] Most MISERABLE hour that e'er time saw,
[explo.s-l In lasting- labor of his pilgrimage !
\tr.] But one, poor one, one poor and loving child,
[a. g.] But one thing to rejoice and solace in,
[sob] And cruel death j hath catched it from my sight ! ' "
Rule X. Moderate grief a?id sorroio, pity, and tender love
and admiration, are expressed by ' softened force', ' high'
notes, and slow ' movement '; by prolonged and swelling
' median stress'; and by ' pure', but ' chromatic', or plaintive
utterance. The ' rising inflection', in the form of 'sem-
itone', (half tone,) prevails in the expression of these emo-
tions.
Example of Moderate Grief.
[x] " Enamored death, with sweetly pensive gr4ce
[°] Was awful beauty to his silent face.
[ — ] No more his sad eye looked me into tears !
[m.s.] Closed tvas that eye, beneath his pale, cold broio;
[pu. And on his calni lips, which had lost their glow,
g.] But which, though pale, seemed half-unclosed to spiak,
[\)] Loitered a smile, like moonlight on the snbio."
Pity.
[x] " Morn came again ;
["] But the young. lamb was dead.
[ — ] Yfft the poor mother's fond distress
\7n. 5.] Its every art had tried
[pu. g.] To shield, with sleepless tenderness,
[b] The weak one at her side.
Eound it, all night, she gathered warm
Her woolly limbs, — her head
Close curved across its feeble form ;
[>] Day dawned, and it was dead. —
[xx ° =] It lay before her stifl^'and cAld, —
Yet fondly she essayed
To cherish it in love's warm fold ;
Then restless trial made,
68 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART I.
Moving, with still reverted face,
And low, complaining bleat.
To entice from their damp resting place
Those little stifiening feet."
Tender Love and Admiration.
[x] '■'Hushed were his Gcrtrude^s lips, but still their bland
[°] And beautiful expression ' seemed to melt
[ — ] Willi love that could not die ! and still his hand
[m.s.] She presses to the heart no vwre tlvdl felt,
[pu.q.] [o] Ah ! heart, ichere once each fond affection dwilt,
[[7] And features \ yet ] that spoke a soul more fair .'"
Rule XI. Impatience, eagerness, and hurry, are denoted
by 'loud' 'high', and 'quick movement'; impatience, by
' vanishing ', or final ' stress '; eagerness, by ' expulsive me-
dian stress'; hurry, by abrupt ' radical ' or initial ' explosive '
'stress': all three emotions are sometimes marked by the
' tremor ', and by ' aspirated ', and sometimes, ' anhelose ' or
panting utterance, — eagerness occasionally by the ' orotund '.
The ' falling inflection ' characterizes the tones of these emo-
tions.
Example of Impatience.
[1] ^^Mortimer. Fie ! cousin Percy, — how you cr6ss my
[•] father !
[u] Hotspur. I cannot choose : sometimes he angers me,
[explo. With telling me of the moldioarp and the hnt,
v.s.'\ Of the dreamer Merlin, and \i\s prophecies ;
[a. J.] And of a dragon, and a finless fish,
A clip-ioinged griffin, and a moulten rdven,
A couching lion, and a ramping cat.
And such a deal of skimble skamele STtiFF,
As puts me from my faith. I tell you what, —
He held me, but last night, at least nine h6urs,
In reckoning up the several devils' names
That were his lackeys: I cried "■ humph V — and '■willV
' go to V —
But marked him not a word. Oh ! he 's as tedious
As is a tired horse, a railing loife ;
Worse than a smoky house : — I, had rather live
With cheese and garlic in a WINDMILL, far,
Than feed on cd,tes, and have him talk to me,
In any summer-house in Christendom."
FART I.] READER AND SPEAKER. 69
Eagerness.
[I] '■^Hotspur. Send danger from the east unto the whty
[°] So honor cross it from the north to south,
[uj And let them grapple : — Oh ! the blood more stirs,
\expul. To rouse a lion, than to start a hare.
V. s.] By heaven, methinks it were an easy leap,
[oro.j.jTo pluck bright honor from the pale-faced moon;
Or dive into the bottom of the deep,
Where fathom-line could never touch the ground.
And pluck up drowned honor by the locks :
So he that doth redeem her thence, might wear,
Without co-rival, all her dignities."
H^irry.
[I I ° u u] "Sisters ! hence, with spurs of sp^ed !
Each her thundering falchion wield;
[explo. r. s.] Each bestride her sable steed :
[a. g.] HtiRRY ! HtJRRY to the field !"
Rule XII. Melancholy is distinguished by 'soft', or faint
and languid utterance, ' very low pitch', and ' very slow
movement'; a gentle ' vanishing stress'; ' pure' but ' pectoral'
'quality'; and the 'monotone', or, occasionally, the plaintive
' semitone'.
Example.
[xx] " To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,
[o o] Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
[=] To the last syllable of recorded time ;
[v, 5.] And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
[pu.t.^ The way to dusty death. — Oixt, oiit, brief chndle !
[pec. q.] Life 's but a walking shadow, — a poor player.
That striits and frets his hour upon the stage,
[>] And then II is heard no more."
Rule XIII. Despair has a 'softened force', a 'very low*
note, and a ' very slow movement '; ' vanishing stress '; deep
' pectoral quality '; and a prevalent ' falling inflection ' or an
utter ' monotone '.
Exainple.
[x] " I have lived long enough ; my way of life
[o o] Is fallen into the sear, the yellow leaf:
[ = ] And that which should accompany old age,
\v. s.] As honor, love, obedience, troops of fr'iends,
\p.q.\ I must not look to hdre ; but, in their stead.
TO AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART 1.
Curses, not loud, but d^ep, vwuth-hoTwr, BRkATH,
Which the pooi- heart would fain dew^, but dd.re not."
Rule XIV. Remorse has a subdued or 'softened' force,
very ' low pitch', and ' slow movement'; a strongly marked
' vanishing stress '; a deep ' pectoral ' and ' aspirated' ' qual-
ity '; and a prevailing ' falling inflection', with, occasionally,
the ' monotone'.
Example.
[^][oo] " Oh ! my offence \ is rank, — it smells to heaven :
[ — ] It liath the primal \ Eldest | ciirse I upon 't,
[5. 4" A brother's I murder! — Pray can I not,
r.5.] Though inclination be as sharp as will ;
\a,pec. Mv stronger guilt II defeats my strong inthit. —
J.] Oh ! WRETCHED State ! Oh ! bosom, black as d^ath !
Oh I LIMED soul, that, struggling to be free,
Art more engaged /"
Note. Self-reproach has a tone similar to the preceding,
but less in the extent of each property, except ' force', in
which it exceeds remorse, and ' pitch', in which it is higher.
Example.
[I] " Oh ! what a rogue and peasant sld,ve am *•/.'
[ — ] Is it not MONSTROUS that this player here,
[v. s.] But in a fiction, a dream of passion,
[a. q.] Could force his soul so to his own conceit.
That, from her working, all his visage wdnned,
Tears in his hjes, distractio?i in 's aspect,
A broken voice, and his lohole function suiting
With forms to his conceit ? And all for nothing !
For Hecuba !
What 's Hec7iba to him, or he to Hecuba,
That he should iveep for her. What would he do,
Had he the motive and the cue for passion.
That ^I have ? He would drown the stAge | with tears,
And cleave the general ear with horrid speech !
Make mId the guilty, and appal the free.
Confound the ignorant, and amaze, indeed,
The very facilities of eves and ears."
Rule XV. Mirth is distinguished by ' loud,' ' high,' and
' quick' utterance ; and an approach to the rapid, repeated
* explosions ' of laughter, in a greater or less degree, accord-
ing to the nature of the passage which contains the emotion.
PART 1.] READER AND SPEAKER. 71
To these properties are added ' aspirated quality', and the
' falling inflection', as a predominating one.
[II " v] "A FOOL, A FOOL ! I MET A FOOL i' the fotest,
[explo. s.] A MOTLEY FOOL ; — a miserable world;
\a. g.] As I do live by food, I met a fool ;
[Laughing Who laid him doimi, and basked him in the sun,
voice.] And railed on lady Fortune \ in good terms.
In GOOD SET TERMS, and yet a motley fool !"
EuLE XVI. Gaiety and cheerfulness are marked by ' mode-
rate force', 'high pitch', and 'lively movement'; moderate
'radical stress '; and smooth, ' pure quality ' of tone, with va-
ried ' inflections'.
Example,
[°] '■'■Celia. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my c6z, be
[u] merry.
\r. 5.] Rosalind. Well, I will forget the condition of my
[pu.tJ\ estate, to rejoice in ymirs. — From henceforth I will,
[j^] coz, and devise sports; let me see; what think you of
falling in love ?
Celia. I prythee, do, to make spoi-t withal ; but love
no man in good earnest.
Rosalind. What shall be our sport, then ?
Celia. Let us sit and mock the good housewife, Fdr-
tune, from her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth
be bestowed equally.
Rosalind. I would we could do so ; for her benefits
are mightily misplaced : and the bountiful \ blind '
woman \ doth most mistake her gifts to wbinen."
Rule XVII. Tranquillity, serenity, and repose, are indi-
cated by ' moderate force', ' middle pitch', and ' moderate
movement '; softened ' median stress '; ' smooth ' and ' pure '
• quality ' of tone ; and moderate inflections.
Example.
[] [] [1* "How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this b^nk!
\m. 5.] Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music
\sm. y.] Creep in our ears ! soft stillness, and the night,
Become the touches of sweet harmony.
Look how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold !
There's not the smallest orb which thou beh61d'st,
* 'Middle pitch', 'moderate force', and 'moderate movement*.
T2 AMKKICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART L
But I in his motion | like an iiiigol | sings,
Still (luiriiig to the young-eyed cherubim:
Such harmony is in immortal s6uls !"
The carefvil study and practice of tones cannot be too strongly
urged on tlic attention ol "young readers. Reading, devoid of tone, ia
cold, monotonous, and mechanical, and false, in point of fact. It de-
feats the main end of readinp;, which is to impart thought in its natu-
ral union with feeling. Faulty tones not only mar the effect of
expression, but offend the ear, by their violation of taste and pro-
priety. Reading can j)ossess no interest, speech no eloquence, with-
out natural and vivid tones.
The forepoing examples should be practised with close attention,
and persevering diligence, till every property of voice exemplified in
them, is perfectly at command.
^ XL APrKOPRIATE MODULATION.
The word 'modulation' is the term applied, in elocution,
to those changes of ' force', ' pitch', and ' movement', ' stress',
'quality', and 'inflection', which occur, in continuous and
connected reading, in passing from the peculiar tone of one
emotion to that of another. ' Modulation', therefore, is no-
thing else than giving to each tone, in the reading or speaking
of a whole piece, its appropriate character and expression.
The first practical exercise which it would be most advantageous
to perform, in this department of elocution, is, to turn back to the
exercises on ' versatility ' of voice, and repeat them till they can be
executed with perfect facility and precision. The next exercise
should be a review, without the reading of the inter\'ening rules, of
all the examples given under the head of ' tones'. A very extensive
and varied practice will thus be secured in ' modulation'. It should
be required of the pupil, while performing this exercise, to watch
narrowly, and state exactly, every change of tone, in passing from
one example to another. The third course of exercise in ' modula-
tion', is to select those of the pieces contained in this book, which
are marked for that purpose, as the notation will indicate. A fourth
course of practice may be taken on pieces marked in pencil, by the
pupils themselves, under the supervision of the teacher.
This statement wl'l, it is thought, be a sufficient explanation of
the reason why no separate exercises are given under the head of
modulation, in Part I. of this volume. The closing remarks of Sec-
tion X. apply equally to ^ XI.
Suggestions to Teachers.
The compilers of this volume are well aware, that, in numeroas
schools, it is exceedingly difficult to command sufficient time for the
PART I.] HEADER AND SPEAKER. 73
thorough and effectual performance of exercises in reading, and still
more so, to find time for the systematic study of elocution : they
would, however, respectfully suggest, tliat, as the complaint against
bad reading is still so loud and general, some eH'orts for the removal
of the grounds of this complaint, must be made. If so, these ef-
forts, to be successful, must be systematic ; and, if systematic, they
cannot be hurried and superficial. Every teacher can best decide. In
his own case, how much time he can create for such purposes. But
it would, at all events, be practicable to make time by diminishing
the quantity of reading usually attempted in a lesson. — A class who
have learned in a day, to read one paragraph distinctly and impress-
ively, have done more than has heretofore been effected, in successive
YEARS of desultory and irregular practice.
*^* Teachers and students who wish for a more extensive state-
ment of the general principles of elocution, or to devote their atten-
tion to the subject of gesture in connexion with declamation, may
find it serviceable to peruse the American Elocutionist,* by one of
the editors of the present work.
* The American Elocutionist ; comprising ' Lessons in Enunciation',
'Exercises in Elocution', and ' Rudiments of Gesture '; with a Selection
of new Pieces for practice in Reading and Declamation ; and engraved
Illustrations in Attitude and Action. Designed for Colleges, Professional
Institutions, Academies, and Common Schools. By William Russell.
Bo.«ion : Jenks and Palmer.
PART II.— PIECES FOR PRACTICE IN READING
AND DECLAMATION.
LESSON I. — Paul's defence before festus and agrippa. —
ACTS, XXVL CHAPTER.
I THINK myself happy, king Agrippa, because I shall
answer for myself this day before thee, concerning all the
things whereof I am accused by the Jews : especially, as I
know thee to be expert in all customs and questions which
5 are among the Jews. Wherefore I beseech thee to hear
■ me patiently.
My manner of life from my youth, which was at the
first among my own nation at Jerusalem, know all the
Jews ; who knew me from the beginning, (if they would
10 testify,) that after the straitest sect of our religion, I lived
a Pharisee. And now I stand and am judged for the hope
of the promise made by God to our fathers ; to Avhich
promise, our twelve tribes, continually serving God day
and night, hope to come : and for this hope's sake, king
15 Agrippa, I am accused by the Jews.
Why should it be thought a thing incredible with you,
that God should raise the dead ? I verily thought with
myself, that I ought to do many things contrary to the
name of Jesus of Nazareth : and this I did in Jerusalem.
?0 Many of the saints I shut up in prison, having received
authority from the chief priests : and when they were put
to death, I gave my voice against them. And I often
punished them in every synagogue, and compelled them
to blaspheme ; and being exceedingly mad against them,
25 I persecuted them even unto strange cities.
But as I went to Damascus, with authority and com-
mission from the chief priests, at mid-day, O king ! I saw
in the way a light from heaven, above the brightness of the
oun, shining round about me, and them who journeyed
30 with me. And when we were all fallen to the earth, I
heard a voice speaking to me and saying, in the Hebrew
76 AMKRICAN COMMON-SCHOOL
tongue, Sa\il, Saul, why persecutest thou me ? It is hard
for thee to kick against ]).\e pricks.* And I said, who art
thou, Lord? And he replied, I am Jesus whom thou
persecutest. But rise, and stand upon thy feet: for I have
5 appeared to thee for this purpose, to make thee a minister,
and a witness both of these things, which thou hast seen,
and of those tilings in which I will appear to thee ;
delivering thee from the people, and from the Gentiles, to
whom I now send thee, to open their eyes, and to turn
10 them from darkness to light, and from the power of satan
to God ; that they may receive forgiveness of sins, and
inheritance amongst them who are sanctified by faith that
is in me.
Whereupon, O king Agrippa ! I was not disobedient to
15 the heavenly vision ; but showed first to them of Damascus,
and at Jerusalem, and through all the 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 ca\ight me in the temple ; and went about to kill
20 me. Having, however, nbtained help from God, I continue
to this day, witnessing both to small and great, saying no
other things than those which the prophets and Moses
declared should come ; that Christ should suffer ; that he
would be the first who should rise from the dead ; and that
25 he would show light to the people, and to the Gentiles.
LESSON II. — CULTIVATION OF THE MIND. S. REED.
[This piece is intended as an exercise in the application of Ehe-
torical Pauses, according to the Rules contained in the Section on
Pausing, in Part I., page 25.]
It was the design of Providence, that the infant mind |
should possess the germ ' of every science. If it were
not so, the sciences could hardly be learned. The care
of God II provides ' for the flower of the field 1 a place '
wherein it may grow, regale the sense | witn its fra-
grance, and delight the soul | with its beauty. Is nis prov-
idence ' less active I over those, to whom this flower
offers its incense ? — No. The soil ' which produces the
vine II in its most healthy luxuriance, is not better adapted
* Sharp-pointed instruments.
PAKT II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 77
to that end, than the world we inhabit, to draw forth the
latent energies of the soul, and fill them ' with life ' and
vigor. As well might the eye | see ' without light, or
the ear | hear ' without sound, as the human mind | be
5 healthy ' and athletic | without descending into the natu-
ral world, and breathing the mountain air.
Is there aught in Eloquence | which warms the heart ?
She draws her fire ' from natural imagery. Is there aught
in Poetry | to enliven the imagination ? There | is the
10 secret ' of all her power. Is there aught in Science | to
add strength ' and dignity ' to the human mind ? The nat-
ural world II is only the body, of which ' she ] is the soul.
In books, science ' is presented to the eye of the pupil, as
it were, in a dried ' and preserved ' state. The time may
15 come, when the instructor ' will take him by the hand,
and lead him ' by the running streams, and teach him all
the principles of Science, as she comes from her Maker ;
as he would smell the fragi-ance ' of the rose, without
gathering it.
20 This love of nature ; this adaptation of man ' to the
place assigned him ' by his heavenly Father; this fulness
• I of the mind II as it descends into the works of God, —
is something, which has been felt ' by every one, — though
to an imperfect degree, — and ' therefore | needs no ex-
25 planation. It is the part of science, that this | be no long-
er a blind afiection ; but ' that the mind ' be opened | to
a just perception ' of what it is, which it loves. The af-
fection, which the lover first feels ' for his future wife,
may be attended ' only by a general sense ' of her exter-
30 nal beauty ; but his mind ' gradually opens I to a percep-
tion of the peculiar features of the soul, of which ' the
external appearance | is only an image. So it is ' with
nature. Do we love to gaze on the sun, the moon, the
stars, and the planets ? This affection | contains ' in its
35 bosom | the whole science of astronomy, as the seed '
contains the future tree. It is the office of the instructor
' to give it an existence ' and a name, by making known
the laws, which govern the motions of the heavenly
bodies, the relation of these bodies to each other, and
40 their uses.
Have we felt delight ' in beholding the animal creation,
— in watching their pastimes ' and their labors ? It is the
office of the instructor ' to give birth to this affection, by
describing the different classes of animals, with their pe-
7*
^ AM£BICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAXI J.
culiar characteristics, which inhabit the earth, the air, and
the sea. Have we known the inexpressible pleasure I of
beholding the beauties ' of the vegetable world ? This
afl'eclion | can only expand ' in the science of botany.
5 Thus it is, that tlie love of nature ' in the mass II may be-
come the love of all the sciences, and the mind will grow
and bring fortli fruit II from its own inherent power of de-
velopment.
ULSSON in. PHYSICAL EUIICATION. DR. HUMPHREY.
[Marked for Rhetorical Pauses.]
That I is ' undoubtedly | the wisest ' and best regimen,
which takes the infant ' from the cradle, and conducts him
along, through childliood ' and youth, up to high matu-
rity, in such a manner ' as to give strength ' to his arm,
5 swiftness ' to his feet, solidity ' and amplitude ' to his
muscles, symmetry ' to his frame, and expansion ' to his
vital energies. It is obvious, that this branch of educa-
tion I comprehends, not only food ' and clothing, but air,
exercise, lodging, early rising, and Avhatever else ' is re-
10 quisite to the full development ' of the physical constitu-
tion. The diet | must be simple, the apparel | must "Tlot
be too warm, nor the bed | too soft.
Let parents | beware ' of too much restriction | in the
management of their darling boy. Let him, in choosing
15 his play, follow the suggestions of nature. Let them not
be discomposed | at the sight of his sand-hills ' in the
road, his snow-forts ' in February, and his mud-dams ' in
April : nor when they chance to look out ' in the midst of
an August shower, and see him wading ' and sailing, and
20 sporting ' along with the water-fowl. If they would make
him hardy ' and fearless, they must let him go abroad ' as
• often as he pleases, in his early boyhood, and amuse him-
self ' by the hour together, in smoothing ' and twirling '
the hoary locks of winter. Instead of keeping him shut
25 up ' all day ' with a stove, and graduating his sleeping-
room I by Fahrenheit, they must let him face the keen
edge of a north wind, when the mercury ' is below cipher,
and, instead of minding a little shivering ' and complain-
ing when he returns, cheer up his spirits and send him
30 out again. In this way, they will teach him ' that he
was not born to live in the nursery, nor to brood over the
fire ; but to range abroad, as free as the snow ' and the air,
and to gain warmth ' from exercise.
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 79
I love ' and admire ' the youth, who turns not back
' from the howling wintry blast, nor withers ' under the
blaze of summer ; who never magnifies ' mole-hills into
mountains '; but whose daring eye, exulting, scales the
5 eagle's airy crag, and who is ready to undertake any thing
' that is prudent and lawful, within the range of possibil-
ity. Who would think ' of planting the mountain oak '
in a green-house ? or of rearing the cedar of Lebanon '
in a lady's flower-pot ? Who does not know, that, in or-
10 der to attain their mighty strength ' and majestic forms,
they must freely enjoy the rain ' and the sunshine, and
must feel the rocking of the tempest ?
LESSON IV. SELF-EDUCATION. D. A. WHITE.
[Marked for Rhetorical Pauses.]
Education is the personal and practical concern of
every individual, and at all periods of life. — Those | who
have been favored ' with advantages of early instruction,
or ' even ' with a course of liberal education, ought to
5 consider it ' rather as a good foundation to build upon,
than as a reason ' for relaxing | in their efforts ' to make
advances in learning. The design of early education, it
should be remembered, is not so much to accumulate in-
formation, as to develop, invigorate, and discipline ' the
10 faculties; to form habits of attention, observation, and in-
dustry, and ' thus ] to prepare the mind | for more exten-
sive acquirements, as well as for a proper discharge ' of
the duties of life.
Those, who have not the privileges of early instruction,
15 must feel the stronger inducement | to avail themselves '
of all the means ' and opportunities ' in their power, for
the cultivation of their minds | and the acquisition of
knowledge. It can never be too late II to begin | or to
advance | the Avork of improvement. They will find dis-
20 tinguished examples of success | in the noble career of
self-education, to animate their exertions. These will
teach them, that no condition in life | is so humble, no
circumstances | so depressing, no occupation | so labori-
ous, as to present insuperable obstacles to success | in the
25 acquisition of knowledge. All such disheartening obsta-
cles, combined, may be surmounted, as they have been '
in a thousand instances, by resolute ' and persevering de-
termination ' to overcome.
80 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART 11.
Some of the most celebrated philosophers of antiquity,
rose from the condition of slaves; and many of the most
learned | among the moderns, have educated themselves II
under circumstances ' scarcely less depressing | than those
5 of servitude. Heyne,* the lirst classical scholar of Ger-
many, during tlie last century, and the brightest ornament
I of the university of Gdttingen,t raised himself ' from
the depths of poverty, by his own persevering, determined
spirit of application, rather than by the superior force of
10 his natural genius. Gilford, the elegant translator of Ju-
venal, struggled with poverty ' and hardships | in early
life, and nobly persevered, till he gained the high rewards
of British learning ; and Ferguson, tlie celebrated astron-
omer ' and mechanician, was the son of a day-laborer,
15 and. at an early age, was placed at service | with several
farmers ' in succession ; yet, without teachers, and almost
without means ' of instruction, he attained to high rank |
among the philosophers of his age, and, as a lecturer, was
listened to | by the most exalted, as well as the humblest |
20 in rank and station. By his clear and simple manner
' of teaching the physical sciences, he rendered the
knowledge of them ' more general, than it had ever before
been ' in England ; and | through his learned publica-
tions I he became ' also ' the instructor of colleges ' and
25 universities.
All these extraordinary men II have left memoirs of
themselves, detailing the struggles < through which they
have passed, which will forever teach persevering resolu-
tion, against opposing obstacles, to all ' who have a love
30 of knowledge | or a desire of improvement. What en-
couragement ' may they not afford | to those who have no
such struggles to encounter, and who can obtain | without
difficulty | the means of instructing themselves ! There
would seem to be no apology, at tbc present day, in this
35 countrj^ | at least, for extreme ignorance, in any situation
' or condition ' of life. The most valuable knowledge,
that which is essential to moral cultivation, is certainly
within the reach of all.
Innumerable | are the instances of successful self-in-
40 struction, not only among men of bright natural talents,
* Pronounced, Hinay.
t The 0, in this word, is not sounded as in any English word :
it resembles au, in the French word cxur, — the ng sound as in the
English word sinscr.
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 81
but among those of apparently moderate powers ; not only
against the force of early disadvantages, but against that
' of the most adverse circumstances | of active ' and pub-
lic ' employment. The highest honors of learning | have
5 been won II amidst laborious professional duties | and the
pressing cares of state. Hardy seamen, too, who have
spent their days | in conflict with the storms of the ocean,
have found means ' to make themselves distinguished | in
science ' and literature, as well as by achievements in
10 their profession. The lives of Columbus, Cook, and Lord
CoUingwood II gloriously attest this fact. Our own coun-
try I has produced her fall proportion ' of self-taught men,
— statesmeja | and civilians, philosophers | and men of
science. At their head II stand Washington ] and Frank-
15 lin, neither of whom | enjoyed, in early life, advantages
of education, equal ' to those which are afforded ' by some
of our free schools | to the humblest of the people.
LESSON V. CHARACTER OF TRUE ELOQUENCE. WEBSTER.
[This, and the two following pieces, are meant to be studied,
and marked in pencil, by pupils, themselves, — under the guidance,
at first, of the teacher. The marking to be appUed as an exten-
sion of practice on Rhetorical Pauses.]
When public bodies are to be addressed on momentous
occasions, when great interests are at stake, and strong
passions excited, nothing is valuable, in speech, farther
than it is connected with high intellectual and moral en-
5 dowments. Clearness, force, and earnestness, are the
qualities which produce conviction. True eloquence, in-
deed, does not consist in speech. It cannot be brought
from far. Labor and learning may toil for it, but they
will toil in vain. Words and phrases may be marshalled
10 in every way, — they cannot compass it. It must exist
in the man, in the subject, and in the occasion. Affected
passion, intense expression, the pomp of declamation, all
may aspire after it, — they cannot reach it. It comes, if it
come at all, like the outbreaking of a fountain from the
15 earth, or the bursting forth of volcanic fires, with sponta-
neous, original, native force.
The graces taught in the schools, the costly ornaments,
and studied contrivances of speech, shock and disgust
men, when their own lives, and the fate of their wives,
20 their children, and their country, hang on the decision of
the hour. Then, words have lost their power, rhetoric
SB" AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PABT EU
is vain, and all elaborate oratory conlemptible. Even
genius itself then feels rebuked and subdued, as in the
presence of higher ([ualities. Then, patriotism is elo-
quent : then, self-devotion is eloquent. The clear concep-
5 tion, outrunning the deductions of logic, the high purpose,
the firm resolve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on the
tongue, beaming from the eye, informing every feature,
and urging the whole man onward, right onward to his
object, — this, this is eloquence : or rather it is something
10 greater and higher than all eloquence, — it is action, noble,
sublime, godlike action.
LESSON VI. — INDUSTRY INDISPENSABLE TO THE ORATOR.
II. WARE, JR.
[To be marlced for Rhetorical Pauses, by the reader.]
The history of the world is full of testimony to prove
how much depends upon industry ; not an eminent orator
has lived but is an example of it. Yet, in contradiction
to all this, the almost universal feeling appears to be, that
5 industry can efTect nothing, that eminence is the result of
accident, and that every one must be content to remain
just what he may happen to be. Thus multitudes, who
come forward as teachers and guides, suffer themselves to be
satisfied with the most indifferent attainments, and amiser-
10 able mediocrity, without so much as inquiring how they
may rise higher, much less making any attempt to rise.
For any other art they woulci have served an appren-
ticeship, and would be ashamed to practise it in public
before they had learned it. If any one would sing, he
15 attends a master,' and is drilled in the very elementary
principles ; and only after the most laborious process
dares to exercise his voice in public. This he does,
though he has scarce any thing to learn but the mechani-
cal execution of what lies in sensible forms before the
20 eye.
But the extempore speaker, who is to invent as well as
to utter, to carry on an operation of the mind as well as
to produce sound, enters upon the work without prepara-
tory discipline, and then wonders that he fails ! If he
25 were learning to play on the flute for public exhibition,
what hours and days would he spend in giving facility to
his fingers, and attaining the power of the sweetest and
most expressive execution ! If he were devoting himself
to the organ, what months and years would he labor, that
PABT n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 83
he might know its compass, and be master of its keys,
and be able to draw out, at will, all its various combina-
tions of harmonious sound, and its full richness and deli-
cacy of expression ! And yet he will fancy that the
5 grandest, the most various and most expressive of all in-
struments, which the infinite Creator has fashioned by
the union of an intellectual soul with the powers of
speech, may be played upon without study or practice ;
he comes to it a mere uninstructed tyro, and thinks to
10 manage all its stops, and command the whole compass of
its varied and comprehensive jiower ! He finds himself a
bungler in the attempt, is mortified at his failure, and set-
tles it in his mind forever, that the attempt is vain.
Success in every art, whatever may be the natural tal-
15 ent, is always the reward of industry and pains. But
the instances are many, of men of the finest natural ge-
nius, whose beginning has promised much, but who have
degenerated wretchedly as they advanced, because they
trusted to their gifts, and made no efforts to improve.
20 That there have never been other men of equal endow-
ments with Demosthenes and Cicero, none would venture
to suppose ; but who have so devoted themselves to their
art, or become equal in excellence ? If those great men
had been content, like others, to continue as they began,
25 and had never made their persevering efforts for unprove-
ment, what would their countries have benefited from
their genius, or the Avorld have known of their fame ? —
They would have been lost in the undistinguished crowd
that sunk to oblivion around them.
LESSON VII. GENIUS. ORVILLE DEWEY.
[To be marked for Ehctorical Pauses, by the reader.]
The favorite idea of a genius, among us, is of one who
never studies, or who studies nobody can tell when, at
midnight, or at odd times and intervals, and now and then
strikes oiit, " at a heat," as the phrase is, some wonderful
5 production. This is a character that has figured largely
in the history of our literature, in the person of our Field-
ings, our Savages, and our Steeles ; " loose fellows about
town, or loungers in the country;" who slept in ale-
houses, and wrote in bar-rooms ; who took up the pen as
10 a magician's wand, to supply their wants, and, when the
pressure of necessity was relieved, resorted again to their
84 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART U.
carousals. Your real genius is an idle, irregular, vaga-
bond sort of personage ; who muses in the fields, or
dreams by the fireside : whose strong impulses, — that is
the cant of it, — must needs hurry him into wild irregular-
5 ities, or foolish eccentricity ; who abhors order, and can
bear no restraint, and eschews all labor ; such a one as
Newton or Milton ! What ! they must have been irregu-
lar, else they were no geniuses.
"The young man," it is often said, "has genius enough,
10 if he would only study." Now the truth is, as I shall
take the liberty to state it, that the genius will study ; it
is that in the mind which does study : that is the very
nature of it. I care not to say that it will always use
books. All study is not reading, any more than all read-
15 ing is study.
Attention it is, — though other qualities belong to this
transcendant power, — attention it is, that is the very soul
of genius ; not the fixed eye, not the poring over a book,
but the fixed thought. It is, in fact, an action of the
20 mind, which is steadily concentrated upon one idea or
one series of ideas, which collects in. one point the rays of
the soul, till they search, penetrate, and fire the whole train
of its thoughts. And, while the fire bums within, the
outside may be indeed cold, indifTerent, negligent, absent
25 in appearance ; he may be an idler or a wanderer, appar-
ently without aim or intent ; but still the fire burns within.
And what though " it bursts forth," at length, as has
been said, "like volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original,,
native force ? " It only shows the intense action of
30 the elements beneath. What though it breaks like light-
ning from the cloud ? The electric fire had been collect-
ing in the firmament through many a silent, clear, and
calm day. What though the might of genius appears in
one decisive blow, struck in some moment of high debate,
35 or at the crisis of a nation's peril ? That mighty energy,
though it may have heaved in the breast of Demos-
thenes, was once a feeble infant thought. A mother's eye
watched over its dawning. A father's care guarded its
early youth. It soon trod with youthful steps the halls of
40 learning, and found other fathers to wake and to watch
for it, even as it finds them here. It went on ; but si-
ler^ce was upon its path ; and the deep strugglings of the
inward soul silently ministered to it. The elements
Around breathed upon it, and " touched it to finer issues."
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 85
The golden ray of heaven fell upon it, and ripened its ex-
panding faculties. The slow revolutions of years slowly
added to its collected energies and treasures ; till, in its
hour of glory, it stood forth imbodied in the form of liv-
5 ing, commanding, irresistible eloquence.
The world wonders at the manifestation, and says,
" Strange, strange, that it should come thus unsought, un-
premeditated, unprepared I " But the truth is, there is
no more a miracle in it, than there is in the towering of
10 the preeminent forest-tree, or in the flowing of the mighty
and irresistible river, or in the wealth and waving of the
boundless harvest.
LESSON Vm. ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM. W. C. BRYANT.
[Marked for Rhetorical Pauses, in poetry.]
Here ' are old trees, tall oaks | and gnarled pines.
That stream ' with gray-green mosses ; here | the ground
Was never trenched by spade ; and flowers | spring up '
Unsown, and die ungathercd. It is sweet |
5 To linger here, among the flitting birds.
And leaping squirrels, wandering brooks, and winds '
That shake the leaves, and scatter, as they pass,
A fragrance ' from the cedars, thickly set '
With pale blue berries. In these peaceful shades, —
10 Peaceful, unpruned, immeasurably old, —
My thoughts ' go up the long ' dim ' path of years,
Back ''to the earliest days of Liberty.
Freedom ! thou art not, as poets ' dream,
A fair young girl, with light ' and delicate limbs,
15 And wavy tresses | gushing from the cap '
With which the Roman master ' crowned his slave |
When he took off the gyves. A bearded man,
Armed to the teeth, art thou ; one mailed hand II
Grasps the broad shield, and one j the sword ; thy brow,
20 Glorious in beauty ] though it be, is scarred II
With tokens of old wars ; thy massive limbs II
Are strong with struggling. Power j at thee has launched
His bolts, and ' with his lightnings ' smitten thee ;
They could not quench the life thou hast from heaven.
25 Merciless power | has dug thy dungeon deep,
And his swart armorers, by a thousand fires,
Have forged thy chain ; yet, while he deems thee bound.
The links are shivered, and the prison walls |
Fall outward ; terribly l^ '^tt :springo£t forth.
8
86 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PABT lit
As springs the flame ' above a burning pile,
And shoulest to the nations, who return
Thy shoutings, while the pale oppressor | flies.
Thy birthright | was not given ' by human hands •
5 Thou wcrt twin-born ' with man. In pleasant fields
While yet our race was few, thou sal'st with him,
To tend the quiet flock | and watch the stars.
And teach the reed to utter simple airs.
Thou I by his side, amid the tangled wood,
10 Didst war upon the panther ' and the wolf,
His only foes; and thou ' with him ' didst draw
The earliest furrows ' on the mountain side.
Soft ' with the deluge. Tyranny himself.
Thy enemy, although of reverend look,
15 Hoary ' with many years, and far obeyed,
Is later born ' tlian thou ; and | as he meets
The grave defiance of thine elder eye.
The usurper | trembles | in his fastnesses.
Oh ! not yet |
20 Mays't thou unbrace thy corslet, nor lay by '
Thy sword ; nor yet, O Freedom ! close thy lids '
In slumber ; for thine enemy | never sleeps,
And thou ' must watch ' and combat II till the day
Of the new earth ' and heaven. But wouldst thou rest
25 Awhile I from tumult ' and the frauds of men.
These old ' and friendly solitudes | invite
Thy visit. They, while yet the forest trees |
Were young ' upon the un violated earth.
And yet the moss-stains ' on the rock | were new,
30 Beheld thy glorious childhood, and rejoiced.
LESSON IX. SUNRISE ON THE HILLS. H. W. LONGFELLOW.
[To be marked for Rhetorical Pauses.]
I Stood upon the hills, where heaven's Avide arch
Was glorious with the sun's returning march,
And woods were brightened, and soft gales
Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales.
5 The clouds were far beneath me : — bathed in light
They gathered midway round the wooded height,
And in their fading glory shone
Like hosts in battle overthrown.
As many a pinnacle with shifting glance,
10 Through the gray mist thrust up its .'ih-^ttered lance,
PART 11.] READER AND SPEAKER. 8?
And rocking on the cliff was left
The dark pine, blasted, bare, and cleft.
The veil of cloud was lifted, — and below
Glowed the rich valley, and the river's flow
5 Was darkened by the forest's shade,
Or glistened in the white cascade.
Where upward, in the mellow blush of day,
The noisy bittern wheeled his spiral way.
I heard the distant waters dash, —
10 I saw the current whirl and flash ; —
And richly, by the blue lake's silver beach, *
The woods were bending with a silent reach.
Then o'er the vale, with gentle swell.
The music of the village-bell
15 Came sweetly to the echo-giving hills ,
And the wild horn, whose voice the woodland fills,
Was ringing to the merry shout
That faint and far the glen sent out, —
Where, answering to the sudden shot, thin smoke
20 Through thick-leaved branches from the dingle broke.
If thou art worn and hard beset
With sorrows that thou wouldst forget, —
If thou wouldst read a lesson that will keep
Thy heart from fainting, and thy soul from sleep,
25 Go to the woods and hills ! — No tear
Dim the sweet look that Nature wears.
LESSON X. THE CHRISTIAN CHARACTER. E. COOPER.
[This, and the two following pieces, are marked as exercises in
application of the rules contained in the Section on Emphasis, Part I.,
page 28.]
The true Christian must show that he is in earnest
about religion. In the management of his worldly af-
fairs, he must let it clearly be seen, that he is not influ-
enced by a worldly mind ; that his heart is not upon
5 earth ; J^at he pursues his worldly calling from a princi-
ple ofi-BUTY, not from a sordid love of gain ; and that, in
truth, his treasures are in heaven. He must, therefore,
not only " provide things honest in the sight of all men ;"
not only avoid every thing which is fraudulent and un-
10 just in his dealings with others ; not only openly protest
against those i7iiquito2is practices which the custom of
trade too frequently countenances and approves ; — but,
also, he must "let his moderation be known unto all men."
9B AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II.
He must not push his gains with seeming eageriiessy even
to the utmost lawful extent. He must e.xercise forbear-
ance. He must be content with moderate profits. He
must sometimes even forego advantages, which, in them-
5 selves, he might innocently take, lest he should seem to
give any ground for suspecting that his heart is secretly
set upon these things.
Thus, also, with respect to worldly pleasures ; he must
endeavor to convince men that the pleasures which reli-
10 GiON furnishes, are far greater than those which the world
can yield. While, therefore, he conscientiously keeps
from joining in those trifling, and, too often, profatie
amusements, in which ungodly men profess to seek their
happiness, he must yet labor to show, that, in keeping
15 from those things, he is, in respect to real happiness, no
loser, but even a gainer by religion. He must avoid
every thing which may look like moroseness and gloom.
He must cultivate a cheerfulness of spirit. He must en-
deavor to show,.in his whole deportment, the contentment
20 and tranqnillity which naturally flow from heavenly af-
fections, from a mind at peace with God, and from a hope
full of IMMORTALITY.
The spirit which Christianity enjoins and produces, is
so widely difierent from the spirit of the world, and so im-
25 mensely superior to it, that, as it cannot fail of being no-
ticed, so it cannot fail of being admired, even by those
who are strangers to its poicer. Do you ask in what par-
ticulars this spirit shows itself ? I answer, in the exercise
of humility, of 7?ieek?iess, of gentleness ; in a patient bear-
30 ing of injuries; in a readiness io forgive offences; in a
uniform etideavor to overcome evil with good ; in self-de-
nial and disinterestedness ; in universal kindness and cour-
tesy ; in slowness to xorath ; in an unwillingness to hear
or to speak evil of others : iii a forwardness to defend, to
35 advise, and to assist them ;'in loving our enemies; in bless-
ing them that curse us ; in doing good to them that hate
us. These are genuine fruits of true Christianity.
The Christian must " let his light shine before men,"
by discharging in a faithful, a diligent, and a consistent
40 manner, the personal and particular duties of his station.
As a member of society, he must be distinguished by a
blameless and an inoffensive conduct ; by a simplicity and
an ingeiniousness of character, free from every degree of
guile ; by uprightness d^nd^ fidelity in all h^s engagements.
PAKT 11.] READER AND SPEAKER. 89
As a neighbor, he must be Jdnd,friendhj, and accommo'
dating. His discourse must be mild and ijistructive. He
must labor to prevent quarrels, to reconcile those who dif-
fer, to comfort the afflicted. In short, he must be " ready
5 for etjer?/ g-oo^^ ivork ;" and all his dealings with others
must show the heavenly principle, which dwells and
works in his heart.
LESSON XI. — POPULAR GOVERNMENT. DR. SHARP.
[JMarked for Emphasis.]
The real glory and prosperity of a nation does not con-
sist in the hereditary rank or tilled privileges of a very
small class in the community ; ia the great wealth of the
_/ezw, and the great poverty of the many ; in the sple7idid
5 palaces of nobles, and the ivr etched huts of a numerous and
halffamished peasantry. No ! such a state of things may
give pleasure to proud, ambitious, and selfish minds, but
there is nothing here on which the eye of a patriot can
rest with unmingled satisfaction. In his deliberate judg-
10 ment,
"111 fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay ;
Princes and lords may fourish or may fade ;
A BREATH can 7iinke them, as a breath has made :
15 But a BOLD PEASANTRY, their country^s pride,
When once destroyed, can never be supplied."
It is an intellige?tt, virtuoiis, free, and exteiisive popula-
tion, able, by their talents and industry, to obtain a corri'
petent s7ipport, which constitutes the strength and pros-
20 perity of a nation.
It is not the least advantage of a popular government,
that it brings into operation a greater amount of talent
than any other. It is acknowledged by every one, that
the occurrence of great events awakens the dormant ener-
25 gies of the h^iman mind, and calls forth the most splendid
and poiverful abilities. It was the momentoiis question,
whether your country should be free and i7idepende?it,
and the declaration that it was so, which gave to you ora-
tors, statesmen, and generals, whose names all future ages
30 will delight to honor.
The characters of men are generally moulded by the
circumstances in which they are placed. They seldom
put forth their strength, without some powerfully exciting
motives. 13ut ivhat mot/rr.s r?tu tliey Imve to (jualify them-
90 AMERICAN COMMON-SCIIOOI, [PART K.
selves for stations, from which they are forever excluded
on account of plkbeian kxthaction? How can they be
expected to prepare themselves for the service of their
coujitry, when they know that their services would be re-
6 JECTED, because, unfortunately, they dissent from ths
established religion, and have honesty to avow it !
But in a country like oui.-s, where the most obscure in
dividuals in society may, by their talents, virtties, anf;
public services, rise to tlie most ho7iorable distinctions, and
10 attain to tlie highest offices which the people can give, the
most effectual inducements are ])resenled. It is indeed
true, that only nfew who run in tlie rare for political honor,
can obtain the prize. lint, altliough many come short,
yet the exertions and the progress which they make, are
15 not lost cither on themselves or society. The suitableness
of their talents and characters for some other important
station, may have been perceived ; at least the cultivation
of their minds, and the effort to acquire an honorable repu-
tation, may render them active and useful members of the
20 community. These are some of the benefits peculiar to a
POPULAR government; benefits which loe have long en-
joyed.
LESSON XII. REVERENCK FOR LAW. J. IIOPKINSON.
From a Eidogium on Hon. Bushrod Washington. — Trial of Gen-
eral Bright, for ohstrucling tlie execution of a process of the
Supreme Qnirt of the United States.
[The type indicates, as before, the degree of Emphasii.l
Mark the conduct of Pennsylvania, at this unprecedent-
ed, trying crisis. Can she recede from her absolute asser-
tion of right ? Can she take back her unqualified me-
naces of resistance, and proinises of protection to her
5 citizens? — A judge, in himself a iveak and helpless indi-
vidual, supported by no power but the law, pronounces a
sentence of, criminal condemnation upon the assembled
REPRESENTATIVES of the people, — upon their supreme ex-
ecutive authorttv ; upon THEMSELVES; and orders
10 the minister of their will, surrounded by a military force
under his coinmand, to a COMMON GAOL. — And this
is submitted to with a reverential awe ; not a murmur
from the prisoner ; not a movement by the people, to rescue
him from a punishment inflicted upon him for obeying
15 their mandates, for sustaining their authority, and defend-
PART n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 91
ing their interests. — And why ? — Because the law had
spoken, — it was the judgment of the LAW.
The people were xcise and virtuorcs ; they loved their
country above all things ; and to Iter they luillingly sur-
5 rendered their strength, their passio7is, their pride, and
their interest. A jury of Pennsylvariia, instructed and
convinced that the supremacy of the law had been violat-
ed, gave up the offenders, — their fellow-citizens, respected,
and WORTHY of respect, — to its penalties. — What a judge !
10 — how FEARLESS in his DUTY ! — What a people ! how
MAGNANIMOUS in their s2ihmissio7i ! How ivorthy of each
other ! No proud and passionate assertion of sovereignty ;
no violent menaces of insulted power ; no rebellious defiance
of the federal authority ; no inflavimatory combinations to
15 resist it ; and to shatter, in their viadness, the beautiful
fabric of our Union.
In short, no nullification, — a neio and portentous word,
— ^but a calm and noble submission to the concentrated
power of ALL the States, in a government made and adopted
20 by all ; which all are bound, by their solemn and pledged
faith, by their hopes of peace, safety, and happiness, to
MAINTAIN and OBEY.
It is only by such efforts of patriotism that this great
and growing Republic can be preserved. If, whenever the
25 pride of a state is offended, or her selfishness rebuked, she
may assume an attitude of defiance, may pour her rash
and angry menaces on her confederated sisters, may claim
a sovereignty altogether independent of them, and ac-
knowledge herself to be bound to the Union hy no ties but
30 such as she may dissolve at pleasure ; we do indeed hold
our political existence by a most precarious tenure ; and
^ ihe future destinies of our country are as dark and uncer-
tain, as the past have been happy and glorious.
Happy is THAT country, and only that, where the laws
35 are not only just and equal, but supreme and irresistible ;
— where selfish interests and disorderly passions are curbed
by an arm to which they must submit. — We look back
with horror and affright to the dark and troubled ages,
when a cruel and gloomy superstition tyrannized over the
40 people o^ Europe ; dreaded alike by kings a.nd people; by
governments and individuals ; before which the law had
NO FORCE ; JUSTICE NO RESPECT; and mercy no influence.
The sublime precepts of morality, the kind and endearing
charities ; the true and rational reverence for a bountiful
09 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II.
Creator, which are the elements and the life of our reli-
gion, were trartled upon in the reckless career of ambi-
tion, PRIDE, and the lust of tower. Nor was it much
better wlieti the arm of the warrior, and the sharpness of
5 his sioord, determined every question of right ; and held
the weak in bondage to the strong ; and the revengeful
feuds of the great, involved, in 07ie common ruin, them-
selves and their humblest vassals. — These disastrous days
are gone, 'never to return. There is no power but the
10 LAW, which is the power of ALL ; and those who admin-
ister it are the masters and the ministers of ALL.
LESSON XIII. birthplace OF LIBERTY. PROF. STUART.
[This, and the two following pieces, are intended to be marked by
the reader, as an exercise in applying the rules of Emphasis.']
The members of the legislature "^ now before me, are
convened on holy ground. Here is the sacred place
where liberty, in its best form, first struggled into being.
This is the very spot where the pulsation of the heart of
5 true freedom began to beat. I, who was born and nur-
tured in another state, may venture to say this without
the appearance of self-gratulation. The remembrance of
early days rushes upon my mind, and rekindles the en-
thusiasm with which I then read the story of your efforts
10 and sufferings on this ground, in behalf of your country's
freedom, while I bedewed with tears the pages Avhich re-
corded them. Increasing ycfirs have not diminished that
feeling ; and it has been greatly augmented by a personal
knowledge of this place and people. It is now my most
15 fervent supplication to God, that here, where freedom be-
gan, her reign may continue down to the end of time.
Here may the flame of Christian liberty, which has been
kindled, burn brighter and brighter, until states and em-
pires shall be no more !
20 But if, in the inscrutable purposes of Heaven, and in
judgment to our race, the cause of Freedom must again
sink ; if she is to be wounded in every part, and the cur-
rent of her blood to be drained from every vein and artery
of the body, — may the seat of life here still remain in
25 action ! But if even the very heart too must be drained
of its last drop, and life cease to beat, then let the funeral
obsequies of human happiness be kept in solemn sadness;
* Of Massachusetts.
PART II.J RKADER AND SPEAKER. ifH
let the heavens be hung with black, and the earth clothed
with habiliments of mourning, in token of grief, that the
liberty of man is no more.
LESSON XIV. CHARACTER OF WASHINGTON. Smyth.
[To be marked for Emphasis, ^y the reader.]
To the historian, few characters appear so little to have
shared the common frailties and imperfections of human
natur^, as that of Wasliington. There are but few par-
ticulars that can be mentioned even to his disadvantage.
5 Instances may be found where, perhaps, it may be thought
'that he was decisive to a degree ihat partook of severity
and harshness, or even more ; but how innumerable were
the decisions which he had to make! — how difficult and
how important, through the eventful series of twenty years
10 of command in the cabinet or the field !
Let it be considered what it is to have the management
of a revolution, and afterwards the maintenance of order.
Where is the man who, in the history of our race, has ever
succeeded in attempting successively the one and the
]5 other? — not on a small scale, a petty state in Italy, or
among a horde of barbarians ; but in an enlightened age,
when it is not easy for one man to rise superior to an-
other, and in the eyes of mankind, —
" A kingdom for a stage,
20 And monarchs to behold the swelling scene."
The plaudits of his coimtry were continually sounding
in his ears ; and neither the judgment nor the virtues of
the man were ever disturbed. Armies were led to the
field with all the enterprise of a hero, and then dismissed
25 with all the equanimity of a philosopher. " Power was ac-
cepted, was exercised, was resigned, precisely at the mo
ment and in the way that duty and patriotism directed.
Whatever was the difficulty, the trial, the temptation, or
the danger, there stood the sridier and the citizen, eter-
30 nally the same, without fear and without reproach, and
there was the man who was not only at all times virtuous,
but at all times wise.
The merit of Washington by no means ceases with his
campaigns ; it becomes, after the peace of 1783, even more
35 striking than before ; for the same man who, for the sake
of liberty, was ardent enough to resist the power of Great
Britain, and hazard every thing on this side the grave, at
a later period had to bo temperate enough to resist the
M AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAHT M.
same spirit of liberty, when it was mistaking its proper
objects, and transgressinpf its appointed limits.
The American revolution was to approach him, and he
was to kindle in the general flame: the French revolution
5 was to reach him, and to consume but too many of his
countrymen ; and his " oxvn ethereal mould, incapable of
stain, was to purge olf the baser fire victorious." But all
this was done : he might have been pardoned, though he
had failed amid the enthusiasm of those around him, and
10 when liberty was the delusion ; but the foundations of the
moral world were shaken, and not the understanding of
Washington.
As a ruler of mankind, he may be proposed as a model.
Deeply impressed with the original rights of human na-
15 ture, he never forgot that the end, and meaning, and aim,
of all just government, was the happiness of the people ;
and he never exercised authority till he had first taken
care to put himself clearly in the right. His candor, his
patience, his love of justice, were unexampled ; and this,
20 though naturally he was not patient, — much otherwise, —
highly irritable.
He therefore deliberated well, and placed his subject in
every point of view, before he decided ; and his under-
standing being correct, he was thus rendered, by the
25 nature of his faculties, his strength of mhid, and his prin-
ciples, the man, of all others, to whom the interests of his .
fellow-creatures might, with most confidence, be intrusted;
— that is, he was the first of the rulers of mankind.
LESSON XV. IMPRESSIONS FROM HISTORY. G. C. VERPLANCK.
From a Discourse before the New York Historical Society.
[To be marked for Emphasis, by the reader.]
The study of the history of most other nations, fills the
mind with sentiments not unlike those which the Ameri-
can traveller feels, on entering the venerable and lofty ca-
thedral of some proud old city of Europe. Its solemn
5 grandeur, its vastness, its obscurity, strike awe to his
heart. From the richly painted windows, filled with
sacred emblems, and strange, antique forms, a dim reli-
gious light falls around. A thousand recollections of ro-
mance and poetry, and legendary story, come thronging in
10 upon him. He is surrounded by the tombs of the mighty
dead, rich with the labors of ancient art, and emblazoned
with the pomp of heraldry.
PART II.] READKR AND Si'EAKER. 95
What names does he read upon them ? Those of
princes and nobles who are now remembered only for
their vices ; and of sovereigns, at whose death no tears
were shed, and whose memories lived not an hour in the
5 affections of their people. There, too, he sees other
names, long familiar to him for their guilty or ambiguous'
fame. There rest, the blood-stained soldier of fortune, —
the orator, who was ever the ready apologist of tyranny,
— great scholars, who were the pensioned flatterers of
10 power, and poets, who profaned the high gift of genius, to
pamper the vices of a corrupted court.
Our own history, on the contrary, like that poetical
temple of fame, reared by the imagination of Chaucer,
and decorated by the taste of Pope, is almost exclusively
15 dedicated to the memory of the truly great. Or rather,
like the Pantheon of Rome, it stands in calm and severe
beauty, amid the ruins of ancient magnificence, and the
" toys of modern state." Within, no idle ornament en-
cumbers its bold simplicity. The pure light of heaven
20 enters from above, and sheds an equal and serene radiance
around. As the eye wanders about its extent, it beholds
the unadorned monuments of brave and good men, who
have greatly bled or toiled for their country, or it rests on
votive tablets, inscribed with the names of the best bene-
25 factors of mankind.
" Patriots are here, in Freedom's battles slam,
Priests, whose long lives were closed -without a stain,
Bards worthy Him who breathed the poet's mind,
Founders of arts that dignify mankind,
30 And lovers of our race, whose labors gave
Their names a memory that defies the grave."
Doubtless, this is a subject upon which we may be just-
ly proud. But there is another consideration, which, if it
did not naturally arise of itself, would be pressed upon us
35 by the taunts of European criticism.
What, it is asked, has this nation done to repay the
world for the benefits we have received from others ?
Is it nothing for the universal good of mankind to have
carried into successful operation a system of self-govem-
40 ment, uniting personal liberty, freedom of opinion, and
equality of rights, with national power and dignity ; such
as had before existed only in the Utopian dreams of phil-
osophers ? Is it nothing, in moral science, to have antici-
pated in sober reality, numerous plans of reform in civil
96' AMEKICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II.
and criminal jurisprudence, wliicli are, but now, received
as plausible lliL-orii's by the politicians and economists of
Europe? Is it notliini; to have been able to call forth, on
every emergency, either in war or peace, a body of talents
5 always equal to the dilliculty ? Is it nothing to have, in
less than half a century, exceedingly improved the sci-
ences of political economy, of law, and of medicine, with
all their auxiliary branches ; to have enriched human
knowledge by the accumulation of a great mass of useful
10 facts and observations, and to have augmented the power
and the comforts of civilized man, by miracles of mechan-
ical invention ? Is it nothing to have given the world ex-
amples of disinterested patriotism, of political wisdom, of
public virtue ; of learning, eloquence, and valor, never
15 exerted save for some praiseworthy end ? It is sufficient
to have briefly suggested these considerations : every
mind would anticipate me in filling up the details.
No, — Land of Liberty ! thy children have no cause to
blush for thee. What! though the arts have reared few
20 monuments among us, and scarce a trace of the Muse's
footstep is found in the paths of our forests, or along the
banks of our rivers; yet our soil has been consecrated by
the blood of heroes, and by great and holy deeds of peace.
Its wide extent has become one vast temple, and hallowed
25 asylum, sanctified by the prayers and blessings of the per-
secuted of every sect, and the wretched of all nations.
Land of Refuge, — Land of Benedictions ! Those pray-
ers still arise, and they still are heard : " May peace be
within thy walls, and plenteousness within thy palaces!"
30 " May there be no decay, no leading into captivity, and no
complaining in thy streets !" " May truth flourish out of
the earth, and righteousness look down from heaven !"
LESSON XVI. THE GENIUS OF DEATH. Croly.
[Jlarked for Emphasis, as applied to Poetry.]
What is Death ? 'T is to be free !
No more to love, or hope, or fear —
To join the great equality :
All alike are humble there !
The mighty grave
Wraps lord and slave ;
Nor pride nor poverty dares come
Within that refuge-house, the tomb !
PABT U.] RKADEK AND SPEAKER. 97
Spirit with the drooping wing,
And the ever-iveeping eye,
Thou of ALL earth's kings art KING !
Empires at thy footstool lie !
5 Beneath thee strewed
Their muhitude
Sink, like loaves upon the shore :
Storms shall never rouse them more !
What 's the grandeur of the earth
10 To the grandeur round thy throne !
Riches, glory, beaxity, birth,
To thy kingdom all have gone.
Before thee stand
The vjondrous hand ;
15 Bards, heroes, sages, side by side,
Who darkened nations when they died !
Earth has hosts ; but thou canst show
Many a MILLION for her one ;
Through thy gates the mortal flow
20 Has for countless years roU'd on :
Back from the tomb
No step has come ;
There fix^d, till the last thtjndee's sound
ShaU bid thy prisoners be unbound !
lesson XVII. THE DEEP. J. G. C. BRAINARD.
[To be marked for Emphasis, by the reader.]
There 's beauty in the deep : —
The wave is bluer than the sky ;
And though the light shine bright on high,
More softly do the sea-gems glow,
6 That sparkle in the depths below ;
The rainbow's tints are only made
When on the waters they are laid ;
And sun and moon most sweetly shine
Upon the ocean's level brine. —
10 There 's beauty in the deep.
There 's music in the deep :
It is not in the surf's rough roar.
Nor in the whispering, shelly shore, —
They are but earthly 5»ound«<, that tell
9
98 AMKRICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAKT 11.
How little of the sea-nymph's shell,
That sends its loud, clear note abroad,
Or winds its softness through the flood,
Echoes through groves with coral gay,
5 And dies, on spongy banks away ! —
There 's music in the deep.
There 's quiet in the deep :
Above, let tides and tempests rave.
And earth-born whirlwinds wake the wave;
10 Above, let care and fear contend.
With sin and sorrow to the end :
Here, far beneath the tainted foam.
That frets above our peaceful home,
We dream in joj', and wake in love,
15 Nor know the rage that yells above. —
There 's quiet in the deep.
LESSON XVIII. POPE AND DRYDEN. JohlSOn.
[This piece is marked in application of the rules of Inflection,
stated in Part I., § vni., page 30.]
Pope professed to have learned his poetry from Dr^den,
whom, whenever an opportunity was presented, he praised
through his whole life with unvaried liberality; and, per-
haps, his character may receive some illustration, if he be
5 compared with his master.
Integrity of understanding, and nicety of discernment,
were not allotted in a less proportion to Dryden than to
Pope. The rectitude of Dryden's mind was sufficiently
shown by the dismission of his poetical prejudices, and
10 the rejection of unnatural thoughts and rugged numbers.
But Dryden never desired to apply all the judgment that
he had. He wrote, and professed to write, merely for the
people ; and when he pleased others, he contented him-
self. He spent no time in struggles to rouse latent
15 powers ; he never attempted to make that better which
was already good, nor often to mend what he must have
known to be faulty. He wrote, as he tells us, with very
little consideration : when occasion or necessity called
upon him, he poured out what the present moment hap-
20 pened to supplj^, and, when once it had passed the press,
ejected it from his mind ; for, when he had no pecuniary
interest he had no further solicitude.
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER, 99
Pope was not content to satisfy ; he desired to excel, and
therefore always eiuleavored to do his best ; he did not
court the candor, but dared tl;c judgment of his reader,
and, expecting no indulgence from others, he showed none
5 to himself. He examined lines and words with minute
and punctilious observation, and retouched every part with
indefatigable diligence, till he had left nothing to be for-
given.
For this reason he kept his pieces very long in his
10 hands, while he considered and reconsidered them. The
only poems which can be supposed to have been written
with such regard to the times as might hasten their publi-
cation, were the two satires of Thirty-eight : of which
Dodsley told me, that they were brought to him by the
15 author, that they might be fairly copied. " Every line,"
said he, " was then written twice over ; I gave him a
clean transcript, which he sent some time afterwards to
me for the press, with every line written twice over a
second time."
20 His declaration, that his care for his works ceased at
the^ publication, was not strictly true. His parental at-
teniron never abandoned them ; what he found amiss in
the first edition, he silently corrected in those that fol-
lowed. He appears to have revised the Iliad., and freed
25 it from some of its imperfections ; and the Essay on Criti-
cism received many improvements, after its first appear-
ance. It will seldom be found that he altered without
adding clearness, elegance, or vigor. Pope had perhaps
the judgment of Dryden ; but Dryden certainly wanted
30 the, diligence of Pope.
In acquired knowledge, the superiority must be allowed
to Dryden, whose education was more scholastic, and
who, before he became an author, had been allowed more
time for study, with better means of information. His
35 mind has a larger range, and he collects his images and
illustrations from a more extensive circumference of sci-
ence. Dryden knew more of man in his general nature,
and Pope in his local manners. The notions of Dryden
were formed by comprehensive speculation, and those of
40 Pope by minute attention. There is more dignity in
the knowledge of Dryden, and more certainty in that
of Pope.
P6etry was not the sole praise of either : for both ex-
100 AIVIBRICAN COIVUVIO^I-SCHOOL [PART II.
celled likewise in prdse : but Pope did not borrow his
prose from his predecessor. The style of Dryden is ca-
pricious and viiried ; that of Pope is cautious and uni-
form. Dryden obeys the motions of his own mind; Pope
5 constrains his mind to his own rules of composition.
Dryden is sometimes vehement and rapid ; Pope is al-
ways smooth, uniform, and gentle. Dryden's page is a
natural field, rising into inequalities, and diversified by
the varied exuberance of abundant vegetation : Pope's is a
10 velvet lawn, shaven by the sitlie and levelled by the roller.
Of genius, that power which constitutes a poet; that
quality without which judgment is cold, and knowledge is
inert; that energy which collects, combines, afnplifies, and
animates ; the superiority must, with some hesitation, be
15 allowed to Dryden. It is not to be inferred, that of this
poetical vigor Pope h-M only a little, because Dryden had
more ; for every other writer since Milton, must give
place to Pope ; and even of Drj'den it must be said that
if he has brighter paragraphs, he has not better poems.
20 Dryden's performances were always hasty, either excited
by some external occasion, or extorted by domestic neces-
sity ; he composed without consideration, and published
without correction. What his mind could supply at call,
or gather in one excursion, was all that he sought, and all
25 that he gave. The dilatory caution of Pope enabled him
to condense his sentiments, to multiply his images, and to
accumulate all that study might produce, or chance might
supply. If the flights of Dryden, therefore, are higher,
Pope continues longer on the wing. If of Dryden's fire
30 the blaze is brighter, of Pope's the heat is more regular
and constant. Drj'den often surpasses expectation, and
Pope never falls below it. Dryden is read with frequent
astonishment, and Pope with perpetual delight.
LESSON XIX. — THE PURITANS. — Macavlay.
[Marked for Inflections.']
The Puritans were men whose minds had derived a
peculiar character from the daily contemplation of supe-
rior beings and eternal interests. Not content with ac-
knowledging, in general terms, an overruling Providence,
5 they habitually ascribed every event to the will of the
Great Being, for whose p6wer nothing was too vast, for
PART II.] KEADER AND SPEAKER. 101
whose inspection nothing was too minute. To know Him,
to serve Him, to enjoy Him, was with them the great end
of existence. They rejected with contempt the ceremo-
nious homage which other sects substituted for the pure
5 worship of the souL Instead of catching occasional
glimpses of the Deity through an obscviring veil, they
aspired to gaze fiill on the intolerable brightness, and to
commune with Him face to face. Hence originated their
contempt for terrestrial distinctions. The difference be-
10 tvveen the greatest and meanest of mankind, seemed to
vanish, when compared with the boundless interval which
separated the whole race from Him on whom their own
eyes were constantly fixed. They recognized no title to
superiority but His favor ; and confident of that favor,
15 they despised all the accomplishments and all the digni-
ties of the world. If they were unacquainted with the
works of philosophers and poets, they were deeply read
in the oracles of God. If their names were not found in
the registers of heralds, they felt assured that they were
20 recorded in the Book of Life. If their steps were not
accompanied by a splendid train of menials, legions of
ministering angels had charge over them. Their palaces
were houses not made with hands : their diadems, crowns
of glory which should never fade away !
25 On the rich and the eloquent, on nobles and priests,
they looked down with contempt: for they esteemed
themselves rich in a more precious treasure, and eloquent
in a more sublime language, nobles by the right of an
earlier creation, and priests by the imposition of a migh-
30 tier hand. The very meanest of them was a being to
whose fate a mysterious and terrible importance belonged,
- -on whose slightest action the spirits of light and dark-
ness looked Avith anxious Interest, who had been destined,
before heaven and earth were created, to enjoy a felicity
35 which should continue Avlicn lieaven and earth should
have passed away.
Events which short-sighted politicians ascribed to earth-
ly causes, had been ordained on his account. For his
sake empires had risen, and fltSurislied, and decayed. For
40 his sake the Almighty had proclaimed his will by the pen
of the evangelist, and the harp of ihc prophet. He had
been rescued by no common deliverer from the grasp of
n6 common f6e. He had been ransomed by the sweat of
9*
103 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PABT II.
116 vnilgar ligony, by the blood of 116 earthly sacrifice. It
was for hiin that the sun had been darkened,* that the
rocks had been rent, that the dead had arisen, that all na-
ture had shuddered at the sufferings of her expiring
5 G6d !
Thus the Puritan was made up of tw6 different men,
the one all self-abasement, penitence, gratitude, passion ;
the other proud, calm, inflexible, sagacious. He pros-
trated himself in the diist before his Maker : but he set
>0 his foot on the neck of the king. In his dev6tional re-
tirement, he prayed with convulsions, and groans, and
tears. He was half maddened by glorious or terrible il-
lusions. He heard the Ij^res of angels, or the tempting
whispers of fiends. He caught a gleam of the beatific
15 vision, or woke screaming from dreams of everlasting fire.
Like Vune, he thought liimself intrusted with the sceptre
of the millennial year. Like Fleetwood, he cried in the
bitterness of his soul that God had hid his face from him.
But when he took his seat in the council, or girt on his
20 sword for war, these tempestuous workings of the soul
had left no perceptible trace behind them. People who
saw nothing of the godly but their uncouth visages, and
heard nothing from them but their groans and their
hymns, might laugh at them. But those had little reason
, 25 to laugh who encountered them in the hall of debate, or
in the f.eld of battle.
The Puritans brought to civil and military affairs a
coolness of judgment, and an immulability of purpose,
which some writers have thought inconsistent with their
30 religious zeal, but which were in fact the necessary effects
of it. The intensity of their feelings on one subject,
made them tranquil on every other. One overpowering
sentiment had subjected to itself pity and hatred, ambition
and fear. Death had lost it:^ terrors, and pleasure its
35 charms. They had their smiles and their tears, their
raptures and their sorrows, but n6t for the things of this
world. Enthusiasm had made them stoics, had cleared
their minds from every vulgar passion and prejudice, and
raised them ab6ve the influence of danger and of cor-
40 ruption.
* When an emphatic series causes, thus, a succession of falling
inflections, the second one in each clause, falls lower than the first.
PART II.] HEADER AND SPEAKEH. 103
LESSON XX. POETRY. CHANNING.
[Blarked for Inflections. 1
We believe that poetry, far from injuring society, is one
of the great instruments of its refinement and exaltation.
It lifts the mind above ordinary life, gives it a respite
from depressing cares, and awakens the consciousness of
5 its affinity with what is pure and noble. In its legitimate
and highest efforts, it has the same tendency and aim with
Christianity ; that is, to spiritualize our nature. True,
poetry has been made the instrument of vice, the pajid.er
of bad passions ; but when genius thus stoops, it dims its
10 fires, and part^ with much of its power ; and even when
Poetry is enslaved to licentiousness and misanthropy, she
cannot wholly forget her true vocation. Strains of pure
feeling, touches of tenderness, images of innocent happi-
ness, sympathies with what is good in our nature, bursts
15 of scorn or indignation at the hoUowness of the world,
passages true to our moral nature, often escape in an im-
moral w6rk, and show us how hard it is for a gifted spirit
to divorce itself wholly from what is good.
Poetry has a natural alliance with our best affections.
20 It delights in the beauty and sublimity of outward nature
and of the soul. It indeed portrays with terrible energy
the excesses of the passions, but they are passions which
show a mighty nature, which are full of power, which
command awe, and excite a deep though shuddering s^m-
25 pathy. Its great tendency and purpose, is, to carry the
mind beyond and above the beaten, diisty, weary walks
of ordinary life ; to lift it into a purer element, and to
breathe into it more profoimd and generous em6tion. It
reveals to us the loveliness of nature, brings back the
30 freshness of youthful feeling, revives the relish of sim-
ple pleasures, keeps unquenched the enthusiasm which
warmed the spring-time of our being, refines youthful
love, strengthens our interest in human nature, by vivid
delineations of its tenderest and loftiest feelings, spreads
35 our sympathies over all classes of society, knits us by
new ties with universal being, and, through the bright-
ness of its pr6phctic visions, helps fa'ith to lay hold on
the future life.
We are aware that it is objected to poetry, that it gives
40 wrong views, and excites false expectations of life, peoples
the mind with shadows and illusions, and builds up ima-
104 AMERICAN COMMON-SCnOOL [PART 11
giniition on the ruins of wisdom. That there is a wisdom,
against which poetry wars, — tiic wisdom of the senses,
which makes physical comfort and gratification the su-
preme gt>od, and weaUh the chief interest of life, — we do
5 not deny : nor do we deem it the least service which
poetry renders to mankind, that it redeems them from the
thraldom of tliis earthhorn prudence.
But, passing over this topic, we would observe, that the
complaint against poetry as abounding in illusion and dc-
10 ception is, in the main, groundless. In many poems
there is more of truth, tiian in many histories and philo-
sophic theories. The fictions of genius are often the ve-
hicles of the sublimest verities, and its flashes often open
new regions of thought," and throw new light on the
15 mysteries of our being. In poetry the letter is falsehood,
but the spirit is often profoundcst wisdom. And if truth
thus dwells in the boldest fictions of the poet, much more
may it be expected in his delineations of life ; for the
present life, which is the first stage of the immortal mind,
20 abounds in the materials of p6etry, and it is the highest
office of the bard to detect this divine element, among the
grosser pleasures and labors of our earthly being.
The present life is not wholly prosaic, precise, tame,*
and finite. To the gifted eye it abounds in the poetic.
25 The affections which spread beyond ourselves, and stretch
far into futurity ; the workings of mighty passions, which
seem to arm the soul with an almost superhuman energy ;
the innocent and irrepressible joy of infancy; the bloom,
and buoj'ancy, and dazzling hopes of youth; the throb-
30 bings of the heart when it first wakes to love, and dreams
of a happiness too vast for earth ; woman, with her beau-
ty, and grace, and gentleness, and fulness of feeling, and
depth of affection, and hf^r blushes of pvirity, and the
tones and looks which only a mother's heart can inspire ;
35 — -these are all poetical.
It is not true that the poet paints a life which does not
exist. He only extracts and concentrates, as it w^ere, life's
ethereal essence, arrests and condenses its volatile fra-
grance, brings together its scattered beauties, and pro-
40 16ngs its more refined but evanescent joys ; and in this he
does well ; for it is good to feel that life is not wholly
* A negative sentence, ending with a rising inflection, has the
falling slide on its penultimate word or clause.
PART 11.] READER AND SPEAKER. 105
usurped by cares for subsistence and physical Ratifica-
tions, but admits, in measures which may be indefinitely
enlarged, sentiments and delights worthy of a higher
being.
LESSON XXI. CAUSES OF WAR. H. BINNEY.
[To be marked for Inflections, by the reader.]
What are sufficient causes of war let no man say, let
no legislator say, until the question of war is directly and
inevitably before him. Jurists may be permitted with
comparative safety, to pile tome upon tome of intermina-
5 ble disquisition upon the motives, reasons, and causes of
just and unjust war. Metaphysicians may be suffered
with impunity to spin the thread of their speculations un-
til it is attenuated to a cobweb ; but for a body created for
the government of a great nation, and for the adjustment
10 and protection of its infinitely diversified interests, it is
worse than folly to speculate upon the causes of war, un-
til the great question shall be presented for immediate
action, — until they shall hold the united question of cause,
motive, and present expediency, in the very palm of their
15 hands. War is a tremendous evil. Come when it will,
unless it shall come in the necessary defence of our na-
tional security, or of that honor under whose protection
national security reposes, it will come too soon, — too soon
for our national prosperity, — too soon for our individual
20 happiness, — too soon for the frugal, industrious, and vir-
tuous habits of our citizens, — too soon, perhaps, for our
most precious institutions. The man who, for any cause,
save the sacred cause of public security, which makes all
wars defensive, — the man Avho, for any cause but this,
25 shall promote or compel this final and terrible resort,
assumes a responsibility second to none, nay, transcen-
dantly deeper and higher than any, which man can as-
sume before his fellow-men, or in the presence of God, his
Creator.
LESSON XXII. — FOUNDATION OF NATIONAL CHARACTER.
E. EVERETT.
[To be marlced for Inflections, by the reader.]
Menial energy has been equally diffused by sterner
levellers than ever marched in the van of a revolution, —
the nature of man and the providence of God. Native
lOG AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II.
character, strength, and quickness of mind, are not of the
miniher of distinctions and aoroniplishmcnts, tliat human
inslilulions can monopolize witliiti n city's walls. In quid
times, tiiey remain and perish in the obscurity, to which a
5 false organization of society consigns them. In danger-
ous, convulsed, and trying limes, they spring up in the
fields, in the village hamlets, and on the mountain tops,
and teach the surprised favorites of human law, that
bright eyes, skilful hands, quick perceptions, firm purpose,
10 and brave hearts, are not the exclusive appanage of
courts. ^"
Our popular institutions are favorable to intellectual
improvement, because their foundation is in dear nature.
They do not consign the greater part of the social frame
15 to torpidity and mortification. They send out a vital
nerve to every member of the community, by which its
talent and power, great or small, are brought into living
conjunction and strong sympathy with the kindred intel-
lect of the nation ; and every impression on every part
20 vibrates, with electric rapidity, through the whole. They
encourage nature to perfect her work ; they make educa-
tion, the soul's nutriment, cheap ; they bring up remote
and shrinking talent into the cheerful field of competition :
in a thousand ways, they provide an audience for lips,
25 which nature has touched with persuasion ; they put a
lyre into the hands of genius ; they bestow on all who
deserve it, or seek it, the only patronage worth having,
the only patronage that ever struck out a spark of " celes-
tial fire," — the patronage of fair opportunity.
30 This is a day of improved education ; new systems
of teaching are devised ; modes of instruction, choice of
studies, adaptation of text-books, the whole machinery of
means, have been brought, in our day, under severe rg-
vision. But were I to attempt to point out the most efR-
35 cacious and comprehensive improvement in education, the
engine, by which the greatest portion of mind could be
brought and kept ;inder cultivation, the discipline which
would reach farthest, sink deepest, and cause the word of
instruction not to spread over the surface, like an artificial
40 hue, carefully laid on, but to penetrate to the heart and
soul of its objects, — it would be popular institutions.
Give the people an object in promoting education, and the
best methods will infallibly be suggested by that instinct-
ive ingenuity of our nature, which provides means for
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 107
great and precious ends. Give the people an object in
promoting education, and the worn hand of labor will be
opened to the last farthing, that its children may enjoy
means denied to itself.
LESSON XXIII. SUCCESS OF THE GOSPEL. WAYLAND.
[To be marked for Inflections, by the reader.]
The assumption that the cause of Christianity is de-
clining, is utterly gratuitous. We think it not difficult to
prove that the distinctive principles we so much venerate,
never swayed so powerful an influence over the destinies
5 of the human race, as at this very moment. Point us to
those nations of the earth, to which moral and intellectual
cultivation, inexhaustible resources, progress in arts, and
sagacity in council, have assigned the highest rank in po-
litical importance ; and you point us to nations, whose re ■
10 ligious opinions are most closely allied to those we
cherish. Besides, when was there a period, since the
days of the Apostles, in which so many converts have
been made to these principles, as have been made, both
from Christian and pagan nations, within the last five and
15 twenty years ? Never did the people of the saints of the
Most High, look so much like going forth in serious ear-
nest, to take possession of the kingdom and dominion,
and the greatness of the kingdom under the whole heaven,
as at this very day.
20 But suppose the cause did seem declining, Ave should
see no reason to relax our exertions, for Jesus Christ has
said. Preach the gospel to every creature ; and appear-
ances, whether prosperous or adverse, alter not the ob-
ligation to obey a positive command of Almighty God.
25 Again, suppose all that is affirmed were true. If it must
be, let it be. Let the dark cloud of infidelity overspfead
Europe, cross the ocean, and cover our beloved land, — let
nation after nation swerve from the faith, — let iniquity
abound, and the love of many wax cold, even until there
30^s on the face of this earth, but one pure church of our
Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, — all we ask is, that we
may be members of that one church. God grant that we
may throw ourselves into tliis ' Thermopylae of the moral
universe.'
35 But even then, we should have no fear that the church
of God would be exterminated. "We would call to re-
108 AMBRICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART U.
mcmbrance the years of tlic right hand of the Most High.
We woiild recollect there was once a time, when the
whole church of Christ, not only could be, but actually
was, gatliorod with one accord in one place. It was then
5 that that place was shaken, as with a rushing mighty
wind, and they were all filled with the Holy Ghost.
That same day, three thousand were added to the Lord.
Soon we hear, they have filled Jerusalem with their doc-
trine. — The church has commenced her march : — Samaria
10 has, with one accord, believed the gospel; Antioch has
become obedient to the faith ; the name of Christ has been
proclaimed throughout Asia Minor ; the temples of the
gods, as though smitten by an invisible hand, are desert-
ed ; the citizens of Ephesus cry out in despair. Great is
15 Diana of the Ephesians ; licentious Corinth is purified by
the preaching of Christ crucified. Persecution puts forth
her arm to arrest the spreading superstition ; but the pro-
gress of the faith cannot be stayed. The church of God
advances unhurt amidst racks and dungeons, persecutions
20 and death ; she has entered Italy, and appears before the
wall of the Eternal City; idolatry falls prostrate at her
approach ; her ensign floats in triumph over the capitol ;
she has placed upon her brow the diadem of the Caesars.
LESSON XXIV. POWER OF THE SOUL. R. H. DANA, SEN.
[Marked for the application of Inflections.]
Life in itself, it life to all things gives :
For whatsoe'er it looks on, that thing lives, —
Becomes an acting being, ill or good;
And, grateful to its giver, tenders food
5 For the Soul's health, or, suffering change unblest,
Pours poison down to rankle in the breast:
As is the man, e'en so it bears its part,
And answers, thought to thought, and heart to hfty
Y^s, man reduplicates himself. You see,
10 In yonder lake; reflected rock and tree.
Each leaf at rest, or quivering in the 4ir,
Now rests, now stirs, as if a breeze were there
Sweeping the crystal depths. Hov/ perfect 4'
And see those slender top-boughs rise and fi'
15 The double strips of silvery sand unite
Ab6ve, below, each grain distinct and brigh
f-RT 11.] READER A.ND SPEAKER. 109
—Thou bird, that seek'st thy food upon that b6ugh,
Peck not alone ; that bird below, as thou,
Is busy after food, and happy, ibo ;
— They 're gone ! Both, pleased, away together fl^w.
5 And see we thus sent up, ruck, sand, and wAod,
Life, j6y, and motion from the sleepy flood ?
The world, O man, is like that flood to thee :
Turn where thou wilt, thyself in all things see
Reflected back. As drives the blinding sand
lO Round Egypt's piles, where'er thou tak'st thy stand,
If that thy heart be barren, there will sweep
The drifting waste, like waves along the deep.
Fill up the vale, and choke the laughing streams
That ran by grass and brake, with dancing beams,
15 Sear the fresh woods, and from thy heavy eye
Veil the wide-shifting glories of the sky.
And Ane, still, sightless level make the earth.
Like thy dull, lonely, joyless Soul, — a dearth.
The rill is tuneless to his ear who feels
20 No harmony within ; the south wind steals
As silent as unseen, amongst the leaves.
Who has no inward beauty, none perceives.
Though all around is beautiful. Nay, more, —
In nature's calmest hour he hears the roar
25 Of winds and flinging waves, — puts out the light,
When high and angry passions meet in flight ;
And, his own spirit into tumult hurled.
He makes a tiirmoil of a quiet world :
The fiends of his own bosom, people air
30 With kindred fiends, that hunt him to despair.
Hates he his fellow-men ? Why, then, he deems
'T is hate for hate : — as he, so each one seems.
Soul ! fearful is thy power, which thus transforms
All things into its likeness : heaves in storms
35 The strong, proud s6a, or lays it down to r^st.
Like the hushed infant on its mother's breast, —
Which gives each outward circumstance its h6e.
And shapes all others' acts and thoughts an^w.
That so, they j6y, or love, or hate impart,
40 As j6y, love, hate, holds rule within the hdart.
10
110 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART U.
LESSON XXV. HYMN OF NATUUE. — W. B. 0. PEABODY.
[To be marked for InJlcclioHs.]
God of the earth's extended plains !
The dark green fields contented lie :
The mountains riso like holy towers,
Where man might commune with the sky:
5 The tall clitr challenges tlie storm
That lowers upon tlie vale below,
Where shaded i'ountains send tlieir streams,
With joyous music in their flow.
God of the dark and heavy deep !
10 The waves lie sleeping on the sands,
Till the fierce trumpet of the storm
Hath summon'd up their thundering bands :
Then the white sails are dash'd like foam,
Or hurry, trembling, o'er the seas,
15 Till, calm'd by Thee, the sinking gale
Serenely breathes. Depart in peace.
God of the forest's solemn shade !
The grandeur of the lonely tree,
That wrestles singly with the gale,
20 Lifts up admiring eyes to Thee ;
But more majestic far they stand,
When, side by side, their ranks they form,
To wave on high their plumes of green,
And fight their battles with the storm.
25 God of the light and viewless air !
Wliere sunmier breezes sweetly flow,
Or, gathering in their airy might,
The fierce and wintry tempests blow :
All, — from the evening's plaintive sigh,
30 That hardly lifts the drooping flower,
To the wild whirlwind's midnight cry, —
Breathe forth the language of Thy power.
God of the fair and open sky !
How gloriously above us springs
35 The tented dome, of heavenly blue.
Suspended on the rainbow's rings !
Each brilliant stat that sparkles through,
Each gilded cloud that wanders free
In evening's purple radiance, gives
40 The beauty of its praise to Thee.
PABT II.] HEADER AND SPEAKER. Ill
God of the rolling orbs above !
Thy name is written clearly bright,
In the warm day's unvarying blaze,
Or evening's golden shower of light.
5 For every fire that fronts the sun,
And every spark that walks alone,
. Around the utmost verge of heaven.
Were kindled at thy burning throne.
God of the world ! the hour must come,
10 And Nature's self to dust return ;
Her crumbling altars must decay ;
Her incense fires shall cease to burn ;
But still her grand and lovely scenes
Have made man's warmest praises flow ;
15 For hearts grow holier as they trace
The beauty of the world below.
LESSON XXVI. UNIVERSAL DECAY. — GREENWOOD.
[Marked for Rhetorical Pauses, Emphasis, aad IriflectioTis.*]
We receive such repeated injimadions of decay II in
the world through which we are passing ; — decline \ and
change \ and loss., follow ' decline \ and change \ and loss
II in such rapid succession, that we can almost catch the
5 sound of universal zvasting, and hear the work of desola-
tion ' going on busihj ' around us. '■'■ ^\\e mou7itain \ fall-
ing II cometh to nought, and the rock \ is removed out of
his place. The luaters \ wear the stones, the things which
grow out of the dust of the earth II are washed atvdy, and
10 the hope of ma?i \ is destroyed.'''' Conscious ' of our own
instability, we look about ' for something to rest on ; but
we look ' in vain. The heavens ' and the earth | had a
beginning, and they will have an hid. The face of the
world I is changing, daily and hourly. All ' animated
5 things II grow old and die. The rocks | crumble, the trees
I fhll, the leaves j fade, and the grass \ withers. The
clouds 1 are flying, and the waters | are flowing away
from us.
The firmest ivorks of wdw, too, are gradiially giving
20 wdy, the ivy \ clings to the mouldering tower, the brier \
* The learner having been conducted through the application of
the rules for Pauses, Emphasis, and Inflections, separately, will
now be prepared to study and apply ilieni in conjunction.
) 12 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART U.
liangs out from the shattered windoio, ami the loall-Jiower
I springs from the diajo'mted stones. The fuvJidcrs \ of
these perishable works II have shared the same fate \ long
ago. If we look back to the days of our ancestors, to the
5 mhi I as well as the dwellings \ of former times, they be-
come immediately associated iu our imaginations, and only
make the feeling of instability stronger and deeper than
before. In the spacious domes, which once held our fa-
thers, the serpent \ hisses, and the wild bird \ screams.
10 The halls, which once were crowded ' with all that taste
I and science | and /a/vo?- | could ^roc?i?"e, — \v\i\c\\ resounded
with viclody, and were lighted up with beauty, are buried
' by their oicn riiins, viocked \ by their oion desolation.
The voice of merriment, and of loailing, the steps of the
15 biisy ' and iheidle II have ceased in the deserted courts, and
the weeds \ choke the entra?ices, and the long grass II ivaves
upon the hearth-stone. The toorks of art, the forming
hand, the tombs, the very di/^es they contained, are aZZ
gbyie.
20 While we thus walk ' among the ruins of the pdst, a
sad feeling of insecurity \ comes over us ; and that feel-
ing ' is by no means diminished llwhen we arrive at Aorae.
If we turn to our friends, we can hardly sp^ak to them II
before they bid us farewell. We see them for a few mo-
25 merits ' and in a few moments 7?wre, their co«?z^e?Z(27ices ' are
changed, and they are sent away. It matters not ' how near
' and dear ' they are. The ties which bind us together II
are never too close ' to be parted, or too strong ' to be bro-
ken. Tears \ were never known to move the king of
30 terrors; neither is it enough ' that we are compelled to
surrender one, or two, or many of those we love ; for
though the price is so great, we buy no favor with it, and
our hold ' on those who remain ] is as slight as ever.
The shadows II all ' elude our grcisp, and follow one an-
35 other ' down the valley. We gain no confidence, then, no
feeling of security, by turning to our contemporaries and
kindred. We know ' that the forms, which are breathing
arbund us, are as shortlived ' and fleeting ' as those were,
which have been dust \ for centuries. The sensation of
40 vhnity, uncertainty, and ruin, is equally strong, whether
we muse on what has long been prostrate, or gaze on
what is falling now, or will fall ' so soon.
If every thing | which comes under our notice II has
PART n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 113
endured for so short a time, and ' in so short a time | will
be no more, we cannot say | that we receive the least as-
surance II by thinking on ourselves. When a few more
friends | have left, aferv more hopes | deceived, and o. few
5 more changes ( vwched us, " we shall be brought to the
grave, and shall remain in the tbvib : the clods of the
valley | shall be sifeet unto us, and every man ' shall fol-
low us, as there are innumerable ' before us." All power
' will have forsaken tlie strongest, and the loftiest ' will
10 be laid Ibiu, and every eye ' will be closed, and every voice '
hushed, and every heart ' will have ceased its beating. And
when we have gone ' ourselves, even our memories ' will
not stay behind us long. A few of the near and dear II will
bear our likeness ' in their bosoms, till they ' too ' have ar-
15 rived ' at the end of their journey, and entered the dark
dwelling of unconsciousness. In the thoughts of others II
we shall live ' only till the last sound of the bell, which
informs them of our departure, has ceased to vibrate in
their ears. A stone, perhaps, may tell some wanderer
20 where we lie, whhi we came here, and when we went
away ; but ' even that | will soon refuse to bear us rec-
ord: '■'■ time'' s effacing fingers'''' \ will be busy on its sur-
face, and I at length ' will wear it smooth ; and then | the
stone itself | will sink, or criimble, and the wanderer of
25 another age | will pass, without a single cAll ' upon his
sympathy, over our unheeded graves.
LESSON XXVII. ETERNITY OF GOD. GREENWOOD.
[Marked for Rhetorical Pavses, Emphasis, and Inflections. '\
There is one Being II to whom we can look | with a
perfect conviction ' of finding that security, which ' no-
thing about us ' can give, and which nothing about us '
can take awaij. To this Being | we can lift up our s6uls,
5 and on Him ' we may rest them, exclaiming | in the lan-
guage ' of the monarch of Israel, " Before the moun-
tains I were brought forth, or ever Thou hadst formed the
earth ' and the ivorld, even from everldsting to everlast-
ing II Thou art God." " 0[ old 11 hast Thou laid the foun-
10 dations of the earth, and the heavens | are the work ' of
Thy hands. Thhj \ shall perish, ]mi Thou | shalt ew(Z«re;
yea, all of them | shall 7oax old ' like a garment, as a
vesture ' shalt Thou change them, and they shall be
10*
114 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PABT H.
changed; but Thou \ art the siimc, and Thy years | shall
have 710 hid.''*
Here | then | is a support, which will niver fML; here
' is a foundation | which can never be moved — the ever-
5 lasting Creator ' of cojintless worlds, " the high ' and
lofty One | that inkabitetk eternity." What a sUBLfME
CONCEPTION ! He inhabits eternity, occupies this i?icon-
ceicable duration, i-ervades | and fills | throughout II
this ' BOUNDLESS DWELLING. Aj^cs on ages II before even
10 the dust of which we are formed II was created, he had
existed \ in infinite viajesty, and ages on ages \ will roll
atvay II after we have all returned to the dust | whence
we were taken, and ' still | he will exist II in infinite ma-
jesty, living ' in the eternity of his own nature, reigning
15 ' in the plenitude of his oivn omnipotence, for ever send-
ing forth the loord, which forms, supports, and governs '
all things, commanding new-created light II to shine on
new-created worlds, and raising up new-created genera-
tions 1 to inhabit them.
20 The contemplation ' of this glorious attribute of God,
is fitted to excite ' in our minds ' the most animating \
and consoliiig ' reflection^. Standing, as we are, amid
the ruins of time, and the wrecks of mortality, where
every thing about us | is created ' and dependent, proceed-
25 ing from nothing, and hastening to destruction, we rejoice
' that something is presented to our view | which has
stood from everlasting, and will remain for ^ver. When
we have looked on the pleasures of life, and they have
vanished away ; when we have looked on the works of
30 nature, and perceived that they were changing ; on the
momiments of art, ?M^ seen that they would not stdnd ;
on our friends, and they have fled ' while we were gaz-
ing ; on ourselves, and felt that ice were as fleeting as
they ; when we have looked on every object ' to which
35 we could turn our anxious eyes, and they have all told us
that they could give us no hope, nor support, because they
were so feeble themselves ; we can look to the throne of
GOD : change ' and decay | have never reached thXt ;
the revolution of ages II has never moved it ; the waves of
40 an eternity | have been rushing past it, but it has re-
* When the falling: inflection recurs, in succession, as above, it
falls lower at each repetition.
PABT 11.] READER AND SPEAKER. 115
mained unshaken; the waves of another eternity | are
rushing toward it, but it is fixed, and can never be dis-
turbed.
lesson XXVIII. — TWO centuries from the landing of
THE pilgrims. CRAFTS.
[Marked for Rhetorical Pauses, Emphasis, and Inflections. "l
If, on this day, after the lapse of tivo centuries, one of
the fathers of New England, released ' from the sleep of
death, could reappear ' on earth, lohat would be his emo-
tions ' oi joy I and wonder I In lieu of a icilderness, here
5 and there interspersed ' with solitary cabins, where life \
was scarcely worth the danger of preserving it, he would
behold joyful harvests, a population ' crowded even to sa-
tiety, 1 villages, towns, cities, states, sivarining with indus-
trious inhabitants, hills \ graced ' with temples of devo-
id tion, and valleys \ vocal ' with the early lessons of virtue.
Casting his eye on the ocean, which he passed in fear and
trembling, he would see it covered with enterprising fleets
II returning with the zohale \ as their captive, and the
wealth of the Indies \ for their cargo. He would behold
15 the little colony ' which he planted, grown into gigantic
stature, and forming an honorable part ' of a glorious
confederacy, the pride ' of the earth, and the favorite ' of
heaven.
He would witness, with exultation, the general preva-
20 lence | of correct principles of government ' and virtuous
habits of action. How gladly would he gaze upon the
long stream of light and renown | from Harvard's classic
fount, and the kindred springs ' of Yale, of Providence,
of Dartmouth, and of Brimswick. Would you fill his
25 bosom with honest pride, tell him of Franklin, who made
thunder \ siveet music, and the lightiiing \ innocent fire-
works, — of Adams, the venerable sage [ reserved by heaven,
himself \ a blessing, to witness its blessing on our nation,
— of Ames, whose tongue became, and has become | an
30 angeVs, — of Perry,
"Blest by his God i with one illustrious ddy,
A BLAZE of Gi.oRY, ere he passed away."
And tell him. Pilgrim of Plymouth, these II are thy de-
scendants. Show him the stately striictures, the splendid
35 benevolence, the masculine intellect, and the siocet hospital-
ity I of the metropolis of Neio England. Show him that
116 AMKBICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II.
imy7i6rtal vhssel,* whose name \ is synonymous with tri-
umph., and each of her 7«d,s^v | a sceptre. S/ioio him the
glorious fruits ' of his humble Enterprise, and ask liim if
this, ALL this, be not an atonement ' for his sufferings, a
5 recompense ' for his toils, a blessing ' on his efforts, and a
heart-expanding trIumph j for the pilgrim adventurer.
And if A^ I be proud ' of his 6ffspring, loell may M^y
1 Z<oa,<r^ of \\\c\v parentage.
LESSON XXIX. THE UPinGIIT LAWYER. S. GREENLEAF.
piarked for Ehelorical Fam^cs, Emphasis, and Infections.]
In the walks of private life, the character of an upright
lawyer II shines ' with 7nnd | hul ge)iial ' lustre. He con-
cerns himself ' with the beginnings of controversies, not to
inflame ' but to extinguish them. He is not content ' with
5 the doubtful morality ' of suffering cHen'ts, whose passions
are roused, to rush blindly into legal conflict. His con-
science I can find 7i6 balm \ in the reflection, that he has
but obeyed the orders of an angry man. He feels that his
first duties ] are to the community in which he lives, and
10 whose peace | he is bound to preserve.
He is no stranger \ to the mischiefs, which follow in
the train oi litigation; the deadly f hi ds ' and animosities
I descending from the original combatants ' to successive
generations ; the perjuries ' and frauds \ so often com-
15 mitted to secure success; and the impoverishment | so
commonly resulting | even to the tvinning party ; and in
view of these consequences, he advises to amicable negotia-
tion and adjixstment. He is, a peacemaker, — a composer
of dissensions, — a blessing to his neighborhood ; — his path
20 I is luminous II as the path of the just.
I look ' with pity \ on the man, who regards himself ' a
mere machine of the law ; — whose conceptions of moral
and social duty II are all absorbed in the sense oi supposed
obligation to his client, and this \ of so low a nature II as
25 to render him a very tool ' and slave, to serve the ivorst
passions of men; — who yields himself ' a passive instru-
ment ' of legal inflictions, to be moved at the pleasure of
every hirer ; — and who II beholding the ruin and havoc \
made by a Idiusuit, which | "too scruples of honest tj" | in
30 his coujisel \ might have prevented, can calmly pocket his
* The Constitution.
PAUT il] reader and speaker. 117
fee I with the reflection, that he has done his duty to his
client, alike regardless of duty to his neighbor ' and his
God.
That such men do exist, to disgrace our profession, is
5 lamentably triie ; men, —
" that can speak
To every cause, and things mere contraries,
Till they are hoarse again, yet all | be law." —
We would redeem its character II by marking a higher
10 standard of morals. While our aid should never be with-
held I from the itijured ' or the accused, let it be remem-
bered, that all our duties ' are not concentrated in con-
ducting an appeal to the lata ; — that we are not only
lawyers, but citizens | and MEN; — that our clients | are
15 not always the best judges of their bivn interests : — and
that ' having confided these interests to our hands, it is for
us to advise to that course, which will best conduce to
their permanent benefit, not merely ' as solitary individu-
als, but as men II connected with society \ by enduring ties.
lesson XXX. — character of the present age.
E. EVERETT.
[To be marked by the reader, for Rhetorical Pauses, Emphasis, and
Inflections.]
The present age may be justly described as the Age of
RevohUions. The whole civilized world is agitated with
political convulsions, and seems to be panting and strug-
gling in agony after some unattained, — perhaps unattain-
5 able good. From the commencement of our revolution
up to the present day, we have witnessed in Europe and
-America, an uninterrupted series of important changes.
The thrones of the old world have been shaken to their
foundations. On oar own continent, empires that bore
10 the name of colonies, have shaken or are shaking off the
shackles of dependence. And so far is this, the age of
revolutions, which has already lasted more than half a
century, from having reached its termination, that the
very last year has been more fruitful in the most tremen-
15 dous convulsions, than any preceding one ; and the present
will probably be still more agitated than the last. Every
arrival from abroad brings us intelligence of some new
event of the highest moment : some people rising in re-
volt against their sovereign: some new constitution pro-
118 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART H.
claimed in one country : some reform, equivalent to a new
constitution, projected in another: France, in the midst of
a dauijerous revolutionary crisis : Belgium, Poland, and
Italy, the scenes of actual hostilities: Enjrland, on the eve
5 of commotion : the whole European commonwealth ap-
parently plunginp^ again into the gulf of general war.
What is the object of all these desperate struggles ? —
The object of them is to obtain an extension of individual
liberty. Established institutions have lost their influence
10 and authority. Men have become weary of submitting to
names and forms which they once reverenced. It has
been ascertained, — to use the language of Napoleon, that
a throne is only four boards covered with velvet, — that a
written constitution is but a sheet of parchment. There
15 is, in short, an eiTort making throughout the world to re-
duce the action of Government within the narrowest
possible limits, and to give the widest possible extent to
individual liberty.
Our own country, though happily exempt, — and God
20 grant that it may long continue so, — from the troubles of
Europe, is not exempt from the influence of the causes
that produce them. We too are inspired, and agitated,
and governed by the all-pervading, all-inspiring, all-agi-
tating, all-governing spirit of the age. What do I say ?
25 W^e were the first to feel and act upon its influence. Our
revolution was the first of the long series that has since
shaken every corner of Europe and America. Our fa-
thers led the van in the long array of heroes, martyrs, and
confessors, who had fought and fallen under the banner of
80 liberty. The institutions they bequeathed to us, and un-
der which we are living in peace and happiness, were
founded on the principles which lie at the bottom of the
present agitation in Europe. We have realized what our
contemporaries are laboring to attain. Our tranquillity is
35 the fruit of an entire acquTcs^ehce in the spirit of the age.
We have reduced the action' of Government within nar-
rower limits, and given a wider scope to individual liberty,
than any community that ever flourished before.
We live, therefore, in an age, and in a country, where
40 positive laws and institutions have comparatively but little
direct force. But human nature remains the same. The
passions are as wild, as ardent, as ungovernable, in a re-
public, as in a despotism. What then is to arrest their
violence ? What principle is to take the place of the
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 119
restraints that were formerly imposed by time-honored cus-
toms, — venerable names and forms, — military and police
establishments, which once maintained the peace of so-
ciety, but which are fast losing their influence in Europe,
5 and which have long since lost it in this country ? I an-
swer, in one word. Religion. Where the direct influence
of Power is hardly felt, the indirect influence of Religion
must be proportionably increased, or society will be con-
verted into a scene of wild confusion. The citizen who
10 is released in a great measure from the control of positive
authority, must possess within his own mind, the strong
curb of an enlightened conscience, a well grounded, deep-
ly felt, rational, and practical Piety; or else he will be
given over, without redemption, to the sins that most
15 easily beset him, and, by indulging in them, will contribute
so far as he has it in his power, to disturb the harmony of
the whole body politic.
LESSON XXXI. THE FOUNDERS OF BOSTON.— JOSIAH QUINCY.
[To be marked by the reader, ibr Rhetorical Pauses, Emphasis, and
Inflectio7is.^
On this occasion,* it is proper to speak of the founders
of our city, and of their glory. Now in its true accepta-
tion, the term glory expresses the splendoc which ema-
nates from virtue, in the act of producing general and
5 permanent good. Right conceptions, then, of the glory of
our ancestors, are alone to be attained by analyzing their
virtues. These virtues, indeed, are not seen charactered
in breathing bronze, or in living marble. Our ancestors
have left no Corinthian temples on our hills, no Gothic
10 cathedrals on our plains, no proud pyramid, no storied
obelisk, in our cities. But mind is there. Sagacious
enterprise is there. An active, vigorous, intelligent, mor-
al population throng our cities, and predominate in our
fields; men, patient of labor, submissive to law, respectful
15 to authority, regardful of right, faithful to liberty. These
are the monuments of our ancestors. They stand immu-
table ana immortal, in the social, moral, and intellectual
condition of their descendants. They exist in the spirit
which their precepts instilled, and their example implanted.
* Address at the close of the second century from the settlement
of Boston.
120 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PABT D.
It was to this spot, durino; twelve successive years, that
the great body ol tliose first settlers einigratea. In this
place, they either fixed permanently their abode, or took
their departure from it for the coast, or the interior.
5 Wiialever honor devolves on this metropolis from the
events connected with its first settlement, is not solitary
or exclusive ; it is shared with Massachusetts ; with New
England ; in some sense, with the whole United States.
For wliat part of this wide empire, be it sea or shore, lake
10 or river, mountain or valley, have the descendants of the
first settlers of New England not traversed ? what depth
of forest, not penetrated ? what danger of nature or man,
not defied ? Where is the cultivated field, in redeeming
which from the wilderness, their vigor has not been dis-
15 played ? Where, amid unsubdued nature, by the side of
the first log-hut of the settler, does the school-house stand
and the church-spire rise, unless the sons of New Eng-
land are there ? Where does improvement advance, un-
der the active energy of willing hearts and ready hands,
20 prostrating the moss-covered monarchs of the wood, and
from their ashes, amid their charred roots, bidding the
green sward and the waving harvest to upspring, and the
spirit of the fathers of New England is not seen, hover-
ing, and shedding around the h&^t^n influences of sound,
25 social, moral, and religious institutions, stronger and more
enduring than knotted oak or tempered steel? The swell-
ing tide of their descendants has spread upon our coasts ;
ascended our rivers ; taken possession of our plains. Al-
ready it encircles our lakes. At this hour, the rushing
30 noise of the advancing wave, startles the wild beast in his
lair among the prairies of the West. Soon it shall be
seen climbing the Rocky Mountains, and, as it dashes
over their cliffs, shall be hailed by the dwellers on the
Pacific, as the harbinger of the coming blessings of safety,
35 liberty, and truth.
LESSON XXXII. HUMAN CULTURE. — S. J. MAY.
[To be marked by the reader, for Rhetorical Pauses, Emphasis, and
Inflections.]
When we see a flower, — its calix filled with petals of
exquisite form, of the most delicate texture, and diverse
colors, so rich and nicely blended that no art can equal
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. ISlj
them, and withal perpetually diffusing a delicious per-
fume, we cannot readily believe, that all this variety of
charms was evolved from a little seed, not bigger, it may
be, than the head of a pin.
5 When we behold a sturdy oak, that has, for a hundred
years, defied the blasts of winter, has stretched wide
around its sheltering limbs, and has seemed to grow only
more hardy, the more it has been pelted by the storms, —
we find it difficult to persuade ourselves that the essence,
10 the elements of all this body and strength, were once en-
closed in an acorn. Yet such are the facts of the vegeta-
ble world. Nor are they half so curious nor wonderful,
as the changes, which are wrought by time and education,
in the human mind and heart.
15 Here, for example, is a man now master of twenty lan-
guages, who can converse in their own tongues with the
people of as many diflerent nations, whose only utterance
thirty years ago was very much like, and not any more
articulate than, the bleating of a lamb. Or it may be that
20 he, who could then send forth only a wailing cry, is now
overwhelming the crowded forum, or swaying the Con-
gress of the nation, by his eloquence, fraught with sur-
passing wisdom.
Here is another, who can conceive the structure, and
25 direct the building of the mighty ship, that shall bear an
embattled host around the world, carrying a nation's thun-
der ; or the man, who can devise the plan of a magnifi-
cent temple, and- guide the construction of it, until it shall
present to the eye of the beholder a perfect whole, glow-
30 ing with the unspeakable beauty of symmetrical form.
And here is a third, who has compreTiended the struc-
ture of the solar system. He has ascertained the relative
sizes of the planets, and learned at what precise moments
they shall severally complete their cifCtiits. He has even
35 weighed the sun, and measured the ~3Istances of the fixed
stars ; and has foretold the very hour, " when the dread
comet," after an absence of centuries, " shall to the fore-
head of our evening sky return."
These men are the same beings, who, thirty years ago,
40 were puling infants, scarcely equal in their intelligence to
kittens of a week old.
There, too, is a man, who is swaying the destiny of
nations. His empire embraces half the earth ; and,
n
122 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOI. [PART n.
throughout his wide domains, his will is law. At his
command, hundreds of thousands rush to arms, the pliant
subjects of his insatiable ambition, ready to pour out their
blood like water in his cause. He arranges them, as he
5 pleases, to execute his plans. He directs their movements
as if they were pawns upon a chessboard. He plunges
them into deadly conflict, and wades to conquest over
their dead and mangled bodies. That man, the despotic
power of whose mind now overawes the world, was once
10 a feeble babe, who had neither the disposition, nor the
strength, to harm a fly.
On the other hand, there is one, who now evinces un-
conquerable energ}', and the spirit of willing self-sacrifice
in works of benevolence. No toil seems to overbear his
15 strength. No discouragement impairs his resolution. No
dangers disarm his fortitude. He will penetrate into the
most loathsome haunts of poverty or vice, that he may re-
lieve the wretched, or reclaim the abandoned. He will
traverse continents, and expose himself hourly to the ca-
20 pricious cruelty of barbarous men, that he may bear to
them the glad tidings of salvation ; or he will calmly face
the scorn and rage of the civilized world, in opposition to
the wrong ; or march firmly to the stake, in maintenance
of the true and the right. This man, a few years ago,
25 might have been seen crying for a sugar-plum, or quarrel-
ing with his little sister for a two-penny toy.
And who are they, that are infesTing society with their
daring crimes, scattering about them " fire-brands, arrows,
and death," boldly setting at defiance the laws of man,
30 and of God ? Th/sy are the same beings, that a few years
ago, were innocent little children, who, could they., have
conceived of such deeds of darkness, as they now perpe-
trate without compuiTclion, would have shrunk fronx them
instinctively with horror.
35 These, surely, are prodigious changes, greater far than
any exhibited in the vegetable world. And are they not
changes of infinitely greater moment? The growth of a
mighty tree, from a small seed, may be matter for wonder,
for admiration ; but the development of a being, capable
40 of such tremendous agencies for good or for evil, should
be with us all a matter of the deepest concern. Strange,
passing strange — that it is not so !
PART 11.] READER A^D SPEAKER. 123
LESSON XXXIII. — GRECIAN AND ROMAN ELOQUENCE.
J. Q. ADAMS.
[To be marked by the reader, for Rhetorical Pauses, Emphasis, and
Infections.]
in the flourishing periods of Athens and Rome, elo-
quence was power. It was at once the instrument and
the spur to ambition. The talent of public speaking was
the key to the highest dignities ; the passport to the su-
5 preme dominion of the state. The rod of Hermes was
the sceptre of empire ; the voice of oratory was the thun-
der of Jupiter.
The most powerful of human passions was enlisted in
the cause of eloquence ; and eloquence in return was the
10 most effectual auxiliary to the passion. In proportion to
the wonders she achieved, was the eagerness to acquire
the faculties of this mighty magician.
Oratory was taught, as the occupation of a life. The
course of instruction commenced with the infant in the
15 cradle, and continued to the meridian of manhood. It
was made the fundamental object of education, and every
other part of instruction for childhood, and of discipline for
youth, was bent to its accommodation.
Arts, science, letters, were to be thoroughly studied and
20 investigated, upon the maxim, that an orator must be a
man of universal knowledge. Moral duties were incul-
cated, because none but a good man could be an orator.
Wisdom, learning, virtue herself, were estimated by their
subserviency to the purposes of eloquence ; and the whole
25 duty of man consisted in making himself an accomplished
public speaker.
LESSON XXXIV. — THANATOPSIS.^*' W. C. BRYANT.
pMarked for the application of Rhetorical Pauses, Emphasis, and
Inflection, to the reading of Poetry.]
To him, who, in the love of Nature, holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language ; for his gdyer hours II
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile '
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides
Into his darker musings, with a mild '
And gentle sympathy, that steals aivay
* Contemplation of Death.
124 AMEBIC A?< COJIMON-SCHOOL [PART II.
Their s/idrpncss, ere he is awhre. When thoughts '
Of the last I bitter \ hour II come like a blight '
Over thy spirit, and sad h/iages '
Of the stern dgony, and shr6ud, and pdll,
5 And breathless darkness, and llic narrow house, •
Make tlieo to sh^tdder, and grow sick at heart ; —
Go forth ' under the open sky, and list
To Ndtitre's teachings, while from all around —
Edrth and her wdtcrs, and the depths o{ dir, —
10 Comes a still voice — Yet a few days, and thee \
The all-beholding sun II shall see no more \
In all his cmtrse ; nor yet | in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form ll was laid, with many tears,
Nor in the embrace of ocean II shall exist
15 Thy iviage. Earth, that nourished thee, shall cld,im,
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again ;
And, lost each hiimari trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shall thou go II
To mix forever with the elements,
20 To be a brother to the insensible rock,
And to the sluggish dud, which the r7ide swain II
Turyis with his share, and treads upon. The oak II
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.
Yet not to thy eternal resting place II
25 Shalt thou retire alone, — nor couldst thou xoish II
Couch I more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down II
With patriarchs of the infant world, — with kings,
The pmvcrrful of the earth, — the wise, the good,
Fn\T forjns, and hoary st^cYs j of ages pdst,
30 All I in one ' vnghty \ sepulchre. — The hills II
Rock-riblM \ and ancient ' as the sim, — the vhles II
Stretching in pefisive cpiietness between ;
The venerable woods, — rivers ' that move
In mdjesty, and the complaining brooks II
35 That make the meadows green; and, poured round &LI,
Old ocean's gray and vielancholy waste, —
Are but the solemn decorations | 111 II
Of the great tomb of man. The golden swti,
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
40 Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still ' lapse of ages. All that triad
The globe II are but a handful II to the tribes '
That slumber m its bosom. — Take the wings
Of 7n6rning, — and the Barcan desert pierce,
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER . 126
Or lose thyself | in the continuous woods II
Where rolls the ^Oregon, and hears no sotind.
Save his own dashings, — yet — the dead II are thhre,
And MILLIONS in those solitiMes, since first '
5 The flight of years \ began, have laid them down '
In their last sleep, — the dead | reign there ' al6ne. —
So shalt THOU rest; — and what if thou shalt fall |
Unheeded by the living, — and no friend \
Take note of thy departure ? All that breathe II
10 Will share thy destiny. The gay \ will Idugh \
When thoit art gone, the solemn brood of care |
Plod on, and each one, as before, will chase
His favorite phantom ; yet all these II shall leave ' ^
Their mirth ' and their employments, and shall come,
15 And make their bed ' with thee. As the lo7ig train
Of ages 1 glide aiv&y, the sons of men.
The youth \ in life's green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron, and maid.
The bowed with &ge, the infant II in the smiles '
20 And beauty ' of its innocent age | czct off, —
Shall, one by one, be gathered to thy side,
By those, who | in their tiirn II shall follow them.
So live, that when thy summons ' comes II to join
The innumerable caravan, that moves
25 To the pale realms o^ shade, where each ' shall take
His chamber ' in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave ' at night,
Scourged to hi? dungeon ; but, siistained \ and soothed H
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
30 Like one who ivraps the drapery of his couch '
Ab6ut him, and Zies (ZoioTi ' to pleasant dreams.
LESSON XXXV. TRUST IN GOD. WordsWOTth.
[To be marked by the reader, for Rhetorical Pauses, Emphasis, and
Inflections.]
How beautiful this dome of sky !
And the vast hills, in fluctuation fixed '
At Thy command, how awful ! Shall the soul,
Human and rational, report of Thee
Even less than these ? — Be mute who will, who can,
Yet I will praise Thee with impassioned voice :
My lips, that may forget Thee in the crowd,
126 AMETIICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II
Cannot forget Thee here ; where Thou hast built,
For Thy own fflory, in the wilderness.
Me didst Thou consljiutc a priest of thine,
In such a temple as we now behold
5 Reared for Thy presence ; therefore am I bound
To worship, here, — and everywhere, — as one
Not doomed to ignorance, (hough forced to tread,
From childhood up, the ways of poverty ;
From unreflecting ignorance preserved,
10 And from debasement rescued. — By Thy grace
The particle divine remained unquenched ;
And, 'mid the wild weeds of a rugged soil,
Thy bounty caused to flourish deathless flowers
From Paradise transplanted. Wintry age
15 Impejjds ; the frost will gather round my heart ;
And, if they wither, I am worse than dead.
Come labor, when the worn-out frame requires
Perpetual sabbath ; come disease and want,
And sad exclusion through decay of sense ;
20 But leave me unabated trust in Thee ;
And let Thy favor, to the end of life,
Inspire me with ability to seek
Repose and hope among eternal things, —
Father of heaven and earth ! and I am rich,
25 And will possess my portion in content.
And what are things eternal ? — Powers depart.
Possessions vanish, and opinions change.
And passions hold a fluctuating seat :
But, by the storms of circumstance unshaken,
30 And subject neither to eclipse nor wane.
Duty exists ; — immutably survive,
For our support, the measures and the forms.
Which an abstract Intelligence supplies ;
Whose kingJoin is where time and space are not :
35 Of other converse, which mind, soul, and heart.
Do, with united urgency, require,
What more, that may not perish? Thou, dread Source,
Prime, self-existing Cause and End of all,
That, in the scale of being, fill their place,
40 Above our human region, or below.
Set and sustained ; — Thou, — who didst wrap the cloud
Of infancy around us, that Thyself,
Therein, with our simplicity awhile
PART II.] rEj»der and speake?.. 127
Might'st hold, on earth, communion undisturbed, —
Who from the anarchy of dreaming sleep,
Or from its death-lilve void, with punctual care,
And touch as gentle as the morning light,
5 Restor'st us, daily, to the powers of sense,
And reason's steadfast rule, — Thou, Thou alone
Art everlasting.
This universe shall pass away, — a frame
Glorious ! because the shadow of Thy might, —
10 A step, or link, for intercourse with Thee.
Ah ! if the time must come, in which my feet
No more shall stray where meditation leads.
By flowing stream, through wood, or craggy wild,
Loved haunts like these, the unimprisoned mind
15 May yet have scope to range among her own,
Her thoughts, her images, her high desires.
If the dear faculty of sight should fail,
Still it may be allowed me to remember
What visionary powers of eye and soul,
20 In youth, were mine ; when, stationed on the top
Of some huge hill, expectant, I beheld
The sun rise up, from distant climes returned,
Darkness to chase, and sleep, and bring the day.
His bounteous gift ! or saw him, towards the deep
25 Sink, with a retinue of flaming clouds
Attended ! Then my spirit was entranced
With joy exalted to beatitude ;
The measure of my soul was filled with bliss.
And holiest love ; as earth, sea, air, with light,
30 With pomp, with glory, with magnificence !
LESSON XXXVI. MEMORY. W. G. CLARK.
[This piece is designed as an exercise in ' smooth' and ' pure quality'
of voice. The suavity of tone, which belongs to gentle and tender
emotion, should prevail in the reading of this beautiful composition.
A full, clear, but softened note, should be heard, throughout.]
[pu.t.^ 'T is sweet, to remember ! I would not forego
The charm which the Past o'er the Present can throw
For all the gay visions that Fancy may weave
In her web of illusion, that shines to deceive.
5 We know not the future, — the past we have felt; —
Its cherished enjoyments the bosom can melt;
128 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART IL
Its raptiTTCS anew o'er our pulses may roll,
When thoughts of the morrow fall cold on the soul.
'T is sweet, to rcipember ! When storms are abroad,
We see in the rainbow, the promise of God :
5 The day may be darkened, — but far in the West,
In vermilion and gold, sinks the sun to his rest ;
.With smiles like the morning he passelh away:
Thus the beams of delight on the spirit can play,
When in calm reminiscence we gather the flowers,
10 Which Love scatterecT round us in happier hours.
'T is sweet, to remember ! When friends are unkind
When their coldness and carelessness shadow the mind,
Theiiy to draw back the veil which envelopes a land,
Where delcclable prospects in beauty expand ;
15 To smell the green fields, the fresh waters to hear.
Whose once fairy music enchaTited the ear ;
To drink in the smiles that delighted us then, —
To list the fond voices of childhood again.
Oh ! this the sad heart, like a reed that is bruised,
20 Binds up, when the banquet of hope is refused.
'T is sweet, to remember ! And naught can destroy
The balm-breathing comfort, the glory, the joy.
Which spring from that fountain, to gladden our way,
When the changeful and faithless desert or betray.
25 I would not forget ! — though my thoughts should be
dark ;
O'er the ocean of life, I look back from my bark,
And see the fair Eden, where once I was blest,
A type and a promise of heavenly rest.
LESSON XXXVII. OLD IRONSIDES. 0. W. HOLMES,
[This piece is designed as an exercise for cultivating the 'oro-
tund quality ', or full, round, and forcible voice, which belongs to
energetic and declamatory expression. A loud, clear, ringins tone,
should prevail, throughout the reading or recitation of such
pieces.]
[oro. g.] Ay, tear her tattcr'd ensign down !
[I] Long has it waved on high ;
And many an eye has danced to see
That banner in the sky ;
^ Beneath it rung the battle shout,
And burst tlie cannon's roar ; —
PART 11.] READER AND SPEAKER. 129
The meteor of the ocean air
Shall sweep the clouds no more !
Her deck, — once red with heroes' blood,
Where knelt the vanquish'd foe,
5 When winds were hurrying o'er the flood,
And waves were white below, —
No more shall feel the victor's tread,
Or know the conqner'd knee ;
The harpies of the shore shall pluck
10 The eagle of the sea !
Oh ! better that her shatter'd hulk
Should sink beneath the wave ;
Her thunders shook the mighty deep,
And there should be her grave :
16 Nail to the mast her holy flag,
Set every threadbare sail ;
And give her to the god of storms,
The lightning and the gale I
LESSON XXXVIII. THAT SILENT MOON. G. W. DOANE.
[The piece which follows, is intended for practice in 'soft' and
subdued 'force'. The voice, in this form of utterance, is meant
to be reduced below its average energy, not by mere slackness, or
absence of force, but by an intentional redaction of volume, so as
to touch the ear ddkatehj, yet vivliTty, as is naUirally done in the
expression of an affecting sentiinSfft.]
[x] That silent moon, that silent moon,
Cafeering now through cloudless sky.
Oh ! wKo shall tell what varied scenes
Have pass'd beneath her placid eye,
5 Since first, to light this wayward earth.
She walk'd in tranquil beauty forth ?
How oft has guilt's unhallow'd hand,
And superstition's senseless rite.
And loud, licentious revelry,
10 Profaned her pure and holy light !
Small sympathy is hers, I ween,
With sights like theso, that virgin queen.
But dear to her, in summer eve,
By rippling wave, or tufted grove,
130 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART 11.
When hand in hand is purely clasp'd,
And heart meets heart in holy love,
To smile, in quiet loneliness.
And hear each whisper'd vow, and bless.
5 Dispersed along the world's wide way.
When friends are far, and fond ones rove,
How powerful she to wake the thought.
And start the tear for those we love,
Who watch, with us at night's pale noon,
10 And gaze upon that silent moon !
How powerful, too, to hearts that mourn.
The magic of that moonlight sky.
To bring again the vanish'd scenes,
The happy eves of days gone by ;
15 Again to bring, 'mid bursting tears,
The loved, the lost, of other years !
And oft she looks, that silent moon.
On lonely eyes, that wake to w^ecp,
In dungeon dark, or sacred cell,
20 Or couch, whence pain has banish'J sleep :
Oh ! softly beams that gentle eye.
On those who mourn, and those who die.
But beam on whomsoe'er she Avill,
And fall where'er her splendor may,
25 There 's pureness in her chasten'd light,
There's comfort in her tranquil ray :
What power is hers to soothe the heart, —
What power the trembling tear to start !
The dewy morn let others love,
30 Or bask them in the noontide ray ;
There's not an hour but has its charm,-
From dawning light to dying day : —
But oh ! be mine a fairer boon, —
, That silent moon, that silent moon!
PART U.] HEADER AND SPEAKER. 131
LESSON XXXIX. EVENING ON THE ST. LAWRENCE.
SILLIMAN.
[This piece is designed for practice in 'moderate force'. The
least excess of quantily, or volume of voice, in the reading of such
pieces, disturbs the repose, and is at variance with the gentleness, of
the scene. At the same time, care should be taken, that the tone
do not become lifeless, from want of animation. A quiet but
distinct utterance, should be maintained, throughout all such
passages.]
[ ] From the moment the sun is down, every thing becomes
silent on the shore, which our windows overlook ; and the
murmurs of the broad St. Lawrence, more than two miles
wide, immediately before us, and, a little way to the right,
5 spreading to five or six miles in breadth, are sometimes,
for an hour, the only sounds that arrest our attention.
Every evening since we have been here, black clouds and
splendid moonlight have hung over, and embellished this
tranquil scene ; and, on two of these evenings, we have
10 been attracted to the window, by the plaintive Canadian
boat-song. In one instance, it arose from a solitary voya-
ger, floating in his light canoe, which occasionally appeared
and disappeared on the sparkling river, and in its distant
course seemed no larger than some sportive insect. In
15 another instance, a larger boat, with more numerous and
less melodious voices, not, indeed, in perfect harmony,
passed nearer to the shore, and gave additional life to the
scene. A few moments after, the moon broke out from a
throne of dark clouds, and seemed to convert the whole
20 expanse of water into one vast sheet of glittering silver ;
and, in the very brightest spot, at the distance of more
than a mile, again appeared a solitary boat, but too distant
to admit of our hearing the song, with which the boatman
was probably solacing his lonely course.
LESSON XL. AMERICA TO ENGLAND. W. ALLSTON.
[This piece furnishes an example of the energetic style, which, in
elocution, is termed 'declamatory force'. The properties of voice,
in the reading and recitation of such passages, may all be desig-
nated under the head of ' orotund ' titterance, — a deep, full, and reso-
nant tone, pervading the whole ; and every note combining the
depth of the 'pectoral ' with the smoothness of the- ^oral quality '.]
[I ] All hail ! thou noble land.
Our fathers' native soil !
Oh ! stretch thy mighty hand,
Gigantic grown by toil,
132 AM£aiCAN COMAION-SCUOOL [fART IL
O'er Uie vast Atlantic wave to our shore :
For thou, with magic might,
Canst reach to where the light
Of Phccbus travels bright
The world o'er !
6 The Genius of our clime,
From pine-ernbattlcd steep,
Shall hail the great sublime ;
While the Tritons of the deep
With their coTlChs the kindred league shall proclaim,
10 Then let the world combine, —
O'er the main our naval line.
Like the milky-way, shall shine
Bright in fame !
Though ages long have passed
15 Since our fathers left their home,
Their pilot in the blast.
O'er untravelled seas to roam, —
Yet lives the blood of England in our veins !
And shall we not proclaim
20 That blood of honest fame.
Which no tyranny can tame
By its chains ?
While the language, free and bold,
Which the bard of Avon sung,
25 In which our Milton told
How the f arrlt of heaven rung,
When Satan, blasted, fell with all his host;
While this, with reverence meet.
Ten thousand echoes greet,
30 From rock to rock repeat
Round our coast ;
While the manners, while the arts,
That mould a nation's soul,
Still cling around our hearts,
IJ5 Between let ocean roll.
Our joint communion breaking with the sun;
Yet, still, from cither beach,
The voice of blood shall reach,
More audible than speech,
40 "We are One!"
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 133
LESSON XLI. THE AMERICAN EAGLE. — C. W. THOMSON.
[The following piece affords scope for a degree of ' force ' beyond
that which was exemplified in the preceding lesson. In the second,
third, and fourth stanzas, it rises to what is distinguished, in elocu-
tion, by the designation of ' empassioned force ', — the fullest vehe-
mence of voice, bordering on the shout, and, sometimes, passing into
it. This style is found chiefly in lyns poetry ; but it is sometimes
exemplified in the vehement energy of prose, on exciting occasions ■]
[II] Bird of the heavens ! whose matchless eye
Alone can front the blaze of day,
And, wandering through the radiant sky,
Ne'er from the sunlight turns away ;
5 Whose ample wing was made to rise
Majestic o'er the loftiest peak,
On whose chill tops the winter skies,
Around thy nest, in tempests, speak, —
What ranger of the winds can dare,
10 Proud mountain king ! with thee compare ;
Or lift his gaudier plumes on high
Before thy native majesty,
When thou hast ta'en thy seat alone,
Upon thy cloud-encircled throne ?
[ I ] 15 Bird of the cliffs ! thy noble form
Might well be thought almost divine ;
Born for the thunder and the storm,
The mountain and the rock are thine ;
And there, where never foot has been,
20 Thy eyrie is sublimely hung,
i Where low'ring skies their wrath begin,
•< < And loudest lullabies are sung
( By the fierce spirit of the blast,
When, his snow mantle o'er him cast,
25 He sweeps across the mountain top,
With a dark fury naught can stop,
And wings his wild unearthly way
Far through the clouded realms of day.
Bird of the sun ! to thee, — to thee
30 The earliest tints of dawn are known,
And 'tis thy proud delight to see
The monarch mount his gorgeous throne;
Throwing the crimson drapery by,
That half impecTes his glorious way ;
35 And mounting up the radiant sky,
E'en what he is, — the king of day !
12
[II]
[II]
[I]
134 AMERICAN C0MM0N-SCH0 5L [PART H
[ I ) Before the rffg^t of the" skies
Men shrink, and veil their dazzled eyes ;
But thou, in regal majesty,
Hast kingly rank as well as he ;
5 And with a steady, dauntless gaze
Thou meet'st the splendor of his blaze.
Bird of Columbia ! well art thou
An emblem of our native land ;
With unblct[Flied front and noble brow,
10 Among the nations doomed to stand ;
Proud, like her mighty mountain woods;
Like her own rivers, wandering free ;
r,,-, \ And sending forth from hills and floods,
'-'-'( The joyous shout of liberty !
[I] 15 Like thee, majestic bird ! like thee,
She stands in unbought majesty.
With spreading wing, untired and strong,
That dares a soaring far and long,
That mounts aloft, nor looks below,
[ II ] 20 And will not quail though tempests blow.
[I] The admiration of the earth,
In grand simplicity she stands ;
Like thee, the storms beheld her birth,
And she was nursed by rugged hands ;
[ ] 25 But, past the fierce and furious war,
Her rising fame new glory brings,
For kings and nobles come from far
To seek the shelter of her wings.
[I] And like thee, rider of the cloud,
30 She mounts the heavens, serene and proud.
Great in a pure and noble fame.
Great in her spotless champion's name.
And destined in her day to be
Mighty as Rome, — more nobly free.
[ ] 35 My native land ! my native land !
To her my thoughts will fondly turn ;
For her the warmest hopes expand,
For her the heart with fears will yearn.
Oh ! may she keep her eye, like thee,
40 Proud eagle of the rocky wild,
Fix'd on the sun of liberty.
By rank, by faction unbeguiled ;
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 136
Remembering still the rugged road
Our venerable fathers trod,
When they through toil and danger press'd,
To gain their glorious bequest,
5 And from each lip the caution fell
To those who follow'd, " Guard it well."
LESSON XLII. THE LAST EVENING BEFORE ETERNITY.
J. A. HILLHOUSE.
[The following extract is intended as an exercise in 'low' pitch
of utterance. A deep, and comparatively hoUow tone, pervades the
reading of this piece, as it is characterized by the deepest solemnity.
As an exercise in elocution, it is designed to cultivate the power of
full and clear utterance, on a low key, — an attainment more difficult
than most others, but of the greatest service to appropriate expres-
sion, in all solemn passages, whether in sacred or seculEir composi-
tions.]
[o]"* By this, the sun his westering car drove low;
Round his broad wheels full many a lucid cloud
Floated, like happy isles in seas of gold :
Along the horizon castled shapes were piled,
5 Turrets and towers, whose fronts embattled gleamed
With yellow light : smit by the slanting ray,
A ruddy beam the canopy reflected ;
With deeper light the ruby blushed; and thick
Upon the seraphs' wings the glowing spots
10 Seemed drops of fire. Uncoiling from its staff,
With fainter wave, the gorgeous ensign hung,
Or, swelling with the swelling breeze, by fits
Cast off", upon the dewy air, huge flakes
Of golden lustre. Over all the hill,
15 The heavenly legions, the assembled world,
Evening her crimson tint for ever drew.
Round I gazed
Where in the purple west, no more to dawn.
Faded the glories of the dying day.
20 Mild-twinkling through a crimson-skirted cloud.
The solitary star of evening shone.
While gazing wistful on that peerless light,
Thereafter to be seen no more, (as oft
In dreams strange images will mix,) sad thoughts
* For an example of ' very low ' utterance, see lesson xlti.
136 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II.
Passed o'er my soul. Sorrowing I cried, "Farewell,
Pale, beauteous planet, that display'st so soft,
Amid yon glowing streak, thy transient beam,
A long, a last farewell ! Seasons have changed,
5 Ages and empires rolled, like smoke, away,
But thou, unaltered, beam'st as silver fair
As on thy birthnight ! Bright and watchful eyes,
• From palaces and bowers, have hailed thy gem
With secret transport ! Natal star of love,
10 And souls that love the shadowy hour of fancy,
How much I owe thee, how I bless thy ray !
How oft thy rising o'er the hamlet green,
Signal of rest, and social converse sweet,
Beneath some patriarchal tree, has cheered
15 The peasant's heart, and drawn his benison !
Pride of the West ! beneath thy placid light
The tender tale shall never more be told, —
Man's soul shall never wake to joy again :
Thou set'st for ever, — lovely orb, farewell ! "
LESSON XLin. THE CHARACTER OF JESUS, S. C. THACHEH.
[This extjact is intended for practice on the ' middle', or average
pitch of the voice, which belongs to serious communication in public
reading or speaking, when not descending to the key of solemnity,
nor rising to that of mere conversation. A moderately grave strain
pervades the utterance, in such cases, and serves, if not overdone, to
give earnestness and dignity to expression.]
[] We find, in the life of Jesus, a union of qualities,
which had never before met in any being on this
earth. We find imbodied in his example the highest
virtues both of active and of contemplative life. We
5 see united in him a devotion to God the most intense,
abstracted, unearthly, with a benevolence to man the most
active, affectionate, and universal. We see qualities meet
and harmonize in his character, which are usually thought
the most uncongenial. We see a force of character,
10 which difficulties cannot conquer, an energy which calam-
ity cannot relax, a fortituile and constancy which suffer-
ings can neither subdue nor bend from their purpose;
connected with the most melting tenderness and sensibility
of spirit, the most e.xquisite susCeplTbility to every soft and
15 gentle impression. vVe see in Him the rare union of zeal
PART 11.] READER AND SPEAKER. 137
and moderation, of courage and prudence, of compassion
and firmness ; we see superiority to the world without
gloom or severity, or indifference or distaste to its pursuits
and enjoyments.
5 In short, there is something in the whole conception
and tenor of our Saviour's character so entirely peculiar,
something which so realizes the ideal model of the most
consummate moral beauty ; something so lovely, so gra-
cious, so venerable and commanding, that the boldest
10 infidels have shrunk from it overawed, and, tjiough their
cause is otherwise desperate, have yet feared to profane
its perfect purity. One of the most eloquent tributes to
its sublimity, that was ever uttered, was extorted from the
lips of an infidel. ," Is there anything in it," he exclaims,
15 " of the tone of an en thusi ast, or of an ambitious sectary ?
What sweetness, what purity in his manners ; what touch-
ing grace in his instructions ; what elevation in his max-
ims ; what profound wisdom in his discourses ; what
presence of mind, what skill and propriety in his an-
20 swers ; what empire over his passions ! Where is the
man, where is the sage, who knows how to act, to suffer,
and to die, without weakness and without ostentation ?
" When Plato paints his imaginary just man covered
with all the ignominy of crime, and yet worthy of all the
25 honors of virtue, he paints in every feature the character
of Christ. What prejudice, what blindness must possess
us, to compare the son of Sophroniscus to the son of Mary !
How vast the distance between them ! Socrates, dying
without pain and without ignominy, easily sustains his
30 character to the last; and if this gentle death had not
honored his life, we might have doubted whether Soc-
rates, with all his genius, was any thing more than a
sophist. The death of Socrates, philosophizing tranquilly
with his friends, is the most easy that one could desire ;
35 that of Jesus, expiring in torture, insulted, mocked, exe-
crated by a whole people, is the most horrible that one
can fear. Socrates, when he takes the poisoned cup,
blesses him who weeps as he presents it ; Jesus, in the
midst of the most dreadful tortures, prays for his infuriated
40 executioners. — Yes ! if the life and death of Socrates are
those of a sage, the life and death of Jesus are wholly
divine."
12*
138 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART 11.
LESSON XLIV. WOMAN. — MISS C. E. BEECHER.
[The following piece exemplifies the medium, or average tone of
ordinary, earnest conversation, in private company, and has its pitch
higher on the scale, than the preceding lesson. The animation of
the style, however, should not be permitted to carry the note up to
the key of mere vivacity and exhilaration. The prevailing note, in the
reading of this extract, is, properly, that of lively but respectful com-
munication.]
[ ] It is to mothers and to teachers, that the world is
to look for the character, which is to be enslamped on
each succeeding' generation ; for it is to them that the
great business of education is almost exclusively com-
5 milled. And will it not appear by examination, that
neither mothers nor teachers have everieen properly edu-
cated for their profession ? What is the profession of a
woman ? Is it not to form immortal minds, and to watch,
to nurse, and to rear the bodily system, so fearfully and
10 wonderfully made, and upon the order and regulation of
which, the health and well-being of the mind so greatly
depend ?
But let most of our sex, upon whom these arduous du-
ties devolve, be asked, — " Have you ever devoted any
15 time and study, in the course of your educalion, to a pre-
paration for these duties ? Have you been taught any
thing of the structure, the nature, and the laws, of the
body which you inhabit ? Were you ever taught to un-
derstand the operation of diet, air, exercise, and modes of
20 dress, upon the human frame ? Have the causes which
are continually operating to prevent good health, and the
modes by which it might be perfected and preserved, ever
been made the subject of any instruction ?"
Perhaps almost every voice would respond, — " No ; we
25 have attended to almost every thing more than to this :
we have been taught more concerning the structure of the
earth, the laws of the heavenly bodies, the habits and for-
mation of plants, the philosophy of language, than con-
cerning the structure of the human frame, and the laws
30 of health and reason." But is it not the business, the
profession of a woman, to guard the health, and form the
physical habits of the young ? And are not the cradle of
infancy, and the chamber of sickness, sacred to woman
alone ? And ought she not to know, at least, some of the
35 general principles of that perfect and wonderful piece of
mechanism committed to her preservation and care ?
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 139
The restoration of health is the physician's profession,
but the preservation of it falls to other hands ; and it is
believed that the time will come, when woman will be
taught to understand something respecting the construc-
5 tion of the human frame ; the philosophical results which
will naturally follow from restricted exercise, unhealthy
modes of dress, improper diet, and many other causes,
which are continually operating to destroy the health and
life of the young.
10 Again, let our sex be asked respecting the instruction
they have received, in the course of their education, on
that still more arduous and difficult department of their
profession, which relates to the intellect and the moral
susceptibilities, — " Have you been taught the powers and
15 faculties of the human mind, and the laws by which it is
regulated ? Have you studied how to direct its several
faculties ; how to restore those that are overgrown, and
strengthen and mature those that are deficient ? Have
you been taught the l)est modes of communicating knowl-
20 edge, as well as of acquiring it ? Have you learned the
best mode of correcting bad moral habits, and forming
good ones ? Have you made it an object, to find how a
selfish disposition may be made generous ; how a reserved
temper may be made open and frank ; how pettishness
25 and ill-humor may be changed to cheerfulness and kind-
ness ? Has any woman studied her profession in this
respect ?
It is feared, the same answer must be returned, if not
from all, at least from most of our sex : — " No ; we have
30 acquired wisdom from the observation and experience of
others, on almost all other subjects ; but the philosophy
of the direction and control of the human mind, has not
been an object of thought or study." And thus it appears,
that, though it is woman's express business to rear the
35 body, and form the mind, there is scarcely any thing to
which her attention has been less directed.
140 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART IL
LESSON XLV. THE TREADMLL SONG. 0. W. HOLMES.
[This humorous lyric is introduced to exemplify the 'high' pitch
which belongs to gaiety and merriment. The note of the voice is, in
the reading of such compositions as this, quite above that of dignified
conversation. It is, properly, that of the talking tone, excited to the
mood of mirth, which is always comparatively high-pitched. It hap-
pens, also, to exemplify ' loud ' and ' lively ' utterance. The practice
of passages of this description, imparts spirit and pliancy to the
voice, and prevents habits of dull and mouatoTTOus rcatling. A high,
ringing tone, such as we hear in the play-ground, should pervade
the utterance, in the reading of this and similar compositions.]
[° %^ n The stars are rolling in the sky,
The earth rolls on below,
And we can feel the rattling wheel
Revolving as we go.
6 Then tread away, my gallant boys.
And make the axle fly ! '
Why should not wheels go round abotjt,
Like planets in the sky ?
Wake up, wake up, my duck-legg'd man,
10 And stir your solid pegs ; ''
Arouse, arouse, my gawky friend.
And shake your spider-legs :
What though you 're awkward at the trade ?
There 's time enough to learn ;
15 So lean upon the rail, my lad.
And take another turn.
They 've built us up a noble wall
To keep the ^''nrtgar out ;
We 've nothing in the world to do
20 But just to walk about :
So faster, now, you middle men.
And try to beat the ends ;
It 's pleasant work to rarnble round
Among one's honest friends.
25 Here tread upon the long man's toes ;
He sha'n't be lazy here : ,
And punch the little fellow's ribs.
And tweak that lubber's ear : —
He 's lost them both : — don't pull his hair,
30 Because he wears a scratch,
But poke him in the farther eye,
That is n't in the patch.
Hark ! fellows, there 's the supper-bell,
And so nur worlc is done :
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 141
It 's pretty sport, — suppose we take
A round or two for fun !
If ever they should turn me out
When I have better grown,
5 Now hang me, but I mean to have
A treadmill of my own !
LESSON XLVI. DARKNESS. ByrOH.
[The following piece is designed for practice in ' very slow ' utter-
ance. The tone of horror, which pervades the whole description,
besides being very lorv in pitch, is always slorv, to extreme. The
chief object in view, in such exercises, is to obtain a perfect com-
mand of the ' rate ' of utterance ; so as to give, when necessary, all
the effect of lolevinity, arve, and even horror, which characterize the
reading of such passages as abound in the ' Paradise Lost,' and in
the ' Night Thoughts.' The least acceleration of voice, in such cases,
destroys the effect of the reading, and impairs the power of the po-
etry, on the ear and the heart.]
[o"^] I had a dream, which was not all a dream. —
The bright sun was extinguished, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
5 Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came, and went, — and came, and brought no day:
And men forgot their passions, in the dread
Of this their desolation ; and all hearts
Were chilled into a selfish prayer for light :
10* And they did live by watch-fires ; and the thrones,
The palaces of crowned kings, the huts.
The habitations of all things which dwell, —
Were burnt for beacons ; cities were consumed ;
And men were gathered round their blazing homes,
15 To look once more into each other's face :
Happy were those who dwelt within the eye
Of the volcanoes and their mountain torch.
A fearful hope was all the world contained :
Forests were set on fire ; but, hour by hour,
20 They fell and faded ; and the crackling trunks
Extinguished with a crash, — and all was black.
The brows of men, by the despairing light,
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits
The flashes fell upon them. Some lay downs
25 And hid their eyes, and wept ; and some did rest
Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smiled •
And others hurried to and fro, and fed
142 AMEKICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART a.
Their funeral piles with fuel, and looked up
With mad disc]iiiotude on the dull ?ky,
The pall of a pasi world ; and then again,
With curses, cast them down upon the dust,
5 And gnashed their teeth and howled. The wild birds
shrieked,
And, terrified, did flutter on the ground.
And flap their useless wings : the wildest birds
Came tame and tremulous ; and vipers crawled
10 And twined themselves among the multitude,
Hissing, but stingless, — they were slain for food.
And War, which for a moment was no more,
Did glut himself again : — a meal was bougl^t
With blood, and each sat sullenly apart,
15 Gorging himself in gloom ; no love was left :
All earth was but one thought, — and that was death,
Immediate and inglorious ; and men
Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh ;
The meagre by the meagre were devoured ;
20 Even dogs assailed their masters, — all, save one,
And he was faithful to a corse, and kept
The birds, and beasts, and famished men, at bay,
Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead
Lured their Link jaws ; himself sought out no food,
25 But, with a piteous and perpetual moan.
And a quick, desolate cry, licking the hand
Which answered not with a caress, — he died.
The crowd was famished by degrees ; but two
Of an enormous city did survive,
30 And they were enemies ; they met beside
The dying embers of an altar-place,
Where had been heaped a mass of holy things
For an unholy usage ; they raked up.
And, shivering, scraped, with their cold, skeleton hands,
35 The feeble ashes ; and their feeble breath
Blew for a little life, and made a flame,
Which was a mockery ; then they lifted up
Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld
Each other's aspects, — saw, and shrieked, and died, —
40 Even of their mutual hidcousness they died,
Unknowing who he was upon whose brow
Famine had written _/?e7r?^. The world was void.;
PART 11.] READER AND SPEAKER. 143
The populous and the powerful was a lump, —
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless, —
A lump of death, — a chaos of hard clay.
The rivers, lakes, and ocean, all stood still ;
5 And nothing stirred within their silent depths :
Ships, sailorless, lay rotting on the sea.
And their masts fell down piecemeal ; as they dropped,
They slept on the abyss without a surge :
The waves were dead ; the tides were in their grave ;
10 The moon, their mistress, had expired before ;
The winds were withered in the stagnant air ;
And the clouds perished : Darkness had no need
Of aid from them ; she was the universe.
LESSON XLVii. — GOD. — Derzhavin, translated hy
Bowring.
[The piece which follows, is designed for practice in the ' very
slow ' rate which characterizes deep am. Reverence, solemnity, and
awe, — but especially the last, — incline to extreme slowness, great
prolongation of single sounds, and remarkably long pauses. The tone
of these emotions is deep, although not so peculiarly low, as that
which was exemplified in the preceding lesson. Length of vowel
sounds, and length of pauses, are the main objects of practice, in
such exercises.]
["7] O Thou eternal One ! whose presence bright
All space doth occupy, all motion guide :
Unchanged through time's all-dej^Tstating flight ;
Thou only God ! There is vr> God beside !
5 Being above all beings ! Mighty One !
Whom none can co!njiJi:£jiend, and none explore ;
Who fill'st existence with Thyself alone :
Embracing all, — supporting, — ruling o'er, — :
Being whom we call God, — and know no more !
10 In its suBTime research, philosophy
May measure out the ocean-deep, — may count
The sands or the sun's rays ; — but, God ! for Thee
There is no weight uo-r measure : — none can mount
Up to Thy mysteries. Reason's brightest spark,
15 Though kindled by Thy light, in vain would try
To trace Thy counsels, infinite and dark ;
And thought is lost ere thought can soar so high,
Even like past moments in eternity.
144 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART U.
Thou from primeval nothingness didst call
First chaos, then existence : — Lord ! on Thee
Eternity Iiad its foundation ; — all
Sprung forth from Tliee : — of light, joy, harmony,
5 Sole origin : — all life, all beauty Thine.
Thy word created all, and doth create ;
Thy splendor fills all space with rays divine.
Thou art, and wcrt, and shalt be ! Glorious ! Great!
Light-giving, life-sustaining Potentate !
10 Thy chains the unmeasured universe surround,
Upheld by Thee, by Thee inspired with breath !
Thou the beginning with tiie end hast bound,
And beautifully mingled life and death!
As sparks mount upwards from the fiery blaze,
15 So suns are born, so worlds sprung forth from Thee *
And as the spangles in the sunny rays
Shine round the silver snow, the pageantry
Of heaven's bright army glitters in Thy praise.
A million torches lighted by Thy hand,
20 Wander, unwearied, through the blue abyss :
They own Thy power, accomplish Thy command.
All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss.
What shall we call them ? Piles of crystal light, —
A glorious company of golden streams, —
25 Lamps of celestial ether burning bright, —
Suns lighting systems with their joyous beams ?
But Thou to theS)" art as the noon to night.
Yes ! as a drop of water in the sea,
All this magnificence in Thee is lost; —
30 What are ten thousand worlds compared to Thee ?
And what am / then ? Heaven's unnumbered host,
Though multiplied by myriads, and arrayed
In all the glory of sublimest thought,
Is but an atom in the balance, weighed
35 Against Thy greatness, is a cipher brought
Against infinity ! Oh ! what am I then ? Nought !
Nought ! yet the effluence of Thy light divine.
Pervading worlds, hath reached my bosom too;
Yes ! in my spirit doth Thy spirit shine,
40 As shines the sunbeam in a drop of dew.
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 145
Nought ! yet I live, and on hope's pinions fly
Eager towards Thy presence ; for in Thee
I live, and breathe, and dwell ; aspiring high,
Even to the throne of Thy divinity.
5 I am, O God ! and surely Thou must be !
Thou art ! directing, guiding all. Thou art !
Direct my understanding, then, to Thee ;
Control my spirit, guide my wandering heart:
Though but an atom 'midst immensity,
10 Still I am something, fashioned by Thy hand !
I hold a middle rank 'twixt heaven and earth,
On the last verge of mortal being stand.
Close to the realms where angels have their birth,
Just on the boundaries of the spirit-land !
15 The chain of being is complete in me :
In me is matter's last gradation lost ;
And the next step is spirit, — Deity !
I can command the lightning, and am dust!
A monarch, and a slave ; a worm, a god !
20 Whence came I here? and how so marvellously
Constructed and conceived ? Unknown ! — This clod
Lives surely through some higher energy;
For from itself alone it could not be !
Creator, yes ! Thy wisdom and Thy word
25 Created me ! Thou source of life and good !
Thou spirit of my spirit, and my Lord !
Thy light, Thy love, in their bright plenitude
Filled me with an immortal soul, to spring
Over the abyss of death, and bade it wear
30 The garments of eternal day, and wing
Its heavenly flight beyond this little sphere.
Even to its source, — to Thee, — its Author there.
Oh ! thoughts ineffable ! Oh ! visions blest !
Though worthless our conceptions all of Thee,
35 Yet shall Thy shadowed image fill our breast,
And waft its homage to Thy Deity.
God ! thus alone my lonely thoughts can soar ;
Thus seek Thy presence, Being wise and good !
'Midst Thy vast works admire, obey, adore ;
40 And when the tongue is eloquent no more,
The soul shall speak in tears of gratitude.
13
146 AJlERICAxN CO.MMON-SCIIOOL [PART II.
LESSON XLVIII. NIAGARA. MUS. SIGOURNEY.
[The following piece is designed for practice in the 'slow' utter-
ance which characterizes the tunes of sublimit;/ and awe. The ' rate '
of voice is not altogether so slow as in the preceding lesson ; yet it
retains much of that cfl'ect whicli cannot be given without slowness
of movement and full pauses. The note, in the style of this lesson,
continues Ivw, although 7wt so remarkably deep as in the preceding.
The principal object of practice, in this instance, is to secure that
degree of * slowness ' which marks the tones of wonder and aston
ishment.]
[~o] Flow on forever, in thy glorious robe
Of terror and of beauty ! Yea, flow on
Unfathoined and resistless ! God hath set
His rainbow on thy forehead : and the cloud
5 Mantled around thy feet. And he doth give
Thy voice of thunder, power to speak of Him
Eternally, — bidding the lip of man
Keep silence, and upon thy rocky altar pour
Incense of awe-struck praise.
10 Ah ! who can dare
To lift the insect-trump of earthly hope,
Or love, or sorrow, 'mid the peal sublime
Of thy tremendous hymn ? Even Ocean shrinks
Back from thy brotherhood ; and all his waves
15 Retire abashed. For he doth sometimes seem
To sleep like a spent laborer, and recall
His wearied billows from their vexing play,
And lull them to a cradle calm ; but thou
With everlasting, undecaying tide,
20 Dost rest not, night or day. The morning stars,
When first they sang o'er yotmg creation's birth,
Heard thy deep anthem ; and those wrecking fires,
That wait the archangel's signal to dissolve
This solid earth, shall find Jehovah's name
25 Graven, as with a thousand diamond spears.
On thine unending volume.
Every leaf,
That lifts itself within thy wide domain.
Doth gather greenness from thy living spray,
30 Yet tremble at the baptism. Lo ! — yon birds
Do boldly venture near, and bathe their wing
Amid thy mist and foam. 'T is meet for them,
To touch thy garment's hem, and lightly stir
The snowy leaflets of thy vapor wreath,
35 For they may sport unharmed amid the cloud,
PART n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 147
Or listen at the echoing gate of heaven,
Without reproof. But as for us, it seems
Scarce lawful, with our broken tones, to speak
Familiarly of thee. Methinks to tjjit
5 Thy glorious features with our pencil's point,
Or woo thee to the tahlet of a song,
Were profanation.
Thou dost make the soul
A wondering witness of thy majesty ;
10 But as it presses with delirious joy
To pierce thy vestibule, dost chain its step.
And tame its rapture with the humbling view
Of its own nothingness ; bidding it stand
In the dread presence of the Invisible,
15 As if to answer to its God through thee.
LESSON XLIX. — THE UNITED STATES. BANCROFT.
[The extract which follows, exemplifies the deliberate, or 'mode-
rately slow ' utterance, which belongs to the style of serious reading
or speaking, with reference to the purposes of public or general
communication. Such passages exemplify, also, the 'moderate'
force, and the 'middle' pitch. To avoid hurry, on the one hand,
and draivling, on the other, is the object in view, in the practice of
such exercises. A grave and dignified style forbids any approach to
haste ; but it does not imply a lagging slowness.]
[ ] The United States of America constitute an essential
portion of the great political system, embracing all the
civilized nations of the earth. At a period when the force
of moral opinion is rapidly increasing, they have the prece-
5 dence, in the practice and the defence of the equal rights
of man.
The sovereignty of the people, is here a conceded axiom ;
and the laws, established upon that basis, are cherished
.with faithful patriotism. While the nations of Europe
10 aspire after change, our constitution engages the fond
admiration of the people, by whom it has been established.
Prosperity follows the execution of even justice ; invention
is quickened by the freedom of competition ; and labor
rewarded with sure and unexampled returns.
15 Domestic peace is maintained without the aid of a mili-
tary establishment ; public sentiment permits the existence
of but few standing troops, and those only along the sea-
board and on the frontiers. A gallant navy protects our
commerce, which spreads its banners on every sea, and
148 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART 11.
extends its enterprise to every clime. Our diplomatic rela-
tions coiniect us, on terms of e([uality and honest friend-
ship, with the cliief powers of the world; while we avoid
entangling participation in their intrigues, their passions,
5 and their wars.
Our national resources arc developed by an earnest cul-
ture of the arts of peace. Every man may enjoy the fruits
of his industry; every mind is free to publish its convic-
tions. Our government, by its organization, is necessarily
10 identified with the interests of the people, and relies exclu-
sively on their attachment, for its durability and support.
Even the enemies of the state, if there be any among us,
have liberty to express their opinions undisturbed ; and are
safely tolerated, where reason is left free to combat their
15 errors. Nor is the constitution a dead letter, unalterably
fixed ; it has the capacity for improvement ; adopting
whatever changes time and the public will may require,
and safe from decay, so long as that will retains its energy.
New states are forming in the wilderness ; canals, inter-
20 secting our plains and crossing our highlands, open numer-
ous channels to internal commerce ; manufactures prosper
along our water-courses ; the use of steam on our rivers
and rail-roads, annihilates distance by the acceleration of
speed. Our w^ealth and population, already giving us a
25 place in the first rank of nations, are so rapidly cumula-
tive, that the former is increased fourfold ; and the latter is
doubled, in every period of twenty-two or twenty-three
years. There is no national debt ; the community is opu-
lent ; the government economical ; and the public treasury
30 full. Religion, neither persecuted nor paid by the state,
is sustained by the regard for public morals, and the con-
victions of an enlightened faith.
Intelligence is diffused with unparalleled universality ;
a free press teems with the choicest productions of all na-
35 tions and ages. There are more daily journals in the
United States, than in the world beside. A public docu-
ment of general interest is, within a month, reproduced in
at least a million of copies, and is brought within the reach
of every freeman in the country.
40 An immense concourse of emigrants, of the most various
lineage, is perpetually crowding to our shores; and the
principles of liberty, uniting all interests by the operation
of equal laws, blend the discordant elements into harmoni-
ous union. Other governments are convulsed by the
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 149
innovations and reforms of neighboring states ; our consti-
tution, fixed in the affections of the people, from whose
choice it has sprung, neutralizes the influence of foreign
principles, and fearlessly opens an asylum to the virtuous,
5 the unfortunate, and the oppressed of every nation.
)
LESSON L. WOTJTER VAN TWILLER. WASHINGTON IRVING.
[The following specimen of descriptive humor, requires the ' lively
movement ', in its rate of utterance. The voice is, in this instance,
accelerated ieyond the rate of serious communication, in any form ;
although it does not possess the rapidity which belongs to the excited
style of lyric or dramatic poetry, in the most vivid style of humor-
ous expression. This lesson combines, also, an exemplification of
' moderate ' force, and ' middle ' pitch. The object in view in the
practice of such exercises as this, is to gain animation and briskness,
in utterance. A laggmg or drawling tone is utterly incompatible
with humorous delineation. Mere rapidity, however, will not suc-
ceed in imparting liveliness to style : the utterance must be slam
enough to be distinct and spirited.]
[u] The renowned Wouter, (or Walter,) Van Twiller,
[^j was descended from a long line of Dutch burgo-
masters, who had successively dozed away their lives,
and grown fat upon the bench of magistracy in Rotter-
5 dam ; and who had comported themselves with such
singular wisdom and propriety, that they were never
either heard or talked of, — which, next to being universally
applauded, should be the object of ambition of all ages,
magistrates, and rulers. '
lO His surname, Twiller, is said to be a corruption of the
original Twijfier^ which, in English, means Doubter ; a
name admirably descriptive of his deliberative habits.
For, though he was a man shut up wthin himself, like an
oyster, and of such a profoundly reflective turn, that he
lf5 scarcely ever spoke except in monosyllables, yet did he
never make up his mind on any doubtful point. This was
clearly accounted for by his adherents, who affirmed that
he always conceived every object on so comprehensive a
scale, that he had not room in his head to turn it over, and
20 examine both sides of it ; so that he always remained in
doubt, merely in consequence of the astonishing magnitude
of his ideas !
There are two opposite ways by which some men get
into notice, — one by talking a vast deal, and thinking a
* Pronounced Tweefler.
13*
160 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAKT II.
little, and the other, by hokling iheir tongues and not
thinking at all. By the first, many a A'aporing, superficial
pretender acquires the reputation of a man of quick parts,
— by the other, many a vacant dundefpate, like the owl,
5 the stupidest of birds, comes to be complimented, by a
discerning world, with all the attributes of wisdom. Tnis,
by the way, is a mere casual remark, which I would not,
for the universe, have it thought I apply to Governor Van
Twiller. On the contrary, he was a very wise Dutchman ;
10 for he never said a foolish thing, — and of such invincible
gravity, that he was never known to laugh, or even to
smile, through the course of a long and prosperous life.
Certain, however, it is, there never was a matter proposed,
however simple, and on Avhich your common narrow-
15 minded mortals would rashly determine at the first glance,
but what the renowned Wouter put on a mighty mysteri-
ous, vacant kind of look, shook his capacious head, and
having smoked, for five minutes, with redoubled earnest-
ness, sagely observed, that " he had his doubts about the
20 matter," — which in process of time gained him the charac-
ter of a man slow in belief, and not easily imposed on.
The person of this illustrious old gentleman, was as reg-
ularly formed, and nobly proportioned, as though it had
been moulded by the hands of some cunning Dutch statu-
25 ary, as a model of majesty and lordly grandeur. He was
exactly five feet six inches in height, and six feet five
inches in circuitiference. His head was a perfect sphere,
and of such stupendous dimensions, that dame Nature,
with all her sex's ingenuity, would have been puzzled to
30 construct a neck capable of supporting it ; wherefore she
wisely declined the attempt, and settled it firmly on the
top of his back bone, just between the shoulders. His
body was of an oblong form, particularly capacious at
bottom ; which was wisely ordered by Providence, seeing
35 that he was a man of sedentary habits, and very averse to
the idle labor of walking. His legs, though exceeding
short, were sturdy in proportion to the weight they had to
sustain ; so that, when erect, he had not a little the appear-
ance of a robustious beer-barrel, standing on skids. His
40 face, that infallible index of the mind, presented a vast
expanse, perfectly unfurrowed or deformed by any of those
lines and angles which disfigure the human countenance
with what is termed expression. Two small gray eyes
twinkled feebly in the midst, like two stars of lesser mag-
PART n.] READER AND. SPEAKER. 151
nitude in the hazy firmament ; and his full-fed cheeks,
which seemed to have taken toll of every thing that went
into his mouth, were curiously mottled and streaked with
dusky red, like a Spitzenberg apple.
5 His habits were as regular as his person. He daily
took his four stated meals, appropriating exactly an hour
to each ; he smoked and doubted eight hours j and he slept
the remaining twelve of the four-and-twenty. Such was
the renowned Wouter Van Twiller, — a true philosopher ;
10 for his mind was either elevated above, or tranquilly settled
below, the cares and perplexities of this world. He had
lived in it for years, without feeling the least curiosity to
know whether the sun revolved round it, or it round the
sun ; and he had watched, for at least half a century, the
15 smoke curling from his pipe to the ceiling, without once
troubling his head with any of those numerous theories,
by which the philosopher would have perplexed his brain,
in accounting fox its rising above the surrounding atmos-
phere.
LESSON LI. INVOCATION OF MIRTH. MUton.
[The extract which follows, is an example of the ' quick ' rate of
utterance, which characterizes the tones of joy and mirth. The
voice, in the reading of such passages as the following, moves with
great rapidily, in comparison with the ordinary rate. The utterance,
in this instance, is ' high ' and ' loud ', as well as ' very quick'. The
practice of this style, is useful, not only for its immediate, but its
general effect. It enlivens the tones of the voice, and imparts fluena/
in enunciation.]
[I ° u u] Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee
Jest, and youthful Jollity,
Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles,
Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles,
5 Such as hang on Hebe's "* cheek,
And love to live in dimple sleek ;
Sport, that wrinkled Care derides.
And Laughter holding both his sides.
Come, and trip it, as you go,
10 On the light fantastic toe ;
And in thy right hand lead with thee,
The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty ;
And, if I give thee honor due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crew,
* The goddess of youth.
18B AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART U.
To live with her, and live with thee,
In iinrep'-oved pleasures free ;
To hear the lark begin his flight,
And, singing, startle the dull night,
5 From his watch-tower in the skies,
Till the dappled dawn doth rise ;
Then to come, in spite of sorrow,
And at my window bid good morrow.
Through the sweet brier or the vine,
10 Or the twisted eglantine :
While the ploughman, near at hand.
Whistles o'er the furrowed land.
And the milkmaid singeth blithe.
And the mower whets his sithe,
15 And every shepherd tells his tale,
Under the hawthorn in the dale.
Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures.
While the landscape round iiJneasures,
Russet lawns, and fallows gray,
20 Where the nibbling flocks do stray,
Meadows trim, with daisies pied,
Shallow brooks and rivers wide.
Sometimes with secure delight.
The upland hamlets will invite,
25 " When the merry bells ring round,
And the jocund rebecs* sound
To many a youth, and many a maid,
Dancing in the checkered shade ;
And young and old come forth to play,
30 On a sunshine holy-day.
Till the livelong daylight fail.
LESSON LIL — MARCO BOZZARIS. F. G. HALLECK.
[The marking of the following piece, is extended to the indication
of tones' and 'modulation', 'stress', and 'quality'; as all these
modes of voice, are inseparably connected in utterance, and all of
them arise from cmotiun, as their common source. The principal
points in emphasis, inflectio/i, and pausing, are also indicated, wher-
ever they are esSelTtial elements of ' ez])ression\]
This heroic chief fell in an attack upon the Turkish
camp at Laspi, the site of the ancient Plataea, August 20,
1S23, and expired in the moment of victory. His last
* Rebec, a peculiar sort of violin.
?ART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 153
words were, — " To die for liberty is a pleasure, and not a
pain."
[x o — ] At midj^ight, in his guarded tent,
The Turk was dreaming of the hour '
When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, —
Should tremble at his power ;
' In dreams, through camp and court, he bore
The trophies of a conqueror ;
In dreams, his song of triumph \ heard ;
Then wore his monarch's signet ring, —
^ Then press'd that monarch's throne, — a kIng;
As ivild his thoughts, and gay of wing.
As Ede?is g&rden lird.
[x o — ] An hour | pass'd on : — [I u] the Turk awoke ; —
[° — ] That bright dream II [^J was his last ; —
He woke — to hear his sentrifs shriek,
[I I ° ° u] " To ARMS ! they cbine : the Greek ! the GR^EK !"
He woke — [q] to d'ie II midst ^d?rte and smoke,
And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke.
And death-shots | falling thick ' and fast |
As lightyiings ' from the mountain clmid ;
< And heard, with voice as trumpet loud,
< Bozzaris \ cheer his band; —
[I I ° u] " Strike — till the last arm'd foe ' expires,
STRIKE — for your altars ' and jonx fires,
STRIKE — for the green graves of your sires,
G6d, — and your native lInd ! "
[I] They fought, like brave men, I67ig ' and lokll,
They piled that ground with Moslem sld,in;
< They conquered ; — [x ^ — ] but Bozzaris \ fell.
Bleeding ' at every vein.
[x°— ] His few I surviving comrades II saw
His smile, when rang their proud hurrXh,
And the red field ' was won;
[xx , = ] Then saw | in death ' his eyelids close \
Calmly, as to a nighVs repose,
hike Jlowers ' at set of smw.
[x ao — ] Come to the bridal chamber, Death !
Come to the mother, when she feels.
For the Jirst time, her first born's breath; —
Come ' when the blessed seals '
164 AMEniCAN COMMON-SCHOOL [pART 11.
Which close the phtileyice \ are hrSke,
< And crowded cities \ wail its stroke ; —
Come I in Consiimptio7i's ghastly form,
[I] The earthquake shock, the ocean storm : —
Come I when the heart ' beats high ' and warm,
Witn bdnquet-song, and d&7ice, and imne, —
[Xqo— ] And thon art terrible : the tiiar.
The groan, the knell, the pall, the ife?',
And all we know, or d.ream, ox fear '
Of agony, are thine.
[I ° u] But to the HERO, — when his sword
Has 7von the battle for the/?-t'e, —
Thy voice | sounds like a prophefs word,
And ' in its hollow tones \ are heard
The thanks of millions | yet to he.
[x o — ] Bozzdris ! with the storied Zirave '
Greece nurtured in her glory^s time,
U^^i thee : — there is no prouder grave,
Even in her dw7i proud cltjne.
We tell thy doom ' without a sigh ;
PI ii For tho2i art Freedom's now, and Fame's, —
L '-' One of the few, the immortal names,
That Avere not born to die.
lesson lui. — WATERLOO. — Byrou.
[Marked as Lesson LII.]
[" — ]. There was a sound ' of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital II had gather'd ' then [
< Her beauty ' and her chivalry ; and bright '
< The lamps ' shone | o'er fair women \ and brave mhn :
[I *] A thousand hearts I beat happily, and when
[x] < Music ' arose ' with its voluptuous swill,
Soft eyes | look'd love i to eyes which spake agam ;
• <: And all ' went merry as a marriage-bkll :
[Xqu] But hush! HARK! — a deep sound \ strikes ' like a
[a. 5'.] rising knell !
[I " u] Did ye not hear it ? [I — ] N6 ; 't was but the tvind,
Or the car | rattling o'er the stony street ;
On with the dance .' ]oX jnjj ' be tcnconfined;
< No sleep till morn, when Youth ' and PUasure ' meet,
< To chase the glotving hours ' ■with, flying f^et —
TART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 1^
[x o u] But hA.rk ! — that heavy soujid \ breaks in ' orice more,
-< As if the clouds II its echo ' would repeat ;
< And nearer., clearer, deadlier than before !
[11**° ou] Arm ! — ARM ! — [| o— ] it h, — it is, — the cannon's open-
la. J.] ing roar !
[ ] Within a windowed niche of that high hall II
Sat Briinsurick's fated chieftain; he did hear '
That sound ' i\\e first \ amidst the festival,
And caught its toiie ' with death's prophetic ear ;
And when they smiled ' because he deem'd it near,
His heart \ more truly kneio that peal ' too well II
Which stretched \)\?, father ' on a bloody bier,
< And roused the vengeance \ blood ' alone ' would
quell :
< He rush'd into the field, and, fdre7nost fighting, fell.
[x o u] Ah ! then ' and there ' was hurrying to and fro,
[a. g.] And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress,
And cheeks all p&le, which | but an hour ago II
Bliish'd ' at the praise of their oion loveliness ;
And there were sicdden pdrtirigs, such as press
The life I from out young hearts, and choking sighs I'
[o ~] Which 7ie'er might be repeated ; loho could guess II
If ever more ' should meet ' those mutual eyes,
[boo=] Since upon night ' so sweet, such awful morn \ could
rise !
[I o u] And there was mounting ' in hot haste ; the st^ed,
The mustering sqtiadroyi, and the clattering c&r,
VI em pouring forward ' with impetuous spied,
And sioiftly forming ' in the ranks of war :
[I o — ] -^"d the deep thunder, peal on peal ' afar ;
And near, the beat of the alarming drum \
[I u] Boused up the soldier ' ere the morning-star ;
[x " u] While thronged the citize?is | with terror dumb,
Or whimpering II with white lips ' [°] "The foe ' Thev
[a. q.] c6me, they c6ME !"
[!*•] And vnld l and high | the "Cameron's gathering '^
rose !
[;7M. ?.] The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills \
Have Aear^Z II and Aear^i, <oo, have her Saxon foes;
[I o — ] How ' in the noon of night ' that pibroch ' thrills.
Savage \ and shrill ! But with the breath which fills '
< Their mount aiji-jnpe, so fill the mountaineers |
156 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PABT 11
-c With [ho Jicrce native daring II which instils |
< The stirring memory ' of a thousand yhars ;
[II o u] •A^^'i Evan's, Donald's fame II rings | in each clans
man's ears !
[Xo — ] And Ardennes* ' waves above them ' her green
leaves, —
p, -, Dewy, with nature's tear-drops, — as they pdss,
LP • -J Grieviyig, — if anght inanimate ' e'er grieves, —
Over the unreturning brave, — [qq] aids!
Ere evening ' to be trodden like the grass II
Which noio ' beneath them, but above ' shall grow,
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass | <;
-ez Oi living valor \ [u] rollijig on the_/oe,
< [u] And burni7ig with high hope, [x qq =] shall moulder '
cold I and Ibiv. >
[ ] Last noon II beheld them full of lusty life,
\\jt\ Last eve II in beauty's circle ' proudly gay,
< The midnight \ brought the signal sound of strife,
< The morn W the marshalling in drw5, — the d&y II
< Battle's magnificently stern array !
[x o — ] The thunder-clouds \ close o'er it, which ' when rSnt,
The earth \ is cover'd thick \ with o^Aer clay,
[x oo = ] \VTiich her own clay shall cover, heap'd and ^j^ra^,
Rider and horse, — friend, foe, — in one ' red ' burial <
' blent.
LESSON Liv. — PRUSSIAN BATTLE HYMN. — Translated from
KornerA
[Marked as Lesson LII.]
[x o — ] Father of earth ' and heaven ! I call Thy ndme !
< Round me the smoke ' and shout ' of battle | r61I ;
[I — ] My eyes \ are dazzled | with the rustling flhme ;
[x o — ] Father, sustain, an untried soldier's sowZ.
[I — ] Or life, or death, whatever be the goal |
That cro/wi-w | ox closes round ' this struggling hour,
Thou knowest, if ever | from my spirit ' stole '
One ' deeper prayer, 't was | that no cloud ' might
lower '
On my ijoung fame .' — [I ^ — ] Oh ! hear ! God oi eter-
nal puiver !
* Pronounced Arden.
I The in this word has no correspondent sound in English : it
is nearly, as the French au.
PAET II.] READEK AND SPEAKER. 167
[— ] God ! Thou art merciful. — The wintry storm,
The cloud | that pours the thunder ' from its
womb, __
But show the sterner grandeur of Thy f5rm ;
< The lightnings, glancing through the midnight
gloom,
[x o — ] To Faith's raised eye ' as calm, as lovely come,
As splendors of the autumnal ' evening star,
[xx ° — ] As roses | shaken by the breeze's pliime,
When I like cool incense \ comes the deivy dir.
And on the golden ivdve, the sim-set \ burns afar.
[Iq— ] God I Thou art mighty I — At thy footstool bound,
Lie gazing to thee, Chance, and JAfe, and Death;
<: Nor in the Angel-circle \ flaming round,
< Nor in the million worlds \ that blaze beneath,
< Is one I that can withstand Thy wrath's hot breath.
Wb \ in Thy yro<<;« — in Thy smile | victory I
[oo] Hear my last "prayer ! — I ask no mortal wreath ;
[I] Let but these eyes my rescued country see,
[o] Then tcike my spirit, All Omnipotent, to Thee.
[11° u] Now for the fight ! — now for the cannon-peal ! —
Forward ! — through blood, and toil, and cloud,
and fire !
]' Glorious ' the shout, the shock, the crash of steel,
The volley's roll, the rocket's blasting spire !
They shake, — like broken lodves \ their squares
retire.
■ ON them HUSSARS ! — Noio ' give them rein ' and
HEEL !
Think of the orphaned child, the murdered sire :—
Earth ' cries for blood, — in THtlNDER ' on them
wheel !
[| o — ] This hour II to Europe's fate II shall set the triumph-
seal !
LESSON LV. BERNARDO DEL CARPIO. MrS. Hcmans.
[This, and whatever other lessons the teacher thinks proper to select,
may be marked, by the reader, as Lesson LIT.]
The celebrated Spanish champion, Bernardo del Carpio, liaving made
many inefTectual efforts to procure the release of his father, the Count
Saldana, who had been imprisoned by King Alfonso of Asturias,
almost from the time of Bernardo's birth, at last took up arms in
despair. The war which lie maintained, proved so destructive, that the
men of the land gathered round the king, and united in demanding
li
158 AMERICAN UOMMON-SCHOOL [I'ART 11.
Saldana's liberty. Alfonso accordingly offered Bernardo immediate
possession of his father's person, in exchange for his castle at Carpio.
j3emardo, without hesitation, gave up his strong hold, with all his
captives, and being assured that liis father was then on his way from
prison, rode forth with the king to meet him. "And when he saw his
father approaching, he exclaimed," says the ancient chronicle, "Oh!
God, is the Count Saldana indeed coming ? " " Look where he is,"
replied the cruel king, "and now go and greet him, whom you haye
so long desired to see." — Tlie remainder of the story M'ill be found re-
lated in the ballad. Tlie chronicles and romances leave us nearly in
the dark, as to Bernardo's future history after this event, with the ex-
ception of the final interview in which he renounced his allegiance
to the king.
The warrior bowed his crested head, and tamed his heart of fire,
And sued the haughty king to free his long-imprisoned sire ;
" I bring thee here my fortress-keys, I bring my captive train,
Ipledgetheefaith,my liege, my lord !— Oh ! break my father's chain!"
" Rise, rise ! even now thy father comes, a ransomed man this day :
Mount thy good horse ; and thou and I will meet him on his way."—
Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his steed.
And urged, as if with lance in rest, tlie charger's foamy speed.
And lo ! from far, as on they pressed, there came a glittering band.
With one that 'midst them stately rode, as a leader in the land ;
— " Now haste, Bernardo, haste ! for there, in very truth, is he.
The father whom thy faithful heart hath yearned so long to see."
His dark eye flashed, — his proud breast heaved, — his cheek's hue
came and went, —
He reached that gray-haired chieftain's side, and there dismounting
bent,
A lowly knee to earth lie bent, his father's hand he took —
What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit shook 1
That hand was cold, — a frozen thing, — it dropped from his like lead, —
He looked up to the face above, — the face was of the dead,
A plume waved o'er the noble brow, — the brow was fixed and white ; —
He met at last his father's eyes, — but in them was no sight !
Up from the ground he sprang and gazed ; — but who could paint that
gaze 1
They hushed their very hearts, that saw its horror and amaze : —
They might have chained hiin, as before that stony form he stood ;
For the power was stricken from his arm, and from his lip the blood.
"Father !" at length he murmured low, and wept like childhood then-
Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of warlike men !
He thought on all his glorious hopes, and all his young renown,—
He flung his falchion from his side, and in the dust sat down.
Then covering wiili his steel-gloved hands his darkly mournful brow,
" No more tliorc i:- no uiore." lie said, " to lift the sword for now,—
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 159
My king is false, my hope betrayed ! My father — oh ! the worth,
The glory, and the loveliness, are passed away from earth !
"I thought to stand where banners waved, my sire ! beside thee yet ! —
I would that there our kindred blood on Spain's free soil had met !—
Thou wouldst have known my spirit, then ; — for thee my fields
were won ;
And thou hast perished in thy chains, as though thou hadst no son !"
Then starting from the ground once more, he seized the monarch's rein,
Amidst the pale and wildered looks of all the courtier train ;
And with a fierce, o'ennastering grasp, the rearing war-horse led,
And sternly set them face to face, — the king before the dead : —
" Came I not forth upon thy pledge, my father's hand to kiss?
— Be still, and gaze thou on, false king ! and tell me what is this?
The voice, the glance, the heart I sought, — give answer, where are
they?
— ^If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, send life through this cold
clay!
" Into these glassy eyes put light, — be still ! keep down thin& ire, —
Bid these white lips a blessing speak, — this earth is not my sire : —
Give me back him for whom I strove, for whom my blood was shed, —
Thou canst not? — and a king ! — his dust be mountains on thy headi"
He loosed the steed, — his slack hand fell ; — upon the silent face
He cast one long, deep, troubled look, then turned from that sad
place :
His hope was crushed, his after-fate untold in martial strain : —
His banner led the spears no more, amidst the hills of Spain.
LESSON LVl. WILLIAM KIEFT. — W^ASHINGTON IRVING.
Wilhelmus Kieft was in form, features, and character,
the very reverse of Wouter Van Twiller, his renowned
predecessor. He was of very respeclable descent, his fa-
ther being inspector of windmills, in the ancient town of
Saardam ; and our hero, we are told, made very curibus
5 investigations into the nature and operations of those ma-
chines, when a boy, which is one reason why he after-
wards came to be so ingenious a governor. His name,
according to the most ingenious etymologists, was a cor-
ruption of Kyver, that is to say, wrangler or scolder, and
10 expressed the hereditary disposition of his family; which,
for nearly two centuries, had kept the Avindy town of
Saardam in hot water, and produced more tartars and
brimstoiirs, than any ten familios in thf> place; — and so
MO A.MEKICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PABT II.
truly did Wilhclinus Kioft inherit this family endo\yihent,
that he had scarcely been a year in the discharge of his
government, before he was universally known by the ap-
pellation of William, the Tksty.
5 He was a brisk, waspish, little old gentleman, who had
dried and withered away, partly through the natural pro-
cess of years, and partly from being parched and burnt up
by his fiery soul ; which blazed like a vehement rushlight
in his bosom, constantly inciting him to most valorous
10 broils, altercations, and misadvSfttures. I have heard it
observed, by a profound and philosophical judge of human
nature, that if a woman waxes fat, as she grows old, the
tenure of her life is verj^ precarious, but if happily she
withers, she lives forever. — Such likewise was the case
15 with William, the Testy, who grew tougher in pioportion
as he dried. He was some such a little Dutchman, as we
may now and then see stumping briskly about the streets
of our city, in a broad-skirted coal, with huge buttons, an
old-fashioned cocked hat stuck on the back of his head,
20 and a cane as high as his chin. His visage was broad,
and his features sharp, his nose turned up with the most
petulent curl ; his cheeks were scorched into a dusky red,
— doubtless in consequence of the neighborhood of two
fierce little gray eyes, through which his torrid soul
25 beamed with tropical fervor. The corners of his mouth
were curiously modelled into a kind of fretwork, not a
little resembling the wrinkled proboscis of an irritable pug
dog; — in a word, he was one of the most positive, restless,
ugly, little men, that ever put himself in a passion about
30 nothing.
Such were the personal endowments of William, the
Testy ; but it was the sterling riches of his mind, that
raised him to dignity and power. In his youth, he had
passed, with great credit, through a celebrated academy at
35 the Hague, noted for producing finished scholars, with a
despatch unequalled, except by certain of our American
colleges. Here he skirmished very smartly, on the fron-
tiers of several of the sciences, and made so gallant an
inroad in the dead langi;ages, as to bring off" captive a
40 host of Greek nouns and Latin verbs, together with divers
pithy saws and apothegms, all which he constantly paraded
in conversation and writing, with as much vain-glory
as would a triumphant general of yore display the spoils
of the co\intries he had ravaged.
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 161
It is in knowledge, as in swimming' ; he who oste"!!-
tatiously sports and flounders on the surface, makes more
noise and splashing, and attracts more attention, than the
industrious pearl diver, who plunges in search of trea-
5 sures at the bottom. The " universal acquirements" of
William Kieft were the subject of great marvel and ad-
miration among his countryman, — he figured about at the
Hague, with as much vain-glory, as does a profound Bonze
at Pekin, who has mastered half the letters of the Chinese
10 alphabet ; and, in a word, was unanimously pronounced
a universal genius I — I have known many universal ge-
niuses in my time ; though, to speak my mind freely, I
never knew one, who, for the ordinary purposes of life,
was worth his weight in straw ; — but, for the purposes of
lo government, a little sound judgment, and plain common
sense, is worth all the sparkling genius that ever wrote
poetry, or invented theories.
LESSON LVII. PALMYRA. WILLIAM WARE.
Letter from a Roman nobleman, resident at Palmyra.
If the gods, dear Marcus and Lucilia, came down to
dwell upon earth, they could not but choose Palmyra for
their seat, both on account of the general beauty of the
city and its surrounding plains, and the exceeding sweet-
5 ness and serenity of its climate. It is a joy here only to
sit still and live. The air, always loaded with perfume,
seems to convey essential nutriment to those vi^ho breathe
it ; and its hue, especially when a morning or evening sun
shines through it, is of that golden cast, which, as poets
10 feign, bathes the top of Olympus.
Never do we tremble here before blasts like those which
from the Apennines sweep along the plains and cities of
the Italian coast. No extremes of either heat or cold, are
experienced in this happy spot. In winter, airs, which, in
15 other places, equally far to the north, would come bearing
with them an icy coldness, are here tempered by the vast
deserts of sand, which stretch away in every direction, and
which, it is said, never wdiolly lose the heat treasured up
during the fierce reign of the summer sun. And, in sum-
20 mer, the winds which, as they pass over the deserts, are
indeed like the breath of a furnace, long before they reach
the city change to a cool and refreshing breeze, by travers-
ing, as they do, the vast tracts of cultivated ground, which,
162 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PABT U.
as I have already told you, surround the capital, to a very
great extent on every .sid','.
Palmyra is the very lieaven of the body. Every sense
is fed to the full, with that which it chiefly covets. But
5 when I add to this, tliat its \inrivalled position, in respect
to a great inland traflic, has poured into the lap of its in-
habitants a sudden and boundless flood of wealth, making'
every merchant a prince, you will truly suppose, that
however heartily I extol it for its outward beauties, and
10 all the appliances of luxurjs I do not conceive it very fa-
vorable in its influences upon the character of its pop-
ulation.
Palmyrenes, charming- as they are, are not Romans.
They are enervated by riches, and the luxurious sensual
15 indulgences which they bring along, by necessity, in their
train ; — all their evil power being here increased by the
voluptuous softness of the climate. I do not say, that
all are so. All Rome cannot furnish a woman more
truly Roman than Fausta, nor a man more worthy that
20 name than Gracchus. It is of the younger portion of the
inhabitants I now speak. These are, without exception,
efTeminate. They love their country and their great
queen ; but they are not a defence, upon which in time of
need to rely. Neither do I deny them courage. They
25 want something more vital still, — bodily strength and mar-
tial training. Were it not for this, I should almost fear
for the issue of any encounter between Rome and Pal-
myra.
But, as it is, notwithstanding the great achievements of
30 Odenatus and Zenobia, I cannot but deem the glory of
this state to have risen to its highest point, and even to
have passed it. You may think me to be hasty, in form-
ing this opinion ; but I am persuaded you will agree with
me, when you shall have seen more at length the grounds
35 upon which I rest it, as they are laid down in my last
letter to Portia.
•
LESSON LVIII. BEAUTIES OF NATURE. SAMUEL G. HOWE.
There is nothing in which the goodness of God is more
apparent, than in the unsparing flood of beauty which he
pours out upon all things around us. What is more strik-
ing than the fact, that this beautiful canopy of clouds,
5 which curtain over our globe, when looked down upon
from a mountain-top, or from a balloon, is like a leaden
PART n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 163
lake, without beauty, or even color; it is like the dull
canvass on the reverse of a beautiful picture ; but from
within, — from where God meant man to see it, it is
adorned, beautified, and variegated, in a manner inimi-
5 table by art.
Dainty people cross the seas, to be thrilled by the wild
sketches of Salvator Rosa, or to languish over the soft
tints of Guido ; and the rich man beggars whole villages,
to hang up in his gallery three square feet of the pencil-
10 work of Corregio ; but God hangs up in the summer
evening sky, for the poorest peasant boy, a picture whole
leagues in extent, the tints of which would make Raphael
throw down his pencil in despair ; and when He gathers
together the dark folds of the sky, to prepare the autumn
15 thunder storm. He heaves up the huge clouds into moun-
tain masses, throws them into wild and sublime attitudes,
colors them with the most lowering hues, and forms a
picture which Michael Angelo, with all his genius, could
not copy.
20 The rich man adorns his cabinet with a few costly
works, which hang unchanged for j'^ears, while the poor
man's gallery is not only adorned with pictures that
eclipse the chef (Vauvrps of human genius, but they are
continually changed, and every hour a new one is hung
25 up to his admiring gaze ; for the firmament rolls on, and,
like a great kaleidoscope, at every turn, presents a new
and beautiful combination of light, and shade, and color.
Let not its rich pictures roll away unheeded ; let not its
lessons be lost upon the young ; but let them, in admiring
30 it, know that God's great hand is ever turning it, for the
happiness of all his children.
LESSON LIX. AN INTERESTING ADVENTURE. WILLLA.M J.
SWELLING.
I wandered far into the bare prairie, which was spread
around me like an ocean of snow, the gentle undulations
here and there having no small resemblance to the ground
swell. When the sun took off his night-cap of mist, (for
the morning was cloudy,) the glare of the landscape, or
rather snowscape, was absolutely painful to my eyes; but
a small veil of green crape obviated that difficulty. To-
ward noon I was aware of a bulTulo, at a long distance,
164 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAHT U.
turning up the snow with his nose and feet, and cropping
the withered grass beneath. I always thought it a deed
of mercy to slay such an old fellow, he looks so miserable
and discontented with himself. As to the individual in
5 question, I determined to put an end to his long, turbu-
lent, and evil life. -^
To this eflect, I approached him, as a Chinese malefac-
tor approaches a mandarin, — that is to say, prone, like a
serpent. But the parity only exists with respect to the
10 posture ; for the aforesaid malefactor expects to receive
pain, whereas I intended to inflict it. He was a grim-
looking barbarian, — and, if a beard be a mark of wisdom,
Peter, the Hermit, was a fool to him. So, when I had at-
tained a suitable proximity, I appealed to his feelings with
15 a bullet. He ran, — and I ran ; and I had the best reason
to run, — for he ran after me, and I thought that a pair of
horns might destroy my usual equanimity and equilibri-
um. In truth, I did not fly any too fast, for the old
bashaw was close behind me, and I could hear him
20 breathe. I threw away my gun ; — and, as there was no
tree at hand, I gained the centre of a pond of a few
yards area, such as are found all over the prairies in
February.
Here I stood secure, as though in a magic circle, well
25 knowing that neither pigs nor buffaloes can walk upon
ice. My pursuer was advised of this fact also, and did
not venture to trust himself on so slippery a footing. Yet
it seemed that he was no gentleman ; at least he did not
practise forgiveness of injuries. He perambulated the
30 periphery of the pond, till I was nearly as cold as the ice
under me. It was worse than the stone jug, or the black-
hole at Calcutta. Ah ! thought I, if I only had my gun,
I would soon relieve you from your post.
But discontent was all in vain. Thus I remained, and
35 thus he remained, for at least four hours. In the mean
while, I thought of tlie land of steady habits ; of baked
beans, and pumpkins, and codfish on Saturdays. There,
said I, to myself, my neighbor's proceeding would be
reckoned unlawful, I guess ; for no one can be held in
40 custody without a warrant and sufficient reason. If ever
I get back, I won't be caught in such a scrape again.
"Grief does not last forever ; neither does anger ; — and
my janitor, either forgetting his resentment, which, to say
the truth, was not altogether groundless, or thinking it
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 165
was useless, or tired of his self-imposed duty, or for some
reason or other, bid me farewell with a loud bellow, and
walked away to a little oasis that was just in sight, and
left me to my meditations. I picked up my gun, and fol-
5 lowed. He entered the wood, — and so did I, just in time
to see him fall and expire.
The sun was setting ; and the weather was getting
colder and colder. I could hear the ground crack, and the
trees split, with its intensity. I was at least twenty miles
10 from home; and it behoved me, if I did not wish to "wake
in the morning and find myself dead," to make a fire as
speedily as possible. I now first perceived that, in my
very natural hurry to escape from my shaggy foe, I had
lost the martin-skin, wherein I carried my flint, steel, and
15 tinder. This was of little consequence ; I had often made
a fire by the aid of my gun before, and I drew my knife
and began to pick the flint. Death to my hopes, — at the
very first blow, I struck it ten yards from the lock, and it
was lost forever in the snow.
20 " Well," said I to myself, " I have cooked a pretty kettle
of fish, and brought my calf's head to a fine market.
Shall I furnish those dissectors, the wolves, with a sub-
ject, or shall cold work the same eflect on me that grief
did upon Niobe ? Would that I had a skin like a buf-
25 falo!"
Necessity is the spur, as well as the mother, of invention ;
and, at these last words, a new idea flashed through my
brain like lightning. I verily believe that I took off the
skin of my victim,*n fewer than ten strokes of my knife.
30 Such a hide entirl is no trifle ; it takes a strong man to
lift it ; — but I rolffU the one in question about me, with
the hair inward, and lay down to sleep, tolerably sure that
neither Jack Frost, nor the wolves, could get at me, through
an armor thicker and tougher, than the sevenfold shield
*?5 of Ajax.
Darkness closed in ; and a raven began to sound his
note of evil omen, from a neighboring branch. " Croak on,
black angel, "^id I ; " I have heard croaking before now,
and am not to be frightened by any of your color." Sud-
40 denly a herd of wolves struck up at a distance, probably
excited by the scent of the slain bufijilo. " Howl on," said
I ; " and, being among wolves, I will howl too, — for I like
to be in the fashion : but that shall be the extent of our
intimacy." Accordingly, I uplifted my voice, like a peli-
166 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II.
cau in the wilderness, and gave them back their noise,
with interest. Then I lay down again, and moralized.
This, thought I, is life. What would my poor mother
say, if she were alive nov/? I have read books of advcn-
5 tures, but never read anything like this. I fell asleep,
without farther ado.
LESSON LX. THOi;GnTS ON POLITENESS. GEO. S. IIILLARD.
The common notion about politeness is, that it is a thing
of the body, and not of the mind ; and that he is a polite
man who makes certain motions in a graceful manner, and
at proper times and places. We expect the dancing mas-
5 ter to teach our children " manners," us well as the art of
cutting awkward capers to music. But the truth is, that
we degrade politeness by making it anything less than a
cardinal virtue.
The happiness of life is made up of an infinite number
10 of little things, and not of startling events and great emo-
tions ; and he who daily and hourly diffuses pleasure
around him by kind offices, frank salutations and cheerful
looks, deserves as well of his species, as he, who, neglect-
ing or despising all these, makes up for it by occasional
15 acts of generosity, justice, or benevolence. Besides, the
opportunity of doing great things but rarely occurs, while
a man has some dozens of chances, every day of his life,
to show whether he be polite or not.
A truly polite man must, in the first place, have the gift
20 of good sense, for without that foundation, it is idle to
think of rearing any, even the smallest superstructure-
He must know when to violate that code of conventional
forms, which common consent has established, and when
not ; for it is equally a mark of weakness, to be a slave
25 to these forms, or to despise them. He must have pene-
tration and tact enough, to adapt his conversation and
manner to circumstances and individuals ; for that which
is politeness in the drawing-room, may be downright rude-
ness in the bar-room or the stage-coae^ as well as the
30 converse.
Above all, he must have that enlarged and catholic
spirit of humility, which is the child of self-knowledge,
and the parent of benevolence, (indeed, politeness itself is
merely benevolence, seen through the little end of a spy-
35 glass,) which, not content with bowing low to this rich
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 167
man or that fine lady, respects the rights, and does justice
to the claims, of every member of the great human family.
As for the fastidious and exclusive persons, who look
down upon a man created and upheld by the same power
5 as themselves, and heir to the same immortal destinies,
because he does not dress in a particular style, or visit in
certain houses, they are out of the question. If they are
too weak to perceive the grotesque absurdity of their own
conduct, they have not capacity enough to master the al-
10 phabet of good manners. If angelic natures be susceptible
of ludicrous emotions, we know of nothing more likely to
call them forth, than the sight of an insect inhabitant of
this great ant-hill, assuming airs of superiority over hi^5
brother emmet, because he has a few more grains of bar ■
15 ley in his granary, or some other equally cogent reason.
LESSON LXI. — SAME SUBJECT CONCLUDED. ID.
Of the gentlemen, young and old, whiskered and un-
whiskered, that may be seen in Washington street any
sunshiny day, there is not one who does not think himself
a polite man, and who would not very much resent, any
5 insinuation to the contrary. Their opmion is grounded
on reasons something like the following. When they go
to a party, they make a low bow to the mistress of the
house, and then look round after somebody that is young
and pretty to make themselves agreeable to.
10 At a ball, they will do their utmost to entertain their
partner, unless the fates have given them to some one
who is ugly and awkward ; and they will listen to her re-
marks with their most bland expression. If they are invited
to a dinner party, they go in their best coats, praise their
15 entertainer's wine, and tell the lady they hope her chil-
dren ^re all well. If they tread on the toes of a well-
dressed person, they will beg his pardon. They never
spit on a carpet ; and, in walking with a lady, they always
give her the inside ; and, if the practice be allowable, they
20 offer her their arm.
So far, very good ; but I must always see a man in
certain situations, before I decide whether he be polite or
not. I should like to sec how he would act, if placed at
dinner between an ancient maiden lady, and a country
25 clergyman with a small salary and a rusty coat, and with
16S AJ^IERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAHT II.
some distinguished person opposite to him. I want to see
him on a liot and dusty day, sitting on the back seat of a
stage-coach, when the driver takes in some poor lone wo-
man, with may be a child in her arms, and tells the gen-
5 tlenien, that one of ihein must ride outside and make room
for her.
I want to be near him, when his washer-woman makes
some very good excuse to him for not bringing home his
clothes at the usual time, or not doing up an article in
10 exactly the style he wished. I want to hear the tone and
emphasis with which he gives orders to servants in steam-
boats and taverns. I mark his conduct, when he is walk-
ing with an umbrella, on a rainy day, and overtakes an
old man, or an invalid, or a decent looking woman, who
15 are exposed, without protection, to the violence of the
storm. If he be in company with those whom he thinks
his inferiors, I listen to hear, if his conversation be entirely
about himself. If some of the number be very distin-
guished, and some quite unknown, I observe whether he
20 acts, as if he were utterly unconscious of the presence of
these last.
These are a few, and but a few, of the tests by which 1
try a man ; and I am sorry to say, there are very few, who
can stand them all. There is many a one who passes in
25 the world for a well-bred man, because he knows when to
bow and smile, that is down in my tablets for a selfish,
vulgar, unpolite monster, that loves the parings of his own
nails better than his neighbor's Mhole body. Put any
man in a situation, where he is called upon to make a sa-
30 crifice of his own comfort and ease, without any equiva-
lent in return, and you will learn the difference between
true politeness, that sterling ore of the heart, and the
counterfeit imitation of it, which passes current in draw-
ing-rooms. Any man must be an idiot, not to be polite in
•^ society, so called; for how else would he get his oysters
and Champagne ?
LESSON LXII. COTTAGE ON THE SWISS ALPS. BUCKMINSTER.
In one of the highest regions of the Swiss Alps, after a
day of excessive labor, in reaching the summit of ou<"
journey, near those thrones erected ages ago for the majes-
ty of Nature, we stopped, fatigued and dispirited, on a spot
5 destined to eternal barrenness, where we found one of
?AET 11.] READER AND SPEAKER. 169
these rude but hospitable inns open to receive us. There
was not another human habitation, within many miles.
All the soil, which we could see, had been brought thither,
and placed carefully round the cottage, to nourish a few
5 cabbages and lettuces. There were some goats, which
supplied the cottagers with milk ; a few fowls lived in the
house ; and the greatest luxuries of the place were new-
made cheeses, and some wild alpine mutton, the rare pro-
vision of the traveller. Yet here Nature-had thrown ofT
10 the veil, and appeared in all her subliiirity. Summits of
bare granite rose all around us. The snow-clad tops of the
distant Alps, seemed to chill the moon-beams that lighted
on them ; and we felt all the charms of the picturesque,
mingled with the awe inspired by unchangeable grandeur.
15 We seemed to have reached the original elevations of the
globe, o'ertopping forever the tumults, the vices, and the
miseries of ordinary existence, far out of hearing of the
murmurs of a busy world, which discord ravages, and
luxury corrupts. We asked for the album, and a large
20 folio was brought to us, almost filled with the scrawls of
every nation on earth that could write. Instantly our
fatigue was forgotten ; and the evening passed away pleas-
antly in the entertainment which this book afforded us.
LESSON LXIU. — PETER STUYVESANT. WASHINGTON IRVING.
Peter Stuyvesant was the last, and; like the renowned
Wouter Van Twiller, he was also the best, of our ancient
Dutch governors : Wouter having surpassed all who pre^
ceded him, and Peter having never been equalled by any
5 successor.
To say merely that he v.'as a hero, would be doing him
great injustice ; — he was in truth a combination of heroes ;
— for he was of a sturdy, raw-bone make, like Ajax Tela-
mon, with a pair of round shoulders that Hercules would
10 have given his hide for, (meaning his lion's hide,) when he
undertook to ease old Atlas of his load. He was, more-
over, as Plutarch describes Coriolanus, not only terrible
for the force of his arm, but likewise of his voice, which
sounded as though it came out of a barrel ; and like the
15 selfsame warrior, he possessed a sovereign contempt for
the sovereign people, and an iron aspect, which was enough
of itself to make the very bowels of his adversaries quake
with terror and dismay.
15
VJjOr AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [pART 11.
All this martial excellency was inexpressibly height-
ened by an accidental advantage, with which I am sur-
prised that neither Homer nor Virgil have graced any of
their heroes. This was nothing less than a wooden leg,
5 which was the only prize he had gained, in bravely fight-
ing the battles of his country, but of which he was so
proud, that he was often heard to declare, he valued it
more, than all his other limbs put together ; indeed, so
highly did he esteem it, that he had it gallantly enchased
10 and relieved with silver devices, which caused it to be
related in divers histories and legends, that he wore a
silver leg. *
Like that choleric warrior, Achilles, he was somewhat
subject to extempore bursts of passion, which were ofttimes
15 rather unpleasant to his favorites and attendants, whose
perceptions he was apt to quicken, after the manner of his
illustrious imitator, Peter ihe Great, by anointing their
shoulders with his walking-staff.
He was, in fact, the very reverse of his predecessors,
20 being neither tranquil and inert, like Walter, the Doubter,
nor restless and fidgeting, like William, the Testy ; but
a man, or rather a governor, of such uncommon activity
and decision of mind, that he never sought or accepted the
advice of others ; depending confidently upon his single
25 head, as did the heroes of yore upon their single arms, to
work his way through all difficulties and dangers. To
tell the simple truth, he wanted no other requisite for a
perfect statesman, than to think always right, for no one can
deny, that he always acted as he thought ; and if he wanted
30 in correctness, he made up for it in perseverance, — an
excellent quality ! since it is surely more dignified for a
ruler to be persevering and consistent in error, than wa-
vering and contradictory, in endeavoring to do what is
right. This much is certain, and, it is a maxim worthy
35 the attention of all legislators, both great and small, who
stand shaking in the wind, without knowing which way
to steer, — a ruler who acts according to his own will, is
sure of pleasing himself, while he who seeks to satisfy
the wishes and whims of others, runs a great risk of
40 pleasing nobody. The clock that stands still, and points
steadfastly in one direction, is certain of being right twice
in the four-and-twenly hours, — while others may keep
going continually, and continually be going wrong.
Nor did this magnanimoiis virtue escape the discern-
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 171
ment of the good people of Nieuw-Nederlandts ;* on the
contrary, so high an opinion had they of the independent
mind and vigorous intellect of their new governor, that
they universally called him Hardkopping Piet,\ or Peter the
5 Headstrong, — a great compliment to his understanding !
If from all that I have said, thou dost not gather, worthy
reader, that Peter Stuyvesant was a tough, sturdy, valiant,
weatherbeaten, mettlesome, obstinate, leathern-sided, lion-
hearted, generous-spirited old governor, either I have writ-
10 ten to but little purpose, or thou art very dull at drawing
conclusions.
LESSON LXIV. QDE ON ART. — CHARLES SPRAGUE.
When, from the sacred garden driven,
Man fled before his Maker's wrath,
An angel left her place in heaven,
* And crossed the wanderer's sunless path.
5 'T was Art I sweet Art ! new radiance broke
Where her light foot flew o'er the ground ;
And thus with sejaph voice she spoke, —
" The Curse a Blessing shall be found."
She led him through the trackless wild,
10 Where noontide sunbeam never blazed ;
. The thistle shrunk, the harvest smiled,
And Nature gladdened, as she gazed.
Earth's thousand tribes of living things,
At Art's command, to him are given ;
15 The village grows, the city springs,
And point their spires of faith to heaven.
He rends the oak, — and bids it ride.
To guard the shores its beauty graced;
He smites the rock, — upheaved in pride,
20 See towers of strength and domes of taste.
Earth's teeming caves their wealth reveal,
Fire bears his banner on the wave,
He bids the mortal poison heal,
And leaps triumphant o'er the grave.
25 He plucks the pearls that stud the deep,
Admiring Beauty's lap to fill ;
He breaks the stubborn marble's sleep.
And mocks his own Creator's skill.
* Pronounced New Nayderldnts. f Pronounced Ptet.
172 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART IL
With thoughts that swell his glowing soul,
He bids the ore illume the page,
And proudly scorning Time's control,
Commerces with an unborn age.
5 In fields of air he writes his name.
And treads the chambers of the sky ;
He reads the stars, and grasps the flame
That quivers round the Throne on high.
In war renowned, in peace sublime,
10 He moves in greatness and in grace ;
His power, subduing space and lime.
Links realin to realm, and race to race.
LESSON LXV. KOBERT BURNS. F. G. HALLECK.
The memory of Burns, — a name
That calls, when brimmed her festal cup,
A nation's glory, and her shame,
In silent sadness up.
5 A nation's glory, — be the rest •
Forgot, — she 's canonized his mind ;
And it is joy to speak the best
We may of human kind.
I 've stood beside the cottage bed
10 Where the Bard-peasant first drew breath
A straw-thatched roof above his head,
A straw-wrought couch beneath.
And I have stood beside the pile,
His monument, — that tells to heaven
15 The homage of earth's proudest isle
To that Bafd-peasant given !
Bid thy thoughts hover o'er that spot,
Boy-Minstrel, in thy dreaming hour ;
And know, however low his lot,
20 A Poet's pride and power.
The pride that lifted Burns from earth,
The power that gave a child of song
Ascendancy o'er rank and birth.
The rich, the brave, the strong ;
25 And if despondency weigh down
Thy spirit's fluttering pinions then,
PART n.] READER AND SPEAKER. iW
Despair : — thy name is written on
The roll of common men.
There have been loftier themes than his,
And longer scrolls, and louder lyres,
5 And lays lit up with Poesy's ^
Purer and holier fires :
Yet read the names that know not death ;
Few nobler ones than Burns are there ;
And few have won a greener wreath
10 Than that which binds his hair.
His is that language of the heart,
In which the answering heart would speak,
Thought, word, that bids the warm tear start.
Or the smile light the cheek ;
15 And his that music, to whose tone
The common pulse of man keeps time,
In cot or castle's mirth or moan,
In cold or sunny clime.
And who hath heard his song, nor kneU
20 Before its spell, with willing knee,
And listen'd, and believed, and felt
The Poet's mastery ?
O'er the mind's sea, in calm and storm.
O'er the heart's sunshine and its showers,
25 O'er Passion's moments, bright and warm.
O'er Reason's dark, cold hours ;
On fields where brave men " die or do,"
In halls where rings the banquet's mirth,
Where mourners weep, where lovers woo,
30 From throne to cottage hearth ;
What sweet tears dim the eyes unshed,
What wild vows falter on the tongue,
When " Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled,"
Or " Auld Lang Syne " is sung !
35 Pure hopes, that lift the soul above.
Come with his Cottar's hymn of praise.
And dreams of youth, and truth, and love,
With " Logan's " banks and braes.
And when he breathes his master-lay
40 Of Alloway's witch-haunted wall,
1.5*
W4 AMERICAN COMMQiJ-SCHOOL [PART ^
All passions in our frames of clay
Come thronging at his call.
Imagination's world of air,
And our own world, lis gloom and glee,
5 Wit, patEo^, poetry, are there,
And death's sublimity.
And Burns, — though brief the race he ran,
Though rough and dark the path he trod, —
Lived, — died, — in form and soul a Man,
10 The imacfe of his God.
LESSON LXVI. THE FUTURE LIFE. W. C. BRYANT.
Lines addressed to a deceased friend.
How shall I know thee in the spljgre which keeps
The disembodied spirits of the dead.
When all of thee that time could wither, sleeps,
And perishes among the dust we tread ?
5 For I shall feel the sting of ceaseless pain,
If there I meet thy gentle presence not;
Nor hear the voice I love, nor read again
In thy serenest eyes the tender thought.
Will not thy own meek heart demand me there ?
iO That heart whose fondest throbs to me were given ?
My name on earth was ever in thy prayer,
Shall it be banished from thy tongue in heaven ?
In meadows fanned by heaven's life-breathing wind
In the resplendence of that glorious sphere,
15 And larger movements of the unfettered mind,
Wilt thou forget the love that joined us here ?
The love that lived through all the stormy past,
And meekly with my harsher nature bore.
And deeper grew, and tenderer to the last,
20 Shall it expire with life, and be no more ?
A happier lot than mine, and larger light.
Await thee there ; for thou hast bowed thy will
In cheerful homage to the rule of right.
And lovest all, and renderest good for ill.
25 For me, the sordid cares in which I dwell,
Shrink and consume the heart, as heat the scroll
PART 11.] READER AND SPEAKER. 176
And wrath hath left its scar, — that fire of hell
Has left its frightful scar upon my soul.
Yet, though thou wear'st the glory of the sky,
Wilt thou not keep the same beloved name,
5 The same fair thoughtful brow, and gentle eye,
Lovelier in heaven's sweet climate, yet the same ?
Shalt thou not teach me, in that calmer home,
The wisdom that I learned so ill in this, —
The wisdom which is love, — till I become
10 Thy fit companion in that land of bliss ?
LESSON LXVII. THE SPIRIT OF POETRY. — H. W. LONGFELLOW.
There is a quiet spirit in these woods.
That dwells wllj6;e'er the south wind blows ;
Where, underneath the white thorn in the glade,
The wild flowers bloom, or, kissing the soft air,
The leaves above their sunny palms outspread.
With what a tender and empassion'd voice
It fills the nice and delicate ear of thought,
When the fast-ushering star of morning comes,
wkp"-riding the^gray hills with golden scarf;
Or when the ofwled and dusky-sandaled Eve,
In mourning weeds, from out the western gate.
Departs with silent pace ! That spirit moves
In the green valley, where the silver brq^ok.
From its full laver, pours the white cascade ;
And, babbling low amid the tangled woods.
Slips down through moss-grown stones with endless laughter..
And frequent, on the everlasling hills.
Its feet go fSVTft,' when it doth wrap itself
In all the dark embroidery of the storm.
And shouts the stern, strong wind. And here, amid
The silent majesty of these deep woods.
Its presence, shan uplift tli^ thoughts from earth.
As to the sunshine, and the pure bright air,
Their tops the green trees lift* Hence gifted bards
Have ever loved the calm and quiet shades.
For them there was an eloquent voice in all
The sylvan pomp of woods, the golden sun,
The flowers, the leaves, the river on its way,
Blue skies, and silver clouds, and gentle winds;
The swolHng upland, where the sidelong sun
176 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART U.
Aslant the wooded slope at evening goes ;
Groves, through whose broken roof the sky looks in ;
Mountain, and shattered cliff", and sunny vale,
The distant lake, fountains, and mighty trees,
5 In many a lazy syllabic, repeating
Their old poetical legends to the wind.
And this is the sweet spirit that doth fill
The world ; and, in those wayward days of youth,
My busy fancy oft embodies it,
10 As the bright image of the light and beauty
That dwell in nature, of the heavenly forms
We worship in our dreams, and the soft hues
That stain the wild bird's wing, and flush the clouds
\Vlien the sun sets. Within her eye
15 The heaven of April, with its changing ligrht,
And when it wears the blue of May, is hwig,
And on her lip the rich red rose. Her hair
Is like the summer tresses of the trees.
When twilight makes them brown, and on her cheek
20 Blushes the richness of an autumn sky,
With ever-shifting beauty. Then her breath.
It is so like the gentle air of Spring, •
As, from the morning's dewy flowers, it cojjnes
Full of their fragrance, that it is a joy
25 To have it round us, and her silver voice
Is the rich music of a summer bird,
Heard in the still night, with its passionate cadence.
LESSON LXVin. THE SOLDIER S WIDOW. N. P. WILL?^.
Woe ! for my vine-clad home !
That it should ever be so dark to me.
With its bright threshold, and its whispering tree '
That I should ever come,
5 Fearing the lonely echo of af tread, *
Beneath the roof-tree of my glorious dead !
Lead on ! my orplltn boy !
Thy home is not so desolate to thee,
And the low shiver in the linden tree
10 May bring to thee a joy ;
But, oh ! how dark is the bright home before thee
To her who with a joyous spirit bore thee !
PART 11.] READER AND SPEAKER. 177
Lead on ! for thou art now
My sole remaining helper. God hath spoken,
And the strong heart I leaned upon is broken;
And I have seen his brow,
5 The forehead of my upright one, and just,
Trod by the hoof of battle to the dust.
He will not meet thee there
Who blessed thee at the eventide, my son !
• . And when the shadows of the night steal on,
10 He will not call to prayer.
The lips that melted, giving thee to God,
Are in the icy keeping of the sod !
Ay, my own boy ! thy sire
Is with the sleepers of the valley cast,
15 And the proud glory of my life hath past,
With liis high glance of fire.
Woe ! that the linden and the vine should bloom,
And a just man be gathered to the tomb I
LESSON LXIX. THE SICILIAN VESPERS. J. G. WHITTIER.
Silence o'er sea and earth
With the veil of evening fell,
Till tiie convent tower sent deeply forth
The chime of its vesper-bell.^
5 One moment, and that solemn sound
Fell heavily on the ear ;
But a sterner echo passed around,
Which the boldest shook to hear.
The startled monks thronged up,
10 In the torchlight cold and dim ;
And the priest let fall his incense cup.
And the virgin hushed her hymn ;
For a boding clash, and a clanging tramp,
And a summoning voice were heard,
15 And fretted wall, and tombstone damp.
To the fearful echo stirred.
The peasant heard the sound,
As he sat beside his hearth ;
And the song and the dance were hushed around,
20 With the fireside tale of mirth.
* The signal adopted by the Sicilians, fur commencing the massacre
of their French conquerors.
178 AMEniCAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II.
Tlie chieftain shook in his bannered hall,
As the somul of war drew nigh ;
And the warder shrank from the castle wall,
As the gleam of spears went by.
5 Woe, woe, to the stranger then.
At the feast and flow of wine,
In the red array of mailed men,
Or bowed at the holy shrine !
For the wakened pride of an injured land • •
10 Had burst its iron thrall ;
From the plumed chief to the pilgrim band ;
Woe, woe, to tlie sons of Gaul !
Proud beings fell that hour,
With the young and passing fair ;
15 And the flame went up from dome and tower
The avenger's arm was there !
The stranger priest at the altar stood,
' And clasped his beads in prayer.
But the holy shrine grew dim with blood, —
20 The avenger found him there !
Woe, woe, to the sons of Gaul,
To the serf and mailed lord !
They were gathered darkly, one and all,
To the harvest of the sword ;
25 And the morning sun, with a quiet smile.
Shone out o'er hill and glen,
On ruined temple and mouldering pile,
And the ghastly forms of men.
Ay, the sunshine sweetly smiled,
30 As its early glance came forth :
It had no sympathy with the wild
And terrible things of earth ;
And the man of blood that day might read.
In a language freely given,
35 How ill his dark and midnight deed
Became the light of heaven.
LESSON LXX. MEXICAN MYTHOLOGY. WM. H. PRESCOTT.
The Aztecs, or ancient Mexicans, had no adequate con-
ception of the true God. The idea of unity, — of a being,
with whom volition is action, who has no need of inferioi
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 179
ministers to execute' his purposes, — was too simple, or too
vast, for their understandings ; and they sought relief, as
usual, in a plurality of deities, who presided over the ele-
ments, the changes of the seasons, and the various occu-
5 pations of man. Of these, there were thirteen principal
deities, and more than two hundred inferior ; to each of
whom some special day, or appropriate festival, was con-
secrated.
At the head of all stood the terrible Mexican Mars ;'^
1ft although it is doing injustice to the heroic war-god of an-
tiquity, to identify him Avith this sanguinary monster.
This was the patron deity of the nation. His fantastic
image was loaded with costly ornaments. His temples
Avere the most stately and august of the public edifices ;
15 and his altars reeked with the blood of human hecatombs,
in every city of the empire. Disastrous, indeed, must
have been the influence of such a superstition on the
character of the people.
A far more interesting personage in their mythology
20 was the godt of the air, a divinity who, during his resi-
dence on earth, instructed the natives in the use of metals,
in agriculture, and in the arts of government. He was
one of those benefactors of their species, doubtless, who
have been deified by the gratitude of posterity. Under
25 him, the earth teemed with fruits and flowers, without the
pains of culture. An ear of Indian corn was as much as
a single man could carry. The cotton, as it grew, took,
of its own accord, the rich dyes of human art. The air
was filled with intoxicating perfumes, and the sweet
30 melody of birds. In short, these were the halcyon days,
which find a place in the mythic systems of so many na-
tions of the Old World. It Avas the golden age pf
Anahuac.
From some cause, not explained, this god incurred the
35 wrath of one of the principal gods, and was compelled to
abandon the country. On his way, he stopped at the city
of Cholula, where a temple Avas dedicated to his worship,
the massy ruins of AA^hich still form one of the most inter-
esting relics of antiquity in Mexico. When he reached
40 the shores of the Mexican Gulf, he took leave of his fol-
lowers, promising, that he and his descendants Avould re-
visit them hereafter, and then, entering his wizard skifT,
* Huitzilopotchli f Quetzalcoall.
ISO ami:kican common-school [part il.
made of serpents' skins, embarked on the great ocean for
the fabled hind of Tlapalhm. He was said to have been
tall in stature, with a while skin, long, dark hair, and a
flowing beard. The Mexicans looked confidently to the
5 return of the benevolent deity ; and this remarkable tra-
dition, deeply cherished in their hearts, prepared the way
for the future success of the Spaniards.
LESSON LXXI. — ORIGIN AND PROGRESS OF LANGUAGB. — ^
SAMUEL G. HOWE.
It is not an unprofitable question to ask, what was the
origin and progress of language ? And the answer must
be, that it is the gradual work of the human race, carried
on through long ages, and not yet finished and perfected.
5 There is no good reason to suppose, that God made any
departure, in the case of language, from that course by
which He governs the universe, and which we call the
iaws of nature ; He never gives us anything outright ; He
endows us with capacities, powers, and desires, and then
10 placing certain desirable objects before us, bids us work to
obtain them.
To say, as some divines do, that it would have been
impossible for man to commence and perfect language, is
to say, that God could not have endowed him with capaci-
15 ties for doing so.
God ha^ so endowed the human race ; He has given
them both the desire and capacity of forming language :
the result of their neglecting these capacities would have
been, and is still, in some cases, that they tarry long in a
20 state of barbarism ; the result of their exercising and im-
proving them in other cases, has been advancement in
every thing which improves and elevates humanity.
If it be said, we are positively told, in the second chap-
ter of Genesis, that, in the very beginning, Adam used
25 language, and named the beasts of the field, I answer, we
must consider the second chapter metaphorical, as we do
the first, where we are told that light, and day and night,
were established on the first day, while the sun and moon
were not brought into existence until the fourth day ; or,
30 if people will insist on rendering some parts literally and
others metaphorically, just as suits them, then I say the
first language was probably very imperfect and merely
elementary; and that one may prove, even from Scripture,
PART II ] READER AND SPEAKER. 181
that man was obliged to worK for his language, as he is
obliged to work for every other good thing.
The confusion of tongues must have amounted virtually
to annihilation of speech ; the sounds which each uttered,
5 were incomprehensible jargon to all the others ; each
knew what he would say, but could make no other under-
stand him ;■ they probably shouted, as we do to deaf peo-
ple, thinking to be better understood, but this only made
the others stop their ears, until at last, losing all patience,
K) they scattered in small groups, or in pairs. After this,
the process of building up language must have been simi-
lar to that which we see infants and children going
through every day.
Suppose two or more to have separated from the rest ;
15 they would cling together ; they would, at first, by rude
sounds and gestures, begin to form a system of signs, by
which they could understand each other ; one, looking to
a fruit, would utter a sound once, perhaps twice, and the
next time the sound was repeated, it would recall the
20 thought of the fruit, and become its name to those two ;
but to other two it would have no meaning, for they had
perhaps in the mean time fixed upon some other sound, as
the sign for the fruit. One, feeling a pain, or a desire,
thirst for instance, would utter a certain sound; this re-
25 peated, would become the sign of that feeling.
After establishing signs for all manner of external
things, by gradual and easy analogy, they would go on
to mental emotions ; they would establish signs for time
past, time present, time to come ; all these at first would
30 have to be made clear by the expression of the features,
by gestures, &c. ; but gradually these gestures would be
dropped, as the conventional meaning of the sounds be-
came established, until at last a purely arbitrary sign, — a
vocal -sound, — a word, — would recall the thought of the
35 object.
LESSON LXXII. ZENOBIA's AMBITION. WILLIAM WARE.
I am charged with pride and ambition. The charge is
true, and I glory in its truth. Who ever achieved any
thing great in letters, arts, or arms, who was not ambi-
tious ? CfEsar Avas not more ambitious than Cicero. It
5 was but in another way. All greatness is born of ambi-
tion. Let the ambition be a noble one, and who shall
blame it? I confess I did once aspire to be queen, not
16
182 AMEHICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAUT U.
only of Palmyra, but of the East. That I am. I now
aspire to remain so. Is it not an honorahle ambition 1
Does it not become a descendant of the Ptolemies and of
Cleopatra ? I am applauded by you all for what I have
5 already done. You would not it should have been less.
But why pause here ? Is so much ambition praisewor-
thy, and more criminal ? Is it fixed in nature that the
limits of this empire should be Egj-pt, on the one hand,
the Hellespont and the Euxine, on the other? Were not
10 Suez and Armenia more natural limits? Or hath empire
no natural limit, but is broad as the genius that can de-
vise, and the power that can win. Rome has the West.
Let Palmyra possess the East. Not that nature prescribes
this and no more. The gods prospering, and I swear not
15 that the Mediterranean shall hem me in upon the west, or
Persia on the east, Longinus is right, — I would that the
world were mine. I feel, within, the will and the power
to bless it, were it so.
Are not my people happy ? I look upon the past and
20 the present, upon my nearer and remoter subjects, and
ask nor fear the answer. Whom have I Avronged ? — what
province have I oppressed ? — what city pillaged ? — what
region drained with taxes ? — whose life have I unjustly
taken, or estates coveted or robbed ? — whose honor have I
25 wantonly assailed ? — whose rights, though of the weakest
and poorest, have I trenched upon ? — I dwell, where I
would ever dwell, in the hearts of my people. It is Avrit-
ten in your faces, that I reign not more over you than
within you. The foundation of my throne is not more
60 power, than love.
Suppose now, mv ambition add another province to our
realm. Is it an evil? The kingdoms already bound to
us by the joint acts of ourself and the late royal Odenatus,
we found discordant and at war. They are now united
35 and at peace. One harmonious whole has grown out of
hostile and sundered parts. At my hands they receive a
common justice and equal benefits. The channels of their
commerce have I opened, and dug them deep and sure.
Prosperity and plenty are in all their borders. The streets
40 of our capital bear testimony to the distant and various
industry which here seeks its market.
This is no vain'boasting: — receive it not so, good friends.
It is but truth. He who traduces himself, sins with him
who traduces nnothcr. He who is unjust to himself, or
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 183
less than just, breaks a law, as well as he who hurts his
neighbor. I tell you what I am, and what I have done,
that your trust for the future may not rest upon ignorant
grounds. If I am more than just to myself, rebuke me.
5 If I have overstepped the modesty that became me, I am
open to your censure, and will bear it.
But I have spoken, that you may know your queen, —
not only by her acts, but by her admitted principles. I
tell you then that I am ambitious, — that I crave dominion,
10 and while I live tvill reign. Sprung from a line of kings,
a throne is my natural seat. I love it. But I strive, too,
— you can bear me witness that I do, — that it shall be,
while I sit upon it, an honored, unpolluted seat. If I can,
I will hang a yet brighter glory around it.
LESSON LXXIII. TRIALS OF THE POET AND THE SCHOLAR.
GEO. S. HILLARD.
In a highly civilized age, the poet finds himself per-
plexed with contradictions which he cannot reconcile, and
anomalies which he cannot comprehend. Coming out
from the soft ideal world, in which he has dreamed away
5 his youth, he is constantly repelled by some iron reality.
The aspect of life to him seems cold, hard and prosaic.
It renews the legend of ffidipus and the Sphinx. With
a face of stone, it propounds to him a riddle, which he
must guess or be devoured. It is an age of frightful ex-
10 tremes of social condition ; of colossal wealth and heart-
crushing poverty ; of courts and custom-houses ; of corn-
laws and game-laws ; of man-traps and spring-guns.
The smoke from the almshouse and the jail, blots the
pure sky. The race of life is not to the swift, nor its bat-
15 tie to the strong. A sensitive conscience, a delicate taste,
the gift of genius, and the ornament of learning, are rather
obstacles, than helps, in the way of what is called success.
Men are turned into petrifactions by the slow-dropping in-
fluences of artificial life. The heroic virtues of the elder
20 age, have vanished with its free speech, and its simple man-
ners. There seems to be no pulse of hearty life in any
thing, whether it be good or bad. Virtue is timid, and
vice is cunning. Love is cold and calculating, and hatred
masks its dagger with a smile.
25 In this world of hollow forms and gilded seeming, thr:
claims of the poet nre unheeded, and his voice unheard.
164 AMERICAN COMMOxN-SCHOOL [PART II.
The gifts which he proffers, are unvalued by those who
have forgotten the drenms of their youth, and wandered
away from tlie primal light of their being. He looks
around him; and the mournful fact presses itself upon his
5 conviction, that there is no cover laid for him at Nature's
table. His very existence seems to him a mistake. And
now begins that fiery struggle in which the temper of his
genius is to be tried, and which moves the deepest springs
of compassion and sympathy, in the hunuin heart.
10 Poetry has invented nothing more pathetic, history has
recorded nothing more sad, than those mournful experi-
ences which are so often the lot of the scholar and the
man of genius. The dethronement of kings, and the beg-
gary of nobles, are less affecting than the wrongs, the sor-
15 rows, the long-protracted trials, the forlorn conditions of
great and gifted minds ; nobles, whose patents are of elder
date than the pyramids, and kings by the anointment of
God's own hand.
What tragedies can be read, in the history of literature,
20 deeper than Macbeth, more moving than Lear,? Milton,
old, poor, and blind, selling Paradise Lost for five pounds;
Dryden beaten by ruffians at the prompting of a worthless
peer, who, in Plato's commonwealth, would have been
changing the poet's plate ; Tasso, a creature as delicately
25 moulded as if, like the Peris, he had fed upon nothing
grosser than the breath of flowers, wearing out the best
years of his life in the gloom of a dungeon ; Racine hur-
ried to his grave by the rebuke of a heartless king ; Chat-
terton, at midnight, homeless and hungry, bathing the
30 unpitying stones of London with the hot tears of anguish
and despair ; Johnson, at the age of thirty-six, dining
behind a screen at the house of Cave, because he was too
shabbily dressed to appear at the table ; Burns taken from
the plough, which he had " followed in glory and in joy
35 upon the mountain side," to gauge ale-firkins, and watch
for contraband tobacco.
LESSON LXXIV. THE YANKEES. — SAMUEL KETTEL.
Vankee-land, or the New England portion of the United
States, does not make a great figrure in the map of the
American Republic ; yet the traveller who leaves it out of
his route, can tell you but little of what the Americans are.
PAHT II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 185
It is in New England that you find Jonathan at home.
In the other states, there is a mixture, greater or less, of
foreign population ; but in New England the population
is homogeneous and native, — the emigrant does not settle
5 there, — the country is too full of people ; while the more
fertile soil of the west holds out superior attractions to the
stranger. It is no lubber-land ; there is no getting half-a-
doUar a day for sleeping, in Massachusetts or Vermont ;
the rocky soil and rough climate of this region, require
10 thrift and industry in the occupant. In the west, he may
scratch the ground, throw in the seed, and leave the rest
to nature ; but here his toil must never be remitted ; and as
valor comes of sherris, so doth prosperitj'' come of industry.
While the Yankees are themselves, they will hold their
15 own, let politics twist about as they will. They are like
cats, throw them up as you please, they will come down
upon their feet. Shut their industry out from one career,
and it will force itself into another. Dry up twenty
sources of their prosperity, and they will open twenty
20 more. They have a perseverance that will never languish,
while any thing remains to be tried ; they have a resolu-
tion that will try any thing, if need be ; and when a Yan-
kee says " I '11 try," the thing is done.
LESSON LXXV. — CUSTOM OF WHITEWASHING. FRANCIS
HOPKINSON.^
My wish is to give you some accjfeunt of the people of
these new State^; but I am far from being qu^ali^fied for
the purpose, having as yet seen little mor^'than the cities
of New Ybr'i and Philadelphia. I have discovered but
5 few natic^nal singukir|ties among them. Their customs
and manr?ers are n^iriy the same with those of England,
which they have long been used to ^opy. For, previous
to the revolfition, the Americarf^were from their infftncy
taught to look up to the English, as patterns of per^^ction
10 in all things. I have observed, however, one cti|(tom,
which, for au^ht I know, is peci[liar to this country : an
account of it will serve to fill up the rem:iinder of this
sheet, and may afford you some amiMscment. '
When a young couple are about to enter the matrimo-
* This piece has been incorrectly a.scribed to the pen of Dr. Frank-
lin. Hopkinson possessed much of that ease and humor, which have
rendered the wr'tiii<?s of the former so universally a<lmired.
J 6^=
186 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART H.
nial state, a never-failing article in the marriage treaty, is,
that the lady shall have and enjoy the free and unmolested
exercise of the rights of whitcwaskijig, with all its cere-
monials, privileges, and appurtenances. A young woman
5 would fore^ the most advantageous connexion, and even
disappoint the warmest wish of her heart, rather than re-
sign the invaluable right. You would wonder what this
privilege of whitewashing is : — I will endeavor to give you
some idea of the ceremony, as I have seen it performed.
10 There is no season of the year, in which the lady may
not claim her privilege, if she pleases; but the latter end
of May is most generally fixed upon for the purpose.
The attentive husband may judge by certain prognostics
when the storm is nigh at hand. When the lady is un-
15 usually fretful, finds fault with the servants, is discon-
tented with the children, and complains much of the filth-
incss of every thing about her, — these are signs which
ought not to be neglected ; yet they are not decisive, as
they sometimes come on, and go off again, without produc-
20 ing any further efTect. But if, when the husband rises in
the morning, he should observe in the yard a wheelbarrow
with a quantity of lime in it, or should see certain buckets
with lime dissolved in water, there is then no time to be
lost ; he immediately locks up the apartment, or closet,
25 where his papers or his private property are kept, and,
putting the key in his pocket, betakes himself to flight;
for a husband, however beloved, becomes a perfect nui-
sance during this season of female rage ; liis authority is
suQ^rseded, his commission is suspeAded ; and the very
30 scullion, who cleans the brasses in the kitoifen, becomes
of more consideration and importance than he. He has
nothing for it but to abdicate, and run from a;i evil which
he can. neither prevent nor mollify.
The husband gone, the ceremony begins. The walls
35 are in a few minutes stripped of their furniture ; paintings,
prints, and looking-glasses, lie in a huddled heap, about
the floors ; the curtains are torn from the testers, the beds
cramiped into the windows ; chairs and tables, bedsteads
and cradles crowd the yard ; and the garden fence bends
40 beneath the weight of carpets, blankets, cloth cloaks, old
coats, and ragged breeches. Here may be seen the lum-
ber of the kitchen, forming a dark and confused mass ; for
the foreground of the picture, gridirons and frying-pans,
rusty shovels and broken tongs, spits and pots, and the
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 187
fractured remains of rush-bottomed chairs. Th'^re, a
closet has disgorged its bowels, cracked tumblers, uroken
wine-glasses, phials of forgotten physic, papers of un-
known powders, seeds and dried herbs, handfuls of old
5 corks, tops of teapots and stoppers of departed decanters ;
— from the rag hole in the garret, to the rat hole in the
cellar, no place escapes unrummaged. It would seem as
if the day of general doom was come, and the utensils of
the house were dragged forth to judgment. In this tem-
10 pest, the words of Lear naturally present themselves, and
might, with some alteration, be made strictly applicable :
"Let the great gods,
That keep this dreadful pother o'er our heads,
Find out their enemies now. Tremble, thou wretch,
1*5 That hast within thee undivulged crimes
Unwhipp'd of Justice !
Close pent-up Guilt,
Raise your concealing continents, and ask
These dreadful summoners grace !"
LESSON LXXVI. — SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED. ID.
This ceremony completed, and the house thoroughly
evacuated, the next operation is to smear the walls and
the ceilings of every room and closet, with brushes dipped
in a solution of lime, called uihitewash ; to pour buckets
5 of water over every floor, and scratch all the partitions
and wainscots with rough brushes, wet with soap-suds,
and dipped in stone-cutter's sand. The windows by no
means escape the general deluge. A servant scrambles
out upon the pent-house, at the risk of her neck, and, with
10 a mug in her hand, and a bucket within reach, she dashes
away innumerable gallons of water against the glass
panes, to the gi"eat annoyance of passengers in the street.
I have been told, that an action at law was once brought
against one of these water-nymphs, by a person who had
15 a new suit of clothes spoiled by this operation ; but, after
a long argument, it was determined by the whole court,
that the action would not lie, inasmuch as the defendant
was in the exercise of a legal right, and not answerable for
the consequences ; and so the poor gentleman was doubly
20 nonsuited ; for he lost not only his .suit of clothes but his
suit at law.
These smearings and scratchings, washings and dash-
ings, being duly performed, the next ceremony is to
18S AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART 11.
cleanse and replace tlio distracted furniture. You may
have seen a hoiirc-raising, or a ship-launch, when all the
hands within reach arc collected together ; recollect, if
you can, the hurry, bustle, confusion, and noise of such a
5 scene, and you will have some idea of this cleaning match.
The misfortune is, that the sole object is to make things
clean ; it matters not how many useful, ornamental, or
valuable articles are mutilated, or suffer death under the
operation ; a mahogany chair and carved frame undergo
10 the same discipline ; they are to be made clean, at all
events ; but their preservation is not worthy of attention.
For instance, a fine large engraving is laid flat upon the
floor ; smaller prints are piled upon it, and the superincum-
bent weight cracks the glasses of the lower tier ; but this
15 is of no consequence. A valuable picture is placed lean-
ing against the sharp corner of, a,taWe ; -olhers are made
to lean against that, until the pres>;ar6 of the whole forces
the corner of the table through ike cantass of the first.
The frame and glass of a fine print are to be cleaned ;
2§ the spirit and oil used on this occasion, are sufTered to
leak through, and spoil the engraving; no matter, — if the
glass is clean, and the frame shine, it is sufficient ; the
rest is not worthy of consideration. An able mathema
tician has made an accurate calculation, founded on long
25 experience, and has discovered that the losses and de-
struction incident to two whitewashings, are equal to one
removal, and three removals equal to one fire.
The cleaning frolic over, matters begin to resume their
pristine appearance. The storm abates, and all would be
30 well again ; but it is impossible that so great a convulsion,
in so small a community, should not produce some further
effects. For two or three weeks after the operation, the
family ,ai;e ;nsually afflicted with.sprp throats or sore eyes,
occasidne'd by the caustic quality "df the'lime, or with se-
35 vere colds, from the exhalations of wet floors or damp
walls. '. ■- i ■ '
LESSON LXXVII. SAME SUBJECT CONCLUDED. ID.
I know a gentleman, who was fond of accounting for
every thing in a philosophical way. He considers this,
which I have called a custom, as a real periodical disease,
peculiar to the climate. His train of reasoning is inge-
nious and whimsical; but I am not at leisure to give you
PABT II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 189
the detail. The resuh was, that he found the distemper to
be incurable ; but, after much study, he conceived he had
discovered a method to divert the evil he could not sub-
due. For this purpose, he caused a small building, about
5 twelve feet square, to be erected in his garden, and fur-
nished with some ordinary r:hairs and tables ; and a few
prints, of the cheapest sort, were hung ag^'^st the walls.
His hope was, that, when the whitewashing frenzy seized
the females of his family, they might repair to this apai
10 ment, and scrub and smear and scour to their hearts' con-
tent ; and so spend the violence of the disease in thi§
outpost, while he enjoyed himself in quiet at head-quar-
ters. But the experiment did not answer his expectation :
it was impossible it should, since a principal part of the
15 gratification consists in the lady's having an uncontrolled
right to torment her husband, at least once a year, and to
turn him out of doors, and take the reins of government
into her own hands.
There is a much better contrivance than this of the
20 philosopher, which is, to cover the Avails of the house
with paper; this is generally done ; and, though it cannot
abolish, it at least shortens, the period of female dominion.
The paper is decorated with flowers of various fancies,
and made so ornamental, that the women have admitted
25 the fashion ■"vitlrout perceiving the design.
There is also another alleviation of the husband's dis-
tress : he generally has the privilege of a small room or
closet for his books and papers, the key of which he is
allowed to keep. This is considered as a privileged place,
30 and stands like the land of Goshen amid the plagues of
Egypt. But then he must be extremely cautious, and
ever on his guard ; for should he inadvertently go' abroad,
and leave the key in his door, the housemaid, who is al-
ways on the watch for such an opportunity, immediately
35 enters in triumph, with buckets, brooms, and brushes ; takes
possession of the premises, and forthwith puts all his books
and papers to rights, — to his utter confusion, and some-
times serious detriment. For instance :
A gentleman was sued by the executors of a tradesman,
40 on a charge found against him in the deceased's books,
to the amount of thirty pounds. The defendant was
strongly impressed with the idea, that he had discharged
the debt, and taken a receipt ; but, as the transaction was
of long standing, he knew not where to find the receipt.
190 AMIiltlCAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II.
The suit went on in course, and the time approached,
when judgment would be obtained against him. He then
sat seriously down to examine a large bundle of old pa-
pers, which he had untied, and displayed on a table, for
5 that purpose. In the midst of his search, he was sudden-
ly called away on business rtf importance ; — he forgot to
lock the door of liis room. Tiie housemaid, who had
been lo»ig looking out for such an opportunity, immedi-
ately entered with the usual implements, and, with great
10 alacrity, fell to cleaning the room, and putting things to
rights. The first object that struck her eye was the con-
fused situation of the papers on the table ; these were
without delay bundled together, as so many dirty knives
and forks ; but in the action, a small piece of paper fell
15 unnoticed on the floor, which happened to be the very re-
ceipt in question ; as it had no very respectable appear-
ance, it was soon after swept out with the common dirt of
the room, and carried in the rubbish-pan into the yard.
The tradesman had neglected to enter the credit in his
20 book ; the defendant could find nothing to obviate the
charge, and so judgment went against him for the debt
and costs. A fortnight after the whole was settled, and
the money paid, one of the children found the receipt
among the rubbish in the yard. .,
25 There is another custom, peculiar to the city of Phila-
delphia, and nearly allied to the former. I mean, that of
washing the pavement before the doors, every Saturday
evening. I, at first, took this to be a regulation of the
police ; but, on further inquiry, find it is a religious rite,
30 preparatory to the Sabbath ; and is, I believe, the only re-
ligious rite, in which the numerous sectaries of this city
perfectly agree. The ceremony begins about sunset, and
continues till about ten or eleven at night. It is very dif-
ficult for a stranger to walk the streets on those evenings ;
35 he runs a continual risk of having a bucket of dirty water
thrown against his legs ; but a Philadelphian born is so
much accustomed to the danger, that he avoids it with
surprising dexterity. It is from this circumstance that a
Philadelphian may be known anywhere by his gait. The
40 streets of New York are paved with rough stones ; these
indeed are not washed ; but the dirt is so thoroughly swept
from before the doors, that the stones stand up sharp am,
prominent, to the great inconvenience of those who are
not accustomed to so rough a path. But habit reconciles
1?ART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 191
every thing. It is diverting enougli to see a Philadel-
phian at New York ; he walks the streets with as much
painful caution as if his toes were covered with corns, or
his feet lamed with the gout ; while a New Yorker, as
5 little approving the plain masonry of Philadelphia, shuf-
fles along the pavement, like a parrot on a mahogany
table.
It must be acknowledged, that the ablutions I have
mentioned, are attended with no small inconvenience ; but
10 the women would not be induced, on any consideration,
to resign their privilege. Notwithstanding this, I can
give you the strongest assurances that the women of
America make the most faithful wives, and the most atten-
tive mothers, in the world; and I am sure you will join
15 me in opinion, that, if a married man is made miserable
only one v>'eek in a whole year, he will have no great
cause to complain of the matrimonial bond.
LESSON LXXVin. — THE FORCE OF CURIOSITY. CHARLES
SPRAGUE.
How swells my theme ! how vain my power I find,
To track the Avindings of the curious mind !
Let aug^t be hid, though useless, nothing boots,
Straightway it must be pluck'd up by the roots.
5 How oft we lay the volume down to ask
Of him, the victim in the Iron Mask ;
The crusted medal rub with painful care,
To spell the legend out, — that is not there ;
With dubious gaze o'er mossgrown tombstones bend
10 To find a name — the herald never penned ;
Dig through the laya-deluged city's breast.
Learn all we can, and wisely guess the rest :
Ancient or modern, sacred or profane.
All must be known, and all obscure made plain ;
15 If 't was a pippin templed Eve to sin,
If glorious Byron drugged his muse with gin ;
If Troy e'er stood, if Shakspeare stole a deer,
If Israel's missing tribes found refuge here;
If like a villain Captain Henry lied,
20 If like a martyr Captain Morgan died.
Its aim oft idle, lovely in its end.
We turn to look, ihcn linger to befriend ;
192 AMKUICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PABT IL
The maid of Eg-ypi thus \yas led to save
A iialion's fuliiri' leader from the wave ;
Now things to hear when erst the Gentiles ran,
Truth closed what Curiosity beafan.
5 How many a noble art, now widely known,
Owes its yountr impulse to this power alone ;
Even in its slightest working we may trace
A deed that changed the fortunes of a race ;
Bruce, banned and hunted on his native soil,
10 With curious eye surveyed a spider's toil ;
Six times the little climber strove and failed ;
Six times the chief before his foes had quailed;
" Once more," he cried, " in thine my doom I read,
Once more I dare the fight if thou succeed ;"
15 'T was done : the insect's fate he made his own :
Once more the battle waged, and gained a throne.
Behold the sick man in his easy chair ;
Barred from the busy crowd and bracing air,
How every passing trifle proves its power
20 To while away the long, dull, lazy hour !
As down the pane the rival rain-drops chase.
Curious he '11 watch to see which wins the race ;
And let two dogs beneath his window fight,
He '11 shut his Bible to enjoy the sight. *
25 So with each newborn nothing rolls the day,
Till some kind neighbor stumbling in his way.
Draws up his chair, the sufferer to amuse,
And makes him happy, while he tells — The News.
The News ! our morning, noon, and evening cry ;
30 Day unto day repeats it till we die.
For this the cit, the critic, and the fop.
Dally the hour away in Tensor's shop ;
For this the gossip takes her daily route,
And wears your threshold and your patience out;
^5 For this we leave the parson in the lurch,
And pause to prattle on the way to church ;
Even when some coffined friend we gather round.
We ask, " What news ? " — then lay him in the ground ;
To this the breakfast owes its sweetest zest,
40 For this the dinner cools, the bed remains unpressed.
'■*x
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 193
LESSON LXXIX. THE WINDS. W. C. BRYANT.
Ye winds, ye unseen currents of the air,
Softly ye plaj^ed a few brief hours ago ;
Ye bore the murmuring bee ; ye tossed the hair
O'er maiden cheelis, that took a fresher glow ;
5 Ye rolled the round white cloud through depths of blue ;
Ye shook from shaded flowers the lingering dew ;
Before you the catalpa's blossoms flew,
Light blossoms, dropping on the grass like snow.
How are ye changed ! Ye take the cataract's sound ;
10 Ye take the whirlpool's fury and its might;
The mountain shudders as ye sweep the ground;
The valley woods lie prone beneath your flight.
The clouds before you shoot like eagles past;
The homes of men are rocking in your blast ;
15 Ye lift the roofs like autumn leaves, and cast.
Skyward, the whirling fragments out of sight.
The weary fowls of heaven make wing in vain,
To scape your wrath ; ye seize and dash them dead.
Against the earth ye drive the roaring rain ;
20 The harvest field becomes a river's bed ;
And torrents tumble from the hills around ;
Plains turn to lakes, and villages are drowned ;
And wailing voices, midst the tempest's sound,
Rise, as the rushing waters swell and spread.
25 Ye dart upon the deep ; and straight is heard
A wilder roar ; and men grow pale, and pray :
Ye fling its floods around you, as a bird
Flings o'er his shivering plumes the fountain's spray.
See ! to the breaking mast the sailor clings ;
30 Ye scoop the ocean to its briny springs.
And take the mountain billow on your wings.
And pile the wreck of navies round the bay.
Why rage ye thus ? — no strife for liberty
Has made you mad ; no tyrant, strong through fear,
35 Has chained your pinions till ye wrenched them free,
And rushed into the unmeasured atmosphere :
For ye were born in freedom where ye blow ;
Free o'er the mighty deep to come and go ;
Earth's solemn woods were yours, her wastes of snow,
40 Her isles where summer blossoms all the year.
17
194 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PABT IL
ye wild winds ! a mightier Power than yours
In chains upon the shore of Europe lies ;
The sceptred throng, whose fetters he endures,
Watch his mute throws with terror in their eyes ;
5 And armed warriors all around him stand,
And, as he struggles, tighten every band.
And lift the heavy spear, with threatening hand,
To pierce the victim, should he strive to rise.
Yet oh ! when that wronged Spirit of our race,
10 Shall break, as soon he must, his long-worn chains
And leap in freedom from his prison-place.
Lord of his ancient hills and fruitful plains,
Let him not rise, like these mad winds of air,
To waste the loveliness that time could spare,
"•S To fill the earth with woe, and blot her fair
Unconscious breast with blood from human veins.
But may he like the Spring-time come abroad,
Who crumbles winter's gyves with gentle might,
When in the genial breeze, the breath of God,
20 Come spouting up the unsealed springs to light ;
Flowers start from their dark prisons at his feet.
The woods, long dumb, awake to hymnings sweet.
And morn and eve, whose glimmerings almost meet.
Crowd back to narrow bounds the ancient night.
LESSON LXXX. DAYBREAK. RICHARD H. DANA, SEN.
"The Pilgrim they laid in a large upper chamber, whose window
opened towards the sun rising : the name of the chamber was
Peace j where he slept till break of day, and then he awoke and
sang." — The Pilgrim's Progress.
Now, brighter than the host that all night long.
In fiery armor, up the heavens high
Stood watch, thou comest to wait the morning's song.
Thou comest to tell me day again is nigh.
5 Star of the daAvning, cheerful is thine eye ;
And yet in the broad day it must grow dim.
Thou seem'st to look on me, as asking why
My mourning eyes with silent tears do swim ;
Thou bid'st me turn to God, and seek my rest in Him.
10 "Canst thou grow sad," thou say'st, "as earth grows
bright ?
And sigh, wlien little birds begin discourse
PART n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 195
In quick, low voices, ere the streaming light
Pours on their nests, as sprung from day's fresh source !
With creatures innocent thou must perforce
A sharer be, if that thine heart be pure.
5 And holy hour like this, save sharp remorse,
Of ills and pains of life must be the cure.
And breathe in kindred calm, and teach thee to endure."
I feel its calm. But there 's a sombrous hue
Along that eastern cloud of deep, dull red ;
10 Nor glitters yet the cold and heavy devir ;
And all the woods and hilltops stand outspread
With dusky lights, which warmth nor comfort shed.
Still, — save the bird that scarcely lifts its song, —
The vast world seems the tomb of all the dead, —
15 The silent city emptied of its throng.
And ended, all alike, grief, mirth, love, hate, and wrong.
But wrong, and hate, and love, and grief, and mirth,
Will quicken soon ; and hard, hot toil and strife.
With headlong purpose, shake this sleeping earth
20 With discord strange, and all that man calls life.
With thousand scattered beauties nature 's rife.
And airs, and woods, and streams breathe harmonies ;
Man weds not these, but taketh art to wife ;
Nor binds his heart with soft and kindly ties :
25 He feverish, blinded, lives, and, feverish, sated, dies.
And 't is because man useth so amiss
Her dearest blessings, Nature seemeth sad ;
Else why should she in such fresh hour as this
Not lift the veil, in revelation glad,
30 From her fair face ? It is that man is mad !
-v: Then chide me not, clear star, that I repine
When Nature grieves : nor deem this heart is bad.
Thou look'st towards earth ; but yet the heavens are thine,
While I to earth am bound : When will the heavens be
mine ?
35 If man would but his finer nature learn.
And not in life fantastic lose the sense
Of simpler things ; could Nature's features stern
Teach him be thoughtful ; then, with soul intense,
I should not vearn for God to take me hence,
196 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II.
But bear my lot, albeit in spirit bowed,
Reincmborin<i; lunubly why it is, and whence :
But when I see cold man, of reason proud.
My solitude is sad, — I 'm lonely in the crowd.
5 But not for this alone, the silent tear
Steals to mine eyes, while looking on the morn,
Nor for this solemn hour: fresh life is near;
But all my joys ! they died when newly born.
Thousands will wake to joy; while I, forlorn,
10 And, like the stricken decr^ with sickly eye,
Shall see them pass. Breathe calm, — my spirit's torn;
Ye holy thoughts, lift up my soul on higli !
Ye hopes of things unseen, the far-ofT world bring nigh !
And when I grieve, oh ! rather let it be
15 That I, whom Nature taught to sit with her
On her proud mountains, by her rolling sea ;
Who, when the winds are up, with mighty stir
Of woods and waters, feel the quickening spur
To my strong spirit ; who, as mine own child,
20 Do love the flower, and in the ragged bur
A beauty see ; that I this mother mild
Should leave, and go with care, and passions fierce and
wild !
How suddenly that straight and glittering shaft
Shot 'thwart the earth ! In crown of living fire
25 Up comes the Day ! As if they conscious quaffed
The sunny flood, hill, forest, city, spire
Laugh in the wakening light. Go, vain Desire !
The dusky lights have gone : go thou thy way !
And pining Discontent, like them, expire!
30 Be called my chamber. Peace, when ends the day;
And let me with the dawn, like Pilgrim, sing and pray !
LESSON LXXXI. THE LIGHT OF HOME. MRS. S. J. HALE.
My boy, thou wilt dream the world is fair,
And thy spirit will sigh to roam.
And thou must go ; — but never when there,
Forget the light of home.
Though pleasure may smile with a ray more bright.
It dazzles to lead astray :
?AET II.J READER AND SPEAKER. 197
Like the meteor's flash 't will deepen the night,
When thou treadest the lonely way.
But the hearth of home has a constant flame,
And pure as vestal fire ;
5 'T will burn, 't will burn, forever the same,
For nature feeds the pyre.
The sea of ambition is tempest tost,
And thy hopes may vanish like foam ;
But when sails are shivered and rudder lost,
10 Then look to the light of home.
And there, like a star through the midnight cloud,
Thou shalt see the beacon bright,
For never, till shining on thy shroud.
Can be quenched its holy light.
15 The sun of fame 't will gild the name,
But the heart ne'er felt its ray ;
And fashion's smiles, that rich ones claim,
Are but beams of a wintry day.
And how cold and dim those beams must be,
20 Should life's wretched wanderer come !
But my boy, when the world is dark to thee.
Then turn to the lisfht of home.
LESSON LXXXII. A PSALM OF LIFE. H. W. LONGFELLOW.
WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUN& MAN SAID TO THE FSAXMIST.
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
" Life is but an empty dream ! "
For the soul is dead that slumbers.
And things are not what they seem.
5 Life is real ! Life is earnest !
And the grave is not its goal ;
" Dust thou art, to dust returnest,"
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
10 Is our destined end or way ;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting ;
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
17*
196 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PATIT n
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
5 Be not like dumb, driven cattle !
Be a hero in the strife ! -s^-^
Trust no Future, howc'er pleasant !
Let the dead Past bury its dead !
Act, — act in the living Present !
10 Heart within, and God o'erhead '
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footsteps on the sands of time ;
15 Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
20 With a heart for any fate ;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
^9.
LESSON LXXXIII. TO THE CONDOR. — E. F. ELLET.
Wondrous, majestic bird ! whose mighty wing
Dwells not with puny warblers of the spring ; — •
Nor on earth's silent breast, —
Powerful to soar in strength and pride on high,
5 And sweep the azure bosom of the sky, —
Chooses its place of rest.
Proud nursling of the tempest, where repose
Thy pinions at the daylight's foding close ?
In what far clime of night
10 Dost thou in silence, breathless and alone, —
While round thee swells of life no kindred tone,-
Suspend thy tireless flight ?
The mountain's frozen peak is lone and bare ;
No foot of man hath ever rested there ; —
16 Yet 't is thy sport to soar
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 199
Far o'er its frowning summit ; — and the plain
Would seek to win thy downward wing in vain,
Or the green sea-beat shore.
The limits of thy course no daring eye
5 Has marked ; — thy glorious path of light on high
Is trackless and unknown ;
The gorgeous sun thy quenchless gaze may share;
Sole tenant of his boundless realm of air,
Thou art, with him, alone.
10 Imperial wanderer ! the storms that shake
Earth's towers, and bid her rooted mountains quake,
Are never felt by thee ! —
Beyond the bolt, — beyond the lightning's gleam.
Basking forever in the unclouded beam, —
15 Thy home immensity !
And thus the soul, with upward flight like thine.
May track the realms where heaven's own glories shine,
And scorn the tempest's power ; —
Yet meaner cares oppress its drooping wings ;
20 Still to earth's joys the sky-born wanderer clings, —
Those pageants of an hour !
LXXXIV. A CHILD CARRIED AT/AY BY AN EAGLE.
Professor Wilson.
The great Golden Eagle, the pride and the pest of the
parish, stooped down, and away with something in his
talons. One single sudden female shriek, — and then shouts
and outcries, as if a church spire had tumbled down on a
5 congregation, at a sacrament ! " Hannah Lamond's bairn !
Hannah Lamond's bairn ! " was the loud fast-spreading
cry. " The eagle 's ta'en afT Hannah Lamond's bairn ! "
and many hundred feet were in another instant hurrying
towards the mountain. Two miles, of hill, and dale, and
10 copse, and shingle, and many intersecting brooks, lay be-
tween.; but, in an incredibly short time, the foot of the
mountain was alive with people.
The eyrie was well known, and both old birds were
visible on the rock-ledge. But who shall scale that dizzy
15 cliff, which Mark Sleuart, the sailor, who had been at the
storjaing of many a fort, attempted in vain ? All kept
gazfijg, weeping, wringing of hands in vain, rooted to the
ground, or running back and forwards, like so many ants
200 AiMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II.
essaying their new wings in discomfiture. "What's the
use, — what's the use, — o' any puir human means? We
have no power but in prayer ! " and many knelt down, —
fathers and mothers thinking of their own babies, — as if
5 they would force the deaf heavens to hear!
Hannah Lamond had all this while been sitting on a
rock, with a face perfectly white, — and eyes like those of
a mad person, fixed on the eyrie. Nobody had noticed
her; for strong as all sympathies with her had been at the
10 swoop of the eagle, they were now swallowed up in the
agony of eyesight. " Only last Sabbath was my sweet
wee wean baptized, in the name o' the Father, and the
Soji, and the Holy Ghost !" and, on uttering these words,
she flew off through the brakes, and over the huge stones,
15 up — up — up — faster than ever huntsman ran in to the
death, — fearless as a goat playing among the precipices.
No one doubted, no one could doubt, that she would
soon be dashed to pieces. But have not people who walk
in their sleep, obedient to the mysterious guidance of
20 dreams, climbed the walls of old ruins, and found footing,
even in decrepitude, along the edge of unguarded battle-
ments, and down dilapidated stair-cases, deep as draw-
wells, or coal pits, and returned with open, fixed, and
unseeing eyes, unharmed to their beds, at midnight ? It is
25 all the work of the soul, to whom the body is a slave ; and
shall not the agony of a mother's passion, — who sees her
baby, whose warm mouth had just left her breast, hurried
off by a demon to a hideous death, — bear her limbs aloft
wherever there is dust to dust, till she reach that devour-
30 ing den, and fiercer and more furious far, in the passion
of love, than any bird of prey that ever bathed its beak in
blood, throttle the fiends that with their heavy wings would
fain flap her down the cliffs, and hold up her child, in de-
liverance, before the eye of the all-seeing God !
35 No stop, — no stay, — she knew not that she drew her
breath. Beneath her feet Providence fastened every loose
stone, and to her hands strengthened every root. How
was she ever to descend ? That fear, then, but once crossed
her heart, as up — up — up — to the little image made of her
40 own flesh and blood. " The God who holds me now from
perishing, — will not the same God save me, when my child
is on my bosom ? " Down came the fierce rushing of the
eagles' wings, — each savage bird dashing close to her head,
so that she saw the yellow of their wrathful eyes. All at
PART n.] READER AMD SPEAKER. 201
once they quailed, and Avere cowed. Ygllingf, they flew
off to the stump of an ash jutting out of the cliff, a thousand
feet above the cataract; and the Christian mother falling
across the eyrie, in the midst of bones and blood, clasping
5 her child, — dead — dead — dead , — no doubt, — but unmangled
and untorn, and swaddled up, just as it was, when she laid
it down asleep, among the fresh hay, in a nook of the har-
vest field.
Oh ! what a pang of perfect blessedness transfixed her
10 heart from that faint feeble cry: — "It lives — it lives — it
lives ! " and baring her bosom, with loud laughter, and
eyes dry as stones, she felt the lips of the unconscious inno-
cent once more murmuring, at the fount of life and love !
" Thou great, and thou dreadful God ! whither hast thou
15 brought me, — one of the most sinful of thy creatures ? Oh !
save my soul, lest it perish, even for thy own name's
sake ! O Thou, who diedst to save sinners, have mercy
upon me I "
Cliffs, chasms, blocks of stone, and the skeletons of old
20 trees, — far — far down, — and dwindled into specks, a thou-
sand creatures of her own kind, stationary, or running to
and fro ! Was that the sound of the waterfall, or the faint
roar of voices? Is that her native strath? — and that tuft
of trees, does it contain the hut in which stands the cradle
25 of her child ? Never more shall it be rocked by her foot !
Here must she die, — and when her breast is exhausted,
her baby too ! And those horrid beaks, and eyes, and
talons, and wings, will return ; and her child will be de-
voured at last, even within the dead bosom that can protect
30 it no longer. -^/ (J^
1 /
LESSON LXXXV. SAME SUBJECT CONCLUDED. ID.
Where all this while was Mark Steuart, the sailor? Half
way up the cliffs. But his eye had got dim, and his head
dizzy, and his heart sick ; — and ho who had so often reefed
the top-gallant sail, when at midnight the coming of the
5 gale was heard afar, covered his face with his hands, and
dared look no longer on the swimming heights.
" And who will take care of my poor bod-ridden mother,"
thought Hannah, whose soul, through the exhaustion of
so many passions, could no more retain, in its grasp, that
10 hope which it had clutched in despair. A voice whispered,
"God ! " She looked around, expecting to see an angel ;—
202 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II.
but nothing moved, except a rotten branch, that, under its
own weight, broke ofl" from ilie crumbling rock. Her eye,
— by some secret sympathy of her soul with the inanimate
object, — watched its fall ; and it seemed to stop, not far
6 off, on a small platform.
Her child was bound within her bosom, — she remem-
bered not how or when, — but it was safe ; — and scarcely
daring to open her eyes, she slid down the shelving rocks,
and found herself on a small piece of firm root-bound soil,
10 with the tops of bushes appearing below. With fingers
suddenly strengthened into the power of iron, she swung
herself down by brier, and broom, and heather, and dwarf-
birch. There, a loosened stone leapt over a ledge ; and no
sound was heard, so profound was its fall. There, the
15 shingle rattled down the screes, and she hesitated not to
follow. Her feet bounded against the huge stone that
stopped them, but she felt no pain. Her body was callous
as the cliff.
Steep as the wall of a house, was now the side of the
20 precipice. But it was matted with ivy centuries old, — long
ago dead, and without a single green leaf, — but with thou-
sands of arm-thick stems, petrified into the rock, and cover-
ing it, as with a trellis. She bound her baby to her neck,
and with hands and feet clung to that fearful ladder.
25 Turning round her head and looking dowTi, lo! the whole
population of the parish, — so great was the multitude, on
their knees ! and, hush ! the voice of psalms ! a hymn
breathing the spirit of one united prayer! Sad and solemn
was the strain, — but nothing dirge-like, — breathing not of
30 death, but deliverance. Often had she sung that tune, per-
haps the very words, but them she heard not, — in her own
hut, she and her mother, — or in the kirk, along with all the
congregation. An unseen hand seemed fastening her
fingers to the ribs of iv^y ; and, in sudden inspiration, believ-
35 ing that her life was to be saved, she became almost as
fearless, as if she had been changed into a winged creature.
Again her feet touched stones and earth, — the psalm
was hushed, — but a tremulous sobbing voice was close
beside her, and lo ! a she-goat, with two little kids at her
40 feet. " Wild heights," thought she, " do these creatures
climb; — but the dam will lead down her kid by the easiest
paths, for oh ! even in the brute creatures, what is the holy
power of a mother's love ! " and turning round her head,
she kissed her sleeping baby, and for the first time she
45 wept.
PART II.] HEADER AND SPEAKER. 203
Overhead frovrned the front of the precipice, never
touched before by human hand or foot. No one had ever
dreamt of scaling it ; and the golden eagles knew that Avell
in their instinct, as, before they built their eyrie, they had
5 brushed it with their wings. But all the rest of this part
of the mountain-side, though scarred, and seamed, and
chasmed, was jet accessible ; — and more than one person
in the parish had reached the bottom of the Glead's Cliff.
Many were now attempting it, — and ere the cautious
10 mother had followed her dumb guides a hundred yards,
though am.ong dangers, that, although enough to terrify
the stoutest heart, were traversed by her without a shudder,
the head of one man appeared, and then the head of an-
other ; and she knew that God had delivered her and her
15 child, in safety, into the care of their fellow-creatures.
Not a word was spoken, — eyes said enough, — she
hushed her friends with her hands, — and, with uplifted
eyes, pointed to the guides sent to her by Heaven. Small
green plats, where those creatures nibble the wild-flowers,
20 became now more frequent, — trodden lines, almost as easy
as sheep-paths, showed that the dam had not led her
young into danger ; and now the brush-wood dwindled
away into straggling shrubs ; and the party stood on a little
eminence above the stream, and forming part of the strath.
25 There had been trouble and agitation, much sobbing,
and many tears, among the multitude, while the mother
was scaling the cliffs : — sublime was the shout that echoed
afar the moment she reached the eyrie ;- — then had suc-
ceeded a silence deep as death ; — in a little while arose
30 the hymning prayer, succeeded by mute supplication ; —
the wildness of thankful and congratulatory joy had next
its sway ; — and now that her salvation was sure, the great
crowd rustled like the wind-swept wood. And, for whose
sake, was all this alternation of agony ? A poor, humble
35 creature, unknown to many even by name, — one who had
but few friends, nor v/ished for more, — contented to work
all day, here, — there, — any where, — that she might be
able to support her aged mother and her little child, — and
who on Sabbath took her seat in an obscure pew, set apart
40 for paupers, in the kirfci
204 AMERICAN COMMON-SCIfOOL [PART II.
LESSON LXXXVI. SCENE AT THE DEDICATION OF A HEATHEN
TEMPLE. WILLIAM WARE.
As we drew near to the lofty fabric, I thought that no
scene of such various beauty and magnificence, had ever
met my eye. The temple itself is a work of unrivalled
art. In size, it surpasses any other building of the same
5 kind in Rome, and for the excellence of workmanship, and
purity of design, although it may fall below the standard
of Hadrian's age, yet for a cerlaiu air of grandeur, and
luxuriance of invention, in its details, and lavish profusion
of embellishment in gold and silver, no temple nor other
10 edifice of any preceding age, ever perhaps resembled it.
Its order is Corinthian, of the Roman form, and the en-
tire building is surrounded by its slender columns, each
composed of a single piece of marble. Upon the front is
wrought Apollo surrounded by the Hours. The western
15 extremity is approached by a flight of steps, of the same
breadth as the temple itself. At the eastern, there extends
beyond the walls, to a distance equal to the length of the
building, a marble platform, upon which stands the altar
of sacrifice, and which is ascended by various flights of
20 steps, some little more than a gently rising plain, up which
the beasts are led that are destined to the altar.
When this vast extent of Avail and column, of the most
dazzling brightness, came into view, everywhere covered,
together with the surrounding temples, palaces, and thea-
25 tres, with a dense mass of human beings, of all climes and
regions, dressed out in their richest attire, — music, from in-
numerable instruments, filling the heavens with harmony,
— shouts of the proud and excited poputace, every few mo-
ments, and from diflferent points, as Aurelian advanced,
30 shaking the air with its thrilling din, — the neighing of
horses, the frequent blasts of the trumpet, — the Avhole
made more solemnly imposing by the vast masses of
cloud, which swept ov^er the sky, now suddenly unveiling,
and again eclipsing, the sun, the great god of this idolatry,
35 and from which few could withdraw their gaze ; when, at
once, this all broke upon my eye and ear, I was like a
child who before had never seen aught but his own village,
and his own rural temple, in the efTect wrought upon me,
and the passiveness with which I abandoned myself to the
40 sway of the senses. Not one there was more ravished by
the outward circumstance and show. I thought of Rome's
PART II.J HKADER AND SPEAKER. 205
thousand years, of her power, her greatness, and universal
empire, and, for a moment, my step was not less proud than
that of Aurelian.
But after that moment, — when the senses had had their
5 fill, when the eye had seen the glory, and the ear had fed
upon the harmony and the praise, then I thought and felt
very diflerently ; sorrow and compassion, for these gay
multitudes, were at my heart ; prophetic forebodings of dis-
aster, danger, and ruin to those, to whose sacred cause I
10 had linked myself, made my tongue to falter in its speech,
and my limbs to tremble. I thought that the superstition,
which was upheld by the wealth and the power, whose mani-
festations were before me, had its roots in the very centre
of the earth, — far too deep down, for a few, like myself, ever
15 to reach them. I was like one whose last hope of life and
escape, is suddenly struck away.
LESSON LXXXVII. SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED. ID.
I was roused from these meditations, by our arrival at
the eastern front of the temple. Between the two central
columns, on a throne of gold and ivory, sat the emperor
of the world, surrounded by the senate, the colleges of au-
5 gurs and haruspices, and by the priests of the various
temples of the capital, all in their peculiar costume. Then
Fronto, the priest of the temple, when the crier had pro-
claimed that the hour of worship and sacrifice had come,
and had commanded silence to be observed, — standing at
10 the altar, glittering in his white and golden robes, like a
messenger of light, — bared his head, and lifting his face
up toward the sun, offered, in clear and sounding tones, the
prayer of dedication.
As he came toward the close of his prayer, he, as is so
15 usual, with loud and almost frantic cries, and importunate
repetition, called upon the god to hear him, and then, with
appropriate names and praises, invoked the Father of gods
and men, to be present and hear. Just as he had thus
solemnly invoked Jupiter by name, and was about to call
20 on the 8ther gods in the same manner, the clouds, which
had been deepening and darkening, suddenly obscured the
sun ; a distant peal of thunder rolled along the heavens,
and, at the same moment, from the dark recesses of the
temple, a voice of preteinatural power came forth, proclaim-
18
206 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PABT U.
ing, so that the whole muhitude heard, the words, — "God
is but one ; the King eternal, immortal, invisible !"
It is impossible to describe the horror that seized those
multitudes. Many cried out with fear, and each seemed
5 to shrink behind the other. Paleness sat upon every face.
The priest paused, as if struck by a power from above.
Even the brazen Fronto was appalled. Aurelian leaped
from his seat, and by his countenance, white and awe-
struck, showed that to him it came, as a voice from the
10 gods. He spoke not, but stood gazing at the dark
entrance into the temple, from which the sound had come.
Fronto hastily approached him, and wliispering but one
word, as it were, into his ear, the emperor started ; the
spell that bound him, was dissolved ; and recovering him-
15 self, — making, indeed, as though a very different feeling
had possessed him, — cried out, in fierce tones, to his guards,
" Search the temple ! some miscreant, hid away among
the columns, profanes thus the worship and the place.
Seize him, and drag him forth to instant death ! "
20 The guards of the emperor, and the servants of the
temple, rushed in at that bidding. They soon emerged,
saying that the search was fruitless. The temple, in all
its aisles and apartments, was empty.
LESSON LXXXVIII. SAME SUBJECT CONCLUDED. ID.
The heavens were again obscured by thick clouds, which,
accumulating into dark masses, began now nearer and
nearer to shoot forth lightning, and roll their thunders.
The priest commenced the last office, prayer to the god, to
5 whom the new temple had been thus solemnly conse-
crated. He again bowed his head, and again lifted up
his voice. But no sooner had he invoked the god of the
temple, and besought his ear, than again, from its dark
interior, the same awful sounds issued forth, this time
10 saying, " Thy gods, O Rome, are false and lying gods ;
God is but one ! "
Aurelian, pale as it seemed to me with superstitious
fear, strove to shake it off, giving it, artfully and with
violence, the appearance of offended dignity. His voice
15 was a shriek, rather than a human utterance, as it cried
out, '• This is but a Christian device ; search the temple,
. till the accursed Nazarine be found, and hew him piece-
meal ! " More he would have said ; but, at the instant.
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 207
a bolt of lightning shot from the heavens, and, lighting
upon a large sycamore, Avhich shaded a part of the temple-
court, clove it in twain. The swollen cloud at the same
moment burst, and a deluge of rain poured upon the city,
5 the temple, the gazing multitudes, and the kindled altars.
The sacred fires went out, in hissing darkness ; a tempest
of wind whirled the limbs of the slaughtered victims into
the air, and abroad over the iieighboring streets. All
was confusion, uproar, terror and dismay. The crowds
10 sought safety in the houses of the nearest inhabitants, and
the porches of the palaces. Aurelian and the senators,
and those nearest him, fled to the interior of the temple.
The heavens blazed with the quick flashing of the light-
ning ; and the temple itself seemed to rock beneath the
15 voice of the thunder. I never knew in Rome so terrific a
tempest. The stoutest trembled ; for life hung by a thread.
Great numbers, it has now been found, in every part of
the capitol, fell a prey to the fiery bolts. The capitol itself
was struck, and the brass statue of Vespasian, in the forum,
20 thrown down, and partly melted. The Tiber, in a few-
hours, overran its banks, and laid much of the city and its
borders under water.
LESSON LXXXIX. — HAJIILTON AND JAY. DR. HAWKS.
It were, indeed, a bold task to venture to draw into
comparison the relative merits of Jay and Hamilton, on
the fame and fortunes of their country, — a bold task, — and
yet, bold as it is, we feel impelled, before closing, at least
5 to venture on opening it. They were undoubtedly, '■'■par
nohile fratriim" and yet not twin brothers, — ^'- pares sed
impares," — like, but unlike. In patriotic attachment equal,
for who would ventxxre therein to assign to either the
superiority ; yet was that attachment, though equal in
10 degree, yet far difl[erent in kind : with Hamilton it was a
sentiment, with Jay a principle, — with Hamilton enthu-
siastic passion, with Jay duty as well as love, — with
Hamilton patriotism was the paramount law, with Jay a
law "sub graviori lege."* Either would have gone through
15 fire and water to do his country service, and laid down
freely his life for her safety, — Hamilton with the roused
courage of a lion, — Jay with the calm fearlessness of a
man ; or rather, Hamilton's courage would have been that
* Under a weightier law.
203 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II.
of the soldier, — Jay's that of the Christian. Of the latter
it might be truly said, —
" Conscience made him firm,
That boon companion, who her strong breastplate
5 Buckles on hnn that Tears no guilt within,
And bids hnn on, and fear not."
In intellectual power, in depth, and grasp, and versa-
tility of mind, as well as in all the splendid and brilliant
parts which captivate and adorn, Hamilton was greatly,
10 not to say immeasurably, Jay's superior. In the calm and
deeper wisdom of practical duty, — in the government of
others, and still more in the government of himself, — in
seeing clearly the right, and following it whithersoever it
led, firmly, patiently, self-deniedly, Jay AVas again greatly,
15 if not immeasurably, Hamilton's superior. In statesman-
like talent, Hamilton's mind had in it more of "construc-
tive" power. Jay's of " executive." — Hamilton had genius,
Jay had wisdom. We would have taken Hamilton to
plan a government, and Jay to carry it into execution ;
20 and, in a court of law, we would have Hamilton for our
advocate, if our cause were generous, and Jay for judge,
if our cause were just.
The fame of Hamilton, like his parts, we deem to shine
brighter and farther than Jay's, but we are not sure that
25 it should be so, or rather we are quite sure that it should
not. For, when we come to examine and compare their
relative course, and its bearing on the country and its
fortunes, the reputation of Hamilton we find to go as
far beyond his practical share in it, as Jay's falls short
30 of his. Hamilton's civil official life was a brief and
single, though brilliant one. Jay's numbered the years
of a generation, and exhausted every department of diplo-
matic, civil, and judicial trust. In fidelity to their country,
both were pure to their heart's core ; yet was Hamilton
35 loved, perhaps, more than trusted, and Jay trusted, per-
haps, more than loved.
Such were they, we deem, in differing, if not contrasted,
points of character. Their lives, too, when viewed from
a distance, stand out in equally striking, but much more
40 painful, contrast. Jay's, viewed as a whole, has in it a
completeness of parts, such as a nicer critic demands for
the perfection of an epic poem, with its beginning of
promise, its heroic middle, and it? peaceful end, and par-
PART U.] READER AND SPEAKER. 209
taking, too, soniQwhat of the same cold stateliness, — noble,
however, still and glorious, and ever pointing, as such
poem does, to the stars, — ''Sic itur ad astra." The life of
Hamilton, on the other hand, broken and fragmentary,
5 begun in the darkness of romantic interest, running on
into the sympathy of all high passion, and at length
breaking off in ihe midst, like some half-told tale of
sorrow, amid tears and blood, even as does the theme of
the tragic poet. The name of Hamilton, therefore, was
10 a name to conjure with, — that of Jay's to swear by.
Hamilton had his frailties, arising out of passion, as tragic
heroes have. Jay's name was faultless, and his course
passionless, as becomes the epic leader, and, in point of
fact was, while living, a name at which frailty blushed,
15 and corruption trembled.
If we ask whence, humanly speaking, came such dis-
parity of the fate between equals, the stricter morals, the
happier life, the more peaceful death, to what can we
trace it, but to the healthful power of religion, over the
20 heart and conduct? Was not this, we ask, the ruling
secret ? Hamilton was a Christian in his youth, and a
penitent Christian, we doubt not, on his dying bed ; but
Jay was a Christian, so far as man may judge, every day
and hour of his life. He had but one rule, the gospel of
25 Christ; in that he was nurtured, — ruled by that, through
grace he lived, — resting on that, in prayer, he died.
Admitting, then, as we do, both names to be objects of
our highest sympathetic admiration, yet, with the name
of Hamilton, as the master says of tragedy, the lesson is
30 given, — "with pity and in fear." Not so with that of Jay ;
with him we walk fearless, as in the steps of one who was
a CHRISTIAN, as well as a patriot.
LESSON XC. ADAMS AND JEFFERSON. DANIEL WEBSTER.
Adams and Jefferson, I have said, are no more. As
human beings, indeed, they are no more. They are no
more, as in 1776, bold and fearless advocates of indepen-
dence ; no more, as on subsequent periods, tlie head of the
government ; no more, as we have recently seen them,
aged and venerable objects of admiration and regard.
They are no more. They are dead.
But how little is there of the great and good, which can
18=^
210 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART IL
die ! To their country they yet live, and live forever.
They live, in al\ tliat perpetuates the remembrance of
men on earth ; in the recorded proofs of their own great
actions, in the offspring of tiicir intellect, in the deep
6 engraved lines of public gratitude, and in the respect and
homage of mankind. They live in their example ; and
they live, emphatically, and will live, in the influence
which their lives and elforls, their principles and opinions,
now exercise, and will continue to exercise, on the affairs
10 of men, not only in their own country, but throughout the
civilized world.
A superior and commanding human intellect, a truly
great man, when Heaven vouchsafes so rare a gift, is not
a temporary flame, burning bright for a while, and then
15 expiring, giving place to returning darkness. It is rather
a spark of fervent heat, as well as radiant light, with
power to enkindle the common mass of human mind; so
that, when it glimmers, in its own decay, and finally goes
out in death, no night follows ; but it leaves the world all
20 light, all on fire, from the potent contact of its own spirit.
Bacon died ; but the human understanding, roused, by
the touch of his miraculous wand, to a perception of the
true philosophy, and the just mode of inquiring after
truth, has kept on its course, successfully and gloriously.
25 Newton died ; yet the courses of the spheres are still
known, and they yet move on, in the orbits which he
saw, and described for them, in the infinity of space.
No two men now live, — perhaps it may be doubted,
whether any two men have ever lived, in one age, — who,
30 more than those we now commemorate, have impressed
their own sentiments, in regard to politics and govern-
ment, on mankind, infused their own opinions more
deeply into the opinions of others, or given a more lasting
direction to the current of human thought. Their work
35 doth not perish with them. The tree which they assisted
to plant, will flourish, although they water it and protect
it no longer ; for it has struck its roots deep ; it has sent
them to the very centre; no storm, not of force to burst
the orb, can overturn it ; its branches spread wide ; they
40 stretch their protecting arms broader and broader, and its
top is destined to reach the heavens.
We are not deceived. There is no delusion here. No
age will come, in which the American revolution will
appear less than it is. "oe of the greatest events in human
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 211
history. No age will come, in which it will cease to be
seen and felt, on either continent, that a mighty step, a
great advance, not only in American affairs, but in human
affairs, was made on the 4th of July, 1776. And no age
5 will come, we trust, so ignorant, or so unjust, as not to see
and acknowledge the efficient agency of these we now
honor, in producing that momentous event.
LESSON XCI. THE DESTINY OF OUR REPUBLIC. G. S. HILLARD.
Let no one accuse me of seeing wild visions, and dream-
ing impossible dreams. I am only stating what may be
done, and what will be done. We may most shamefully
betray the trust reposed in us, — we may most miserably
5 defeat the fond hopes entertained of us. We may become
the scorn of tyrants and the jest of slaves. From our fate,
oppression may assume a bolder front of insolence, and its
victims sink into a darker despair.
In that event, how unspeakable will be our disgrace, —
10 with what weight of mountains will the infamy lie upon
our souls. The gulf of our ruin will be as deep, as the
elevation we might have attained, is high. How wilt
thou fall from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning !
Our beloved country with ashes for beauty, the golden
15 cord of our union broken, its scattered fragments present-
ing every form of misrule, from the wildest anarchy to the
most ruthless despotism, our "soil drenched with fraternal
blood," the life of man stripped of its grace and dignity,
the prizes of honor gone, and virtue divorced from half its
20 encouragements and supports, — these are gloomy pictures,
which I would not invite your imaginations to dwell upon,
but only to glance at, for the sake of the warning lessons
we may draw from them.
Remember, that we can have none of those consolations,
25 which sustain the patriot, who mourns over the unde-
served misfortunes of his country. Our Rome cannot fall,
and we be innocent. No conqueror will chain us to the
car of his triumph, — no countless swarm of Huns and
Goths will bury the memorials and trophies of civilized
30 life, beneath a living tide of barbarism. Our own selfish-
ness, our own neglect, our own passions, and our own
vices, will furnisli the elements of our destruction. With
212 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART 11.
our own hands, we shall tear down the stalely edifice of
our glory. We shall die by self-inflicted wounds.
But we will not talk of themes like these. We will not
think of failure, dishonor, and despair. We will elevate
5 our minds to the contemplation of our high duties, and the
great trust committed to us. We will resolve to lay the
foundations of our prosperity on that rock of private virtue,
which cannot be shaken, until the laws of the moral world
are reversed. From our own breasts shall flow the salient
10 springs of national increase. Then our success, our hap-
piness, our glory, will be as inevitable, as the inferences of
mathematics. We may calmly smile at all the croakings
of all the ravens, whether of native or foreign breed.
The whole will not grow weak, by the increase of its
15 parts. Our growth will be like that of the mountain oak,
which strikes its roots more deeply into the soil, and clings
to it with a closer grasp, as its lofty head is exalted, and
its broad arms stretched out. The loud burst of joy and
gratitude, which this, the anniversary of our Independence,
20 is breaking from the full hearts of a mighty people, will
never cease to be heard. No chasms of sullen silence will
interrupt its course, — no discordant notes of sectional mad-
ness, mar the general harmony. Year after year will in-
crease it, by tributes from now unpeopled solitudes. The
25 farthest West shall hear it and rejoice, — the Oregon shall
swell it with the voice of its waters, — the Rocky mountains
shall fling back the glad sound from their snowy crests.
LESSON XCII. — POSTHUMOUS INFLUENCE OF THE WISE AND
GOOD. ANDREWS NORTON.
The relations, between man and man, cease not with life.
The dead leave behind them their memory, their example,
and the efifects of their actions. Their influence still
abides with vis. Their names and characters dwell in our
5 thoughts and hearts. We live and commune with them
in their writings. We enjoy the benefit of their labors.
Our institutions have been founded by them. We are
surrounded by the works of the dead. Our knowledge
and our arts, are the fruit of their toil. Our minds have
10 been formed by their instructions. We are most inti-
mately connected with them, by a thousand dependencies.
Those whom we have loved, in life, are still objects of our
deepest and holiest affections. Their power over us re-
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 213
mains. They are with us, in our solitary walks ; and
their voices speak to our hearts, in the silence of midnight.
Their image is impressed upon our dearest recollections,
and our most sacred hopes. They form an essential part
5 of our treasure laid up in heaven. For, above all, we are
separated from them but for a little time. We are soon to
be united with them. If we follow in the path of those we
have loved, we too shall soon join the innumerable com-
pany of the spirits of just men made perfect. Our affections,
10 and our hopes, are not buried in the dust, to which we
commit the poor remains of mortality. The blessed retain
their remembrance and their love for us, in heaven ; and
we will cherish our remembrance and our love for them,
while on earth.
15 Creatures of imitation and sympathy, as we are, we look
around us for support and countenance, even in our virtues.
We recur for them, most securely, to the examples of the
dead. There is a degree of insecurity and uncertainty,
about living worth. The stamp has not yet been put upon
20 it, which precludes all change, and seals it up, as a just
object of admiration for future times. There is no service
which a man of commanding intellect can render his fel-
low-creatures, better, than that of leaving behind him an
unspotted example. If he do not confer upon them this
25 benefit ; if he leave a character dark with vices, in the
sight of God, but dazzling with shining qualities, in the
view of men ; it may be that all his other services had bet-
ter have been forborne, and he had passed, inactive and
unnoticed, through life. It is a dictate of wisdom, there-
30 fore, as well as feeling, when a man, eminent for his vir-
tues and talents, has been taken away, to collect the riches
of his goodness, and add them to the treasury of human
improvement. The true Christian liveth not for himself,
and dieth not for himself ; and it is thus, in one respect,
85 that he dieth not for himself.
LESSON xcm. — Look aloft. — j. lawrence, jr.
In the tempest of life, when the wave and the gale
Are around and above, if thy footing should fail,
If thine eye should grow dim, and thy caution depart,
"Look aloft!" and be firm, and be fearless of heart.
6 If the friend wfeo embraced in prosperity's glow.
With a smile for each joy and a tear for each woe,
S14 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II.
Should betray thee when sorrows like clouds are arrayed
" Look aloft ! " to the friendship which never shall fade.
Should the visions which hope spreads in light to thine
eye,
Like the tints of the rainbow, but brighten to fly,
5 Then turn, and through tears of repentant regret,
" Look aloft ! " to the Sun that is never to set.
Should they who are dearest, the son of thy heart,
The wife of thy bosom, in sorrow depart,
" Look aloft" from the darkness and dust of the tomb,
10 To that soil where aflfection is ever in bloom.
And oh ! when death comes in his terrors, to cast
His fears on the future, his pall on the past,
In that moment of darkness, with hope in thy heart,
And a smile in thine eye, " look aloft " and depart.
LESSON XCIV. ODE ON WAR. WM. H. BURLEIGH.
Hark ! — the cry of Death is ringing
Wildly from the reeking plain :
Guilty Glory, too, is flinging
Proudly forth her vaunting strain.
5 Thousands on the field are lying.
Slaughtered in the ruthless strife j
"Wildly mingled, dead and dying
Show the waste of human life !
Christian ! can you idly slumber,
10 While this work of hell goes on ?
Can you calmly sit, and numberi
Fellow-beings, one by one.
On the field of battle falling,
Sinking to a bloody grave ?
15 Up ! the God of peace is calling.
Calling upon you to save !
Listen to the supplications©
Of the widowed ones of earth ;
Listen to the cry of nations,
20 Ringing loudly, wildly forth, —
Nations bruised, and crushed forever*
By the iron heel of War !
God of mercy, wilt thou never I
Send deliverance from afar f
PART 11.] READER AND SPEAKER. 216
Yes ! a light is faintly gleaming
Through the cloud that hovers o'er;
Soon the radiance of its beaming
Full upon our land will pour ;
5 'T is the light that tells the dawning
Of the bright millennial day,
Heralding its blessed morning
With its peace-bestowing ray.
God shall spread abroad his banner,
10 Sigii of universal peace ;
And the earth shall shout hosanna,
And the reign of blood shall cease.
Man no more shall seek dominion
Through a sea of human gore ;
15 War shall spread its gloomy pinion
O'er the peaceful earth no more.
LESSON XCV. THE LAST DAYS OF AUTUBIN. HENRY PICKERING.
Hark ! to the sounding gale ! how through the soul
It vibrates, and in thunder seems to roll
Along the mountains ! Loud the forest moans,
And, naked to the blast, the o'ermastering spirit owns.
5 Rustling, the leaves are rudely hurried by.
Or in dark eddies whirled ; while from on high
The ruffian Winds, as if in giant mirth.
Unseat the mountain pine, and headlong dash to earth !
With crest of foam, the uplifted flood no more
10 Flows placidly along the sylvan shore ;
But, vexed to madness, heaves its turbid wave.
Threatening to leave the banks it whilom loved to lave :
And in the angry heavens, where, wheeling low,
The sun exhibits yet a fitful glow,
15 The clouds, obedient to the stormy power.
Or shattered, fly along, or still more darkly lower.
Amazement seizes all ! within the vale
Shrinking, the mute herd snuff the shivering gale;
The while, with tossing head and streaming mane,
20 The horse affrighted bounds, or wildly skims the plain.
Whither, with charms to Fancy yet so dear,
Whither has fled the lovely infant year?
216 AMKKICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART U.
Where, too, the groves in greener pomp arrayed ?
The deep and solemn gloom of the inspiring shade ?
The verdant heaven that once the woods o'erspread,
And underneath a pensive twilight shed,
5 Is shrivelled all : dead the vine-mantled bowers,
And withered in their bloom the beautiful young flowers J
Mute, too, the voice of Joy ! no tuneful bird
Amid the leafless forest now is heard ;
Nor more may plougliboy's laugh the bosom cheer,
10 Nor in the velvet glade Love's whisper charm the ear.
But lo ! the ruthless storm its force hath spent ;
And see ! where sinking 'neath yon cloudy tent.
The sun withdraws his last cold, feeble ray.
Abandoning to Night his short and dubious sway
15 A heavier gloom pervades the chilly air !
Now in their northern caves the Winds prepare
The nitrous frost to sheet with dazzling white.
The long deserted fields at the return of light :
Or with keen icy breath they may glass o'er
20 The restless wave, and on the lucid floor
Let fall the feathery shower, and far and wide
Involve in snowy robe the land and fettered tide !
Thus shut the varied scene ! and thus, in turn,
Autumn ! thou within thine ample urn
25 Sweep'st all earth's glories. Ah, for one brief hour,
Spare the soft virgin's bloom and tender human flower !
LESSON XCVI. MAN. N. Y. EVENING POST.
The human mind, — that lofty thing !
The palace and the throne.
Where reason sits a sceptred king.
And breathes his judgment tone.
5 Oh ! who with silent step shall trace
The borders of that haunted place.
Nor in his weakness own
That mystery and marvel bind
That lofty thing, — the human mind !
10 The human heart, — that restless thing '
The tempter and the tried ;
PART U.] READER AND SPEAKER. 217
The joyous, yet the suffering, —
The source of pain and pride ;
The gorgeous thronged, — the desolate,
The seat of love, the lair of hate, —
5 Self-stung, self-deified !
Yet do we bless thee as thou art.
Thou restless thing, — the human heart !
The human soul, — that startling thing !
Mysterious and sublime !
10 The angel sleeping on the wing
Worn by the scoffs of time, —
The beautiful, the veiled, the bound,
The earth-enslaved, the glory-crowned,
The stricken in its prime !
15 From heaven in tears to earth it stole,
That startling thing, — the human soul!
And this is man : — Oh ! ask of him.
The gifted and forgiven, —
While o'er Ms vision, drear and dim,
20 The wrecks of time are driven ;
If pride or passion in their power,
Can chain the time, or charm the hour,
Or stand in place of heaven ?
He bends the brow, he bows the knee, —
25 "Creator, Father! none but thee !"
LESSON XCVII. PASSAGE DOWN THE OHIO. JAMES K.
PAULDING.
As down Ohio's ever-ebbing tide,
Oarless and sailless, silently they glide,
How still the scene, how lifeless, yet how fair,
Was the lone land that met the strangers there !
5 No smiling villages, or curling smoke.
The busy haunts of busy men bespoke ;
No solitary hut the banks along.
Sent forth blithe Labor's homely, rustic song;
No urchin gambolled on the smooth white sand,
10 Or hurled the skipping-stone with playful hand.
While playmate dog plunged in the clear blue wave,
And swam, in vain, the sinking prize to save.
Where now are seen, along the river side.
Young busy towns, in buxom painted pride,
19
218 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II.
And fleets of gliding boats with riches crowned,
To distant Orleans or St. Louis bound,
Nothing appeared but nature unsubdued,
Oup endless, noiseless woodland solitude,
5 Or boundless prairie, that aye seemed to be
As level and as lifeless as the sea;
They seemed to breathe in this wide world alone.
Heirs of the Earth, — the land was all their own !
'T was evening now r the hour of toil was o'er,
10 Yet still they durst not seek the fearful shore.
Lest watchful Indian crew should silent creep.
And spring upon and murder them in sleep ;
So through the livelong night they held their way,
And 'twas a night might shame the fairest day;
15 So still, so bright, so tranquil was its reign,
They cared not though the day ne'er came again.
The moon high wheeled the distant hills above,
Silvered the fleecy foliage of the grove,
That, as the wooing zephyrs on it fell,
20 Whispered, it loved the gentle visit well :
That fair-faced orb alone to move appeared,
That zephyr was the only sound they heard.
No deep-mouthed hound the hunter's haunt betrayed
No lights upon the shore or waters played,
25 No loud laugh broke upon the silent air,
To tell the wanderers man was nestling there.
All, all was still, on gliding bark and shore.
As if the earth now slept to wake no more.
LESSON XCVIII. — SPIRIT OF BEAUTY. RUFUS DAWES.
The Spirit of Beauty unfurls her light.
And wheels her course in a joyous flight,
I know her track through the balmy air.
By the blossoms that cluster and whiten there ;
5 She leaves the tops of the mountains green.
And gems the valley with crystal sheen.
At morn, I know where she rested at night.
For the roses are gushing with dewy delight ;
Then she mounts again, and around her flings
10 A shower of light from her purple wings,
Till the spirit is drunk with the music on high,
That silently fills it with ecstasy !
PART U.] READER AND SPEAKER. 219
At noon, she hies to a cool retreat,
Where bowering elms over waters meet ;
She dimples the wave, where the green leaves dip ;
That smiles, as it curls, like a maiden's lip,
5 When her tremulous bosom would hide in vain,
From her lover, the hope that she loves again.
At eve, she hangs o'er the western sky
Dark clouds for a glorious canopy;
And round the skirts of each sweeping fold,
10 She paints a border of crimson and gold.
Where the lingering sunbeams love to stay.
When their god in his glory has passed away.
She hovers around us at twilight hour.
When her presence is felt with the deepest power ;
15 She mellows the landscape, and crowds the stream
With shadows that flit like a fairy dream : —
Still wheeling her flight through the gladsome air,
The Spirit of Beauty is every where !
LESSON XCIX. EDUCATION OF FEMALES. — JOSEPH STORY.
If Christianity may be said to have given a permanent
elevation to Avoman, as an intellectual and moral being, it
is as true, that the present age, above all others, has given
play to her genius, and taught us to reverence its influ-
5 ence. It was the fashion of other times to treat the lite-
rary acquirements of the sex, as starched pedantry, or vain
pretension ; to stigmatize them as inconsistent with those
domestic affections and virtues, which constitute the charm
of society. We had abundant homilies read upon their
10 amiable weaknesses and sentimental delicacy, upon their
timid gentleness and submissive dependence ; as if to taste
the fruit of knowledge were a deadly sin, and ignorance
were the sole guardian of innocence. Their whole lives
were "sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought;" and
15 concealment of intellectual power was often resorted to, to
escape the dangerous imputation of masculine strength.
In the higher walks of life, the satirist was not without
color for the suggestion, that it was
" A youth of folly, an old age of cards ; "
20 and that, elsewhere, " most women had no character at
all," beyond that of purity and devotion to their families.
220 AMKRICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II
Admirable as are these qualities, it seemed an abuse of the
gifts of Providence, to deny to mothers the power of in-
structingf their children, to wives the privilege of sharing
the intellectual pursuits of their husbands, to sisters and
5 daughters the delight of ministering knowledge in the
fireside circle, to youth and beauty the charm of refined
sense, to age and infirmity the consolation of studies
which elevate the soul, and gladden the listless hours of
despondency.
10 These things have, in a great measure, passed away.
The prejudices, which dishonored the sex, have yielded
to the influence of truth. By slow, but sure advances,
education has extended itself through all ranks of female
society. There is no longer any dread, lest the culture of
15 science should foster that masculine boldness, or restless
independence, which alarms by its sallies, or wounds by
its inconsistencies. We have seen that here, as every-
where else, knowledge is favorable to human virtue
and human happiness ; that the refinement of literature
20 adds lustre to the devotion of piety ; that true learning,
like true taste, is modest and unostentatious ; that grace
of manners receives a higher polish from the discipline
of the schools; that cultivated genius sheds a cheering
light over domestic duties, and its very sparkles, like
25 those of the diamond, attest at once its power and its
purity.
There is not a rank of female society, however high,
which does not now pay homage to literature, or that would
not blush, even at the suspicion of that ignorance, which, a
30 half century ago, was neither uncommon, nor discreditable.
There is not a parent, whose pride may not glow at the
thought, that his daughter's happiness is, in a great meas-
ure, within her own command, whether she keeps the
cool, sequestered vale of life, or visits the busy walks of
35 fashion.
A new path is thus opened for female exertion, to alle-
viate the pressure of misfortune, without any supposed
sacrifice of dignity, or modesty. Man no longer aspires to
an exclusive dominion in authorship. He has rivals, or
40 allies, in almost every department of knowledge ; and they
are to be found among those, whose elegance of manners,
and blamelessness of life, command his respect, as much
as their talents excite his admiration.
P4.RT 11.] READER AND SPEAKER. 221
LESSON C. THE VOICES OF THE DEAD. ORVILLE DEWEY.
The world is filled with the voices of the dead. They
speak, not from the public records of the great world only,
but from the private history of our own experience. They
speak to us, in a thousand remembrances, in a thousand
5 incidents, events, associations. They speak to us, not
only from their silent graves, but from the throng of life.
Though they are invisible, yet life is filled with their
presence.
They are with us, by the silent fireside, and in the seclu-
10 ded chamber : they are with us, in the paths of society, and
in the crowded assembly of mp„n. They speak to us, from
the lonely way-side ; and they speak to us, from the ven-
erable walls that echo to the steps of a multitude, and to
the voice of prayer. Go, where we will, the dead are with
15 us. We live, we converse, with those, who once lived and
conversed with us. Their well remembered tone mingles
with the whispering breezes, with the sound of the falling
leaf, with the jubilee shout of the spring-time. The earth
is filled with their shadowy train.
20 But there are more substantial expressions of the pres-
ence of the dead, with the living. The earth is filled with
the labors, the works, of the dead. Almost all the litera-
ture in the virorld, the discoveries of science, the glories
of art, the ever-during temples, the dwelling-places of
25 generations, the comforts and improvements of life, the
languages, the maxims, the opinions, of the living, the very
frame-work of society, the institutions of nations, the fabrics
of empire, — all are the works of the dead : by these, they
who are dead, yet speak.
LESSON CL THE JEWISH REVELATION. DR. NOYES.
The peculiar religious character of the Psalms, which
distinguishes them from the productions of other nations
of antiquity, is well worthy of the attention of such as are
disposed to doubt the reality of the Xewish revelation.
I do not refer to the prophetic character, which some of
them are supposed to possess, but to the comparative puri-
ty and fervor of religious feeling, which they manifest;
the sublimity and justness of the views of the Deity, and
of his government of the world, which they present; and
19*
222 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART U.
the clear perception of a spiritual good, infinitely to be
preferred to any external possession, which is found in
them. Let them be considered, as the expression and fruit
of the principles of the Jewish religion, as they existed
5 in the minds of pious Israelites, and do they not bear
delightful testimony to the reality of the successive reve-
lations, alleged to have been made to the Hebrew nation,
and of tlie peculiar relation which the Most High is said
to have sustained towards them ?
10 Let the unbeliever compare the productions of the
Heb;rew poets, with those of the most enlightened periods
of Grecian literature. Let him explain, how it happened,
that in the most celebrated cities of antiquity, which human
reason had adorned with the most splendid trophies of art,
15 whose architecture it is now thought high praise to imitate
well, whose sculpture almost gave life to marble, whose
poetry has never been surpassed, and whose eloquence has
never been equalled, a religion prevailed, so absurd and
frivolous, as to be beneath the contempt of a child, at the
20 present day ; while in an obscure corner of the world, in a
nation in some respects imperfectly civilized, were breathed
forth those strains of devotion, which now animate the
hearts of millions, and are the vehicle of their feelings to
the throne of God. Let him say, if there be not some
25 ground for the conclusion, that whilst the corner-stone of
the heathen systems of religion, was unassisted human
reason, that of the Jewish was an immediate revelation
from the Father of lights.
LESSON CII. INCITEMENTS TO AMERICAN INTELLECT.
G. S. HILLARD.
The motives to intellectual action, press upon us with
peculiar force, in our country, because the connection is
here so immediate between character and happiness,
and because there is nothing between us and ruin, but
5 intelligence which sees the right, and virtue which pur-
sues it.
There are such elements of hope and fear, mingled in
the great experiment which is here trying, the results are
so momentous to humanity, that all the voices of the past
10 and the future, seem to blend in one sound of warning and
PART 11.] ' READER AND SPEAKER. 223
entreaty, addressing itself, not only to the general, but to
the individual ear. By the wrecks of shattered states, by
the quenched lights of promise, that once shone upon man,
by the long deferred hopes of humanity, by all that has
5 been done and suffered, in the cause of liberty, by the
martyrs that died before the sight, by the exiles, whose
hearts have been crushed in dumb despair, by the memory
of our fathers and their blood in our veins, — it calls upon
us, each and all, to be faithful to the trust which God has
10 committed to our hands.
That fine natures should here feel their energies palsied
by the cold touch of indifference, that they should turn
to Westminster Abbey, or the Alps, or the Vatican, to
quicken their flagging pulses, is, of all mental anomalies,
15 the most inexplicable. The danger would seem to be
rather, that the spring of a sensitive mind may be broken
by the weight of obligation that rests upon it, and that the
stimulant, by its very excess, may become a narcotic.
The poet must not plead his delicacy of organization, as
20 an excuse, for dwelling apart in trim gardens of leisure,
and looking at the world only through the loop-holes of
his retreat. Let him fling himself, with gallant heart,
upon the stirring life, that heaves and foams around him.
He must call home his imagination from those spots, on
25 which the light of other days has thrown its pensive
charm, and be content to dwell among his own people.
The future and the present must inspire him, and not the
past. He must transfer, to his pictures, the glow of morn-
ing, and not the hues of sunset. He must not go to any
30 foreign Pharphar, or Abana, lor the sweet influences which
he may find in that familiar stream, on whose banks he
has played as a child, and mused as a man.
Let him dedicate his powers to the best interests of his
country. Let him sow the seeds of beauty along that
35 dusty road, where humanity toils and sweats in the sun.
Let him spurn the baseness which ministers food to the
passions which blot out, in man's soul, the image of God.
Let not his hands add one seductive charm to the unzoned
form of pleasure, nor twine the roses of his genius around
40 the reveller's wine-cup. Let him mingle with his verse
those grave and high elements befitting him, around whom
the air of freedom blows, and upon whom the light of
heaven shines. Let him teach those stern virtues of self-
control and self-renunciation, of faith and patience, of
224 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II.
abstinence and fortitude, — which constitute the founda-
tions alike of individual happiness, and of national pros-
perity.
Let him help to rear up this great people to the stature
5 and symmetry of a moral manhood. Let him look abroad
upon this young world in hope, and not in despondency. Let
him not be repelled by the coarse surface of material life.
Let him survey it, with the piercing insight of genius, and
in the reconciling spirit of love. Let him find inspiration,
10 wherever man is found ; in the sailor, singing at the wind-
lass ; in the roaring flames of the furnace ; in the dizzy
spindles of the factory ; in the regular beat of the thresher's
flail ; in the smoke of the steam-ship ; in the whistle of
the locomotive. Let the mountain wind blow courage
15 into him. Let him pluck from the stars of his own wintry
sky, thoughts, serene as their own light, lofty as their own
place. Let the purity of the majestic heavens flow into
his soul. Let his genius soar upon the wings of faith,
and charm with the beauty of truth.
LESSON cm. IMPORTANCE OF KNOWLEDGE TO THE MECHANIC.
G. B. EMERSON.
Let us imagine, for a moment, the condition of an indi-
vidual, who has not advanced beyond the merest elements
of knowledge, who understands nothing of the principles
even of his own art, and inquire, what change will be
5 wrought in his feelings, his hopes, and happiness, in all
that makes up the character, by the gradual inpouring of
knowledge. He has now the capacity of thought, but it
is a barren faculty, never nourished by the food of the
mind, and never rising above the poor objects of sense.
10 Labor and rest, the hope of mere animal enjoyment, or
the fear of want, the care of providing covering and food,
make up the whole sum of his existence.
Such a man may be industrious, but he cannot love
labor, for it is not relieved by the excitement of improving,
15 or changing, the processes of his art, nor cheered by the
hope of a better condition. "When released from labor,
he does not rejoice, for mere idleness is not enjoyment ;
and he has no book, no lesson of science, no play of the
mind, no interesting pursuit, to give a zest to the hour of
20 leisure. Home has few charms for him ; he has little
taste for the quiet, the social converse, and exchange of
PART II.J READER AND SPEAKER. 225
feeling and thought, the innocent enjoyments that ought
to dwell there. Society has little to interest him, for he
has no sympathy for the pleasures or pursuits, the cares
or the troubles of others, to whom he cannot feel nor
5 perceive his bonds of relationship.
All of life is but a poor boon for such a man ; and
happy for himself and for mankind, if the few ties that
hold him to this negative existence, be not broken. Happy
for him, if that best and surest friend of man, that messen-
10 ger of good news from Heaven to the poorest wretch on
earth, Religion, bringing the fear of God, appear to save
him. Without her to support, should temptation assail
him, what an easy victim would he fall to vice or crime !
How little would be necessary to overturn his ill-balanced
15 principles, and throw him grovelling in intemperance, or
send him abroad, on the ocean, or the highway, an enemy
to himself and his kind !
But let the light of science fall upon that man ; open to
him the fountain of knowledge ; let a few principles of
20 philosophy enter his mind, and awaken the dormant power
of thought ; he begins to look upon his art, with an altered
eye. It ceases to be a dark mechanical process, which he
cannot understand ; he regards it, as an object of inquiry,
and begins to penetrate the reasons, and acquire a new
25 mastery over his own instruments. He finds other and
better modes of doing what he had done before, blindly
and without interest, a thousand times. He learns to
profit by the experience of others, and ventures upon un-
tried paths. Difficulties, which before would have stopped
30 him at the outset, receive a ready solution from some
luminous principle of science. He gains new knowledge
and new skill, and can improve the quality of his manu-
facture, while he shortens the process, and diminishes his
own labor.
35 Then, labor becomes sweet to him ; it is accompanied
by the consciousness of increasing power ; it is leading
him forward to a higher place among his fellow-men.
Relaxation, too, is sweet to him, as it enables him to add
to his intellectual stores, and to mature, by undisturbed
40 meditation, the plans and conceptions of the hour of labor.
His home has acquired a new charm ; for he is become a
man of thought, and feels and enjoys the peace and seclu-
sion of that sacred retreat ; and he carries thither the
honest complacency which is the companion of well-
226 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAET 11.
earned success. There, too, bright visions of the future
sphere open upon him, and excite a kindly feeling towards
tliose who are to share in his prosperity.
Thus, his mind and heart expand together. He has
5 become an intelligent being; and, while he has learned to
esteem himself, he has also learned to live no longer for
himself alone. Society opens, like a new world, to him ;
he looks upon his fellow-creatures with interest and
sympathy, and feels that he has a place in their affections
10 and respect. Temptations assail him in vain. He is
armed by high and pure thoughts. He takes a wider
view of his relations with the beings about and above
him. He welcomes every generous virtue that adorns
and dignifies the human character. He delights in the
15 exercise of reason, — he glories in the consciousness and
the hope of immortality.
LESSON CIV. MACKR PREACHING ON THE STEPS OF THE
CAPITOL AT ROME. WILLIAM WARE.
The crowd was restless and noisy, heaving to and fro,
like the fiery mass of a boiling crater. A thousand excla-
mations and imprecations filled the air. I thought it
doubtful, whether the rage which seemed to fill a great
5 proportion of those around me, would so much as permit
him to open his mouth. It seemed rather, as if he would
at once be dragged, from where he stood, to the prefect's
tribunal, or hurled from the steps, and sacrificed at once to
the fury of the populace. Upon the column, on his right
10 hand, hung, emblazoned with gold, and beautiful with all
the art of the chirographer, the edict of Aurelian. It was
upon parchment, within a brazen frame.
Soon as quiet was restored, so that any single voice
could be heard, he began.
15 " Romans ! the emperor, in his edict, tells me not to
preach to you. Not to preach Christ in Rome, neither
within a church, nor in the streets. Shall I obey him ?
When Christ says, 'Go forth, and preach the gospel to
every creature,' shall I give ear to a Roman emperor, who
20 bids me hold my peace ? Not so, not so, Romans. I love
God too well, and Christ too well, and you too well, to
heed such bidding. I love Aurelian, too ; I have served
long under him ; and he was ever good to me. He was a
good, as well as great general ; and I loved him. I love
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 227
him now, but not so well as these ; not so well as you.
And if I obeyed this edict, it would show that I loved him
better than you, and better than these, which would be
false.
5 If I obeyed this edict, I should never speak to you again
of this new religion, as you call it. I should leave you
all to perish in your sins, without any of that knowledge,
or faith, or hope in Christ, which would save you from
them, and form you after the image of God, and after
10 death carry you up to dwell with him, and with just men,
forever and ever. I should then, indeed, show that I
hated you, which I can never do. I love you, and Rome,
I cannot tell how much, — as much as a child ever loved a
mother, or children one another. And therefore, it is, that
15 no power on earth, — nor above it, nor under it, — save that
of God, shall hinder me from declaring to you, the doc-
trine which I think you need, nay, without which, you
never can be happy. For, what can your gods do for you ?
What are they doing ? They lift you not up to them-
20 selves, — they push you down rather to hell. They can-
not save you from those raging fires of sorrow and
remorse, which, here, on earth, do constitute a hell hot as
any that burns below.
I have told you before, and I tell you now, your vices
25 are undermining the foundations of this great empire.
There is no power to cure these, but in 'Jesus Christ.'
And, when I know this, shall I cease to preach Christ to
you, because a man, a man like myself, forbids me ?
Would you not still prepare for a friend, or a child, the
30 medicine that would save his life, though you were
charged by another ever so imperiously to forbear? The
gospel is the divine medicament that is to heal all your
sicknesses, cure all your diseases, remove all your mis-
eries, cleanse all your pollutions, correct all your errors,
35 and confirm within you all necessary truth.
And when it is this healing draught for which your souls
cry aloud, for which they thirst even unto death, shall I,
the messenger of God, sent in the name of his Son, to bear
to your lips the cup, of which, if you once drink, you shall
10 live forever, withhold from you that cup, or dash it to the
ground ? Shall I, a mediator between God and man,
falter in my speech, and my tongue hang palsied in my
mouth, because Aurelian speaks ? What to me, O Romans,
22S AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART U.
is the edict of a Koinan emperor ? Down, down, accitrsed
scrawl! nor insult longer both God and man."
And saying that, he reached forth his hand, and, seizing
the parchment, wrenched it from its brazen frame, and,
5 rending it to shreds, strewed them abroad upon the air.
LESSON CV. DEATH A SUBLIME AND UNIVERSAL MORALIST. —
JARED SPARKS.
No object is so insignificant, no event so trivial, as not
to carry •with it a moral and religious influence. The
trees, that spring out of the earth, are moralists. They are
emblems of the life of man. They grow up ; they put on
5 the garments of freshness and beauty. Yet these continue
but for a time ; decay seizes upon the root and the trunk,
and they gradually go back to their original elements.
The blossoms, that open to the rising sun, but are closed
at night, never to open again, are moralists. The seasons
10 are moralists, teaching the lessons of wisdom, manifesting
the wonders of the Creator, and calling on man to reflect
on his condition and destin}\ History is a perpetual
moralist, disclosing the annals of past ages, showing the
impotency of pride and greatness, the weakness of human
15 power, the folly of human wisdom. The daily occur-
rences in society are moralists. The success or failure
of enterprise, the prosperity of the bad, the adversity of
the good, the disappointed hopes of the sanguine and
active, the sufTerings of the virtuous, the caprices of for-
20 tune in every condition of life, all these are fraught with
moral instructions, and, if properly applied, will fix the
power of religion in the heart.
But there is a greater moralist still ; and that is — Death.
Here is a teacher, who speaks in a voice which none can
25 mistake ; who comes with a power which none can resist.
Since we last assembled in this place, as the humble and
united worshippers of God, this stern messenger, this
mysterious agent of Omnipotence, has come among our
numbers, and laid his withering hand on one, whom we
30 have been taught to honor and respect, whose fame was a
nation's boast, whose genius was a brilliant spark from
the ethereal fire, whose attainments were equalled only
by the grasp of his intellect, the profoundness of his judg-
ment, the exuberance of his fancy, the magic of his elo-
35 quence.
PART 11.] READER AND SPEAKER. 229
LESSON CVI. REFORM IN MORALS. DR. BEECHER.
The crisis has come. By the people of this generation,
by ourselves, probably, the amazing question is to be
decided, whether the inheritance of our fathers shall be
preserved or thrown away ; whether our Sabbaths shall
5 be a delight or a loathing ; whether the taverns, on that
holy day, shall be crowded with drunkards, or the sanctu-
ary of God, with humble worshippers ; whether riot and
profaneness shall fill our streets, and poverty our dwell-
ings, and convicts our jails, and violence our land, or
10 whether industry, and temperance, and righteousness, shall
be the stability of our times ; whether mild laws shall
receive the cheerful submission of freemen, or the iron rod
of a tyrant compel the trembling homage of slaves. Be
not deceived. Human nature in this state is like human
15 nature everywhere. All actual difference in our favor is
adventitious, and the result of our laws, institutions, and
habits. It is a moral influence, which, with the blessing
of God, has formed a state of society so eminently desir-
able. The same influence which has formed it, is indis-
20 pensable to its preservation. The rocks and hills of New
England will remain until the last conflagration. But let
the Sabbath be profaned with impunity, the worship of
God be abandoned, the government and religious instruc-
tion of children neglected, and the streams of intemperance
25 be permitted to flow, and her glory will depart. The wall
of fire will no more surround her, and the munition of
rocks will no longer be her defence.
If we neglect our duty, and suffer our laws and institu-
tions to go down, we give them up forever. It is easy to
30 relax, easy to retreat, but impossible, when the abomina-
tion of desolation has once passed over New England, to
rear again the thrown down altars, and gather again the
fragments, and build up the ruins of demolished institu-
tions. Another New England, nor we, nor our children,
35 shall ever see, if this be destroyed. All is lost irretriev-
ably, when the land-marks are once removed, and the
bands which now hold us, are once broken. Such insti-
tutions, and such a state of society, can be established
only by such men as our fathers were, and in such cir-
40 cumstances as they wore in. They could not have made
a New England in Holland. They made the attempt, but
failed.
20
230 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [fART U.
The hfind that overturns our laws and altars, is the
hand of death, unbarring the gate of Pandemonium, and
letting loose upon our laiul the crimes and the miseries
of hell. If the Most Higli should stand aloof, and cast
5 not a single ingredient into our cup of trembling, it would
seem to be full of superlative woe. But He will not stand
aloof. As we shall have begun an open controversy with
Him, He will contend openly with us. And never, since
the earth stood, has it been so fearful a thing for nations
10 to fall into the hands of the living God. The day of ven-
geance is in His heart, the day of judgment has come ;
the great earthquake which sinks Babylon is shaking the
nations, and the waves of the mighty commotion are dash-
ing upon every shore. Is this then a time to remove
15 foundations, when the earth itself is shaken ? Is this a
time to forfeit the protection of God, when the hearts of
men are failing them for fear, and for looking after those
things which are coming on the earth ? Is this a time to
run upon His neck and the thick bosses of His buckler,
20 when the nations are drinking blood, and fainting, and
passing away in His wrath ? Is this a time to throw away
the shield of faith, when His arrows are drunk with the
blood of the slain ? To cut from the anchor of hope, when
the clouds are collecting, and the sea and the waves are roar-
25 ing, and thunders are uttering their voices, and lightnings
blazing in the heavens, and the great hail is falling from
heaven upon men, and every mountain, sea, and island,
is fleeing in dismay, from the face of an incensed God ?
LESSON evil. THE CHILD OF THE TOMB ; A STORY OF NEW-
BUR VPORT. WM. B. TAPPAN.
The following fact is found in Knapp's " Life of Lord Dexter."
Where White field sleeps, remembered, in the dust,
The lowly vault held once a double trust ;
And Parsons, reverend name, that quiet tomb
Possessed, — to wait the day of weal and doom.
5 Another servant of the living God,
Prince, who, (bereft of sight,) his way had trod,
Unerringly and safe, life's journey through, —
Now sought admittance to these slumberers too.
As earth receded, and the mansions blest
10 Rose on his vision, — " Let my body rest
PART II.] . READER AND SPEAKER. 231
With Whitefield's," — said he, yielding up his breath,
In life beloved, and not disjoined in death.
Obedient to his wish, in order then
Were all things done ; the tomb was oped to ken
5 Of curious eyes, — made ready to enclose
Another tenant in its hushed repose :
And, lighted with a single lamp, whose ray
Fell dimly down upon the mouldering clay,
Was left, prepared, to silence as of night,
10 Till hour appointed for the funeral rite.
It chanced, the plodding teacher of a school, —
A man of whim, bold, reckless, yet no fool, —
Deemed this an opportunity to test
How far the fears of spirits might infest
15 The bosom of a child. A ' likely' boy,
The choicest of his flock, a mother's joy,
He took, unscrupulous of means, if he
His ends might gain, and solve the mystery.
Both stood within the mansion of the dead,
20 And while the stripling mused, the teacher fled,
Leaving the child, where the dull cresset shone.
With the dumb relics and his God alone.
As the trap-door fell suddenly, the stroke,
Sullen and harsh, his solemn revery broke.
25 Where is he ? — Barred within the dreadful womb
Of the cold earth, — the living in the tomb !
The opened coffins showed Death's doings, sad, —
The awful dust in damps and grave-mould clad.
Though near the haunt of busy, cheerful day,
30 He, to drear night and solitude the prey !
Must he be watcher with these corpses ! — Who
Can tell what sights may rise ? Will reason then be true ?
Must he, — a blooming, laughter-loving child, —
Be mated thus ? — The thought was cruel, wild I
35 His knees together smote, as first, in fear.
He gazed around his prison ; — then a tear
Sprang to his eyes in kind relief; and said
The little boy, ^'■I will not be afraid.
Was ever spirit of the good man known
40 To injure childreji whom it found alone .?"
And straight he taxed his memory, to supply
Stories and texts, to show he might rely
232 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PABT n.
Most safely, humbly, on his Father's cure, —
Who hears a cliilil's, as well as prelate's, prayer.
And thus he stood, — on Whitefield's form his glance
In reverence fixed, — and hoped deliverance.
5 Meanwhile, the recreant teacher, — where was he?
Gone in ellVontcry to take his tea
With the lad's mother ! — Supper done, he told
The feat that should display her son as bold.
With eye indiirnant, and with words of flame,
10 How showers that mother's scorn, rebuke, and shame !
And bids him haste ! and hastes herself, to bring
Him from Death's realm, Avho knew not yet its sting:
And yet believed, — so well her son she knew, —
The noble boy would to himself be true :
15 He would sustain himself, and she would hiid
Him patient and possessed, she trusted well his mind.
The boy yet lives, — and from that distant hour
Dates much of truth that on his heart hath power; —
And chiefly this, — whate'er of wit is wed
20 To word of his, — to reverence the dead.
LESSON CVIII. LOVE AND FAME. II. T. TUCKERMAN.
Give me the boon of Love !
I ask no more for fame ;
Far better one unpurchased heart
Than Glory's proudest name.
5 Why wake a fever in the blood,
Or damp the spirit now,
To gain a wreath whose leaves shall wave
Above a withered brow ?
Give me the boon of Love !
10 Ambition's meed is vain ;
Dearer Aflection's earnest smile
Than Honor's richest train.
I 'd rather lean upon a breast
Responsive to my own,
15 Than sit pavilioned gorgeously
Upon a kingly throne.
Like the Chaldean sage.
Fame's worshippers adore
PART n.] READER AND SPEAKER. . 233
The brilliant orbs that scatter light
O'er heaven's azure floor ;
But in their very hearts enshrined,
The votaries of Love
5 Keep e'er the holy flame, which once
Illumed the courts above.
Give me the boon of Love !
Renown is but a breath,
Whose loudest echo ever floats
10 From out the halls of death.
A loving eye beguiles me more
Than Fame's emblazoned seal.
And one sweet tone of tenderness
Than Triumph's wildest peal.
15 Give me the boon of Love !
The path of Fame is drear,
And Glory's arch doth ever span
A hill-side cold and sere.
One wild flower from the path of Love,
20 All lowly though it lie.
Is dearer than the wreath that waves
To s'tern Ambition's eye.
Give me the boon of Love !
The lamp of Fame shines far,
25 But Love's soft light glows near and warm,—
A pure and household star.
One tender glance can fill the soul
With a perennial fire ;
But Glory's flame burns fitfully, —
30 A lone, funereal pyre.
Give me the boon of Love !
Fame's trumpet-strains depart,
But Love's sweet lute breathes melody
That lingers in the heart ;
35 And the scroll of fame will burn.
When sea and earth consume ;
But the rose of Love, in a happier sphere,
Will live in deathless bloom !
20*
234 AMinUOAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II.
LESSON CIX. LAMENTATION OF REBECCA THE JEWESS. — 0. LUNT.
If I had Jubal's chorded shell,
O'er which the first-born music foiled,
In burning' tones, that loved to dwell
Amongst those wires of trembling gold;
5 If to my soul one note were given
Of that high harp, whose sweeter tone
Caught its majestic strain from heaven,
And glowed like fire round Israel's throne;
Up to the deep blue starry sky
10 Then might my soul aspire, and hold
Communion fervent, strong and high,
With bard and king, and prophet old:
Then might my spirit dare to trace
The path our ancient people trod,
15 When the gray sires of Jacob's race.
Like faithful servants, walked with God!
But Israel's song, alas ! is hushed, ^
That all her tales of triumph told.
And mute is every voice, that gushed
20 In music to her harps of gold ;
And could my lyre attune its string
To lofty themes they loved of yore,
Alas ! my lips could only sing
All that we %oere but are no more !
25" Our hearts are still by Jordan's stream.
And there our footsteps fain would be ;
But oh ! 'tis like the captive's dream
Of home, his eyes may never see.
A cloud is on our fathers' graves,
30 And darkly spreads o'er Zion's hill.
And there their sons must stand as slaves,
Or roam like houseless wanderers still.
Yet where the rose of Sharon blooms,
And cedars wave the stately head,
35 Even now, from out the place of tombs.
Breaks a deep voice that stirs the dead.
Through the wide world's tumultuous roar.
Floats clear and sweet the solemn word, —
" O virgin daughter, faint no more ;
40 Thy tears are seen, thy prayers are heard !
What though, with spirits crushed and broke,
Thy tribes like desert exiles rove.
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER,
Though Judah feels the stranger's yoke,
And Ephraim is a heartless dove ? —
Yet, — yet shall Judah's lion wake,
Yet shall the day of promise come.
5 Thy sons from iron bondage break,
And God shall lead the wanderers home ! "
LESSON ex. TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO. GRENVILLE MELLEN.
Wake your harp's music ! — louder, — higher,
And pour your strains along ;
And smite again each quivering wire.
In all the pride of song !
5 Shout like those godlike men of old,
Who, daring storm and foe,
On this blest soil their anthem rolled,
Two hundred years ago !
From native shores by tempests driven,
1"0 They sought a purer sky.
And found, beneath a milder heaven,
The home of liberty!
An altar rose, — and prayers, — a ray
Broke on their night of woe, —
15 The harbinger of Freedom's day.
Two hundred years ago !
They clung around that symbol too.
Their refuge and their all ;
And swore, while skies and waves were blue, •
20 That altar should not fall.
They stood upon the red man's sod,
'Neath heaven's unpillared bow.
With home, — a country, and a God,
Two hundred years ago !
25 Oh ! 't was a hard unyielding fate
That drove them to the seas.
And Persecution strove with Hate,
To darken her decrees :
But safe above each coral grave,
30 Each blooming ship did go, —
A God was on the western wave, . •, ^ ""
Two hundred years ago ! ' '
236 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART H.
They knelt them on the desert sand,
By waters cohl and rude,
Alone upon the dreary strand
Of oceaned solitude !
5 They looked upon the high blue air,
And felt their spirits glow,
Resolved to live or perish there, —
Two hundred years ago !
The warrior's red right arm was bared,
10 His eyes flashed deep and wild :
Was there a foreign footstep dared
To seek his home and child ?
The dark chiefs yelled alarm, — and swore
The white man's blood should flow,
15 And his hewn bones should bleach their shore, —
Two hundred years ago !
But lo ! the warrior's eye grew dim.
His arm was left alone, — *
The still, black wilds which sheltered him,
20 No longer were his own !
Time fled, — and on the hallowed ground
His highest pine lies low, —
And cities swell where forests frowned.
Two hundred years ago !
25 Oh ! stay not to recount the tale, —
'T was bloody, — and 't is past ;
The firmest cheek might well grow pale,
To hear it to the last.
The God of heaven, who prospers us,
30 Could bid a nation grow.
And shield us from the red man's curse.
Two hundred years ago !
Come then, — great shades of glorious men,
From your still glorious grave ;
35 Look on your own proud land again,
bravest of the brave !
We call you from each mouldering tomb,
And each blue wave below,
^^J To bless the world ye snatched from doom,
Whn*"''' years ago!
PART U.] READER AND SPEAKER. 237
Then to your harps, — yet louder, — higher,
And pour your strains along, —
And smite again eacli quivering wire,
In all the pride of song !
5 Shout for those godlike men of old,
Who, daring storm and foe.
On this blest soil their anthem rolled.
Two hundred years ago !
X
LESSON CXI. — THE STAGE. CHARLES SPRAGUE.
Lo, where the Stage, the poor, degraded Stage,
Holds its warped mirror to a gaping age ;
There, — where, to raise the drama's moral tone,
Fool Harlequin usurps Apollo's throne;
5 There, — where grown children gather round to praise
The new-vamped legends of their nursery days ;
Where one loose scene shall turn more souls to shame,
Than ten of Channing's lectures can reclaim ;
There, — where in idiot rapture we adore
10 The herded vagajbonds of every shore ;
Women, unsexed, who, lost to woman's pride,
The drunkard's stagger ape, the bully's stride;
Pert, lisping girls, who, still in childhood's fetters.
Babble of love, yet barely know their letters ;
15 Neat-jointed mummers, mocking nature's shape.
To prove how nearly man can match an ape ;
Vaulters, who, rightly served at home, perchance
Had dangled from the rope on which they dance ;
Dwarfs, mimics, jugglers, all that yield content,
20 Where Sin holds carnival, and Wit keeps lent;
Where, shoals on shoals, the modest million rush.
One sex to laugh, and one to try to blush,
When mincing Ravenot sports tight pantalettes,
And turns fops' heads while turning pirouettes ;
25 There, at each ribald sally, where we hear
The knowing giggle and the scurrile jeer,
While from the intellectual gallery first
Rolls the base plaudit, loudest at ^e worst.
Gods ! who can grace yon desecrated dome,
30 When he may turn his Shakspeare o'er at home ?
Who there can group the pure ones of his race,
To see and hear what bida him veil his face ?
238 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART IL
Ask ye who can ? wliy, I, and you, and you:
No matter what the nonsense, if 'tis new.
To Dr. Logic's wit our sons give ear;
They have no time for Hamlet, or for Lear ;
5 Our daughters turn from gentle Juliet's woe,
To count the twirls of Almaviva's toe.
Not theirs the hlame who furnish fortli the treat,
But ours, who throng the board, and grossly eat.
We laud, indeed, the virtue-kindling Stage,
10 And prate of Shakspeare and his deathless page;
But go, announce his best, on Cooper call.
Cooper, " the noblest Koman of them all ;"
Where are the crowds so wont to choke the door?
'T is an old thing, they 've seen it all before.
15 Pray Heaven, if yet indeed the Stage must stand,
With guiltless mirth it may delight the land;
Far better else each scenic temple fall,
And one approving silence curtain all.
Despots to shame may yield their rising youth,
20 But Freedom dwells with purity and truth.
Then make the effort, ye who rule the Stage, —
With novel decency surprise the age ;
Even Wit, so long forgot, may ])lay its part.
And Nature yet have power to melt the heart ;
25 Perchance the listeners, to their instinct true,
May fancy common sense, — 't were surely Something New
LESSON CXII. THE BURIAL-PLACE AT LAUREL HILL.-
W. G. CLARK.
Here the lamented dead in dust shall lie.
Life's lingering languors o'er, its labors done ;
Where waving boughs, betwixt the earth and sky,
Admit the farewell radiance of the sun.
5 Here the long concourse from the murmuring town,
With funeral face and slow, shall enter in ;
To lay the loved in tranquil silence down,
No more to suffer, and no more to sin.
And in this hallowed spot, where Nature showers
10 Her summer smiles from fair and stainless skies,
Affection's hand may strew her dewy flowers.
Whose fragrant incense from the grave shall rise.
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 239
And here the impressive stone, engraved with words
Which grief sententious gives to marble pale,
Shall teach the heart ; while waters, leaves, and birds,
Make cheerful music in the passing gale.
5 Say, wherefore should we weep, and wherefore pour
On scented airs the unavailing sigh, —
While sun-bright waves are quivering to the shore,
And landscapes blooming, — that the loved must die ?
There is an emblem in this peaceful scene :
10 Soon rainbow colors on the woods will fall;
And autumn gusts bereave the hills of green,
As sinks the year to meet its cloudy pall.
Then, cold and pale, in distant vistas round.
Disrobed and tuneless, all the woods will stand;
15 While the chained streams are silent as the ground,
As Death had numbed them with his icy hand.
Yet when the warm soft winds shall rise in spring.
Like struggling day-beams o'er a blasted heath,
The bird returned shall poise her golden wing,
20 And liberal Nature break the spell of Death.
So, when the tomb's dull silence finds an end.
The blessed dead to endless youth shall rise ;
And hear th' archangel's thrilling summons blend
Its tone with anthems from the upper skies.
25 There shall the good of earth be found at last,
Where dazzling streams and vernal fields expand.
Where Love her crown attains, — her trials past, —
And, filled with rapture, hails " the better land !"
LESSON CXIII. THE GOOD WIFE. GEORGE W. BTTRNAP.
"The good wife!" How much of this world's happi-
ness and prosperity, is contained in the compass of these
two short words ! Her influence is immense. The power
of a wife, for good, or for evil, is altogether irresistible.
5 Home must be the seat of happiness, or it must be forever
unknown. A good wife is, to a man, wisdom, and courage,
and strength, and hope, and endurance. A bad one is
confusion, weakness, discomfiture, despair. No condition
is hopeless, when the wife possesses firmness, decision,
10 energy, economy. There is no outward prosperity which
/-
240 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART U
can counteract indolence, folly, and extravagance at home.
No spirit can long resist bad domestic influences.
Man is strong; but his heart is not adamant. He do
lights in enterprise and action ; but, to sustain him, he
5 needs a tranquil mind, and a whole heart. He expends
his whole moral force, in the conflicts of the world. His
feelings are daily lacerated, to the utmost point of endur-
anae, by perpetual collision, irritation, and disappointment.
To recover his equanimity and composure, home must be
10 to him a place of repose, of peace, of cheerfulness, of com-
fort; and his soul renews its strength, and again goes forth,
with fresh vigor, to encounter the labors and troubles of
the world. But if at home he find no rest, and there is
met by a bad temper, sullenness, or gloom ; 'or is assailed
15 by discontent, complaint, and reproaches, the heart breaks,
the spirits are crushed, hope vanishes, and the man sinks
into total despair.
Let woman know, then, that she ministers at the very
fountain of life and happiness. It is her hand that lades
20 out, with overflowing cup, its soul-refreshing waters, or
casts in the branch of bitterness, which makes them poison
and death. Her ardent spirit breathes the breath of life
into all enterprise. Her patience and constancy are mainly
instrumental, in carrying forward, to completion, the best
25 human designs. Her more delicate moral sensibility is
the unseen power which is ever at work to purify and
refine society. And the nearest glimpse of heaven that
mortals ever get on earth, is that domestic circle, which
her hands have trained to intelligence, virtue and love,
30 which her gentle influence pervades, and of which her
radiant presence is the centre and the sun.
LESSON CXIV. A GOOD DAUGHTER. J. G. PALFKEY.
A good daughter ! — there are other ministries of love,
more conspicuous than hers, but none, in which a gentler,
lovelier spirit dwells, and none, to which the heart's warm
requitals more joyfully respond. — There is no such thing,
5 as a comparative estimate of a parent's affection, for one
or another child. There is little which he needs to covet,
to whom the treasure of a good child has been given. But
a son's occupations and pleasures carry him more abroad;
and he lives more among temptations, which hardly per-
10 mit the aflJ'pction that is following him perhaps over half
PART n.] READER AJVD SPEAKER. 241
the globe, to be wholly unmingled Avith anxiety, till the
time when he comes to relinquish the shelter of his father's
roof, for one of his own ; while a good daughter is the
steady light of her parent's house.
5 Her idea is indissolubly connected with that of his
happy fireside. She is liis mornmg sun-light, and his
evening star. The grace, and vivacity, and tenderness of
her sex, have their place in the mighty sway which she
holds over his spirit. The lessons of recorded wisdom
10 which he reads with her eyes, come to his mind with a
new charm, as they blend with the beloved melody of her
voice. He scarcely knows weariness which her song does
not make him forget, or gloom which is proof against the
young brightness of her smile. She is the pride and orna-
15 ment of his hospitality, and the gentle nurse of his sick-
ness, and the constant agent in those nameless, numberless
acts of kindness, which one chiefly cares to have rendered,
because they are unpretending but all-expressive proofs
of love.
20 And then what a cheerful sharer is she, and what an
able lightener of a mother's cares ! what an ever present
delight and triumph to a mother's affection ! Oh ! how
little do those daughters know of the power which God
has committed to them, and the happiness God would have
25 them enjoy, who do not, every time that a parent's eye
rests on them, bring rapture to a parent's heart. A true
love will, almost certainly, always greet their approaching
steps. That they will hardly alienate. But their ambition
should be, not to have it a love merely which feelings
30 implanted by nature excite, but one made intense, and
overflowing, by approbation of worthy conduct ; and she
is strangely blind to her own happiness, as well as unduti-
ful to them to whom she owes the most, in whom the
perpetual appeals of parental disinterestedness, do not call
J5 forth the prompt and full echo of filial devotion.
LESSON CXV. RELIGION THE GUARDIAN OF THE SOUL.
ORVILLE DEWEY.
One of the circumstances of our moral condition, is
danger. Religion, then, should be a guardian, and a vigi-
lant guardian ; and let us be assured that the Gospel is
such. Such emphatically do we need. If we cannot bear
5 a religion that admonishes uf?, watches over us, warns us,
21
242 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART U.
restrains us ; let us be assured that we cannot bear a reli-
gion that will save us. Religion should be the keeper of
the soul ; and without such a keeper, in the slow and
undermining process of temptation, or amidst the sudden
5 and strong assaults of passion, it will be overcome and lost.
Again, the human condition is one of weakness. There
are weak points, where religion should be stationed to
support and strengthen us. Points, did I say ? Are we not
encompassed with weakness ? Where, in the whole circle
10 of our spiritual interests and affections, are we not exposed,
and vulnerable ? Where have we not need to set up the
barriers of habit, and to build the strongest defences, with
which resolutions, and vows, and prayers, can surround
us? Where, and wherein, I ask again, is any man safe?
15 What virtue of any man, is secure from frailty? What
strong purpose of his, is not liable to failure ? What
affection of his heart can say, "I have strength, I am estab-
lished, and nothing can move me?"
How weak is man in trouble, in perplexity, in doubt ; —
20 how weak in affliction, or when sickness bows the spirit,
or when approaching death is unloosing all the bands of
his pride and self-reliance ! And whose spirit does not
sometimes faint under its intrinsic weakness, under its
native frailty, and the burthen and pressure of its necessi-
25 ties ? Religion, then, should bring supply, and support,
and strength to the soul ; and the Gospel does bring supply,
and support, and strength. And it thus meets a universal
want. Every mind 7ieeds the stability which principle
gives ; needs the comfort which piety gives ; needs it con-
30 tinually, in all the varying experience of life.
LESSON CXVI. FEATURES OF AMERICAN SCENERY. TUDOR.
Our numerous waterfalls, the enchanting beauty of
Lake George and its pellucid flood, of Lake Champlain,
and the lesser lakes, afford many objects of the most
picturesque character; while the inland seas, from Supe-
5 rior to Ontario, and that astounding cataract, whose roar
would hardly be increased by the united murmurs of all
the cascades of Europe, are calculated to inspire vast and
sublime conceptions. The effects, too, of our climate,
composed of a Siberian winter, and an Italian summer,
10 furnish new and peculiar objects, for description. The
PART 11.] READER AND SPEAKER. 243
circumstances of remote regions are here blended, and
strikingly opposite appearances witnessed, in the same
spot, at different seasons of the year. In our winters, we
have the sun at the same ahitude as in Italy, shining
5 on an unlimited surface of snow, which can only be found
in the higher latitudes of Europe, where the sun, in the
winter, rises little above the horizon. The dazzling brill-
iancy of a winter's day, and a moonlight night, in an
atmosphere astonishingly clear and frosty, when the
10 utmost splendor of the sky is reflected from a surface of
spotless -white, attended with the most excessive cold, is
peculiar to the northern part of the United States.
What, too, can surpass the celestial purity and transpa-
rency of the atmosphere, in a fine autumnal day, when our
15 vision, and our thought, seem carried to the third heaven ;
the gorgeous magnificence of the close, when the sun
sinks from our view, surrounded with various masses of
clouds, fringed with gold and purple, and reflecting, in
evanescent tints, all the hues of the rainbow.
LESSON CXVII. STUDY OF HUMAN NATURE ESSENTIAL TO A
TEACHER. — G. B. EMERSON.
If you were about to engage, in a capacity higher than
that of a day laborer, in any other pursuit than that of
teaching, would you not set yourself at once to under-
stand what was the object which you should endeavor to
5 have in view, and what the machinery by which you
could attain it? If you were going to manufacture wool-
len goods, you would wish to understand the nature of
the raw material, the processes and machinery by which
it is to be acted on, and to judge of the quality of the
10 article you wished to produce. Will you do less, when
the mechanism with which you are to operate is the work
of an Infinite Architect ? and the web to be woven is the
rich and varied fabric of human character ?
If you were about to engage in agriculture, you would
15 take care to inform yourself as to the nature of the soil,
its adaptation to the various kinds' of grain and vegeta-
bles, and the season of the year, at which, in this climate,
it is most proper to prepare the ground, to plough, to sow
the seed, and to reap and gather into the barn. Will you
20 take less care, when the soil is the human soul, the seed
244 AMKRICAU COMMOi-^-SCIIOOL [PABT U.
is the word of life, the harvest, the end cf the world, and
the reapers, angels ?
If you were going to navigate the ocean, you would
wish to know how to judge of the ship, to sail and steer;
5 you would inquire about the currents that would set you
from your course, and the winds that should bear you
onward ; you would learn to trace the moon's course
among the stars, and to look aloft to the sun in his path,
that you might not drift at random on the broad sea, ^ut
10 speed towards your desired haven, as if you could see it ris-
ing before you above the blue waves. So much you would
do that you might convey in safety a few tons of mer-
chandise ; and all men would hold you unwise if you did
less. Shall they not tax you with worse than folly, if
15 you make less preparation when your ship is the human
soul, freighted with a parent's and a nation's hopes, — with
the hopes of immortality, — if you fail to study the cur-
rents of passion, to provide against the rocks of tempta-
tion, and to look aloft for the guiding light which shines
20 only from Heaven.
But, to speak without simile, the study of mental phi-
losophy is of the greatest importance to a teacher, in every
point of view. If we would exercise the several powers,
we must know what they are, and by what discipline they
25 are to be trained. If we would cultivate them harmoni-
ously, in their natural order and proportion, we must
know which of them first come into action, which are
developed at a later age, and what are the province and
functions of each. Without this knowledge, we can
30 hardly fail of losing the most propitious times for begin-
ning their cultivation ; we shall make the common mis-
take of attempting certain studies too soon, or we shall
make use of means little suited to the ends we have in
view.
35 Important as this study is, it is no more difficult than
any other, if, in regard to it, we take the same course
which we find the true one in other investigations, — if,
laying aside conjectures, dreams, and speculations, we
adopt the safe and philosophical rule, to observe carefully
40 and extensively the facts, and draw from them only their
legitimate conclusions.
There are three sources from which we are to draw
light ; first, the facts of our own consciousness, the most
difficult of all to consult; second, the facta we observe in
PART n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 245
the mental growth of others, especially of children ; and
last, the great storehouse of recorded facts contained in
the works of those, who, directly or indirectly, have writ-
ten upon this subject.
LESSON CXVIII. EDUCATION. DR. HUMPHREY.
[From an Inaugural Address delivered at Amherst College.]
Convened as we are this day, in the portals of science
and literature, and with their arduous heights, and pro-
found depths, and Elysian fields before us, education
offers itself as the inspiring theme of our present medita-
5 tions. This, in a free, enlightened, and Christian state, is
confessedly a. subject of the highest moment. How can
the diamond reveal its lustre from beneath incumbent
rocks and earthly strata ? How can the marble speak, or
stand forth in all the divine symmetry of the human form,
10 till it is taken from the quarry, and fashioned by the hand
of the artist ? And how can man be intelligent, happy, or
useful, without the culture and discipline of education?
It is this that smooths and polishes the roughnesses of
his nature. It is this, that unlocks the prison-house of his
15 mind, and brings out the captive. It is the transforming
hand of education, which is now, in so many heathen
lands, moulding savageness and ignorance, pagan fanati-
cism, and brutal stupidity, revenge, and treachery, and
lust, — and, in short, all the warring elements of our lapsed
20 nature, into the various forms of exterior decency, of men-
tal symmetry, and of Christian loveliness. It is education
that pours light into the understanding, lays up its golden
treasures in the memory, softens the asperities of the tem-
per, checks the waywardness of passion and appetite, and
25 trains to habits of industry, temperance, and benevolence.
It is this, which qualifies men for the pulpit, the senate,
the bar, the art of healing, and the bench of justice. It is
to education, to its domestic agents, its schools and col-
leges, its universities and literary societies, that the world
30 is indebted for a thousand comforts and elegancies of
civilized life, for almost every useful art, discovery, and
invention.
In a word, education, regarding man as a rational,
accountable, and immortal being, elevates, expands, and
35 enriches his mind ; cultivates the best affections of his
heart ; pours a thousand sweet and gladdening streams
around the dwellings of the poor, as well as the mansions
21*
^C AMEUICyVN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAKT H
of the rich ; and while it greatly multiplies and enhances
the enjoyments ot" lime, iielps to train up the soul for the
bliss ol' eternity.
LESSON CXIX. — I'KOGRESS OF SCIENCE. EDWARD EVERETT.
[From an Address before the Mass. Mechanic Association.]
Besides all that may be hoped for, by the diligent and
ingenious use of the materials for improvement, afforded
by the present state of the arts, the progress of science
teaches us to believe, that principles, elements, and
5 powers, are in existence and operation around us, of
which we have a very imperfect knowledge, perhaps no
knowledge whatever.
Commencing with the mariner's compass, in the middle
ages, a series of discoveries have been made, connected
10 with magnetism, electricity, galvanism, the polarity of
light, and the electro-magnetic phenomena, which are
occupying so much attention at the present day, all of
■which are more or less applicable to the useful arts, and
which may well produce the conviction that, if, in some
15 respects, we are at the meridian, we are, in other respects,
in the dawn of science.
In short, all art is a creation of the mind of man ; — an
essence of infinite capacity for improvement. And it is
of the nature of every intelligence, endowed with mch a
20 capacity, however mature in respect to the past, to be at
all times, in respect to the future, in a state of hopeful
infancy. However vast the space measured behind, the
space before is immeasurable ; and though the mind may
estimate the progress it has made, the boldest stretch of
25 its powers is inadequate to measure the progress of which
it is capable.
Let me say, then. Persevere. Do any ask what you
have done, and what you are doing, for the public good ?
Send them to your exhibition rooms, and let them see the
30 walls of the Temple of American Liberty,* fitly covered
with the products of American art. And while they gaze,
with admiration, on these creations of the mechanical arts
of the country, bid them remember that they are the pro-
ductions of a people, whose fathers were told by the
35 British ministry, they should not manufacture a hob-nail.
Does any one ask, in disdain, for the great names who
* Faneuil Hall.
TART 11.] READER AND SPEAKER. 247
have illustrated the mechanic arts ; tell him of Arkwright
and Watt, of Franklin, of Whitney and Fulton, whose
memory will dwell in the grateful recollections of pos-
terity, when the titled and laureled destroyers of mankind
5 shall be remembered only with detestation.
Mechanics of America, respect your calling, respect
yourselves. The cause of human improvement has no
firmer, or more powerful friends. In the great temple of
nature, whose foundation is the earth, — whose pillars are
10 the eternal hills, — whose roof is the star-lit sky, — whose
organ-tones are the whispering breeze and the sounding
storm, — whose architect is God, there is no ministry more
noble than thai of the intelligent mechanic !
LESSON CXX. — PURPOSE OF THE BUNKER-HILL MONTIMENT.
DANIEL WEBSTER.
We know, indeed, that the record of illustrious actions
IS most safely deposited in the universal remembrance of
mankind. We know, that if we could cause this structure
to ascend, not only till it reached the skies, but till it
5 pierced them, its broad surfaces could still contain but
part of that, which, in an age of knowledge, hath already
been spread over the earth, and which history charges
itself with making known to all future times. We know,
that no inscription on entablatures less broad than the
10 earth itself, can carry information of the events we com-
memorate, Avhere it has not already gone ; and that no
Structure, which shall not outlive the duration of letters
and knowledge among men, can prolong the memorial.
But our object is, by ttiis edifice, to show our own deep
15 sense of the value and importance of the achievements of
our ancestors ; and, by presenting this work of gratitude
to the eye, to keep alive similar sentiments, and to foster
a constant regard for the principles of the revolution.
Human beings are composed not of reason only, but o
20 imagination also, and sentiment; and that is neitbjr
wasted nor misapplied which is appropriated to the pur-
pose of giving right direction to sentiments, and opening
proper springs of feeling in the heart.
Let it not be supposed, that our object is to perpetuate
25 national hostility, or even to cherish a mere military
spirit. It is higher, purer, nobler. We consecrate our
work to the spirit of national independence, and we wish
248 AMF.RICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART H.
that the light of peace may rest upon it forever. We rear
a memorial of our conviction of tlial unmeasured benefit,
which has been conferred on our own land, and of the
happy influences, which have been produced, by the
5 same events, on the general interests of mankind.
We come, as Americans, to mark a spot, which must
forever be dear to us and our posterity. We wish that
whosoever, in all coming time, shall turn his eye hither,
may behold that the place is not undistinguished, where
10 the first great battle of the revolution M'as fought. We
wish that this structure may proclaim the magnitude and
importance of that event, to every class and every age.
We wish that infancy may learn the purpose of its erec-
tion from maternal lips, and that wearied and "withered
15 age may behold it, and be solaced by the recollections
which it suggests. We wish that labor may look up
here, and be proud, in the midst of its toil. We wish
that, in those days of disaster, which, as they come on all
nations, must be expected to come on us also, desponding
20 patriotism may turn its eyes hilherward, and be assured,
that the foundations of our national power still stand
strong.
We wish that this column, rising towards heaven,
among the pointed spires of so many temples dedicated
25 to God, may contribute also to produce, in all minds, a
pious feeling of dependence and gratitude. We wish,
finally, that the last object on the sight of him who leaves
his native shore, and the first to gladden his who revisits
it, may be something which shall remind him of the
30 liberty and the glory of his country. Let it rise, till it
meet the sun in his coming; let the earliest light of the
morning gild it, and parting day linger and play on its
summit.
CXXI. THE AMERICAN FLAG. J. R. DRAKE.
When Freedom froni her mountain height
Unfurled her standard to the air,
She tore the azure robe of night,
And set the stars of glory there.
She mingled with its gorgeous dies
The milky baldric of the skies,
And striped its pure celestial white.
With streakings of the morning light ;
PART n.] HEADER AND SPEAKER. 249
Then, from his mansion in the sun,
She called her eagle bearer down.
And gave into his mighty hand,
The symbol of her chosen land.
5 Majestic monarch of the cloud,
Who rear'st aloft thy regal form,
To hear the tempest trumpings loud
And see the lightning lances driven.
When strive the^Avarriors of the storm,
10 And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven, —
Child of the i5Lin ! to thee 'tis given
To guard the banner of the free ;
To hover in the sulphur smoke,
To ward away the battle stroke ;
15 And bid its blendings shine afar,
Like rainbows on the cloud of war,
The harbingers of victory ! •
Flag of the brave ! thy folds shall fly,
The sign of hope and triumph high,
20 When speaks the signal trumpet tone,
And the long line comes gleaming on.
Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet.
Has dimmed the glistening bayonet.
Each soldier eye shall brightly turn
25 To where thy sky-born glories burn ;
And, as his springing steps advance,
Catch war and vengeance from the glance ;
And when the cannon-mouthings loud.
Heave in wild wreaths the battle shroud ;
30 And gory sabres rise and fall,
Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall ;
Then shall thy meteor glances glow.
And cowering foes shall shrink beneath
Each gallant arm that strikes below
35 That lovely messenger of death.
Flag of the seas ! on ocean wave
Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave,
When death, careering on the gale,
Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail,
40 And frighted waves rush wildly back.
Before the broadside's reeling rack :
Each dying wanderer of the sea.
Shall look at once to heaven and thee ;
260 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART U.
And smile to see thy splendor fly,
In triumph, o'er his closing eye.
Flag of the free heart's hope and home !
By angel hands to valor given ;
6 The stars have lit the welkin dome,
And all thy hues were born in heaven.
For ever float that standard sheet !
Where breathes the foe but falls before us,
With Freedom's soil beneath our feet,
10 And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us ?
LESSON CXXII. GREECE IN 1820. J. G. BROOKS.
Land of the brave ! where lie inurned
The shrouded forms of mortal clay.
In whom the fire of valor burned,
And blazed upon the battle's fray;
5 Land where the gallant Spartan few
Bled at Thermopylae of yore,
When death his purple garment 'threw
On Hellas' consecrated shore !
Land of the Muse ! within thy bowers
10 Her soul-entrancing echoes rung,
While on their course the rapid hours
Paused at the melody she rung ;
Till every grove and every hill,
And every stream that flowed along,
15 From morn to night repeated still
The winning harmony of song.
Land of dead heroes ! living slaves !
SJiall glory gild thy clime no more ?
Her banner float above thy waves,
20 Where proudly it hath swept before ?
Hath not remembrance then a charm
To break the fetter and the chain ;
To bid thy children nerve the arm.
And strike for freedom once again ?
25 No ! coward souls ! the light which shone
On Leuctra's war-empurpled day,
The light which beamed on Marathon,
Hath lost its splendor, ceased to play ;
And thou art but a shadow now,
30 With helmet shattered, spear in rust ;
PAET II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 251
Thine honor but a dream, and thou
Despised, degraded in the dust !
Where sleeps the spirit, that of old
Dashed down to earth the Persian plume,
5 When the loud chant of triumph told
How fatal was the despot's doom ?
The bold three hundred — where are they,
Who died on battle's gory breast ?
Tyrants have trampled on the clay,
10 Where death has hushed them into rest.
Yet, Ida, yet upon thy hill,
A glory shines of ages fled ;
And fame her light is pouring still,
Not on the living, but the dead ;
15 But 'tis the dim sepulchral light,
Which sheds a faint and feeble ray.
As moon-beams on the brow of night,
When tempests sweep upon their way.
Greece ! yet awake thee from thy trance ;
20 Behold thy banner waves afar ;
Behold the glittering weapons glance
Along the gleaming front of war !
A gallant chief of high emprize,*
Is urging foremost in the field,
25 Who calls upon thee to arise
In might, in majesty revealed.
In vain, in vain the hero calls ;
In vain he sounds the trumpet loud ;
His banner totters ; see, it falls
30 In ruin, freedom's battle shroud ;
Thy children have no soul to dare
Such deeds as glorified their sires ;
Their valor 's but a meteor's glare,
Which gleams a moment and expires.
35 Lost land ! where Genius made his reign.
And reared his golden arch on high ;
Where science raised her sacred fane,
Its summit peering to the sky ;
Upon thy clime the midnight deep
40 Of ignorance hath brooded long ;
* Ypsilajiti.
252 AMKUICAN COMMON-BCHOOL [PART II
And in the tomb, forgotten, sleep
The sons of science and of song.
Thy sun hath set, the evening storm
Hath passed in giant fury by,
5 To blast the beauty of thy form,
And spread its pall upon the sky ;
Gone is thy glory's diadem,
And freedom never more shall cease
To pour her mournful requiem ^
10 O'er blighted, lost, degraded Greece !
LESSON CXXIII. THE WILD BOY. CHARLES WEST THOMSON.
He sat upon the wave-washed shore
With madness in his eye ;
The surge's dash, — the breaker's roar,
Pass'd unregarded by ;
6 He noted not the billows' roll.
He heeded not their strife, —
For terror had usurped his soul.
And stopped the streams of life.
They spoke him kindly, — but he gazed,
10 And offered no reply ; —
They gave him food, — he looked amazed,
And threw the morsel by.
He was as one o'er whom a spell
Of darkness hath been cast ;
15 His spirit seemed to dwell alone,
With dangers that were past.
The city of his home and heart.
So grand, — so gaily bright,
Now touched by fate's unerring dart,
20 Had vanished from his sight.
The earthquake's paralyzing shake
Had rent it from its hold, —
And nothing but a putrid lake.
Its tale of terror told.
25 His kindred there, a numerous band,
Had watched his youthful bloom, —
In the broajd ruin of the land,
All — all had met their doom !
PART II.] HEADER AND SPEAKER. 2SB
But the last night, a mother's voice,
Breathed over him in prayer, —
She perished, — he was left no choice
But mute and blank despair.
5 He sat alone, of all the crowd
That lately thronged around, —
The ocean winds were piping loud,
He did not heed their sound ;
They asked him of that city's fate,
10 But reason's reign was o'er, —
He pointed to her ruined state,
Then fled, — and spoke no more.
LESSON CXXIV. THE CURE OF MELANCHOLY. CARLOS WILCOX.
And thou to whom long worshipped nature lends
No strength to fly from grief or bear its weight,
Stop not to rail at foes or fickle friends.
Nor set the world at naught, nor spurn at fate ;
5 None seek thy misery, none thy being hate ;
Break from thy former self, thy life begin ;
Do thou the good thy thoughts oft meditate,
And thou shalt feel the good man's peace within,
And at thy dying day his wreath of glory win.
10 With deeds of virtue to embalm his name,
He dies in triumph or serene delight ;
Weaker and weaker grows his mortal frame
At every breath, but in immortal might
His spirit grows, preparing for its flight :
15 The world recedes and fades like clouds of even,
But heaven comes nearer fast, and grows .more bright,
All intervening mists far off" are driven ;
The world will vanish soon, and all will soon be heaven.
Wouldst thou from sorrow find a sweet relief?
20 Or is thy heart oppressed with woes untold ?
* Balm wouldst thou gather for corroding grief?
Pour blessings round thee like a shower of gold.
'T is when the rose is wrapped in many a fold
Close to its heart, the worm is wasting there
25 Its life and beauty ; not, when all unrolled.
Leaf after leaf its bosom rich and fair
Breathes freely its perfumes throughout the ambient air.
22
264 AiMEHICAN COMMON-SCHOOt [PART U.
Wake ! thou that sleepest in enchanted bowers,
Lest these lost years should haunt thee on the night
When death is waiting for thy numbered hours
To take their swift and everlasting flight ;
5 Wake ! ere the eanhborn charm unnerve thee quite,
And be thy thoughts to work divine addressed ;
Do something, — do it soon, — with all thy might;
An angel's wing would droop if long at rest,
And God himself inactive were no longer blessed.
10 Some high or humble enterprise of good
Contemplate till it shall possess thy mind,
Become thy study, pastime, rest, and food,
And kindle in thy heart a flame refined ;
Pray Heaven for firmness thy whole soul to bind
15 To this thy purpose, — to begin, pursue.
With thoughts all fixed and feelings purely kind,
Strength to complete and with delight review.
And grace to give the praise where all is ever due.
LESSON CXXV. — MY NATIVE VILLAGE. JOHN H. BRYANT.
There lies a village in a peaceful vale,
With sloping hills and waving woods around.
Fenced from the blasts. There never ruder gale
Bows the tall grass that covers all the ground ;
5 And planted shrubs are there, and cherished flowers,
And a bright verdure born of gentle showers.
'T was there my young existence was begun.
My earliest sports were on its flowery green,
And often, when my schoolboy task was done,
10 I climbed its hills to view the pleasant scene,
And stood and gazed till the sun's setting ray
Shone on the height, — the sweetest of the day.
There, when that hour of mellow light was come.
And mountain shadoAVS cooled the ripened grain,
15 I watched the weary yeoman plodding home,
In the lone path that winds across the plain.
To rest his limbs, and watch his child at play.
And tell him o'er the labors of the day.
And when the woods put on their autumn glow,
20 And the bright sun came in among the trees,
PART n.] READER J SB SPEAKER. 255
And leaves were gathering in the glen below,
Swept softly from the mountains by the breeze,
I wandered till the starlight on the stream
At length awoke me from my fairy dream.
5 Ah ! happy days, too happy to return.
Fled on the wings of youth's departed years,
A bitter lesson has been mine to learn,
The truth of life, its labors, pains, and fears ;
Yet does the memory of my boyhood stay,
10 A twilight of the brightness passed away.
My thoughts steal back to that sweet village still ;
Its flowers and peaceful shades before me rise ;
The play-place and the prospect from the hill.
Its summer verdure, and autumnal dyes ;
15 The present brings its storms ; but, while they last,
I shelter me in the delightful past.
LESSON CXXVI. — THE PRESS. JOSEPH T. BUCKINGHAM.
Look abroad, over the face of this vast and almost illim-
itable continent, and behold multitudes which no man can
number, impatient of the slow process of education, wrest-
ling with the powers of nature, and the obstructions of
5 accident, and, like the patriarch, refusing to let go their
hold, till the day break, and they receive the promised
blessing, and the recompense of the struggle.
You will perceive, too, in the remotest corners, where
civilization has planted her standard, that there the Press, the
10 mightiest engine, ever yet invented by the genius of man,
is producing a moral revolution, on a scale of grandeur
and magnificence, unknown to all former generations. By
it, information of every transaction of government, and of
all important occurrences, in the four quarters of the world,
15 is transmitted with a degree of speed and regularity, that
the most sagacious could not have foreseen, nor the most
enthusiastic have dared to hope for, fifty years ago. By
the Press, every cottage is supplied with its newspaper,
and elementary books, in the most useful sciences ; and
20 every cradle is supplied with tracts and toy-books, to teach
the infant to lisp lessons of wisdom and piety, long before
his mind has power to conceive, or firmness to retain, their
meaning.
The power of this engine, in tlir moral and intellectual
256 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART H.
universe, is inconceivable. There is no ordinary operation
of the physical clenienls, to which its mighty influence can
be compared. We can find, only in the visions of the
apocalyptic saint, a parallel to its tremendous action.
5 Guided by truth and reason, like the sound of the seventh
trumpet, it opens the temple of God in heaven, and shows
to the eye of the faithful and regenerated spirit, within
the veil of that temple, in the presence-chamber of the
Almighty, the ark of his testament. Controlled by false-
10 hood and fraud, its force, like the opening of the sixth seal
of the mystic volume, produces earthquakes, turns the sun
to sackcloth, and the moon to blood, moves every moun-
tain and island out of their places, and causes even the
heaven we hope for, to depart as a scroll, when it is rolled
15 together.
LESSON CXXVII. MOUNT AUBURN. NEHEMIAH ADAMS.
There is a spot within a few miles of Boston, which is
destined to be distinguished as a burying-place. " Sweet
Auburn" was familiarly known as a place of favorite re-
sort ; its shady and intricate retreats, affording opportunity
5 for social or solitary rambles, and its botanic richness a
field for pastime and study. The place has been purchased
by an Association, and consecrated as a cemetery, witk t^e
name of Mount Auburn.
Its distant appearance was formerly better than at pres-
10 ent, many of the trees now being removed. It looked like
a large mound rather than a hill, its central elevation
being surrounded by deep glens and valleys, whose tree
tops preserved a regular ascent, and reduced the otherwise
prominent height of the centre to the slope of a large
15 dome. It always seemed as though it were destined to
some important and solemn use.
From the bridge across Charles river, in Cambridge, at
sunset, when the horizontal light rayed into it, and the
glowing western sky showed in relief the quick motion of
20 the leaves in the fresh evening air, it has appeared like a
solemn and mournful place, enlivened, against its will,
by the voices and joy of a multitude, and showing, as it
assumed its natural shades, that it was of a melancholy
and sorrowing spirit.
25 Now, its dense woods are thinned ; and, from the com-
mon road to the place, and, within a fraction of a mile,
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 257
where the last house on the left leaves the view unbroken,
you see a large white object, with a black centre, peering
out from the side of a hill ; the nature and object of which
a stranger is not at a loss to know, as the Egyptian Portal
5 of the grounds, appearing before him with its inscription,
" Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was ; and
the spirit shall return to God who gave it."
There has been a large number of avenues and paths
laid through the place. The paths wind through romantic
10 recesses. It was with a peculiar sensation that we walked
through the place, when the avenues were first made. It
was like viewing a great, but mournful conquest. Man
had invaded a hitherto sacred and safe retreat; and the
axe and plough-share had let in the common sun. The
15 turf had just been removed from the ways, exposing a
glebe made rich by the decay of a thousand autumns.
The robins were rejoicing over a strange supply of food.
The sound of the workman's implements, from different
parts of the place, showed that " Sweet Auburn" was no
20 longer a safe retreat ; and the sudden appearance of a
trench, with blocks of granite near, and other preparations
for a tomb, made known the change that had taken place
in the character of this beautiful retirement.
LESSON CXXVIII. TRYING TO PLEASE. — EDWARD T. CHANNING.
We know, that it is difficult to draw the line between
good social dispositions and actions generally, and a sickly
regard to false exactions; and to avoid useless discrimina-
tions, we shall venture to say, that we dislike much of the
5 current language on the subject of pleasing. We dislike
the phrase, "trying to please." It is deceptive, and the
practice itself leads to effeminacy or fraud. It puts men
in wrong positions towards each other.
To shun giving needless offence is one thing, and most
10 important. This passive good-will or negative benevo-
lence is not sustained without effort; and, as it is little
noticed by those whom it spares, it is likely to be disinter-
ested, and can scarcely do harm to either party.
Then, again, to give innocent pleasure to others by
15 active efforts and personal sacrifices in their behalf, is safe
for all concerned. And to gratify our friends by our moral
excellence and high reputation, is a natural reward, though
we should not propose it as the object, of virtuous ac^on.
258 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART H.
And undoubtedly our customary civilities and attentions
are in part designed to give pleasure.
But Chesterfield's "passionate desire of pleasing every-
body," this endeavoring so to adapt ourselves to the dispo-
5 sitions of others, that admiration and gratitude shall beam
upon us whenever we appear, and our very persons become
idols, is not the prompting or expression of benevolence ;
and it is foreign to the true spirit and purpose of civility.
There is selfishness on both sides, and inutual mischief.
10 Men have no right to such a show of devotion, and we
have no right to offer it.
We are not placed here, solely or chiefly, to please or to
be pleased, even in the best sense that we can give to these
terms ; but to be good and to do good. And, so far as
15 manners promote these objects, let them be cultivated with
enthusiasm, as virtues; and, so far as they then give
pleasure, they yield a natural fruit.
LESSON CXXIX. — DEFENCE OF CHARLES GREENLEAF.
G. S. HILLARD.
Gentlemen, it is time for me to bring my remarks to a
close. I believe that I have left no point unurged, which
may be presented to you in an aspect favorable to the pris-
oner ; and he now awaits your merciful consideration.
5 I presume that no advocate, in a capital cause, was ever
satisfied with his eflbrts, in his client's behalf; who did not
feel, or fancy, on a sober re-consideration of his argument,
that he might have done better. I am prepared to be dis-
turbed by this reflection hereafter; and, if so, I must draw
10 what comfort I can, from that, I now feel, — that I have
done what I could.
I have endeavored to argue this cause fairly. I am not
conscious of having mis-stated the facts in evidence, or
laid down the law incorrectly ; and if I have, I shall be
15 sure to hear of it, before the case is through. In such
cases, however, there is no great difTerence, between what
can be accomplished by the highest or the humblest facul-
ties. The prisoner is saved, if at all, by the law and facts;
and by these, and these alone, do I solicit my client's
20 acquittal. If I have failed, or been wanting, let them speak
for me, and make up for my deficiencies.
There is another class of considerations, in this case,
which might be urs^ed, — another class of emotions which
PART n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 269
might be addressed in my client's behalf. In countries,
where the passions have a more predominating sway,
where the organization of man is more excitable, and his
blood more easily stirred, an advocate would not omit to
5 urge these considerations, — to appeal to these sensibilities.
I might speak to you of the gloom which an unfavora-
ble verdict will spread among a large circle of friends and
revives, of the anguish of his heart-broken Avife, of the
withering blight which will fall upon his innocent children,
10 of the deep, unmoving shadow which will settle upon his
once cheerful hearth.
But that stern fibre, which the mind and character de-
rives from our northern skies, rebukes such attempts, and
ensures their failure, if made. Such chords, if skilfully
15 struck, will tremble and vibrate for a moment, but will not
draw the judgment from its place. Justice is deaf, passion-
less, inexorable. Upon the guilty head, the great axe must
fall, no matter what chords of love it severs in its sweep.
But, of these considerations, I may make a legitimate
20 use. From them I may deepen the earnestness, with which
I adjure you to deal with this case wisely, soberly, con-
- scientiously, with the best faculties of your minds, and the
brightest effluence of your moral sense. Judge it merci-
fully, as you would be judged, when the verdict is to pass
25 upon your lives. Give to the prisoner all that you can,
not inconsistent with the claims of truth, not repugnant tc
the solemn sanctions of your oath.
By all that makes life sweet to you, take not his away
lightly. By that good name which is the immediate jewel
30 of your souls, by the tranquil satisfaction of regular and
successful industry, by ihe sustaining sympathy of your
friends, by the sunshine that beams from old familiar faces,
by the sweet charities of domestic life, by the kisses of
your children, which perhaps are warm upon your lips,
85 close not the gates of mercy against your brother man,
unless driven by that awful voice of duty, before which all
earthly considerations must ever give way.
LESSON CXXX. THE GENIUS OF ARISTOPHANES. — C. C. FELTON
The greatness of the genius of Aristophanes, is not
generally appreciated. The value of his comedies, as
illustrations of the political antiquities, the life, morals, and
manners of Athens, is not fully understood. The truth is,
260 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II
we are indebted to him for information upon the working
of the Attic, institutions, which, had all his plays been lost,
we should have vainly sought for in the works of other
authors. With what boldness and vigor does he sketch
5 that many-headed despot, the Demos of Athens ; with
what austere truth, docs he draw the character of the
Athenian Demagogue, and, in him, the Demagogue of all
times; how many rays of light are poured from his com-
edies, upon the popular and judicial tribunals, — the assem-
10 blies in the Pnyx, the Senate, and the Heliastic courts !
No intelligent reader can doubt, that Aristophanes was
a man of the most profound acquaintance with the politi-
cal institutions of his age ; no reader of poetic fancy can
fail to see that he possessed an extraordinary creative
15 genius. It is impossible to study his works attentively,
without feeling that Iiis was the master mind of the Attic
drama. The brightest flashes of a high poetical spirit, are
constantly breaking out, from the midst of the broadest
merriment, and the sharpest satire. An imagination of
20 endless variety and strength, enlivens those lyrical passages
which gem his works, and are among the most precious
brilliants of the Greek language. In the drawing of char-
acters, his plays exhibit consummate skill. The clearness
of his conceptions, the precision of his outlines, the con-
25 sistency with which his personages are throughout main-
tained, cannot fail to impress the reader, with the perfec-
tion of his judgment, and the masterly management of the
resources of his art.
He had the inestimable advantage, too, of writing in a
30 language which is undoubtedly the highest attainment of
human speech ; and all the rich varieties and harmonies
of this wondrous instrument, he held at his supreme com-
mand. Its flexibility, under his shaping hand, is almost
miraculous. At one moment, he is revelling in the wildest
85 mirth, and the next, he is sweeping through the loftiest
region of lyrical inspiration ; but the language never breaks
down under his adventurous flight. The very words he
wants^ come, like beings instinct with life, and fall into
" their proper places, at his bidding. His wit is as manifold
40 and startling, as the myriad-minded Shakspeare's. Indeed,
although these great men stood two thousand years apart,
and moved in widely differing spheres of poetical activity,
still many striking points of resemblance exist between the
genius of the English, and of the Grecian bard.
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 261
LESSON CXXXI. RESPONSIBILITY OF AMERICANS.—
E. S. GANNETT.
The Christian world is passing through a momentous
crisis. A struggle has begun, such as the kingdoms of
Europe have never before known. The elements of revo-
lution no longer slumber in any one of them. Ever and
5 anon, they break forth in tumult and bloodshed.- Smoth-
ered, they are not idle ; pent up in the confinement which
sovereigns impose on them, they are but accumulating
strength for new eruptions. Two parties exist throughout
all the states of Europe, with the exception perhaps of
10 imperial Russia, — the popular party, and the party that
support old institutions, either because they know that, if
these fall, they shall be buried in the ruins, or because
habit has so accustomed thern to subjection, that they feel
no wish to part with their chains.
15 The cause of freedom, of human rights, and the world's
improvement, depends on the fidelity of the popular party
to the principles which they have undertaken to sustain.
A fearful contest must ensue, with reciprocal defeat, and
mutual obstinacy. If the popular party should prevail, it
20 can only be after long and desperate efforts, under which
they will need every encouragement. With this party,
our sympathies are inseparably linked. From our exam-
ple, came the first ray that penetrated the darkness, from
which they have awoke. Under its steady influence, they
25 hope to press on to the accomplishment of their wishes.
If its aspect should be changed, their disappointment would
be severe, it might be fatal.
The eyes of Europe are upon us ; the monarch, from his
throne, watches us with an angry countenance ; the peas-
30 ant turns his gaze on us, with joyful faith ; the writers, on
politics, quote our condition, as a proof of the possibility
of popular government ; the heroes of freedom animate
their followers, by reminding them of our success. At no
moment of the last half century, has it been so important,
35 that we should send up a clear and strong light which may
be seen across the Atlantic. An awful charge of unfaith-
fulness to the interests of mankind, will be recorded against
us, if we suffer this light to be obscured, by the mingling
vapors of passion, and misrule, and sin.
40 But not Europe, alone, will be influenced by the charac-
ter we give to our destiny. The republics of the south
have no other guide towards the establishment of order
262 AMKRICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II.
and freedom, than our example. If this should fail them,
the last stay would be torn from their hope. We are
placed under a most solemn obligation, to keep before them
this motive to perseverance, in their endeavors to place
5 free institutions on a sure basis. Shall we leave those
wide regions to despair and anarchy ? Better that they
had patiently borne a foreign yoke, though it bowed their
necks to the ground.
Citizens of the United States, it has been said of us,
10 with truth, that we are at the head of the popular party of
the world. Shall we be ashamed of so glorious a rank ?
or shall we basely desert our place, and throw away our
distinction ? Forbid it, self-respect, patriotism, philan-
thropy ! Christians, we believe that God has made us a
15 name and a praise, among the nations. We believe that
our religion yields its best fruits in a free land. Shall we
be regardless of our duty, as creatures of the Divine Power,
and recipients of his goodness ? Shall we be indifferent
to the effects which our religion may work in the world ?
20 Forbid it our gratitude, our faith, our piety !
In one way only, can we discharge our duty to the rest
of mankind; by the purity and elevation of character that
shall distinguish us as a people. If we sink into luxury,
vice, or moral apathy, our brightness will be lost, our
25 prosperity deprived of its vital element ; and we shall
appear disgraced before man, guilty before God.
LESSON CXXXII. THE MOCKING-BIRD. ALEXANDER WILSON.
The plumage of the mocking-bird, though none of the
homeliest, has nothing gaudy or brilliant in it; and, had
he nothing else to recommend him, would scarcely entitle
him to notice ; but his figure is well-proportioned, and
5 even handsome. The ease, elegance, and rapidity of his
movements, the animation of his eye, and the intelligence
he displays in listening, and laying up lessons from almost
every species of the feathered creation within his hearinsr,
are really surprising, and mark the peculiarity of his
10 genius.
To these qualities, we may add that of a voice full,
strong, and musical, and capable of almost every modula-
tion, from the clear, mellow tones of the wood-thrush, to
the savage screams of the bald eagle. In measure and
15 accent, he faithfully follows his originals. In force and
PAKT II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 263
sweetness of expression, he greatly improves upon them.
In his native groves, mounted upon the top of a tall bush, or
half-grown tree, in the dawn of a dewy morning, while
the woods are already vocal with a multitude of warblers,
5 his admirable song rises preeminent over every com-
petitor.
The ear candisten to his music alone, to which that of
all the others seems a mere accompaniment. Neither is
this strain altogether imitative. His own native notes,
10 which are easily distinguishable by such as are acquainted
with those of our various song birds, are bold and full,
and varied seemingly beyond all limits. They consist of
short expressions of two, three, or, at the most, five or six
syllables, generally interspersed with imitations, and all
15 of them uttered with great emphasis and rapidity, and
continued with undiminished ardor, for half an hour, or
an hour, at a time ; his expanded wings and tail, glisten-
ing Avith white, and the buoyant gaiety of his action,
arresting the eye, as his song most irresistibly does the
20 ear. He sweeps round with enthusiastic ecstasy. He
mounts and descends, as his song swells, or dies away ;
and, as my friend, Mr. Bartram, has beautifully expressed
it, "he bounds aloft with the celerity of an arrow, as if to
recover or recall his very soul, which expired in the last
25 elevated strain."
While thus exerting himself, a bystander, destitute of
sight, would suppose that the whole feathered tribe had
assembled together, on a trial of skill, each striving to
produce his utmost effect : — so perfect are his imitations.
30 He many times deceives the sportsman, and sends him in
search of birds that perhaps are not within miles of him,
but whose notes he exactly imitates. Even birds them-
selves are frequently imposed on, by this admirable
mimic, and are decoyed, by the fancied calls of their
35 mates ; or dive with precipitation into the depths of
thickets, at the scream of what they suppose to be the
sparrow-hawk.
LESSON CXXXIII. THE EUROPEAN AND THE AMERICAN NA-
TIONS. DANIEL WEBSTER.
In many respects, the European and the American
nations are alike. They are alike Christian states, civil-
ized states, and commercial states. They have access to
the same common fountains of intelligence ; they all draw
iit54 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL fPART II.
from those sources which belong to the whole civilized
world. In knowledge and letters, — in the arts of peace
and war, — they difl'cr in degrees ; but they bear, never-
theless, a general resemblance.
5 On the other hand, in matters of government and social
institution, the nations on this continent are founded upon
principles which never did prevail, in considerable extent
either at any other time, or in any other place. There
has never been presented, to the mind of man, a more
10 interesting subject of contemplation, than the establish-
ment of so many nations in America, partaking in the
civilization, and in the arts of the old world, but having
left behind them those cumbrous institutions Avhich had
their origin in a dark and military age.
15 Whatsoever European experience has developed, favor-
able to the freedom and the happiness of man ; whatso-
ever European genius has invented for his improvement
or gratification ; whatsoever of refinement or polish, the
culture of European society presents, for his adoption and
20 enjoyment, — all this is ofl^ered to man in America, with
the additional advantages of the full power of erecting
forms of government on free and simple principles, with-
out overturning institutions suited to times long passed,
but too strongly supported, either by interests or preju-
25 dices, to be shaken without convulsions.
This unprecedented state of things, presents the hap-
piest of all occasions for an attempt to establish national
intercourse upon improved principles ; upon principles
tending to peace and the mutual prosperity of nations.
30 In this respect, America, the whole of America, has a
new career before her. If we look back on the history of
Europe, we see how great a portion of the last two cen-
turies, her states have been at war, for interests connected
mainly with her feudal monarchies ; wars, for particular
35 dynasties ; wars, to support or defeat particular succes-
sions ; wars, to enlarge or curtail the dominions of par-
ticular crowns ; wars, to support or to dissolve family
alliances ; wars, in fine, to enforce or to resist religious
intolerance. What long and bloody chapters do these
40 not fill, in the history of European politics !
Who does not see, and who does not rejoice to see,
that America has a glorious chance of escaping, at least,
these causes of contention ? Who does not see, and who
does not rejoice to see, that, on this continent, under other
f 4.RT II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 265
forms of government, we have before us the noble hope
of being able^ by the mere influence of civil liberty and
religious toleration, to dry up these outpouring fountains
of blood, and to extinguish these consuming fires of war ?
5 The general opinion of the age, favors such hopes and
such prospects. There is a growing disposition to treat
the intercourse of nations more like the useful intercourse
of friends : philosophy, — just views of national advantage,
. good sense, and the dictates of a common religion, and an
10 increasing conviction that war is not the interest of the
human race, — all concur to increase the interest created
by this new accession to the list of nations.
LESSON CXXXIV. THE TIMES, THE.MvVNNERS, AND THE MEN.
J. R. LOWELL.
New times demand new measures and new men;
The world advances, and in time outgrows
The laws that in our fathers' day were best;
And, doubtless, after us, some purer scheme
5 Will be shaped out by wiser men than we.
Made wiser by the steady growth of truth.
We cannot bring Utopia at once ;
But better almost be at work in sin.
Than in a brute inaction browse and sleep.
10 No man is born into the world, whose work
Is not born with him ; there is always work.
And tools to work withal, for those who will ;
And blessed are the horny hands of toil !
The busy world shoves angrily aside
15 The man who stands with arms akimbo set.
Until occasion tells him what to do ;
And he who waits to have his task marked out,
Shall die and leave his errand unfulfilled.
Our time is one that calls for earnest deeds.
20 Reason and Government, like two broad seas,
Yearn for each other, with outstretched arms
Across this narrow isthmus of the throne,
And roll their white surf higher every day.
The field lies wide before us, where to reap
25 The easy harvest of a deathless name.
Though with no better sickles than our swords.
My soul is not a palace of the past,
266 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAKT U
Where outworn creeds, like Rome's grey senate, quake.
Hearing afar the Vandal's trumpet hoarse,
That shakes old systems witli a thunder-fit.
The time is ripe, and rotten-ripe for change :
6 Then let it come. I have no dread of what
Is called for by the instinct of mankind.
Nor think I that God's world will fall apart
Because we tear a parchment more or less.
Truth is eternal, but her effluence,
10 With endless change, is fitted to the hour ;
Her mirror is turned forward, to reflect
The promise of the future, not the past.
I do not fear to follow out the truth,
Albeit along the precipice's edge.
15 Let us speak plain : there is more force in names
Than most men dream of; and a lie may keep
Its throne a w^hole age longer, if it skulk
Behind the shield of some fair seeming name.
Let us call tyrants tyrants, and maintain
20 That only freedom comes by grace of God,
And all that comes not by His grace must fall ;
For men in earnest have no time to waste
In patching fig-leaves for the naked truth.
LESSON CXXXV. LIBERTY TO ATHENS. JAMES G. PERCIVAL.
The flag of freedom floats once more
Around the lofty Parthenon ;
It waves, as waved the palm of yore,
In days departed long and gone ;
5 As bright a glory from the skies.
Pours down its light around those towers,
And once again the Greeks arise.
As in their country's noblest hours ;
Their swords are girt in virtue's cause,
10 Minerva's sacred hill is free, —
Oh ! may she keep her equal laws.
While man shall live, and time shall be !
The pride of all her shrines went down ;
The Goth, the Frank, the Turk had reft
15 The laurel from her civic crown ;
Her helm by many a sword was cleft :
PAET n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 267
She lay among her ruins low, — ■
Where grew the palm, the cypress rose,
And, crushed and bruised by many a blow,
5 She cowered beneath her savage foes ;
But now, again she spring? from earth,
Her loud, awakening trumpet speaks ;
She rises in a brigliter birth,
And sounds redemption to the Greeks.
10 It is the classic jubilee, —
Their servile years have rolled away ;
The clouds that hovered o'er them flee.
They hail the dawn of freedom's day ;
From Heaven the golden light descends,
15 The times of old are on the wing.
And glory there her pinion bends,
And beauty wakes a fairer spring ;
The hills of Greece, her rocks, her waves,
Are all in triumph's pomp arrayed ;
20 A light that points their tyrants' graves.
Plays round each bold Athenian's blade.
LESSON CXXXVI. — THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD.—
H. W. LONGFELLOW.
This is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling
Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms ;
But from their silent pipes no anthem pealing
Startles the villagers with strange alarms.
5 Ah ! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary,
When the Death- Angel touches those swift keys !
What loud lament and dismal Miserere
Will mingle with their awful symphonies !
I hear, even now, the infinite fierce chorus,
10 The cries of agony, the endless groan, —
Which, through the ages that have gone before us,
In long reverberations reach our own.
On helm and harness rings the Saxon hammer.
Through Cimbric forest roars the Norseman's song,
15 And loud amid the universal clamor,
O'er distant deserts sounds the Tartar gong.
268 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PABT II
I hear the Florentine, who from his palace
Wheels out his ballle-bell with dreadful din,
And Aztec priests, upon their teocallis,
Beat the wild war-druuis made of serpent's skin.
5 The tumult of each sacked and burning village ;
The shout, that every prayer for mercy drowns ;
The soldiers' revels in the midst of pillage,
The wail of famine in beleaguered towns !
The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched asunder,
10 The rattling musketry, the clashing blade;
And ever and anon, in tones of thunder,
The diapason of the cannonade.
Is it, man, with such discordant noises,
With such accursed instruments as these,
15 Thou drownest nature's sweet and kindly voices.
And jarrest the celestial harmonies ?
Were half the power that fills the world with terror.
Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts,
Given to redeem the human mind from error,
20 There were no need of arsenals and forts..
The warrior's name would be a name abhorred !
And every nation that should lift again
Its hand against its brother, on its forehead
Would Avear for evermore the curse of Cain I
25 Down the dark future, through long generations.
The echoing sounds grow fainter, and then cease;
And, like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations,
I hear once more the voice of Christ say, " Peace !"
Peace ! and no longer from its brazen portals
30 The blast of War's great organ shakes the skies !
But beautiful as songs of the immortals,
The holy melodies of Love arise.
LESSON CXXXVII. DIMOKTALITY. RICHARD H. DANA, SEN.
Is this thy prison-house, thy grave, then. Love ?
And doth Death cancel the great bond that holds
Comminrrlinc- spirits ? Are thoughts that know no bounds
But, self-inspired, rise upward, searching out
The Eternal Mind, — the Fatlier of all thought, —
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 269
Are they become mere tenants of a tomb ? —
Dwellers in darkness, who the illuminate realms
Of uncreated light have visited, and lived ? —
Lived in the dreadful splendor of that throne,
5 Which One, with gentle hand, the veil of flesh
Lifting, that hung 'twixt man and it, revealed
In glory ? — ihrone, before which, even now,
Our souls, moved by prophetic power, bow down,
Rejoicing, yet at iheir own natures awed ?
10 Souls, that Thee know by a mysterious sense,
Thou awful, unseen Presence ! are they quenche'^ ?
Or burn they on, hid from our mortal eyes
By that bright day which ends not ; as the sun
His robe of light flings round the glittering stars ?
15 And with our frames do perish all our loves ?
Do those that took their root, and put forth buds,
And their soft leaves unfolded, in the warmth
Of mutual hearts, grow up and live in beauty,
Then fade and fall, like fair unconscious flowers ?
20 Are thoughts and passions, that to the tongue give speech,
And make it send forth wiiuiing harmonies, —
That to the cheek do give its living glow,
And vision in the eye the soul intense
With that for which there is no utterance, —
25 Are these the body's accidents ? — no more ? —
To live in it, and, when that dies, go out
Like the burnt taper's flame ?
Oh ! listen, man !
A voice within us speaks that startling word,
30 "Man, thou shalt never "d'icr' Gelestiai voices
Hymn it unto our souls ; according harps,
By angel fingers touched, when the mild stars
Of morning sang together, sound forth still
The song of our great immortality :
35 Thick clustering orbs, and this our fair domain.
The tall, dark mountains, and the deep-toned seas,
Join in this solemn, universal song.
^h. ! listen, ye, our spirits ; drink it in
From all the air. 'T is in the gentle moonlight ;
40 'T is floating midst Day's setting glories ; Night,
Wrapped in her sable robe, with silent step
Comes to our bed, and breathes it in our ears :
Night, and the dawn, bright day, and thoughtful eve,
23'^
270 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART IL
All time, all bounds, the limitless expanse,
As one vast mystic instrument, are touched
Bj'' an unseen, living; Hand, and conscious chords
Quiver with joy in this great jubilee.
5 The dyino- hear it ; and, as sounds of earth
Grow dull and distant, wake their passing souls
To mingle in this heavenly harmony.
LESSON CXXXVIII. THE GRAY OLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAIN. —
HARRY HIBBARD.
[A Natural Image in Franconia Mountain Notch.]
Where a tall post beside the road displays
Its lettei'ed arm, pointing the traveller's eye,
Through the small opening mid the green birch trees,
Toward yonder mountain summit towering high,
f5 There pause. What doth thy anxious gaze espy?
A crag abrupt hung from the mountain's brow !
Look closer ! scan that bare sharp cliff on high;
Aha ! the wondrous shape bursts on thee now !
A perfect human face, — neck, chin, mouth, nose, and brow!
10 And full and plain those features are displayed,
Thus profiled forth against the clear blue sky ;
As though some sculptor's chisel here had made
This fragment of colossal imagery,
The compass of his plastic art to try.
15 From the curved neck up to the shaggy hair
That shoots on pine trees from the head on high,
All, all is perfect : no illusions there
To cheat- the exnecting eve with fancied forms of air !
Most wondrbus vision !^he broad earth hath not,-
20 Through all her bounds, an object like to thee,
That traveller e'er recorded, nor a spot
More fit to stir the poet's phantasy.
Gray Old Man of the iMountain, awfully
There from thy wreath of clouds thou dost iiprear
25 Those features grand, the same eternally !
Lone dweller mid the hills ! with gaze austere
Thou lookest down, methinks, on all below thee here:
And curious travellers have descried the trace
Of the sage Franklin's physiognomy
30 In that most grave and philosophic face.
If it be true, Old Man, that we do see
Sa^e Franlclin's r-nunter.aure. thou indeed must be
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 271
A learned philosopher most wise and staid,
From all that thou hast had a chance to see,
Since Earth began. Here thou, too, oft hast played
With lightnings, glancing round thy rugged head.
LESSON CXXXIX. — THE NOVEL READER. CHARLES SPRAGUE.
Look now, directed by yon candle's blaze.
Where the false shutter half its trust betrays, —
Mark that fair girl, reclining in her bed,
Its curtain round her polished shoulders spread :
5 Dark inidnight reigns, the storm is up in power;
What keeps her waking in that dreary hour ?
See where the volume on her pillow lies, —
Claims Radcliffe or Chapone those frequent sighs ?
'Tis some wild legend, — now her kind eye fills,
10 And now cold terror every fibre chills ;
Still she reads on, — in fiction's labyrinth lost,
Of tyrant fathers, and of true love crossed :
Of clanking fetters, low, mysterious groans,
Blood-crusted daggers, and uncoffined bones,
15 Pale, gliding ghosts, with fingers dropping gore.
And blue flames dancing round a dungeon door; —
Still she reads on, — even though to read she fears,
And in each key-hole moan strange voices hears.
While every shadow that withdraws her look,
20 Glares in her face the goblin of her book ;
Still o'er the leaves her craving eye is cast ;
On all she feasts, yet hungers for the last ;
Counts what remain, now sighs there are no more,
And now even those half tempted to skip o'er ;
25 At length, the bad all killed, the good all pleased.
Her thirsting curiosity appeased.
She shuts the dear, dear book, that made her weep.
Puts out the light, and turns away to sleep.
LESSON CXL. MOUNTAINS OF NEW HAMPSHIRE. ISAAC HILL.
» The highest mountains, within the known limits of the
old thirteen United States, are the cluster in New Hamp-
shire, called the White Mountains. These mountains are
supposed to be older than any of the ranges of high
mountains in Europe. Mont IBlanc, and Mont St. Ber-
nard, may peer above them, and reach their tops beyond
272 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART 11.
the line of perpetual congelation ; but Mount Washington
had been thousands of years in existence, before the inter-
nal tires upheaved the European Alps.
The beauty and grandeur of scenery in Scotland, or
5 Switzerland, or any other country of Europe, cannot
exceed that of this mountain region. What magnificent
landscape will compare with the different views at the
Notch; — with the Silver Cascade, half a mile from its
entrance, issuing from the mountain eight hundred feet
10 above the subjacent valley, passing over, almost perpen-
dicularly, a series of rocks so little broken, as to preserve
the appearance of a uniform current, and yet so far dis-
turbed, as to be perfectly white ; — -with the Flume, at no
great distance, falling over thre«5 precipices, from the
15 height of two hundred and fifty feet, down the two first in a
single current, and over the last in three, uniting again at
the bottom in a basin, formed by the hand of Nature, per-
haps by the wearing of the waters, in the rocks ; — with the
impending rocks, directly overhead on either side, to a vast
20 height, rent asunder by that Power which first upheaved
the mountains, leaving barely space for the head stream
of the Saco, and the road to pass ; — with the track of the
awful avalanches, at no great distance, on either side,
coming down from the height, throwing rocks, trees, and
25 earth across the defile, damming up the stream, and forc-
ing it to seek new channels, and covering up or carrying
away, clean to the surface of the hard rock, the long
travelled road I
If the eye is noi here sated, with the grandeur and
30 beauty of the stupendous works of the Almighty, and the
changes he has wrought, let the traveller pass into the
Franconia Notch, near the source of the Merrimack river,
twenty miles southerly of the White Mountain Notch.
The Man of the Mountain has long been personated
35 and apostrophized ; his covered head is the sure forerun-
ner of the thunder shower or storm ; and, in the world of
fiction, he is made the main agent of the mountain genii,
who bewilder and mislead the benighted traveller, and
whose lodgment is in the rocky caverns, hitherto unftre-
40 quented by the human tread. The Profile is perched at
the height of more than a thousand feet : the solid rock
presents a side view or profile of the human face, every
feature of which, in the due proportion, is conspicuous.
It is no inanimate profile : it looks the living man, as if
PART II.] READER AND SPE^^_KER. 273
his voice could reach to the proportionate distance of his
greater size.
The mountain region of New Hampshire, has been
denominated the Switzerland of America. Our scenery
5 is surpassed, in beauty, by no scenery on earth. Coming
down from our mountains, I would direct your attention
to our beautiful lakes. The eye never traced a more
splendid prospect, than the view from Red Hill. The
view from Mount Washington, shows the high moun-
10 tains around, as successive dark waves of the sea, at j^our
feet, and all other objects, the villages and the sea, as more
indistinct from their distance.
The view from Red Hill, an elevation of some twenty-
five hundred feet, which is gained on horseback, brings
15 all objects distinctly to the naked eye. On the one hand,
the Winnipiseogee lake, twenty-two miles in length, with
its bays, and islands, and surrounding villages, and farms
of parti-colored fields, spreads out like a field of glass, at
the southeast. Loch Lomond, with all its splendor and
20 beauty, presents no scenery that is not equalled in the
environs of the Winnipiseogee. Its suite of hills and
mountains, ser\'es as a contrast, to increase its splendor.
We stand upon the higher of the three points of Red Hill,
limited everywhere by regular circular lines, and elegant
25 in its figure beyond most other mountains. The autum-
nal foliage, overspreading the ranges of mountains, in the
season after vegetation has been arrested by the frosts, is
a beauty in our scenery that has never been described
by any inhabitant of Great Britain, because no such
30 scenerv ever there existed.
If Mr. Jefferson thought a single point upon the Poto-
mac, where that river breaks thi'ough the Blue Ridge, to
be Avorth, to the European observer, a voyage across the
Atlantic, will it be deemed extravagant, if I should say to
35 the inhabitants of a town or city of the United States, any-
where along the* Atlantic Ocean, that the Notch of the
White Hills, the Notch of the Franconia mountains, the
Cascade, or the Flume, or the Face of the Old Man, or
the view from Red Hill, one alone, or all together, are
40 worth ten times the expense and labor of a jburney of one
hundred, five hundred, or one thousand miles ?
274 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAET U
LESSON CXLI. LOCAL ASSOCIATIONS. HARRISON GRAY OTIS.
Among all the objects of mental association, ancient
buildings and ruins alFect us with the deepest and most
vivid emotions. They were the Avorks of beings like
ourselves. While a mist, impervious to mortal view,
5 hangs over the future, all our fond imaginings of the
things, which "eye hath not seen nor ear heard," in the
eternity to come, are inevitably associated with the men,
the events and things, which have gone to join the eter-
nity that is past.
10 When imagination has in vain essayed to rise beyond
the stars, which " proclaim the story of their birth," inquis-
itive to know the occupations and condition of the sages
and heroes, whom we hope to join in a higher empyrean,
she drops her v/cary wing, and is compelled to alight
15 among the fragments of "gorgeous palaces and cloud-
capped towers," which cover their human ruins, and, by
aid of these localities, to ruminate upon their virtues, and
their faults, on their deeds in the cabinet, and in the field,
and upon the revolutions of the successive ages in which
20 they lived. To this propensity may be traced the subli-
mated feelings of the man, who, familiar with the stories
of Sesostris, the Pharaohs, and the Ptolemies, surveys the
pyramids, not merely as stupendous fabrics of mechanical
skill, but as monuments of the pride and ambitious folly
25 of kings, and of the debasement and oppression of the
wretched myriads, by whose labors they were raised to
the skies. To this must be referred the awe and contri-
tion, which solemnize and melt the heart of the Christian,
who looks into the holy sepulchre, and believes he sees
30 the place where the Lord Mias laid.
From this originate, the musings of the scholar, who,
amid the ruins of the Parthenon and the Acropolis, trans-
ports his imagination to the age of Pericles and Phidias ;
— the reflections of all, not dead to sentiment, who
35 descend to the subterranean habitations of Pompeii, —
handle the utensils that once ministered to the wants, and
the ornaments subservient to the luxury, of a polished
city, — behold the rut of wheels upon the pavement hidden
for ages from human sight, — and realize the awful hour,
40 when the hum of industry, and the song of joy, the wail-
ing of the infant, and the garrulity of age, were suddenly
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 275
and forever silenced by the fiery deluge, which buried the
city, until accident and industry, after the lapse of nearly
eighteen centuries, revealed its ruins to the curiosity and
cupidity of the passing age.
LESSON CXLII. THE REPRESENTATIVE. AuOnymOUS.
[Mr. Sittingbourn, the representative, is seated at break-
fast.'] E7iter Mist.
Mist. Sir, I ought to apologize for breaking in upon
you, at what I dare say you consider an early hour of the
morning ; but I could not help it. I was prompted to it, —
moved to it, as I may say, — by reading your speech of
5 Tuesday night. Why, sir, you are going to vote for the
appropriation of the funds of the Protestant Church, for
the education of Roman Catholics I
Sittingbotirn. Yes, yes ; I think, and, what is more
important, perhaps, — those with whom I act, think that
10 course advisable, and I —
Mist. "Advisable!" Sir, it is destructive; — it is the
beginning of all evil, — the very germ of ruin !
Sitt. Sir, I am pledged to my party.
Mist. I know nothing of party, sir, — I am no party
15 man ; but you will be pleased to regulate your conduct
by the feelings and instructions of your constituents ; and
I, for one, protest against the admission of a principle
likely to overrun the country with Papists, and bring us
to as bad a state as that to which our wretched ancestors
20 were reduced in the days of bloody Mary, or the more
recent misrule of Charles the First. [Enter Cross.]
Sitt. Well, Mr. Cross, what are your commands ? We
are all in the same boah; you may speak before your
friend, jMr. Mist.
25 Cross. Well, sir, I am sure if you have no objection, I
can have none ; but I have come up upon an unpleasant
business, in regard to your speech of Tuesday.
Mist. Ah ! there it is.
Cross. I dare say we two sha' n't agree as to particu-
30 lars ; but for my part, Mr. Sittingbourn, if you support
that appropriation clause in the Irish Tithe Bill, I have
done with you.
Sitt. How so ? Why, Mr. Cross, you are, I believe, a
Romanist. You, surely, can have none of the fears and
35 apprehensions which my friend, Mr. Mist, entertains as
276 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAUT II.
to the overweening influence of your religion, in this
Prote?tant country.
Cross. Fear, sir ! no, — there is no great fear of that,
while we have such men in Parliament as yourself. Why,
5 Sir, let me ask you, why should you so readily accede to
a proposition for benefiting Catholics in Ireland, and make
no exertion to secure us similar advantages in England?
We are all on equal ground now, sir, — we are emanci-
pated ; that is to say, we have our common rights; and I
10 am just as eligible to sit in Parliament, as you, sir.
Why, then, is Ireland to be favored at our expense ? I
say, sir, it is your duty to advocate our cause, as well as
that of the Irish Catholics ; and you must, if you expect
any support from me, either vote against that clause, or
15 originate some motion to extend the same advantages to
England.
Siit. Time alone is wanting. Rome was not built in
a day ; nor can her church be established in an hour :
everything must be done by degrees.
20 Mist. Oh! then, it is gradually to be efTected.
Sitt. I did not say that.
Cross. Did n't you mean it, sir?
Sitt. Why, really —
Cross. This will not do ; I must have a specific answer
25 before I go. [Eiiter Clerk.]
Clerk. Sir, I was not aware that you had company.
Mr. Mist, how d' ye do ? Mr. Cross, your servant ; I
won't detain you five minutes ; — can I speak to you
alone ?
30 Sitt. I dare say, you may speak before your friends.
Clerk. Well, sir, I shall be very short. I hear you
have made a speech in favor of a general registration of
wills in London. Is that the case, sir ?
Sitt. Why, I certainly did support that measure. It
35 was represented to me as an advisable thing, — and —
Clerk. " Advisable," is it ! What, sir, to deprive hun-
dreds of honest professional men of their livelihood, to
gorge the already bloated London practitioners ? Sir, it
is nonsense, — madness, — folly.
40 Sitt. It did not strike me to be so : I must be the best
judge of what I have myself examined and inquired into.
There appears^o be a vast deal of difficulty and intricacy
in the present system, and no small proportion of chica-
nery and extortion; and I really cannot submit to —
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 277
Clerk. Submit, sir, what do you mean by submitting ?
I sent you to Parliament to represent me. — I tell you that
the new Registration Bill is a most shameful bill, and
will rob me of four hundred and eighty pounds per
5 annum ; what have you, sir, to set against that ? I insist
upon it you do not vote for that bill.
S'ttt. But I have pledged myself in a speech.
Clerk. Then, sir, T wish you would not speak so much,
like the parrot, — you might perhaps think the more ; or,
10 like our last excellent representative, who never spoke at
all, think as much as he did. You must not vote for it,
sir, — that 's all. [Eater Dobbins.^
SittT Mr. Dobbins, your servant.
Dobbhis. Yours, sir, ah ! some friends and neighbors ;
15 perhaps we are here on the same errand.
Sitt. These gentlemen are come to complain of me.
Dobb. Then, sir, we are all agreed ; and as we are all
of the same party, and the same club, I have no scruple
in speaking out at once, for I am in a hurry, — we military
20 men are punctual, and I have another appointment. In
fact, Mr. Sittingbourn, I perceive that you voted for the
reduction of the army.
Sitt. I did, sir, and conscientiously too : I think our
military force is too considerable for the peaceable times
25 in which we live.
Dobb. That 's all very fine, Mr. Sittingbourn ; and no
man in the kingdom is more anxious for reduction in the
public expenditure than myself; but of all the things to
touch, the army, sir, is the last. I have been for many
30 years on half-pay.— I have no chance of getting upon full
pay, if the least reduction takes place, — if things remain
as they are, it is possible ; but the idea of blighting the
prospects of a man who so* strenuously supported you —
Sitt. Sir, I was speaking on a great national question,
35 — I spoke in generals : —
Dobb. Yes, sir, and forgot the lieute7iants ; but that
won't do.
Sitt. All I know, is, that amongst the most vehement
advocates for reduction, — amongst the most ardent de-
40 nouncers of extravagant expenditure, — you were the fore-
most, and I —
Dobb. That 's all very right, sir : I feel that I am an
oppressed man. — I have had beardless boys put over my
24
278 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART H
liead : — the system is a corrupt one, and a base one ; — but
reduction, sir — I — [Enter Cowl.]
Mr. Cowl. So, sir, you voted against tho repeal of the
malt-tax, — that 's a pretty go : — how came that about ?
5 Siit. Why, sir, as you ask me so plainly, I will answei
as candidly. I went determined to oppose the tax, and
support the repeal ; but after hearing Sir Robert Peel's
explanation, I confess I could not, in justice and honor, do
otherwise than vote for its continuation.
10 Cowl. That 's a pretty go : you are a nice man to send
to the House of Commons, with your Peel and your
7'6'peal ; all I can say is, that you ought to be ashamed of
yourself, sir ; and I am worth fifty thousand pounds, and
neither ashamed nor afraid to tell you so.
15 Sitt. I cannot see why I should be ashamed of acting
conscientiously.
Cowl. Did n't you pledge yourself to vote against it?
Sitt. I did, but I was convinced by argument.
Cowl. Argument ! — fiddledeedee for argument : I did n't
20 give you my vote, sir, to be argued out of your promise.
Sitt. I saw no injury done to the people by the tax, 1
saw —
Cowl. " Saw !" I don't care what you saw. Who cares
for the people ? I have heard you say it would not have
25 made a penny a pot difTerence in beer to the people, as
you call them ; but it would have made more than five oi
six shillings in the bushel to me ; and who are the people,
I should like to know, if it is not the maltsters ? [Enter
Lock.]
80 Sitt. Mr. Lock, are you here too, — and to complain ?
Lock. Indeed I am, sir. — here, sir, here is your name,
voting in a majority for the Rattledumslap Railroad ; the
success of which will just rob me of four thousand six
hundred a year, — supersedes the whole line of the Tow-
35 twaddle canal, of which I hold, at this moment, two-thirds
of the shares. [Enter Jarvis.]
Mr. Jarvis. That is nothing to me, Mr. Lock, — nothing,
sir, — nothing.
Lock. How so, Mr. Jarvis ?
40 Jarvis. Why, sir, you are a rich man, — I am a poor
one : — your kinal did us a precious sight of harm of itself;
and that ought never to have been suffered ; but as you
say, the rail-road, which will take passengers as well as
luggage, will be the ruin on me. Yes, Mr. Sittingbourn
PART U.] READER AND SPEAKER. 279
if that Rattledumslap Bill is passed, no vote of mine do
you ever have again. I 'a horsed that road, now nigh
upon thirty years, — I bore up against the kinal, — but for
the railroad —
5 Sitt. I give you my word, I was not aware that the
railroad would interfere with your interests ; or, to tell
you the truth, that it would come near your line. It
struck me as a great national work, worthy of support.
Lock. " National work ! " It is mighty agreeable to
10 hear you putting what you call a national work in compe-
tition with my Tow-twaddle Canal.
Jarvis. Yes, or the Eclipse, Wonder, and Rocket, all
of which call me master.
Mist. I take higher grounds of objection to Mr. Sitting-
15 bourn.
Cross. And I, higher still, — the oppression of a vast
body of Englishmen.
Mist. The danger of a large connexion of exemplary
Christians.
20 Coiol. Sir, I have just six questions to put to you : —
Sitt. Sir, I cannot allow any questions to be put here ;
this is neither the House of Commons nor the hustings ;
and as I have other things to do besides listening to the
separate grievances of a whole constituency, I shall wish
25 you a very good morning, leaving my breakfast pfirlor
entirely at your service to discuss your ownftusiness,
which is none of mine ; and I only beg leave to tell you
that whatever your opinion of the relative obligations of a
representative to his constituents may be, I, for one, con-
30 scious of doing my duty to you and to my country, to the
best of my ability, will neither hold the office of a slave,
nor endure the character of a delegate. I wish you a
very good morning ; and when next we meet in the
Town Hall, I shall be happy to hear what you may have
35 to say.
LESSON CXLIII. A REPUBLICAN SCHOOL-ROOM. A. B. MUZZEY.
The success of all human enterprises depends much on
the importance attached to them, the dignity they assume
in our view, and the associations which circle round them.
The orators of immortal renown, in ancient times, were
5 accustomed to invest the themes they discussed, with a
peculiar greatness, and to throw a halo of glory around
290 AMERICAN COMJVION-SCHOOI. [PART 11.
the occasion lh;it had convened their audience. But there
is one assembly, unknown to their days, and compared
with wliich their proudest conventions fade, as the morn-
ing star before coming day. It is in the school-room in a
5 republic, the place where, in a land favored like our own,
the children of the rich and the poor, of the obscure and
the honored, are seated side by side. This spectacle was
reserved for a modern age ; and if, of old, the thought of
that influence, which an eloquent voice may exert over an
10 audience of mature minds, fixed habits, and established
principles, was so inspiring, what is not the legitimate
effect of contemplating a collection of immortal beings,
brought together for the culture of their noblest powers, at
the earliest, and, therefore, the most decisive period of
15 their lives ?
When I think of the office of one, set for a teacher of
those beings, it rises in my mind to a rank which might
seem, even to those thus occupied, to be unduly magni-
fied, did I state my own feelings in relation to it. Many
20 look down for the Teacher ; they think his work one
which almost any individual can perform, and to which
neither honor, nor high compensation, rightfully belong.
I look up for the teacher, far above gross and perishing
interests, up to the clear ^ky of spirit, intelligence, and
25 character; and of him, who is charged with these sacred
concerns, and who is faithful to this great vocation, I can
never think otherwise than with reverence.
LESSON CXLIV. THE ENGLISH SKYLARK. SAMUEL H.
STEARNS.
[Extract from a letter of a young American to his brother.]
London, July 12, 1836.
My Dear Brother, — I rose early to enjoy the hallowed
hour of devotion. It was my first Sabbath in a foreign
land ; and a delightful morning it was. The sky was
clear, and the air was fresh and balmy. I walked beyond
the closely built houses of the town, now closed in silence
on their slumbering inhabitants, to spend those halcyon
moments among cottages and gardens, fields and hedges,
all bright with the morning sun, and fresh with the dew
of heaven, to be regaled with views as beautiful as they
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 281
were new, with the fragrance of flowers I had never
before seen, and the music of birds whose notes had never
before struck my ear and thrilled my heart.
When I had reached the top of a broad, swelling, ver-
5 dant hill, about one and a half mile from the town, I took
my position upon the top of a hedge bank. The town and
the harbor were before me ; and all around were the neat
white-washed, straw-thatched cottages, and blooming
gardens, and velvet-like fields, enclosed with green and
10 flowering hedges, and shaded with deep verdant trees,
and enlivened with gay birds, which alone, of all animated
beings seemed, with inanimate nature, to have caught the
spirit of the morning, and to be sympathizing and vying
with each other in the worship of their Maker.
15 I had not stood there long before I enjoyed the principal
object of my search. It was the morning lark, rising and
singing towards heaven, — ^just as Jeremy Taylor has so
beautifully described it to our imaginations. I could not
have had a better exhibition of it. It satisfied, and more
20 than satisfied, my previous, and most pleasing conceptions
. of it. I saw one rise, and watched its ascent, and listened
to its song, till it was entirely above and beyond my sight.
I could only hear its note, more soft, more sweet as it was
nearer the home of the blest, and the object of its praise,
25 the throne of its God.
I could think of nothing but of some returning angel,
or of some sainted spirit released from its service below,
and springing from the earth, gaily ascending higher and
higher, singing more and more joyously, and resting not
30 from its song or its flight, till it folds its wing and rests its
foot by the throne of Him who made it. I could still
hear its note, and still I gazed after it, and presently dis-
cerned its form, and saw it descend ; but its descent was,
if possible, more beautiful than its ascent. It returned to
35 earth with such a graceful and easy motion, it seemed as
if conscious that it could, at any time, rise again.
I did not intend to give you any description of this hour
or of this scene ; and you can have no idea of it now. It
was altogether the happiest hour I have enjoyed since I
40 left my native land. I returned to my lodgings, satisfied,
— filled, — and feeling as if I had had a glimpse, and
caught a note, of heaven.
2A*
2S2 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II.
LESSON CXLV. — THE INVALID AND THE POLITICLAN.
Mtir2}hy.
[E?iter Feeble in his night- goionJ]
Qtiidminc. \^Witho2it.'\ Hold your tongue, you foolish
fellow, he '11 be glad to see me. Brother Feeble ! brother
Feeble !
Feeble. I was just going to bed. Bless my heart ! what
5 can this man want? I know his voice. I hope no new
misfortune brings him at this hour ! \^Enter Quid.^
Brother Feeble, I give you joy : the nabob 's demolish-
ed. — Hurrah !
Feeb. Lack-a-day, Mr. Quidnunc, how can you serve
10 me thus ?
Quid. Suraja Dowla is no more ! Hurrah !
Fecb. Poor man ! he 's stark, staring mad.
Quid. Our men diverted themselves with killing their
bullocks and their camels, till they dislodged the enemy
15 from the octagon, and the counterscarp, and the bunga-
low —
Feeb. I '11 hear the rest to-morrow morning : — Oh ! I 'm
ready to die I
Quid. Odds heart, man, be of good cheer ! The ne\^
20 nabob, Jaffer Alley Cawn, has acceded to a treaty; and
the English company got all their rights in the Phiemad
and the Fushbulhoorums.
Feeb. But dear heart, Mr. Quidnunc ! why am I to be
disturbed for thisT
25 Quid. We had but two seapoys killed, three chokeys,
four gaul-walls, and two zemindars, — hurrah !
Feeb. Would not to-morrow morning do as well for
this?
Quid. Light up your windows, man ! Light up your
30 windows! Chandernagore is taken, — hurrah!
Feeb. Well, well, I 'm glad of it — good night ! {Going.]
Quid. Here ! here 's the Gazette !
Feeb. Oh ! I shall certainly faint ! \Sits doion.]
Quid. Ay, ay, sit down ; and I '11 read it to you. — \Be-
35 gins to read. Feeb. moves atoay.] Nay, don't run away,
I've more news to tell you! — there's an account from
Williamsburg in America : — the superintendent of Indian
affairs —
Feeb. Dear sir ! dear sir ! — [Avoiding kirn.]
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 283
Quid. He has settled matters with the Cherokees— -
[Following Mm.]
Feeb. Enough, enough ! — [From him.]
Quid. In the same manner he did before with the Cataw-
5 has. — [After him.]
Feeb. Well, well, — your servant — [From him.]
Quid. So that the white inhabitants — [After him.]
Feeb. I wish you would let me be a quiet inhabitant of
my own house —
10 Quid. So that the white inhabitants will now be
secured by the Cherokees and Calawbas —
Feeb. You 'd belter go home, and think of appearing
before the commissioners : —
Quid. Go home ! no, no : I '11 go and talk the matter
15 over at our coffee-house. [Going.]
Feeb. Do so, do so !
Quid. [Returtiing.] I had a dispute about the balance
of power; — pray, now, can you tell —
Feeb. I know nothing of the matter —
20 Quid. Well, another time will do for that. — I have a
great deal to say about that — [Going, returns.] Right, I
had like to have forgot ; there 's an erratum in the last
Gazette.
Feeb. With all my heart —
25 Qriid. Page 3, 1st col., 1st and 3rd lines, — for bombs,
read booms.
Feeb, Read what you will —
Quid. Nay, but that alters the sense, you know. — Well
now, your servant. If I hear any more news, I '11 come
30 and tell you.
Feeb. For Heaven's sake no more : —
Quid. I '11 be with you before you 're out of your first
sleep : —
Feeb. Good night, good night ! — [Runs off.]
'35 Quid. [Bawling after him.] I forgot to tell you — the
Emperor of Morocco is dead. So now, I have made him
happy. I '11 go and knock up my friend Razor, and make
him happy, too ; and then I'll go and see if anybody is
up at the coffee-house, and make them all happy there,
40 too.
284 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II.
LESSON CXLVI. NEW ENGLAND FREEDOM AND ENTERPRISE.
JOSIAII QUINCY.
If, after a general survey of the surface of New Eng-
land, we cast our eyes on its cities and great towns, with
what wonder should we behold, did not familiarity render
the phenomenon ahnosl unnoticed, men, combined in great
5 multitudes, possessing freedom and the consciousness of
strength, — the comparative physical power of the ruler less
than that of a cobweb across a lion's path, — yet orderly,
obedient, and respectful to authority ; a people, but no
populace ; every class in reality existing, which the gcne-
10 ral law of society acknowledges, except one, — and this
exception characterizing the whole country. The soil of
New England is trodden by no slave. In our streets, in
our assemblies, in the halls of election and legislation, men
of every rank and condition meet, and unite or divide on
15 other principles, and are actuated by other motives, thai^
those growing out of such distinctions.
The fears and jealousies, which in other countries sepa-
rate classes of men, and make them hostile to each other,
have here no influence, or a very limited one. Each indi-
20 vidual, of whatever condition, has the consciousness of liv-
ing under known laws, which secure equal rights, and
guarantee to each whatever portion of the goods of life, be
it great or small, chance, or talent, or industry, may have be-
stowed. All perceive, that the honors and rewards of society
25 are open equally to the fair competition of all ; that the dis-
tinctions of wealth, or of power, are not fixed in families ;
that whatever of this nature exists to-day, may be changed to-
morrow, or, in a coming generation, be absolutely reversed.
Common principles, interests, hopes, and affections, are the
30 result of universal education. Such are the consequences
of the equality of rights, and of the provisions for the gen-
eral difTusion of knowledge and the distribution of intestate
estates, established by the laws framed by the earliest emi-
grants to New England.
35 If, from our cities, we turn to survey the Avide expanse
of the interior, how do the effects of the institutions and
example of our early ancestors appear, in all the local com-
fort and accommodation which mark the general condition
of the whole country ; — unobtrusive, indeed, but substan-
40 tial ; in nothing splendid, but in every thing sufficient and
satisfactory. Indications of active talent and practical
energy, exist everywhere. With a soil comparatively little
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 285
luxuriant, and, in great proportion, either rock, or hill, or
sand, the sldll and industry of man are seen triumphing
over the obstacles of nature; making the rock the guardian
of the field; moulding the granite, as though it were clay;
5 leading cultivation to the hill-top, and spreading over the
arid plain, hitherto unknown and unanticipated harvests.
The lofty mansion of the prosperous, adjoins the lowly
dwelling of the husbandman ; their respective inmates are
in the daily interchange of civility, sympathy, and respect.
10 Enterprise and skill, v/hich once held chief affinity with
the ocean or the sea-board, now begin to delight the inte-
rior, haunting our rivers, where the music of the waterfall,
with powers more attractive than those of the fabled harp
of Orpheus, collects around it intellectual man and mate-
15 rial nature. Towns and cities, civilized and happy com-
munities, rise, like exhalations, on rocks and in forests, till
the deep and far-resounding voice of the neighboring tor-
rent is itself lost and unheard, amid the predominating
noise of successful and rejoicing labor.
LESSON CXLVII. FREEDOM AND PROGRESS. CHARLES G.
ATHERTON.
Our forefathers came to this land, seeking refuge from
oppression. Despised and insulted by the haughty arbi-
ters of the old world, that meek and suffering, but hardy
and faithful band brought to inhospitable and savage
5 shores, their household gods, their principles, their hopes.
They were wafted hither by no prosperous gales of royal
favor : — no lofty patronage protected their humble troop.
The same spirit which led them here, — which supported
them under trials and privations almost insupportable, —
10 which nerved their souls against the attacks of hunger,
want and savage enemies, — this same spirit flowed down
to their descendants, and became a part of their being. It
was the same spirit which in them prompted resistance to
unwarrantable assumptions on the part of the parent coun-
15 try, and the renunciation of an allegiance that no longer
promised protection. It was the same spirit, that, through-
out their struggle, nerved their arms and braced their
souls, and led them to resolve, to use the words of one of
their most able writers, " that wheresoever, whensoever,
20 and howsoever, they might be called to make their exit,
they would die free men I "
286 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II.
Long enough, have the despots of Europe kept their
subjects in ignorance, in order to preserve their own sway.
Long enough, liave they lorded it over the consciences and
birthrights of men. The divine right of kings, which they
5 have akered into the milder term legitimacy, will not do.
'• The right divine of kings to govern wrong," is not a
maxim for this bold, busy, and inquiring age. There is a
spirit abroad, too dangerous to be trifled with. Its out-
breakings have already been seen, in various parts of the
10 earth. If the masters of the old world yield to its progress,
it may reform abuses graduallv, as the water-drop wears
the marble, and they may hide in obscurity their imbecility
and shame.
But let them form themselves into alliances, and, by
15 combinations, endeavor to preserve their sway, and " the
over-strung nations will arm in madness." Let them en-
deavor to breast and stop the tide of improvement which
is rushing onward, and it will sweep them away, in its
mighty torrent. The murmurings of the storm are already
20 heard in the forest, the sighings of the gusts of wind, and
the groans of the laboring trees. If they prostrate them-
selves before the coming tempest, it may pass them un-
touched, unhurt ; .but woe to those who endeavor to brave
it; for the angel of death will ride on its rushing wings.
25 Reverses may ensue in the cause of freedom ; hope
delayed may sicken the souls of patriots ; the exertions of
heroes and martyrs may be, for a while, in vain ; brave
hearts may spill their best blood, on the points of merce-
nary bayonets, but the cause of human nature, and of God,
iO must triumph ! I say the cause of God ; for the Almighty
has not placed the longing after freedom, any more than
the longing after immortality in our bosoms, that it should
only forever be a source of disappointment and despair !
Our history must inspire all. And it is curious to reflect
35 that our forefathers, despised and insulted by the poten-
tates of the old world, brought that here with them, which
shall react, nay, is reacting on their persecutors, with tre
mendous energy. They came here " to plant the tree of
life, to plant fair freedom's tree," which has grown up so
40 large and beautiful, and will overshadow all the earth, —
the tree which shall prove, to the free of all nations, a
shelter and protccLion, but, to tyrants and oppressors, will
be more deadly than the Upas, which blasts and withers
all who approach it.
PART II.] KEADER AND SPEAKER. 287
The only condition on which liberty is granted to man,
is that of perpetual vigilance. This subtle spirit of oppres-
y sion must be met, in its first approaches, it must be guard-
ed against, with ever anxious care. Man cannot procure
5 anything of importance, unless by striving for it; nor can
he retain anything worth having, unless by guarding it.
The husbandman, before he can expect the earth to yield
its increase, must prepare it, by his toil ; and after his
stores are gathered, his care is still necessary to preserve
10 them.
The accumulator of property, when he has amassed
wealth, if he would not lose all the fruits of his labor and
anxiety, must still be ever on the alert, lest it vanish, and
- all his fond hopes be prostrated. No other blessing can
15 we expect to enjoy long, without activity and care on oui
part ; and why should we expect that liberty, the greatest
of blessings, can be retained without either? Why should
we imagine, that, because we now have liberty, we must
always possess it, however supine we may be ? If free-
20 dom is worth fighting for, it is worth preserving. Let us
never listen to the voice which would calm all our appre-
hensions, and lull us into slumbers of security ; into a
quiet which might be repose indeed, but would soon be
the leaden sleep of despotism.
LESSON CXLVIU. SCENE FKOM MARINO FALIERO. ByrOH.
[Doge, Preside?it, and Se?iators.]
Doge. The seigniory of Venice ! You betrayed me '
You, — you who sit there, — traitors as ye are !
From my equality with you in birth,
And my superiority in action, ..
5 You drew me from my honorable- toils
In distant lands, — on flood, — in field, — in cities ;
You singled me out, like a victim, to
Stand crowned, but bound and helpless, at the altar,
Where you alone could minister. I knew not, —
10 Sought not, wished not, dreamed not, the election,
Which reached me first at Rome, and I obeyed ;
But found, on my arrival, that, besides
The jealous vigilance which always led you
To mock and mar your sovereign's best intents,
15 You had, even in the interregnum of
My journey to the capitol, curtailed
2S8 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II
. And mutilated the few privilc2:os
Yet left the duke. All this I bore, and would
Have borne, had not my very hearth been stained
By the pollution of your ribaldrjs
5 And he, the ribald, whom I see amongst you, —
Fit judge in such tribunal !
Pres/dc}it. And can it be, that the great doge of Ven .e,
With three parts of a century of years
And honors on his head, could thus allow
10 His fury, (like an angry boy's,) to master
All feeling, wisdom, faith, and fear, on such
A provocation as a young man's petulance ?
Doge. A spark creates the flame; 'tis the last drop
Which makes the cup run o'er, — and mine was full
15 Already. You oppressed the prince and people : —
I would have freed both, — and have failed in both
Pause not: I would have shown no mercy, and I sf-ek none
My life was slaked upon a mighty hazard, —
And, being lost, take what I would have taken.
20 I would have stood alone amidst your tombs :
Now you may flock round mine, and trample on it,
As vou have done upon my heart while living.
President. You do confess then and admit the justice
Of our tribunal ?
25 Doge. I confess to have failed.
Fortune is female :— from my youth her favors
"Were not withheld. The fault was mine to hope
Her former smiles again, at this late hour.
Pres. You do not, then, in aught arraign our equity?
30 Doge. Noble Venetians, stir me not with questions.
I am resigned to the worst, but in me still
Have something of the blood of brighter days.
And am not over-patient. Pray you, spare me
Further interrogation, which boots nothing,
35 Except to turn a trial to debate.
I shall but answer that which will offend you,
And please your enemies, — a host already.
'Tis true, these sullen walls should yield no echo ;
But walls have ears, — nay more, they have tongues,—
and if
40 There were no other way for truth to overleap them, —
You, who condemn me, — you who fear and slay me,—
Yet could not bear in silence to your graves
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 289
What you would hear from me of good or evil.
The secret were too mighty for your souls !
Then let it sleep in mine, — unless you court
5 A danger which would double that you escape.
Such my defence would be, had I full scope
To make it famous : — for ince words are things ;
And dying men's are things which long out-live,
And oftentimes avenge them. Bury mine,
10 If ye would fain survive me. Take this counsel ;
And, though too oft ye made me live in wrath.
Let me die calmly. You may grant me this ! —
I deny nothing, — defend nothing, — nothing
I ask of j''0U but silence for myself,
15 And sentence from the court !
President. Marino Faliero,"^ doge of Venice,
Count of Val di Marino, senator,
And sometime general of the fleet and army,
Noble Venetian, many times and oft
20 Intrusted by the state with high employments,
. Even to the highest, — listen to the sentence!
Convict by many witnesses and proofs,
And by thine own confession, of the guilt
Of treachery, and treason, yet unheard of
25 Until this trial, — the decree is death !
The place wherein as doge thou shouldst be painted,
With thine illustrious predecessors, is
To be left vacant, with a death-black veil
Flung over these dim wo'rds engraved beneath, —
30 " This place is of Marino Faliero, ,
Decapitated for his crimes."
Doge. What crimes ?
Were it not better to record the facts.
So that the contemplator might approve,
35 Or at least learn whence the crimes arose ?
When the beholder knows a doge conspired,
Let him be told the cause, — it is your history.
Pres. Time must reply to that. Our sons will judge
Their fathers' judgment, which I now pronounce.
40 As doge, clad in the ducal robes and cap.
Thou shalt be led hence to the Giant's Staircase,
Where thou and all our princes are invested ;
And there, the ducal crown being first resumed,
* Pronounced Mareeno Fulccayro.
25
/
290 AMERICAN COMMOT^-SCHOOL [PAHT U.
Upon the spot where it was first assumed,
Thy head shall be struck off; and Heaven have mercy
Upon thy soul !
Doge. Is this the sentence ?
5 President. It is.
Doge. I ciln endure it. And the time ?
Pres. Must be immediate. Make thy peace with God, —
Within an hour thou must be in His presence !
Doge. I am there already ; and my blood will rise
10 Before the souls of those who shed it !
LESSON CXLIX. THE RICH MAn's SON, AND THE POOR MAN'S
SON. J. R. LOWELL.
The rich man's son inherits lands,
And piles of brick, and stone, and gold;
And he inherits soft, white hands.
And tender flesh that fears the cold ;
5 Nor dares to wear a garment old :
A heritage, it seems to me.
One would not care to hold in fee :
The rich man's son inherits cares ;
The bank may break, the factory burn ;
10 Some breath may burst his bubble shares ;
And soft, white hands would hardly earn
A living that would suit his turn :
A heritage, it seems to me,
One would not care to hold in fee.
15 AVhat does the poor man's son inherit ?
Stout muscles and a sinewy heart ;
A hardy frame, a hardier spirit ;
King of two hands ; he does his part,
In every useful toil and art :
20 A heritage, it seems to me,
A king might wish to hold in fee.
What does the poor man's son inherit ? —
Wishes o'erjoyed with humble things ;
A rank adjudged by toil-worn merit ;
25 Content that from employment springs ;
A heart that in his labor sings :
A heritage, it seems to me,
A king micrht wish to hold in fee :
PART IT.] READER AND SPEAKER. 291
What does the poor man's son inherit ? —
A patience learned by being poor,
Courage, if sorrow come, to bear it,
A fellow feeling that is sure
5 To make the outcast bless his door:
A heritage, it seems to me,
A king might wish to hold in fee.
Oh ! rich man's son, there is a toil
That with all others level stands ;
10 Large charity doth never soil.
But only whitens, soft, white hands :
This is the best crop from the lands :
A heritage, it seems to me.
Worth being rich to hold in fee.
15 Oh ! poor man's son, scorn not thy state ;—
There is worse weariness than thine,
In merely being rich and great ;
Work only makes the soul to shine,
And makes rest fragrant and benign :
20 A heritage, it seems to me.
Worth being poor to hold in fee.
Both heirs to some six feet of sod,
Are equal in the earth at last ;
Both children of the same dear God ;
25 Prove title to your heirship vast,
By record of a well-filled past<t
A heritage, it seems to me,
AVell worth a life to hold in fee.
LESSON CL. NEW ENGLAND S DEAD. ISAAC M LELLAN, JR.
"I shall enter on no encomium upon Massachusetts; she needs
none. There she is ; behold her, and judge for yourselves. — There
is her history. The world knows it by heart. The past, at least, is
secure. There is Boston, and Concord, and Lexington, and Bunker
Hill ; and there they will remain forever. The bones of her sons,
falling in the great struggle for independence, now lie mingled with
the soil of every state, from New England to Georgia; and there
they will remain forever." — Wedster^s Speech.
New England's dead I New England's dead !
On every hill they lie ;
On every field of strife made red
Bv bloody victory.
992 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PABT U.
Each valley, wlicrc the battle poured
Its red and awful tide.
Beheld the brave New England sword
With slaughter deeply dyed.
5 Their bones are on the northern hill,
And on the southern plain,
By brook and river, lake and rill,
And by the roaring main.
The land is holy where they fought,
10 And holy where they fell ;
For by their blood that land was bought,
The land they loved so well.
Then glory to that valiant band.
The honored saviors of the land !
15 Oh ! few and weak their numbers were, —
A handful of brave men ;
But to their God they gave their prayer,
And rushed to battle then.
The God of battles heard their cry,
20 And sent to them the victory.
They left the ploughshare in the mould,
Their flocks and herds without a fold.
The sickle in the unshorn grain,
The corn, half garnered, on the plain,
25 And mustered, in their simple dress.
For wrongs to seek a stern redress.
To right those wrongs, come weal, come woe,
To perish, or o'ercome their foe.
And where are ye, fearless men ?
30 And where are ye to-day ?
I call : — the hills reply again
That ye have passed away ;
That on old Bunker's lonely height.
In Trenton, and in Monmouth ground,
35 The grass grows green, the harvest bright,
Above each soldier's mound.
The bugle's wild and warlike blast
Shall muster them no iriore;
An army now might thunder past,
40 And they not heed its roar.
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER.
The Starry flag, 'nealh which they fought,
In many a bloody day,
From their old graves shall rouse them not,
For they have passed away.
293
LESSON CLI. THE GRAVES OF THE PATRIOTS. J. G. PERCIVAL.
Here rest the great and good, — here they repose
After their generous toil. A sacred band,
They take their sleep together, while the year
Comes with its early flowers to deck their graves,
5 And gathers them again, as winter frowns.
Theirs is no vulgar sepulchre, — green sods
Are all their monument ; and yet it tells
A nobler history, than pillared piles.
Or the eternal pyramids. They need
10 No statue nor inscription to reveal
Their greatness. It is round them ; and the joy
With which their children tread the hallowed ground
That holds their venerated bones, the peace
That smiles on all they fought for, and the wealth
15 That clothes the land they rescued, — these, though mute
As feeling ever is when deepest, — these
Are monuments more lasting, than the fanes
Reared to the kings and demigods of old.
Touch not the ancient elms, that bend their shade
20 Over their lowly graves ; beneath their boughs
There is a solemn darkness, even at noon,
Suited to such as visit at the shrine
Of serious liberty. No factious voice
Called them unto tlie field of generous fame,
25 But the pure consecrated love of home.
No deeper feeling sways us, when it wakes
In all its greatness. It has told itself
To the astonished gaze of awe-struck kings,
At Marathon, at Bannockburn, and here,
30 Where first our patriots sent the invader back
Broken and cowed. Let these green elms be all
To tell us where they fought, and where they lie.
Their feelings were all nature ; and they need
No art to make them known. They live in us,
35 While we are like them, simple, hardy, bold.
Worshipping nothing but our own pure hearts, '^
25*
294 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART U.
And the one universal Lord. They need
No column pointing to the heaven they sought,
To tell us of their home. The heart itself,
Left to its own free purpose, hastens there,
5 And there alone reposes. Let these elms
Bend their protecting shadow o'er their graves,
And build with their green roof the only fane.
Where we may gather on the hallowed day.
That rose to them in blood, and set in glory.
10 Here let us meet; and while our motionless lips
Give not a sound, and all around is mute
In the deep sabbath of a heart too full
For words or tears, — here let us strew the sod
With the first flowers of spring, and make to them
15 An offering of the plenty, Nature gives.
And they have rendered ours,^— perpetually.
LESSON CLII. — TRUTH. H. W. LONGFELLOW.
O holy and eternal Truth ! Thou art
An emanation of the Eternal Mind !
A glorious attribute, — a noble part
Of uncreated being ! Who can find,
5 By diligent searching, — who can find out thee,
The Incomprehensible, — the Deity !
The human mind is a reflection caught
From thee, a, trembling shadow of thy ray.
Thy glory beams around us, but the thought
10 That heavenward wings its daring flight awaj
Returns to where its flight was first begun.
Blinded and dark beneath the noon-day sun.
The soul of man, though sighing after thee,
Hath never known thee, saving as it knows
15 The stars of heaven, whose glorious light we see
The sun, whose radiance dazzles as it glows ;
Something, that is beyond us, and above
The reach of human power, though not of human love.
Vainly Philosophy may strive to teach
20 The secret of thy being. Its faint ray
Misguides our steps. Beyond the utmost reach
Of its untiring wing, the eternal day
PAKT U.] READER AND SPEAKER. 396
Of truth is shining on the longing eye,
Distant, — unchanged, — changeless, — pure and high !
And yet thou hast not left thyself without
A revelation. All we feel and see
5 Within us and around, forbids to doubt.
Yet speaks so darkly and mysteriously
Of what we are and shall be evermore,
We doubt, and yet believe, and tremble and adore !
LESSON CLIII. THE FIRST SETTLERS IN NEW HAMPSHIRE.
N. A. HAVEN.
Two hundred years ago, the place* on which Ave stand
was an uncultivated forest. The rough and vigorous soil
was still covered with the stately trees, which had been,
for ages, intermingling their branches and deepening the
5 shade. The river, which now bears^ on its bright and
pure waters, the treasures of distapt climates, and whose
rapid current is stemmed and vexecFlTy the arts and enter-
prise of man, then only rippled against the rocks, and
- reflected back the wild and grotesque thickets which over-
10 hung its banks. The mountain, which now swells on our
left, and raises its verdant side, " shade above shade," was
then almost concealed by the lofty growth which covered
the intervening plains. Behind us, a deep morass, extend-
ing across to the noithern creek, almost enclosed the little
15 " Bank," which is now the seat of so much life and indus-
try. It was then a wild and tangled thicket, interspersed
with venerable trees and moss-grown rocks, and present-
ing, here and there, a sunny space, covered with the blos-
soms and early fruit of the little plant that gave it its name.
20 This " Bank," so wild and rude, two hundred years ago,
was first impressed with the step of civilized man.
The influence of local association is strong and univer-
sal. There is no one who has not felt it ; and if it were
possible, it would be useless to withdraw the mind from its
25 effects. We owe many of our deepest emotions, our high-
est and most ennobling feelings, to the suggestions of ex-
ternal nature. The place which has been distinguished
by the residence of one whom we love and admire, kindles
in our minds a thousand conceptions, which we can scarcely
* Portsmouth.
296 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II.
analyze or describe. The moral beauty of character and
sentiment, is insensibly blended with the beauty of natural
scenery ; memory and fancy, alike excited, pass from one
object to another, and form combinations of beauty and
5 grandeur, softened and shaded by time and distance, but
having enough of life and freshness, to awaken our feel-
ings and hold undisputed dominion of our hearts.
Here, then, let us indulge our emotions. On this spot,
our forefathers trod. Here, their energy and persever-
10 ance, their calm self-possession and practical vigor, were
first called into action. Here, they met and overcame
difficulties, which would have overpowered the imagina-
tion, or subdued the fortitude, of ordinary men. All that
we see around us, are memorials of their worth. It was
15 their enterprise that opened a path for us, over the waters.
It was their energy that subdued the forest. They founded
our institutions. They communicated to us our love of
freedom. They gave us the impulse tliat made us what
we are.
20 It cannot then be useless to live along the generations
that have passed, and endeavor to identifj' ourselves with
those who have gone before us. Who and ivkat were they,
who thus fill our imaginations, and, as they rise before us,
bring to our minds so many recollections of high senti-
25 ment, and steady fortitude, and sober enthusiasm ? In
what school were they formed ? and what favorable cir-
cumstances impressed upon them that character of endur-
ing energy, which even their present descendants may
claim, as their best inheritance ? The answer to these
80 questions, is the subject, to which your attention will be
directed.
The character of individuals is always influenced, in a
greater or less degree, by that of the nation in which they
live. Sometimes, indeed, a great genius appears, who seems
35 pot to belong either to his age or country ; as a sunny day
in winter will sometimes swell the buds, and call forth the
early flowers, as if it belonged to ^milder season, or hap-
pier climate. But, in general, to form an accurate opinion
of the character of an individual, it becomes necessary to
40 estimate that of his nation, at the time, in which he lived.
Our ancestors were Englishmen; were merchant-adven-
turers; were Puritans. The elements of their character
are therefore to be found in the national character of Eng-
land, modified in the individuals by the pursuits of com-
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 297
merce, and the profession of an austere but ennobling form
of religion.
Such were the men from whom we derive our origin ;
and such were the circumstances w^hich impressed upon
5 them that peculiar character, which it is hoped the lapse
of two centuries has not yet obliterated. We may justly
be proud of such a descent ; for no ancestry in the world,
is half so illustrious, as the Puritan founders of New Eng-
land. It is not merely that they were good men, and reli-
10 gious men, exhibiting in their lives an example of purity,
and temperance, and active virtue. kucIi as no other com-
munity in the world could present ; but they possessed the
dazzling qualities of human greatness. Do we love to
dwell upon scenes of romantic adventure? Does our im-
15 agination kindle at the thought of distant enterprise, among
a strange people, exposed to constant and unusual peril?
Do we turn with delight to those bold and heroic achieve-
ments which call forth the energy of our nature, and, by
that deep excitement which belongs to the hopes and haz-
20 ards of war, awaken us to a new consciousness of exist-
ence ? All this is found in the history of our ancestors.
They were heroes, as well as pilgrims, and nothing is
Avanting, but the pen of genius, to make their prowess and
adventures the theme of a Avorld's admiration.
25 I have already alluded to the force of local association ;
and I would again advert to it in considering the ties
which ought to bind us to our native land. Other coun-
tries may possess a richer soil and a gentler sky; \.
Avhere shall we find the rude magnificence of nature so
30 blended with scenes of enchanting beauty, as rauong our
mountains and lakes ? Believe me, it is because our coun-
try is yet unexplored, that her scenes of beauty and gran-
deur, her bright waters and swelling hills, her rich pas-
turage of living green, mingled with fresh flowers, and
35 skirted with deep and shady forests ; her fields teeming
with life and vegetation ; her mountains rising into the
dark blue sky, and blending their summits with the purple
clouds ; her streams rushing from the hill-side, and hasten-
ing to mingle with the sea, or lingering in the solitude of
40 her valleys, and sparkling in the glorious sunshine; — it is
because these are unexplored, that they are unsung. The
time is not far distant, when the poet will kindle into rap-
ture, and the painter glow with emotion, in delineating our
romantic scenery.
29S AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART U.
But It is our moral associations that must bind us for-
ever to the land of our fathers. It is a land of equal rights ;
its soil is not polluted by a slave. It is a land of religious
freedom ; no hierarchy can here exalt its head, no pontiff
5 can hurl his thunders over a trembling and prostrate mul-
titude. It is a land of industry and toil ; affording in this
a constant pledge of the rnanlv ■virtues. It is a land of
knowledge and progressive improvement. In no part of
the world is so liberal a provibion made by law for public
10 instruction. It is a land whose inhabitants have alrea4y
fulfilled the high duties to which they have been called.
Other nations have gathered more laurels in the field of
blood ; otlier nations have twined more garlands and sung
louder praise for their poets and orators and philosophers ;
15 but where have romantic c^mrage and adventurous skill
been more strikingly exhibited? Where has practical
wisdom been better displayed ? In the hour of danger,
her sons have been foremosi in the battle. ' In every con-
test for the rights of mankind, her voice has always been
20 raised on the side of freedom. And now that she stands
possessed of everything which civil and political liberty
can bestovv', she is vigilant and jealous for the preserva-
tion of her rights, and is among the first to resist encroach-
ment.
LESSON CLiv. — SCROOGE AND MAULEY. — Charles Dickens.
Marley was dead : to begin with. There is no doubt
'^*^" whatever about that. The register of his burial was
signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and
the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it : and Scrooge's
5 name was good upon 'Change, for anything he chose to
put his hand to. Old IMarley was as dead as a door-nail.
Mind ! I don't mean to say that I know, of my own
knowledge, what there is particularly dead about a door-
nail. I might have been inclined, myself, to regard a cof-
10 fin-nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade.
But the wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile ; and my
unhallowed hands shall not disturb it; or the country's
done for. You will therefore permit me to repeat, em-
phatically, that Marley was as dead as a door-nail.
15 Scrooge knew he was dead? Of course he did. How
could it be otherwise ? Scrooge and Marley w^ere partners
for I don't Jcnow how many years. Scrooge was his sole
PART II.J HEADER AND SPEAKER. 299
executor, his sole administrator, his sole assign, his sole
residuary legatee, his sole friend and sole mourner. And
even Scrooge was not so dreadfully cut up by the sad
event, but that he was an excellent man of business on the
5 very day of the funeral, and solemnized it with an un-
doubted bargain.
Scrooge never painted out Old Marley's name. There
it stood, years afterwards, above the Avarehouse door :
" Scrooge and Marlejr." The firm was known as Scrooge
10 and Marley. Sometimes people, new to the business,
called Scrooge Scrooge, and sometimes Marley ; but he
answered to both names : it was all the same to him.
Oh ! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone,
Scrooge ! a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping,
15 clutching, covetous old sinner ! Hard and sharp as flint,
from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire ;
secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster. The
cold within him froze his old features, nipped his pointed
nose, shrivelled his cheek, stiflfened his gait; made his
20 eyes red, his thin lips blue ; and spoke out shrewdly in his
grating voice. A frosty rime was on his head, and on his
eyebrows, and his wiry chin. He carried his own low
temperature always about with him ; he iced his office in
the dog-days ; and didn't thaw it one degree at Christmas.
25 External heat and cold had little influence on Scrooge.
No warmth could warm, nor wintry weather chill him.
No wind that blew was bitterer than he ; no falling snow
was more intent upon its purpose ; no pelting rain less
open to entreaty. Foul weather didn't know where to
30 have him. The heaviest rain, and snow, and hail, and
sleet, could boast of the advantage over him, in only
one respect. They often "came down" handsomely, and
Scrooge never did.
Nobody ever stopped him in the street to say, with glad-
20 some looks, "My dear Scrooge, how are you? when will
you come to see me ? " No beggars implored him to be-
stow a trifle ; no children asked him what it was o'clock ;
no man or woman ever once, in all his life, inquired the
way to such and such a place, of Scrooge. Even the
40 blind-men's dogs appeared to know him ; and when they
saw him coming on, would tug their owners into door-
ways, and up courts ; and then would wag their tails, as
though they said, "No eye at all is better than an evil eye,
dark master!^
300 AMEUICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PARF U.
But wlint did Scrooge care ? It was the very thing he
liked. To edge his way along the crowded paths of life,
warning all human sympathy to keep its distance, was
what the knowing ones called " nuts " to Scrooge.
LESSON CLV. THE PILGRIM FATHERS OF NEW ENGLAND.
RUFUS CHOATE,
[Address before the N. E. Society, N. Y., Dec. 22, 1843.]
We meet again, the children of the pilgrims, to remem-
ber our fathers. Away from the scenes with which the
American portion of their history is associated, forever,
and in all men's minds ; — scenes so unadorned, yet clothed
5 to the moral eye with a charm above the sphere of taste : —
the uncrumbled rock, — the hill, from whose side those " deli-
cate springs" are still gushing ; — the wide woods, — the shel-
tered harbor, — the little islands that welcomed them, in their
frozen garments, from the sea, and witnessed the rest and
10 worship of that Sabbath day before their landing ; — away
from all these scenes, — without the limits of the fond old
colony that keeps their graves, — without the limits of the
New England which is their wider burial place, and fitter
monument, — in the heart of this chief city of the nation, into
15 which the feeble band has grown, — we meet again ; — to
repeat their names, one by one, — to retrace the lines of
their character, — to appreciate their virtues, — to recount
the course of their life, full of heroic deeds, varied by
sharpest trials, varied by transcendent consequences ; to
20 assert the directness of our descent from such an ancestry
of goodness and greatness ; — to erect, refresh, and touch
our spirits, by coming for an hour into their more imme-
diate presence, such as they were in the days of their
"human agony of glory."
25 The two centuries which interpose to hide them from
our eye, centuries so brilliant with progress, so crowded
by incidents, so fertile in accumulations, dissolve, for the
moment, as a curtain of cloud, and we are, once more, by
their side. The grand and pathetic series of their story
30 unrolls itself around us, vivid as if with the life of yesterday.
All the stages, all the agents of the process by which they,
and the extraordinary class they belonged to, were slowly
formed from the general mind and character of England ;
the influence of the age of the reformation, with which the
35 whole Christian world was astir to its profoundest depths,
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 301
and outermost limits, but which was poured out unbounded
and peculiar on them ; that various persecution, prolonged
through two hundred years, and twelve reigns, from the
time of the preaching of Wicklifie to the accession of James
5 the First, from which they gathered sadly so many precious
fruits ; a larger measure of tenderness of conscience, the
sense of duty, force of will, trust in God, the love of truth,
and the spirit of liberty ; the successive development
and growth of opinions, and traits and determinations and
10 fortunes, by which they were advanced, from Protestants
to Republicans, from Englishmen to Pilgrims, from Pil-
grims to the founders of a free Church, and the fathers of
a free people, in a new world ; the retirement to Holland ;
the resolution to seek the sphere of their duties, and the
15 asylum of their rights, beyond the seas ; the embarkation at
Delft-Haven, — that scene of interest unparalleled, on which
a pencil of your own has just enabled us to look back with
tears, and praise, and sympathj^ and the fond pride of chil-
dren ; that scene of few and simple incidents ; the setting
20 out of a handful of, not then, very famous persons, on a
voyage, but which, as. we gaze on it, begins to speak to you
as with the voices and melodies of an imm^ortal hymn
which dilates and becomes idealized into the auspicious
going forth of a colony, whose planting has changed the
25 history of the world ; — a noble colony of devout Christians
— educated firm men, valiant soldiers, and honorable wo-
men; a colony, on the commencement of whose heroic
enterprise, the selectest influences of religion seemed to be
descending visibly; and beyond whose perilous path are
30 hung the rainbow and the western star of empire ; — the
voyage of the "May-flower;" the landing; the slow win-
ter's night of disease and famine, in which so many, the
good, the beautiful, the brave, sank down and died, giving
place, at last, to the spring-dawn of health and plenty ; the
j 35 meeting with the old red race on the hill beyond the
brook; the treaty of peace, unbroken for half a century;
the organization of a republican government in the May-
flower's cabin ; — the planting of these kindred, coeval and
auxiliary institutions, without which such a government,
40 could no more live than the uprooted tree can put forth
leaf or flower, — institutions, to diffuse pure religion, good
learning, austere morality, the practical arts of administra-
tion, labor, patience, obedience, " plain living and high
thinking;" the securities of conservatism, and the germs
26
302 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART 11.
of progress ; the laying deep and sure, far down on the Rock
of Ages, of the foundation-stones of that imperial structure
whose dome now swells towards heaven ; the timely
death, at last, one after another, of the first generation of
5 the old Pilgrims, not unvisited by visions, as the final hour
drew nigh, of the more ap) orent glory of the latter day ;
all these high, holy, and beautiful things, come thronging,
fresh on all our memories, beneath the influence of their
original hour. Such as we heard them fronrour mothers
10 lips ; such as we read them, in the histories of kings, of
religions, and of liberty ; they gather themselves about us,
familiar, certainly, — but of an interest that can never die ;
an interest, intrinsical in themselves, yet heightened inex-
pressibly by their relations to that eventful future, into
15 which they have expanded, and through whose light they
shine.
And yet, with all this procession of events and. persons
moving before us, and solicited this way and that by the
innumerable trains of speculation and of feeling which
20 such a sight inspires, we can think of nothing, of nobody,
— here and now, but the pilgrims, themselves. I cannot,
and do not wish for a moment to forget that it is their fes-
tival, we have come to keep. It is their tabernacles we
have come to build. It is not the reformation, — it is not
25 colonization ; it is not ourselves, our present, or our future,
— it is not political economy, or political philosophy, of
which, to-day, you would have me say a word. We have
a specific, single doty to perform. We would speak of
certain valiant, good, peculiar men, — our fathers ! We
30 would wipe the dust from a few, old, plain, noble urns ; we
Avould shun huslry disquisitions, irrelevant novelties and
small display ; would recall, rather the forms and the linea-
ments of the honored dead ; — forms and features which
the grave has not changed ; over which the grave has no
35 power : robed in the vestments, all radiant with the hues
of an assured immortality !
LESSON CLVI. THE SETTLERS OF CONNECTICITT. ^KENT.
The policy and the institutions of the settlers of Con-
necticut, form and display their early national character.
Their attention to public instruction, civil and religious,
and their superintending and vigilant care of the morals
5 and habits of the people, were doubtless the principrJ
PAHT 11.] READER AND SPEAKER. 303
means, under Providence, of rendering the colony, in
every period of its history, free, prosperous, and happy.
It has been distinguished, above all other communities, for
the orderly, respectful, and obliging deportment of the
5 inhabitants ; for their intelligence, industry, and economy;
for the purity and solidity of their moral character ; for
their religious profession and habits ; for the dignity of
their magistracy, and for unexampled order and decorum
in the administration of justice. The discretion and pro-
10 bity which have attended the elections of their rulers, and
the steadiness with which men in power, and deserving
of the trust, have been kept in power, even by means of
annual elections, and in spite of the temptations to change
which such elections present, is a singular fact in the his-
15 tory of civil society, and most honorable to the character
of the State.
The people of this State appear to have preserved their
original manners and character more entire than most
other people, and in a remarkable degree, considering their
20 enterprising and commercial disposition. Their young
men have explored our infant settlements, and penetrated
the western forests and solitudes ; they have traversed
foreign lands, and visited the shores and islands of every
sea, either in search of new abodes, or as the heralds of
25 science and religion, or the messengers of business and
commerce. But notwithstanding their migratory spirit,
the sons of Connecticut have never lost their native attach-
ments ; — "their first, best country ever is at home." This
is partly owing to the force of natural sentiment ; but more
30 especially, in their case, is it owing to the influence of
early education, and to the pride, which local institutions
of so simple and so efficient a character, naturally engen-
der. And who indeed can resist the feelings which con-
secrate the place where he was born, the ground where his
35 ancestors sleep, the hills and haunts lightly trodden in the
vehemence of youth, and, above all, where stand the classic
halls, in which early friendships were formed, and the
young mind was taught to expand and admire ?
LESSON CLVII. BENEFITS OF COLLEGIATE EDUCATION. JOHN
SERGEANT.
An opinion has already been intimated that the benefits
of early education, continued through the period which
nature indicates as the time for training and discipline, are
301 AMERICAN C0M3I0N-SCn00L [PAKT 11.
not entirely lost, even though the acquirements in college
should afterwards be neglected. Wholesome nourishment
and exercise for the mind, are like wholesome nourishment
and exercise for the body. They enter into the conslitu-
6 tion, and impart to it general health and strength, and ca-
pacity for the exertions it maybe called upon to make, and
the trials it may be doomed to suffer. This is especially
true of childhood and youth, and, as to all that concerns
our physical condition, is universally admitted, in practice,
10 as well as in theory. The tender infant is not suflered to
lie in torpid inaction. Its little frame is put in motion in
its mother's arms. As soon as it can bear exposure, it is
sent forth to larger exercise in the open air. The boy is
permitted and encouraged to rejoice in active and invig-
15 orating sports ; and the youth, quite up to the season of
manhood, is taught to blend the healthful exertion of his
sinews and muscles, with the cultivation of his intellectual
and moral powers.
Why is this indication of nature thus carefully observed
20 and obeyed ? Why do parents watch with so much anx-
ious care over the forming constitution of the body, and
seek to train it to grace and vigor? It is because it is
forining, and the fashion it then receives may more or
less abide by it ever after. Their anxious care is well be-
25 stowed. Much of the happiness of life depends upon it,
and every one is aware that such is the case. Hence it is,
that gymnastics have been introduced into places of in-
struction, where feats are performed which no man of full
age expects ever to repeat, unless it should be his lot to be
30 a tumbler or a rope-dancer.
Is there not a precise analogy, in this respect, between
the two parts of our nature ? Have not the moral and in-
tellectual faculties a growth, a period of expansion, a sea-
son for nourishment and direction, when the constitution
35 of the mind and heart is taking a form like that of the
body, and when the intellectual and moral capacities are
to be assisted and trained into a healthy condition ? Are
there no gymnastics of the mind ? It would be deemed a
palpable absurdity, if any one were to argue, that a child
40 was likely to be employed in sedentary occupations, and
therefore it was not material, that he should have the use
of his limbs. Is it not still more absurd to use such an
argument in relation to his higher and better faculties ? It
is a great calamity to be deprived of sight, — to be unable
PAKT II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 305
to behold the glories of the visible creation, and enjoy the
beauties of art. Is it a less one to be destitute of intel-
lectual vision, by which we are enabled to " look through
nature up to nature's God," and to discern glories greater
5 far than those, great as we must confess them to be, which
are manifested to the eye of the body ? — by which, too, we
are enabled to look into ourselves, and there to see the fear-
ful and wonderful thing we are, and how it is that, from the
source of infinite wisdom and goodness, there is an emana-
10 tion of light imparted to us, which we are commanded not
to allow " to be darkened."
Surely, surely, these are reflections which ought forever
to silence the sordid calculation that would bend man's
whole powers down to the earth, instead of helping him
15 to grow up towards the heavens. The superincumbent
weight of the world's business will press heavily enough
upon him. With all the preparation he can have, and all
the improvement he can make of it, there is danger that
he will but seldom be able to raise himself above the thick
20 fog, that creeps along the ground, and limits his view to
the objects immediately around him, into the clear region,
where higher duties and higher enjoyments offer them-
selves to his attention, — where the spirit may breathe, the
mind hold communion with intelligence, the affections kin-
25 die, the charities be nursed, and his whole nature exalted,
under the quickening influence of the consciousness, that
he is a man. It is in this consciousness, properly enlight-
ened, that dwells his real dignity, and in it, too, the sense
of all his duties.
10 What parent, then, who has the ability, will withhold
from his child the means of such instruction and disci-
pline, in their fullest measure, as may promise to give him
a moral and intellectual constitution fitted to seize upon,
and improve the occasions that may arise for purifying and
35 exalting his nature, and fulfilling all his obligations? In
this consists his highest happiness. It will not control the
course of events. It will not make adverse fortune pros-
perous, nor the contrary. But, like a wall in the sea, well
planted and well supported, broad in its foundation, and
40 carried to its proper height, it will establish a secure and
quiet retreat from the shocks, both of prosperity and adver-
sity, to which he may betake himself in the hour of dan-
gerous trisJ, and escape the inaiiinent hazard of being
overwhelmed by either.
26*
306 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART U.
LESSON CLVlll. — OUR CONTROL OVER OUR PHYSICAL WElL-
BEING. HORACE MANN.
It is a truth fitted to awaken our most fervent gratitude
to the Author of our existence, that He has placed the
groat conditions of our physical well-being under our own
control. Of the nature or essence of the vital principle, we
5 are as yet ignorant. Some of tho internal ganglia, also, are
mysteries to the profoundest science. Of the more subtile
movements in the interior of the systein, we can take no
available cognizance. These inward vital processes are
not subject to our volition. The heart will not continue
10 to beat, nor the blood to flow, at the bidding of the mighti-
est of the earth.
The sculpture-like outline of the body; its gradual and
symmetrical expansion from infancy to manhood, — every
day another, yet the same ; the carving and grooving of all
15 the bones and joints; the weaving of the muscles into a
compact and elastic fabric, and their self-lubricating power,
by which, though pressed together in the closest order and
crossing each other in all directions, they yet play their
respective parts, without perceptible friction; the winding-
20 up of the heart, so that it will vibrate the seconds of three-
score years and ten, without repair or alteration ; the chan-
nelling out of the blood-vessels, more numerous than all
the rivers of a continent, and so thoroughly permeating
every part, that there is no desert or waste spot left, where
25 their fertilizing currents do not flow; the triple layer of the
skin, with its infinite reticulations; the culling, and exact
depositing, of the material of that most divinely-wrought
organ, the brain, for whose exquisite workmanship it
would seem as though air, and light, and heat, and elec-
30 tricity, had all been sifted and winnowed, and their finest
particles selected for its composition ; the diffusion of the
nerves over every part of the frame, along whose darksome
and attenuated threads, the messengers of the mind pass to
and fro with the rapidity of lightning; the fashioning of
35 the vocal apparatus, so simple in its mechanism, and yet
so varied in its articulation, and its musical range and
compass ; the hollowing out of the ear, which secures to us
all the utilities and blessings of social intercourse ; the
opening of the eye, on whose narrow retina, all the breadth
40 and magnificence of the universe can be.depicted ; and,
finally, the power of converting the coarse, crude, dead
PART II.] HEADER AND SPEAKER. 307
materials of our food, into sentient tissues, and miracu-
lously enduing them with the properties of life ; — over all
these, as well as over various other processes of nrmation
and growth, our will has no direct control. They will not
6 be fashioned, or cease to be fashioned, at our bidding. It
was in this sense that the question was put, " Which of
you by taking thought can add one cubit unto his stature? "
It is not by " taking thought," but by using the prescribed
means, — by learning and obeying the physical laws, — that
10 the stature can be made loftier, the muscles more vigorous,
the senses quicker, the hfe longer, and the capacity of
usefulness almost indefinitely greater.
It is diet, oxygenation of the blood, and personal purity
or cleanliness, which have the prerogative of accomplish-
15 ing these objects ; and these are in our power, within our
legitimate jurisdiction ; and if we perform our part of the
work, faithfully and fully, in regard to these things, Nature
will perform her part of the work, faithfully and fully, in
regard to those subtler and nicer operations which lie
20 beyond our immediate control.
LESSON CLIX. — THE INSOLVENT AND THE BANKRUPT. BERRIEN.
[Extract from Mr. Berrien's speech on the Bankrupt Law.]
Mr. President, the true and practical mode of testing the
question of the tendency of this law to produce immoral-
ity, is to compare the bankrupt and insolvent laws, not in
the operation tf the former, on tJte mass of insolvencies,
5 which our neglect of duty has suffered to accumulate, but
to examine each in its ordinary operation, as a permanent
portion of a system of jurisprudence. Let us do this
briefly.
The bankrupt, when he is declared to be so, either by
10 his own confession, or the proof adduced by his creditor, is
instantly divested of all control over his estate. He has no
hope of relief, but from perfect integrity of conduct, and
the relief which that promises him, is great and perma-
nent. It is no less than entire emancipation from his
15 thraldom. Thus the law presents every stimulus to hon-
esty, every motive to abstain from fraud. Superadded to
this, is the knowledge of the fact, that no time affords him
protection. If he has succeeded in concealing his fraud,
has obtained his certificate, amassed property, and resumed
10 the station in life from which he had fallen, that certificate
308 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II.
may be rciulcred invalid, his newly ac(iuirod property may
be subjected to the claims of his creditors, and he himself
must be doomed to ignominy, if at any period of his life,
however remote, a single act of fraud be established against
5 him. Looking to the ordinary motives of human action,
these would seem to be safeguards against dishonesty,
which would be sufficient even for the restraint of bad men.
What now, sir, is the situation of the insolvent ? His
most valuable effects have been assigned to the confiden-
10 tial creditors, who have enabled him to sustain his failing
credit, and given him an appearance of substance, by which
lie has been able to delude the rest of the community. At
last, the hour of reckoning comes, but it finds him stripped
of the means of satisfying even a small portion of the
15 demands against him. His confidential creditors are safe,
and therefore indiflerent, and so is he. He has committed
no fraud in the eye of the law, in rendering them so. All
others are remediless. He is arrested, imprisoned, and,
without some gross act of fraud, detected duriug the pro-
20 cess, is discharged. The boon which is awarded to him, is
that of dragging out a miserable existence, w'ith the privi-
lege of locomotion indeed ; but he is destined for life, to be
the slave of his creditors, living, moving, having his being
for their benefit. What motive has he for the honest sur-
25 render of his property, if he has any left, which is covered
from the view of his creditors ? Why, all his hopes for
the future, depend upon concealment. He is doomed to a
life of deception. If he is detected, wkat then ? He loses
his adventure, — it is seized bj^ his-creditors r but his dis-
30 charge is untouched. He may try again. The privilege
of dragging his wretched limbs from the market to the
strand, is still accorded to him.
Look now at the condition of the bankrupt and insol-
vent, when the respective processes against them are
35 closed, and say which is likely to prove the better and
more upright citizen. The ba/ikriipt has surrendered his
all. He is poor, nay destitute, penniless; but he is free.
Aye, there is the charm. He is really, truly free. It is not
merely the poor privilege of locomotion, which is accorded
40 to him. His hands are unshackled. The energies of his
mind are unfettered. He is free to exert them for the
benefit of those whom nature and aflfection haA^e endeared
to him. His recovered freedom is his stimulus. The lesson
of experience, which adversity has taught him, is his safe-
\
PART n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 309
guard. The almost utter impracticability of receiving, a
second time, the boon which has been once accorded to
him," is his voice of learning. Thus stimulated, thus
guarded, thus warned, he enters upon his new career. If
5 in this world of trial, which we have divested of its origi-
nal beauty and loveliness, any man may be delivered from
temptation, or enabled to resist it by merely human means,
this man is secure. The path of duty, of uprightness, of
honesty, which it is the best interest of all to pursue, is
10 that from which he is without any conceivable motive to
wander.
And the i?isohent, Mr. President. — what is his condi-
tion ? He, too, has surrendered his all, at least, all which
he dare openly claim ; and for what ? To purchase exemp-
15 tion from imprisonment, or the privilege of departing
beyond prison bounds. He breathes the free air of heaven,
but not as a free man. He is still the " doomed slave " of
his creditor. The fruits of his labor belong to that credi-
tor, and can only be withheld from him by fraud. The
20 necessities of a helpless family, appeal to him. The eagle
eye of his creditor is upon him. He looks -upon that cred-
itor as his enemy. If he be merciless, he is indeed his
enemy, — the enemy of those, who are dearer to him than
life, whom he is bound to protect, even at the sacrifice of
25 life itself. What then ? As an enemy, he fences himself
against that creditor. He resorts to fraudulent convey-
ances, to secret trusts, to a regular system of habitual
deception ; and his children, into whose young minds, it
would have been, under more propitious circumstances,
30 his grateful task to have instilled the lessons of virtue,
are trained up under the blighting influence of that system
of concealment, to which they are indebted for the comforts
and conveniences of life. Such is the actual condition of
multitudes, under the operation of State insolvent laws.
35 Look at the progress of this operation, and judge of its
effects on public mora'ls. The discharged insolvent escapes
from his cell or his prison bounds, to the wretched hovel,
which benevolence may have secured to him ; for he has
naught which he can claim as his own, and can acquire no-
40 thing, which may not be wrested from him, by his creditor.
The wants of his family call him to labor, and he does
labor. His earliest efforts are rewarded by the pound of
beef, and the loaf of bread, Avilh which he appeases their
hunger. Even these are filched from his creditor, for the
310 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PABT IL
law awards them to him. Your law did award them. But
there is a public opinion, to the moral force of which, even
laws must yield ; and the wretched insolvent is secure in
the enjoyment of these. By and by, he is enabled to pro-
5 vide some little comforts for his helpless wife and infant
children. These must be enjoyed by stealth, or the hand
of the creditor may wrest them from his grasp.
In process of time, his labors arc rewarded with the
means, by which he can do something more than provide
10 for the present wants of his family. He considers their
dependence upon him, and his liability to be taken from
them ; and the desire to make some provision for the
future, becomes strong, irresistible. He has no right to
indulge this desire. His earnings are the property of his
15 creditor. If they are discovered, the law will give them
to that creditor. In strict morality, he is bound to yield
them. But nature and affection urge their own strong
claims ; and his wife, whose spirit has been broken by ad-
versity, and his children, who have been reared in penury,
20 are the advocates, through whom these claims are pre-
ferred. The appeal may not be resisted. The morality
which conflicts with it, becomes, in his view, cold, heart-
less, and unfit to be regarded. He is a man, with the
affections, and with the imperfections of our common
25 nature. I speak generally. There are men who would
hold fast to their integrity, under circumstances however
trying. But our legislation is, as all legislation must be,
based upon the ride, not the exception. And so speaking,
I say, such an appeal is irresistible. The insolvent yields
30 to it ; he hides his earnings ; he cheats his creditors ; and
then, with a newly awakened spirit, labors to increase his
little store.
The repetition of the fraud is more easy, — habit renders
it familiar. It becomes the business of his life. There is
35 an occasional twinge of conscience, but that passes ; now
and then, a fear of detection, but that is quieted; till at
last, all that disturbs him, is the apprehension which seizes
him, perhaps on his bed of death, that the depository of
his secret earnings, may be as faithless to his trust, as he
40 has been to the legal claims of his creditors. Such scenes
belong to, or rather more frequently occur in, the crowded
population of our great cities ; more rarely beyond their
limits. Speaking generally, the air of the country is too
pure for them. But who doubts their existence, — the fre-
PART n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 311
quent recurrence of this struggle between the claims of
nature and affection, and the sterner demands of legal
justice ? And shall we sit here, " deliberating in cold de-
bates," whether men shall be saved from moral wretched-
5 ness like this ?
LESSON CLX. EXTRACT FROM AN ADDRESS DELIVERED AT
CHAPEL HILL. WBI. GASTON.
Deeply rooted principles of probity, confirmed habits of
industry, and a determination to rely on one's own exer-
tion, constitute the great preparation for the discharge
of the duties of man, and the best security for performing
5 them with honor to one's self, and benefit to others. But it
may be asked, what is there in such a life of never-ending
toil, effort, and privation, to recommend it to the acceptance
of the young and the gay ? Those who aspire to heroic
renown, may indeed make up their minds to embrace these
10 " hard doctrines ; " but it may be well questioned, whether
happiness is not preferable to greatness, and enjoyment
more desirable than distinction. Let others, if they will,
toil up " the steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar ; "
we choose rather to sport in luxurious ease and careless
15 glee, in the valley below.
It is, indeed, on those who aspire to eminence, that these
injunctions are intended to be pressed with the greatest
emphasis, not only because a failure in them would be
more disastrous than in others, but because they are ex-
10 posed to greater and more numerous dangers of error.
But it is a sad mistake to suppose, that they are not suited
to all, and are not earnestly urged upon all, however hum-
ble their pretensions or moderate their views. Happiness,
as well as greatness, enjoyment, as well as renown, have
25 no friends so sure as Integrity, Diligence and Independ-
ence.
We are not placed here to waste our days in wanton
riot or inglorious ease, with appetites perpetually gratified
and never palled, exempted from all care and solicitude,
30 with life ever fresh, and joys ever new. He who has fitted
us for our condition, and assigned to us its appropriate
duties, has not left his work unfinished, and omitted to
provide a penalty for the neglect of our obligations. Labor
is not more the duty, than the blessing of man. Without
35 it, there is neither mental nor physical vigor, health, cheer-
312 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART H.
fulness nor animation ; neither tlic eagerness of hope, nor
the capacity to enjoy.
Every human being must have some object to engage
his attention, excite his wishes, and rouse him to action,
5 or he sinks, a prey to listlessness. For want of proper
occupations, see strenuous idleness resorting to a thousand
expedients, — the race-course, tlie bottle, or the gaming-
table, the frivolities of fashion, the debasements of sensu-
ality, the petty contentions of envy, the grovelling pursuits
10 of avarice, and all the various distracting agitations of vice.
Call you these enjoyments ? Is such the happiness which
it is so dreadful to forego ?
"Vast happiness enjoy thy gay allies!
A youth of folly, an old age of cares,
15 Young yet enervate, old yet never wise ;
Vice wastes their vigor and their mind impairs.
Vain, idle, dissolute, in thoughtless ease,
Reserving woes for age, their prime they spend;
All wretched, hopeless, to the evil days,
20 "With sorrow to the verge of life they tend ;
Grieved with the present, of the past ashamed ;
They live and are despised, they die, nor more are named."
LESSON CLXI. THE LYRE. — MILTON WARD.
There was a lyre, 'tis said, that hung
High waving in the summer air ;
An angel hand its chords had strung,
And left to breathe its music there.
5 Each wandering breeze, that o'er it flew,
Awoke a wilder, sweeter strain
Than ever shell of friermaid blew
In coral grottoes of the main.
When, springing from the rose's bell,
10 Where all night he had sweetly slept.
The zephyr left the flowery dell
Bright with the tears that morning wept,
He rose, and o'er the trembling lyre,
Waved lightly his soft azure wing ;
15 What touch such music could inspire !
What harp such lays of joy could sin^!
The murmurs of the shaded rills.
The birds, that sweetly warbled by,
And the soft echo from the hills,
20 Were heard not where that harp was nigh.
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. N. _»*;
When the last light of fading day
Along the bosom of the west,
In colors softly mingled lay
While night had darkened all the rest,
5 Then, softer than that fading light,
And sweeter than the lay, that rung
Wild through the silence of the night.
As solemn Philomela sung,
That harp its plaintive murmurs sighed
10 Along the dewy breeze of even ;
So clear and soft they swelled and died.
They seemed the echoed songs of heaven.
Sometimes, when all the air was still.
And not the poplar's foliage trembled,
15 That harp was nightly heard to thrill
With tones, no earthly tones resembled.
And then, upon the moon's pale beams.
Unearthly forms were seen to stray.
Whose starry pinions' trembling gleams
20 Would oft around the wild harp play.
But soon the bloom of summer fled, —
In earth and air it shone no more ;
Each flower and leaf fell pale and dead,
While skies their wintry sternness wore.
25 One day, loud blew the northern blast,
The tempest's fury raged along.
Oh ! for some angel, as they passed,
To shield the harp of heavenly song !
It shrieked, — how could it bear the touch,
30 The cold rude touch of such a storm,
When e'en the zephyr seemed too mi^ch
Sometimes, thougli always light and warm!
It loudly shrieked, — but ah ! in vain ; —
The savage wind more fiercely blew :
35 Once more, — it never shrieked again.
For every chord was torn in two.
It never thrilled with anguish more.
Though beaten by the wildest blast ;
The pang, that thus its bosom tore,
10 Was dreadful, — but it was the last.
And though the smiles of summer played
Gently upon its shattered form.
And the light zephyrs o'er it strayed.
That Lyre they could not wake or warm.
27
Ojj AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART U.
^SSON CLXII. POLISH AVAR SONG. JAMES G. PERCIVAL.
Freedom calls you ! Quick, be ready, —
Rouse ye in the name of God, —
Onward, onward, strong and steady, —
Dash to earth the oppressor's rod.
6 Freedom calls ! ye brave !
Rise, and spurn the name of slave.
Grasp the sword ! — its edge is keen,
Seize the gun ! — its ball is true :
Sweep your land from tyrant clean, —
10 Haste, and scour it through and through !
Onward, onward ! Freedom cries,
Rush to arms, — the tyrant flies.
By the souls of patriots gone.
Wake, — arise, — your fetters break,
15 Koskiusco bids you on, —
Sobieski cries awajke !
Rise, and front the despot czar,
Rise, and dare the unequal war.
Freedom calls you ! Quick, be ready, —
20 Think of what your sires have been, —
Onward, onward ! strotig and steady, —
Drive the tyrant to his den.
On, and let the watchwords be,
Country, home, and liberty !
LESSON CLXiii. — BELSHAzzAR. — Geo. Croly.
Hour of an Empire's overthrow !
*r?- The princes from the feast were gone ;
The Idol flame was burning low ; —
'T was midnight upon Babylon.
5 That night the feast was wild and high ;
That night was Sion's gold profaned ;
The seal was set to blasphemy ;
The last deep cup of wrath was drained.
'Mid jewelled roof and silken pall,
10 Belshazzar on his couch was flung ;
A burst of thunder filled the hall, —
He heard, — but 't was no mortal tongue : —
PAET II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 316
"King of the East ! the trumpet calls,
That calls thee to a tyrant's grave ;
A curse is on thy palace walis,—
A curse is on thy guardian wave :
5 "A surge is in Euphrates' bed,
That never filled its bed before ;
A surge, that, ere the morn be red,
Shall load with death its haughty shore.
" Behold a tide of Persian steel !
10 A torrent of the Median car ;
Like flame their gory banner^ wheel;
Rise, king, and arm thoe for the war ! "
Belshazzar gazed; the voice was past, —
The lofty chamber filled with gloom ;
15 But echoed on the sudden blast
The rushing of a mighty plume.
He listened ; all again was still ;
He heard no chariot's iron clang ;
He heard the fountain's gushing rill,
20 The breeze that through the roses sang.
He slept ; jn sleeg.wild murmurs came ;
A visioned splen"d'8l" fired the sky ;
He heard Belshazzar's taunted naine ;
HeTieard again th'e Prd^het cry, —
25 "Sleep, Sultan ! 'tis thy-final sleep,
Or wake, or sleep, the guilty dies.
The wrongs of those who watch and weep,
Around thee and tliy nation rise."
-* He started ; 'mid the battle's yell,
30 He saw the Persian rushing on :
He saw the flames around him swell ;
Thou 'rt ashes ! King of Babylon.
LESSON CLXiv. — ELiJAii's INTERVIEW. — Thomas Campbell.
On Horeb's rock the prophet stood, —
The Lord before him passed ;
A hurricane in angry mood
Swept by him strong and fast ;
316 AMKRICAIV CUA1M0.N-8CII00L [^PAST U.
The forest fell befure its force,
The rocks were shivered in its course :
God was not in the blast ;
'T was but the whirlwind of his breath,
5 Announcing danger, wreck, and death.
It ceased. The air grew mute, — a cloud
Came, muffling up the sun,
When, through the mountain, deep and loud,
An earthquake thundered on ;
10 The frighted eagle sprang in air.
The wolf rail howling from his lair ;
God was not in the storm :
'T was but the rolling of his car,
The trampling of his steeds from far.
15 'T was still again, — and Nature stood
And calmed her ruffled frame ;
When swift from heaven a fiery flood
To earth devouring came ;
Down to the depth the ocean fled, —
20 The sickening sun looked wan and dead ;
Yet God filled not the flame ;
'T was but the terror of his eye.
That lightened through thg troubled sky.
At last, a voice all still and small,
25 Rose sweetly on the ear ;
Yet rose so shrill and clear, that all
In heaven and earth might hear ;
It spoke of peace, it spoke of love,
It spoke as angels speak above ;
30 And God himself was there;
For Oh ! it was ^father's voice.
That bade the trembling heart rejoice.
LESSON CLXV. DAME NATURE'S CHARMS. WM. C. LODGE.
I love to pause, in life's cold rugged way.
And muse on Nature in her various forms ;
Divest her of that seeming dark array,
And thus expose to view her fairest charms :
5 For she is ever beautiful and bright.
When rightly seen, in wild or calmer mood,
"PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER.
In sunny day, or sable garb of night,
In busy haunts, or quiet solitude.
Oh ! my delight has ever been to roam, —
A feather, tossed on fortune's fickle wave,
5 Away from friends, from kindred, and from home.
The cold repulses of the world to brave.
And when by life's attending ills oppressed,
Dear Nature, I would ever turn to thee.
For in thy smiles the troubled find a rest,
10 A soothing cordial in thy harmony.
I 've danced upon the trackless ocean wave.
When wild winds held unfettered revelry.
And heaven's loud peals the thundering chorus''?"T.ve
To the rude tempest's dirge-like minstrelsy.
15 Then wings the soul its airy flight along,
Like lightning glancing o'er the jewelled spray,
And leaps to join the revel and the song.
And cast the thoughts and things of earth away.
And I have wooed her in her sober hours,
20 Amid her native wilds of solitude,
When twilight has revealed its mystic powers.
And cast it% spells ,o'er river, vale, and wood;
'T is this resolves the passions into thought,
And tinges reason with a purer flame,
25 And shows proud man that all his art is nought,
His boasted honors but an empty name.
The sunny south, the clime of fruits and flowers,
In one eternal vesture of sweet smiles.
Where laughing streamlets leap 'midst shady bowers,
30 And wild birds' song the sportive breeze beguiles ;
And the bare mountains of the north, where storms.
And the rude storm-king, hold a fearful sway.
Have all their fierce or soul-subduing charms.
To cheer life's path, and drive its cares away.
35 Man often clouds with vain or fancied ills,
His narrow span, when Nature's stainless ligh.
Dispenses only happiness, and fills
The world with things so beautiful and bright;
Her plains, her mountains, and her valleys, teem
40 With living verdure in the fairest dress;
And ocean, river, lake, and singing stream.
Combine to harmonize licr lovnlinrs«.
yy*
318 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II.
\ ^
* LESSON CLXVI. NIGHT IN EDEN. MRS. E. H. EVANS.
'T was moonlight in Eden ! Siicli moonlight, I weea,
As never again on this earth shall be seen, —
So soft fell the radiance, — so wondroiisly blue
Was the sky, with its star-enthroned angels in view !
5 How bright was the bower wliere the fair-fingered Eve,
The blossoming garlands delighted to weave ;
While the rose caught its blush from her cheek's living dye,
And the violet its hue from her love-lighted eye.
There, lulled by the murmurs of musical streams,
10 And charmed by the rainbow-winged spirit of dreams, —
The eyes softly closed that so soon were to weep, —
Our parents reposed in a bliss-haunted sleep.
But other forms gnzed on the grandeur of night,
And beings celestial grew glad at the sight ;
15 All warm from the glow of their amber-hued skies,
How strange seemed the shadows of earth to their eyes !
There, azure-robed beauty, with rapture-lit smile,^
Her golden wings folded, reclined for a while ;
And the Seraph of Melody breathed but a word,
20 Then listened entranced at the echoes she heard :
From mountain and forest an organ-like tone.
From hill-top and valley a mellower one ;
Stream, fountain, and fall, whispered low to the sod,
For the word that she spoke was the name of our God !
25 With blushes like Eden's own rose in its bloom,
Her censor slow wafting ambrosial perfume, —
With soft-veiling tresses of sunny-hued hair.
The spirit of fragrance breathed sweet on the air.
Then first on the ears of the angels of light,
30 Rose the singing of birds that enchanted the night, —
For the breezes are minstrels in Heaven, they say,
And the leaves and the floAvers have a musical play.
Each form of creation with joy was surveyed,
From the gentle gazelle to the kings of the glade ;
35 And lily-crowned Innocence gazed in the eyes
Of the thunder-voiced lion, with smiling surprise.
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 319
All night, as if stars were deserting their posts,
The heavens were bright with the swift-coming hosts !
While the sentinel mountains, in garments of green,
With glory-decked foreheads, like monarchs were seen.
5 Eden, fair Eden ! where now is thy bloom ?
And where are the pure ones that wept o'er thy doom ?
Their plumes never lighten our shadowy skies,
Their voices no more on earth's breezes arise.
But joy for the faith that is strong in its powers, —
10 A fairer and better land yet shall be ours ;
When Sin shall be vanquished, and Death yield his prey,
And earth with her nations Jehovah obey.
Then, nobler than Adam, — more charming than Eve, —
The Son of the Highest his palace shall leave, —
15 While the saints who adored Him arise from the tomb,
At the triumph-strain, telling "His Kingdom is come!"
LESSON CLXVII. THE PRESENT AGE. DANIEL WEBSTER.
We live in a most extraordinary age. Events so
various and so important, that they might crowd and
distinguish centuries, are, in our times, compressed with-
in the compass of a single life. When has it happened
5 that history has had so much to record, in the same term
of years, as since the 17th of June, 1775 ? Our own
revolution, which, under other circumstances, might itself
have been expected to occasion a war of half a century,
has been achiev^ed ; twenty-four sovereign and indepen-
10 dent states erected ; and a general government established
over them, so safe, so wise, so free, so practical, that we
might well wonder its establishment should have been
accomplished so soon, were it not far the greater wonder,
that it should have been established at all.
15 Two or three millions of people have been augmented
to twelve ; and the great forests of the west prostrated
beneath the arm of successful industry ; and the dwellers
on the banks of the Ohio, and the Mississippi, become the"
fellow-citizens and neighbors of those who cultivate the
20 hills of New England. We have a commerce that leaves
no sea unexplored ; navies, which take no law from supe-
rior force ; revenues, adequate to all the exigencies of
320 AMEKICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART TL
government, almost without tuxation ; and peace with all
nations, founded on equal rights and mutual respect.
Europe, within the same period, has been agitated by a
mighty revolution, which, while it has been felt in the
5 inclividual condition and happiness of almost every man,
has shaken to the centre her political fabric, and dashed
against one another thrones which had stood tranquil for
ages. On this, our continent, our own example has been
followed ; and colonies have sprung up to be nations.
10 Unaccustomed sounds of liberty and free government, have
reached us from beyond the track of the sun ; and, at this
moment, the dominion of European power, in this conti-
nent, from the place where we stand, to the south pole, is
annihilated forever.
15 In the meantime, both in Europe and America, such
has been the general progress of knowledge ; such the
improvements in legislation, in commerce, in the arts, in
letters, and, above all, in liberal ideas, and the general
spirit of the age, that the whole world seems changed.
LESSON CLXVIII. — MELANCHOLY FATE OF THE INDIANS.
JOSEPH STORY.
There is, indeed, in the fate of these unfortunate beings,
much to awaken our sympathy, and much to disturb the
sobriety of our judgment; much which may be urged to
excuse their own atrocities; much in their characters,
5 which betrays us into an involuntary admiration. What
can be more melancholy than their history ? By a law of
their nature, they seem destined to a slow, but sure extinc-
tion. Everywhere, at the approach of the white man, they
fade away. • We hear the rustling of their footsteps, like
10 that of the withered leaves of autumn ; and they are gone
forever. They pass mournfully by us, and they return no
more.
Two centuries ago, the smoke of their wigwams, and
the fires of their councils, rose in every valley, from Hud-
15 son's Bay to the farthest Florida, from the ocean to the
Mississippi and the lakes. The shouts of victory and the
war-dance, rung through the mountains and the glades.
The thick arrows and deadly tomahawk, whistled through
the forests ; and the hunter's trace, and the dark encamp-
20 ment, startled the wild beasts in their lairs.
The warriors stood forth in their clorv. The voung
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 321
listened to the songs of other days. The mothers played
with their infants, and gazed on the scene with warm
hopes of the future. The aged sat down ; but they wept
not. They should soon be at rest in fairer regions, where
5 the Great Spirit dwelt, in a home prepared for the brave,
beyond the western skies. Braver men never lived ; truer
men never drew the bow. They had courage, and forti-
tude, and sagacity, and perseverance, beyond most of the
human race. They shrunk from no dangers ; and they
10 feared no hardships.
If they had the vices of savage life, they Had the virtues
also. They were true to their country, their friends, and
their homes. If they forgave not injury, neither did they
forget kindness. If their vengeance was terrible, their
15 fidelity and generosity were unconquerable also. Their
love, like tiieir hate, stopped not on this side of the grave.
But where are they ? Where are the villages, and war-
riors, and youth ? The sachems, and the tribes ? The
hunters, and their families ? They have perished. They
20 are consumed. The wasting pestilence has not alone done
the mighty work. No, — nor famine, nor war. There
has been a mightier power, a moral canker, which hath
eaten into their heart-cores, — a plague, which the touch of
the white man communicated, — a poison, which betrayed
25 them into a lingering ruin. The winds of the Atlantic
fan not a single region, which ihey may now call their
own.
Already the last feeble remnants of the race are prepar-
ing for their journey beyond the Mississippi. I see them
30 leave their miserable homes, the aged, the helpless, the
women, and the warriors, " few and faint, yet fearless
still." The ashes arc cold on their native hearths. The
smoke no longer curls round their loAvly cabins. They
move on with a slow, unsteady step. The white man is
35 upon their heels, for terror or despatch ; but they heed
him not. They turn to take a last look of their deserted
villages. They cast a last glance upon the graves of their
fathers. They shed no tears ; they utter no cries ; they
heave no groans.
40 There is something in their hearts Avhich passes speech.
There is something in their looks, not of vengeance or
submission, but of hard necessity, which stifles both ;
which chokes all utterance ; Avhich has no aim or method.
It is courage, absorbed in despair. They lingfor but for a
322 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART U.
moment. Their look is onward. They have passed the
fatak stream. It shall never be re-passed by them, — no,
never. Yet there lies not between us and them an im-
passable gulf. They know, and feel, that there is for
5 them still one remove farther, not distant, nor unseen. It
is to the general burial-ground of their race.
LESSON CLXIX. — EDMUND BURKE. — A. 11. EVERETT.
A sagacious critic has advanced the opinion, that the
merit of Burke was almost wholly literary ; but, I confess
I see little ground for this assertion, if literary excellence
is here understood in any other sense, than as an imme-
5 diate result of the highest intellectual and moral endow-
ments. Such compositions, as the writings of Burke, sup-
pose, no doubt, the fine taste, the command of langi;age,
and the finished education, which are all supposed by
every description of literary success. But, in the present
10 state of society, these qualities are far from being uncom-
mon ; and are possessed by thousands, who make no pre-
tensions to the eminence of Burke, in the same degree, in
which they Avere by him. Such a writer as Cumberland,
for example, who stands infinitely below Burke, on the
15 scale of intellect, may yet be regarded as his equal or su-
perior, in purely literary accomplishments, taken in this
exclusive sense.
The style of Burke is undoubtedly one of the most
splendid forms, in which -the English language has ever
20 been exhibited. It displays the happy and difficult union
of all the richness and magnificence that good taste admits,
with a perfectly easy construction. In Burke, we see the
manly movement of a well-bred gentleman; in Johnson,
an equally profound and vigorous thinker, the measured
25 march of a grenadier. We forgive the great moralist his
stiff and cumbrous phrases, in return for the rich stores of
thought and poetry which they conceal ; but we admire in
Burke, as in a fine antique statue, the grace with which
the large flowing robe adapts itself to the majestic dignity
30 of the person.
But, with all his literary excellence, the peculiar merits
of this great man were, perhaps, the faculty of profound and
philosophical thought, and the moral courage which led
him to disregard personal inconvenience, in the expression
35 of his sentiments. Deep thought is the informing soul.
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 323
that everywhere sustains and inspires the imposing gran-
deur of his eloquence. Even in the Essay on the Sub-
lime and Beautiful, the only work of pure literature which
he attempted, that is, the only one which was not an im-
5 mediate expression of his views on public affairs, there is
still the same richness of thought, the same basis of " di-
vine philosophy," to support the harmonious superstructure
of the language. And the moral courage, which formed
so remarkable a feature in his character, contributed not
10 less essentially to his literary success.
It seems to be a>law of nature, that the highest de-
gree of eloquence demands the union of the noblest
qualities of character, as well as intellect. To think, is
the highest exercise of the mind ; to say what you think,
15 the boldest effort of moral courage ; and both these things
are required, for a really powerful writer. Eloquence,
without thoughts, is a mere parade of words ; and no man
can express, with spirit and vigor, any thoughts but his
own. This was the seci'et of the eloquence of Rousseau,
20 which is not without a certain analogy, in its forms, to that
of Burke. The principal of the Jesuits' college one day
inquired of him, by what art he had been able to write so
well; " I said ivkat I thought,'^ replied the unceremonious
Genevan ; conveying, in these few words, the bitterest
25 satire on the system of the Jesuits, and the best explana-
tion of his own.
LESSON CLXX. NATIONAL SELF-RESPECT. BEMAN.
Far be it from me to cherish, in any shape, a spirit of
national prejudice, or to excite, in others, a disgusting na-
tional vanity. But, when I reflect upon the part which
this country is probably to act in the renovation of the
5 world, I rejoice that I am a citizen of this great republic.
This western continent has, at different periods, been the
subject of every species of transatlantic abuse. In former
days, some of the naturalists of Europe told us, that every-
thing here was constructed upon a small scale. The
10 frowns of nature were represented, as investing the whole
hemisphere we inhabit. It has been asserted, that the
eternal storms, which are said to beat rrpon the brows of
■ our mountains, and to roll the tide of desolation at their
bases, — the hurricanes which sweep our vales, and the
15 volcanic fires which issue from a thousand flaming cra-
ters, — the thunderbolts which perpetually descend from
324 AMKKICAN COMJMON-SCIIOOL [PART IT.
heaven, and the earthquakes, whose trepidations are felt
to the very centre of our globe, have superinduced a
degeneracy, through all the productions of nature. Men
have been frightened into intellectual dwarfs ; and the
5 beasts of the forest have not attained more than half their
ordinary growth !
While some of the lines and touches of this picture have
been blotted out, by the reversing hand of time, others have
been added, which have, in some respects, carried the con-
10 ceit still farther. In later days, and, in some instances, even
down to the present period, it has been published and re-
published from the enlightened presses of the old world, that
so strong is the tendency to deterioration on this continent,
that the descendants of European ancestors are far inferior
15 to the original stock, from which they sprang. But inferior
in what? In national spirit and patriotic achievement? Let
the revolutionary conflict, — the opening scenes at Boston,
and the catastrophe at Yorktown, — furnish the reply. Let
Bennington and Saratoga support their respective claims.
20 Inferior in enterprise ? Let the sail that whitens every
ocean, and the commercial spirit that braves every element,
and visits every bustling mart, refute the unfounded as-
persion. Inferior in deeds of zeal and valor for the church?
Let our missionaries in the bosom of our own forest, in the
25 distant regions of the east, and on the islands of the great
Pacific, answer the question. Inferior in science, and let-
ters, and the arts ? It is true our nation is young ; but we
may challenge the world to furnish a national maturity,
which, in these respects, will compare with ours.
30 The character and institutions of this country, have
already produced a deep impression upon the world we
inhabit. What, bat our example, has stricken the chains
of despotism from the provinces of South America, — giv-
ing, by a single impulse, freedom to half a hemisphere?
35 A Washington here, has created a Bolivar there. The
flag of independence, which has long waved from the sum-
mit of our Alleghany, has novv' been answered by a corre-
sponding signal, from the heights of the Andes. And the
same spirit, too, that came across the Atlantic wave w^th
40 the pilgrims, and made the rock of Plymouth the corner-
stone of freedom, and of this republic, is travelling back to
the east. It has already carried its influence into the cab-
inets of princes ; and it is, at this moment, sung by the
Grecian bard, and emulated by the Grecian hero.
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 326
LESSON CLXXI. INTERNAL IMPROVEBIENT. J. C. CALHOUN.
On this subject of national power, what can be more
important than a perfect unity in every part, in feelings
and sentiments ? And what can tend more powerfully to
produce it, than overcoming the effects of distance ? No
5 country, enjoying freedom, ever occupied anything like as
great an extent of country as this republic. One hundred
years ago, the most profound philosophers did not believe
it to be even possible. They did not suppose it possible,
that a pure republic could exi.st on as great a scale, even
10 as the island of Great Britain.
What then was considered as chimerical, we have now
the felicity to enjoy ; and what is most remarkable, such
is the happy mould of our government, so well are the
state and general powers blended, that much of our politi-
15 cal happiness draws its origin from the extent of our
republic. It has exempted us from most of the causes
which distracted the small reputtlics of antiquity. Let it
not, however, be forgotten, let it be forever kept in mind,
that it exposes us to the greatest of all calamities, — next
20 to the loss of liberty, and even to that in its consequences,
— disunion.
We are great, and rapidly, I was about to say fear-
fully, growing. This is our pride and our danger, our
weakness and our strength. Little does he deserve to be
25 intrusted with the liberties of this people, who does not
raise his mind to these truths. We are under the most
imperious obligations to counteract every tendency to dis-
union. The strongest of all cement, is, undoubtedly, the
wisdom, justice, and, above all, the moderation of this
30 House ; yet the great subject on which we are now delib-
erating, in this respect, deserves the most serious con-
sideration.
Whatever impedes the intercourse of the extremes with
this, the centre of the republic, weakens the union. The
35 more enlarged the sphere of commercial circulation, the
more extended that of social intercourse ; the more
strongly we are bound together, the more inseparable art
our destinies. Those who understand the human hear',
best, know 'how powerfully distance tends to break the
40 sympathies of our nature. Nothing, not even dissimi-
larity of language, tends more to estrange man from man.
Let us, then, bind the mpublic together, with a perfect
28
386 AMLEltlCAN COMMON-fCIIOOL [PAET U.
system of roads and canals. Let us conquer space. It is
thus, the most distant part of the republic will be brought
within a few days' travel of the centre ; it is thus, that a
citizen of the west will read the news of Boston, still
5 moist from the press.
LESSON CLXXII. FOUNDERS OF OUR GOVERNMENT.
WM. M. UICIIAUDSON.
The love of liberty has always been the ruling passion
of our nation. It was mixed at first with the "purple
tide" of the founders' lives, and, circulating with that tide
through all their veins, has descended down through
5 every generation of their posterity, marking every feature
of our country's glorious story. May it continue thus to
circulate and descend to the remotest period of time !
Oppressed and persecuted in their native country, the
high, indignant spirit of our fathers, formed the bold design
10 of leaving a land, where minds, as well as bodies, w^ere
chained, for regions where Freedom might be found to
dwell, though her dwelling should prove to be amid wilds
and wolves, or savages less hospitable than wilds and
wolves ! An ocean three thousand miles wide, with its
15 winds and its waves, rolled in vain between them and
liberty. They performed the grand enterprise, and landed
on this then uncultivated shore. Here, on their first
arrival, they found
The wilderness " all before them, where to choose
20 Their place of rest, and Providence their guide."
Their courage and industry soon surmounted all the
difficulties incident to a new settlement. The savages
retired, the forests were exchanged for fields waving with
richest harvests, and the dreary haunts of wild beasts, for
25 the cheerful abodes of civilized man. Increasing in
wealth and population, with a rapidity which excited the
astonishment of the old world, our nation flourished about
a century and a half, when England, pressed down with
the enormous weight of accumulating debts, and consider-
30 ing the inhabitants of these States as slaves, who owed
their existence and preservation to her care and protection,
now began to form the unjust, tyrannical, and impolitic
plan of taxing this country, without its consent. The
right of taxation, however, not being relinquished, but the
PART 11.] READER AND SPEAKER. 327
same principle under a different shape being pursued, the
AWFUL GENIUS OF FREEDOM arose, not with the ungovernable
ferocity of the tiger, to tear and devour, but with the cool,
determined, persevering courage of the lion, who, disdain-
5 ing to be a slave, resists the chain. As liberty was the
object of contest, that being secured, the offer of peace
was joyfully accepted ; and peace was restored to free,
united, independent Columbia !
LESSON CLXXIII. — CONDUCT OF THE OPPOSITION. HENRY CLAY.
[Extract from a Speech on the new Army Bill]
If gentlemen would only reserve for their own govern-
ment, half the sensibility which is indulged for that of
Great Britain, they would find much less to condemn.
Restriction after restriction has been tried ; negotiation
5 has been resorted to, until further negotiation would have
been disgraceful. Whilst these peaceful experiments are
undergoing a trial, what is the conduct of the opposition ?
They are the champions of war ; the proud, the spirited,
the sole repository of the nation's honor, the men of exclu-
10 sive vigor and energy. The administration on the con-
trary, is weak, feeble, and pusillanimous, — "incapable of
being kicked into a war." The maxim, "not a cent for
tribute, millions for defence," is loudly proclaimed. Is
the administration for negotiation? The opposition i?
15 tired, sick, disgusted with negotiation. They wish to
draw the sword and avenge the nation's wrongs. When,
however, foreign nations, perhaps emboldened by the very
opposition here made, refuse to listen to the amiable
appeals, which have been repeated and reiterated by the
20 administration, to their justice and to their interests ;
when, in fact, war with one of them has become identified
with our independence and our sovereignty, and to ab-
stain from it was no longer possible ; behold the opposi-
tion veering round, and becoming the friends of peace and
25 commerce. They tell you of the calamities of war, its
tragical events, the squandering away of your resources,
the waste of the public treasure, and the spilling of inno-
cent blood. "Gorgons, hydras, and chimeras dire !" They
tell you that honor is an illusion ! Now we see them
30 exhibiting the terrific forms of the roaring king of the
forest: now the meekness and humility of the lamb!
J28 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II.
They are for war and no restrictions, when the adminis-
tration is for peace. They are for peace and restrictions,
when the administration is for war. Vou find them, sir,
tacking with every gale, displaying the colors of every
5 party, and of all nations, steady only in one unalterable
purpose, — to steer, if possible, into the haven of power.
LESSON CLXXIV. GOD, THE CREATOR. FcnelOTl.
Cast your eyes upon the earth that supports us ; raise
them then to this immense canopy of the heavens that sur-
rounds us, — these fathomless abysses of air and water, and
these countless stars that give us light. Who is it that
5 has suspended this globe of earth ? who has laid its founda-
tions ? If it were harder, its bosom could not be laid open
by man for cultivation ; if it were less firm it could not sup-
port the weight of his footsteps. From it proceed the most
precious things : this earth, so mean and unformed, is
10 transformed into thousands of beautiful objects, that delight
our eyes. In the course of one year, it becomes branches,
buds, leaves, flowers, fruits, and seeds ; thus renewing its
bountiful favors to man. Nothing exhausts it. After
yielding, for so many ages, its treasures, it experiences no
15 decay ; it does not grow old ; it still pours fortli riches from
its bosom.
Who has stretched over our heads this vast and glorious
arch ? What sublime objects are there ! An all-powerful
Hand has presented this grand spectacle to our vision.
20 What does the regular succession of day and night
teach us ? The sun has never omitted, for so many ages,
to shed his blessing upon us. The dawn never fails to
announce the day ; and " the sun," says the Holy Book,
" knows his going down." Thus it enlightens alternately
25 both sides of the world, and sheds its rays on all. Day is
the time for society and employment. Night folds the
world in darkness, finishes our labors, and softens our trou-
bles. It suspends, it calms everything. It sheds round us
silence and sleep ; it rests our bodies, it revives our spirits.
30 Then day returns, and recalls man to labor, and reanimates
all nature.
But besides the constant course of the sun, that produces
day and night ; during six months it approaches one pole,
and during the other six, the opposite one. By this beau-
35 tiful order, one sun answers for the whole world. If the
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 329
sun, at the same distance, were larger, it would light the
whole world, but it would consume it with its heat. If it
were smaller, the earth would be all ice, and could not be
inhabited by men.
5 What compass has been stretched from heaven to earth
and taken such just measurements ? The changes of the
sun make the variety of the seasons, which we find so
delightful.
The Hand that guides this glorious work must be as
10 skilful as it is powerful, to have made it so simple, yet so
effectual ; so constant and so beneficent.
LESSON cLxxv. — cREScENTius. — Miss Landon.
I looked upon his brow, — no sign
Of guilt or fear was there ;
He stood as proud by that death-shrine,
As even o'er despair
5 He had a power ; in his eye
There was a quenchless energy,
A spirit that could dare
The deadliest form that death could take,
And dare it for the daring's sake.
10 He stood, the fetters on his hand, —
He raised them haughtily ;
And had that grasp been on the brand,
It could not wave on high
With freer pride than it waved now.
15 Around he looked with changeless brow
On many a torture nigh, —
The rack, the chain, the axe, the wheel,
And, worst of all, his own red steel.
I saw him once before ; he rode
20 Upon a coal-black steed,
And tens of thousands thronged the road,
And bade their warrior speed.
His helm, his breastplate, were of gold,
And graved with many a dint, that told
25 Of many a soldier's deed ;
The sun shone on his sparkling mail,
And danced his snow-plume on the gale.
2S-->^
330 AI^IERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART U.
But now he stood, chuined and alone,
The headsman by his side ;
The plume, the hchn, the charger gone ;
The sword, that had defied
6 The miglitiest, lay broken near,
And yet no sign or sound of fear
Came from that lip of pride ;
And never Icing or conqueror's brow
Wore higher look than his did now.
10 He bent beneath the lieadsman's stroke,
With an uncovered eye :
A wild shout from the numbers broke
Who tlironged to see him die.
' It was a people's loud acclaim,
15 The voice of anger and of shame,
A nation's funeral cry, —
Rome's wail above her only son,
Her patriot, — and her latest one.
LESSON CLXxvi. — ADDRESS TO THE OCEAN. — Barry CoTmooll.
O thou vast Ocean ! ever-sounding sea !
Thou symbol of a drear immensity !
Thou thing that windest round the solid world
Like a huge animal, which, downward hurled
5 From the black clouds, lies weltering and alone,
Lashing and writhing till its strength be gone.
Thy voice is like the thunder; and thy sleep
Is like a giant's slumber, loud and deep.
Thou speakest in the east and in the west
10 At once ; and on thy heavily laden breast
Fleets come and go, and shapes that have no life
Or motion, yet are moved and meet in strife.
The earth hath naught of this ; nor chance nor change
Ruffles its surface ; and no spirits dare
15 Give answer to the tempest-waken air ;
But o'er its wastes, the weakly tenants range
At will, and wound his bosom as they go.
Ever the same, it hath no ebb, no flow ;
But in their stated round the seasons come
20 And pass like visions to their viewless home.
And come again and vanish : the young Spring
Looks ever bright with leaves and blossoming,
PART U.] READER AND SPEAKER. ^1
And winter always winds his sullen horn,
And the wild Autumn with a look forlorn
Dies in his stormy manhood ; and the skies
Weep, and flowers sicken when the summer flies.
5 Thou only, terrible Ocean, hast a power,
A will, a voice ; and in thy wrathful hour,
When thou dost lift thine anger to the clouds,
A fearful and magnificent beauty shrouds
Thy broad green forehead. If thy wa\'es be driven
10 Backwards and forwards by the shifting wind.
How quickly dost thou thy great strength unbind,
And stretch thine arms, and war at once with heaven !
Thou trackless and immeasurable main !
On thee no record ever lived again
15 To meet the halid that writ it ; line nor lead
Hath ever fathomed thy profoundest deeps,
Where happily the huge monster swells and sleeps,
King of his watery limit, who, 't is said.
Can move the mighty ocean into storm. —
20 Oh ! wonderful thou art, great element :
And fearful in thy spleeny humors bent.
And lovely in repose : thy summer form
Is beautiful ; and when thy silver waves
Make music in earth's dark and winding caves,
25 I love to wander on thy pebbled beach.
Marking the sunlight at the evening hour.
And hearken to the thoughts thy waters teach, —
"Eternity, Eternity, and power."
LESSON CLXXVII. THE URSA MAJOR. HENRY WARE, JUN.
With what {. ^.-lately and majestic step
That glorious Constellation of the North
Treads its eternal circle ! going forth
Its princely way amongst the stars in slow
5 And silent brightness. Mighty one, all hail !
I joy to see thee on thy glowing path
Walk, like some stout and girded giant, — stern,
Unwearied, resolute, whose toiling foot
Disdains to loiter on its destined way.
10 The other tribes forsake their midnight track,
And rest their weary orbs beneath the wave.
332 AJIERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART 11.
But thou dost never close thy burning- eye,
Nor stay thy steadfast step. But on, still on,
While systems change, and suns retire, and worlds
Slumber and wake, thy ceaseless march proceeds.
5 The near horizon tempts to rest in vain.
Thou, faithful Sentinel, dost never quit
Thy long appointed watch ; but, sleepless still,
Dost guard ihe fixed light of the universe.
And bid the North forever know its place.
10 Ages have witnessed thy devoted trust.
Unchanged, unchanging. When the sons of God
Sent forth that shout of joy, which rang through heaven,
And echoed from the outer spheres that bound
The illimitable universe, — thy voice
15 Joined the high chorus ; from thy radiant orbs
The glad cry sounded, swelling to His praise
Who thus had cast another sparkling gem.
Little, but beautiful, amid the crowd
Of splendors that enrich his firmament.
20 As thou art now, so wast thou then, the same.
Ages have rolled their course, and Time grown gray;
The earth has gathered to her womb again,
And yet again, the myriads that were born
Of her, — uncounted, unremembered tribes.
25 The seas have changed their beds, — the eternal hills
Have stooped with age, — the solid continents
Have left their banks, — and man's imperial works.
The toil, pride, strength of kingdoms, which had flung
Their haughty honors in the face of Heaven,
30 As if immortal, — have been swept away, —
Shattered and mouldering, buried and forgot.
But time has shed no dimness on thy front.
Nor touched the firmness of thy tread ; youth, strength,
And beauty, still are thine, — as clear, as bright,
35 As when the Almighty Former sent thee forth.
Beautiful offspring of his curious skill.
To watch earth's northern beacon, and proclaim
The eternal chorus of Eternal Love.
I wonder as I gaze. That stream of light,
40 Undimmed, unquenched, — ^^just as I see it now, —
Has issued from those dazzling points, through years
PART n.] KEADER AND SPEAKER. ^33
That go back far into eternity.
Exhaustless flood ! forever spent, renewed
Forever ! Yea, and those refulgent drops,
Which now descend upon my lifted eye,
5 Left their far fountain twice three years ago.
While those winged particles, — whose speed outstrips
The flight of thought, — were on their way, the earth
Compassed its tedious circuit round and round,
And in the exti'emes of annual change, beheld
10 Six autumns fade, six springs renew their bloom.
So far from earth those mighty orbs revolve ;
So vast the void through which their beams descend !
Yea, glorious lamps of God ! He may have quenched
Your ancient flames, and bid eternal night
15 Rest on your spheres ; and yet no tidings reach
This distant planet. Pvlessengers still come
Laden with your far fire, and we may seem
To see your lights still burning ; while their blaze
But hides the black wreck of extinguished realms,
20 Where anarchy and darkness long have reigned.
Yet what is this, which, to the astonished mind,
Seems measureless, and which the bafiled thought
Confounds ? A span, a point, in those domains,
Which the keen eye can traverse. Seven stars
25 Dwell in that brilliant -cluster, and the sight
Embraces all at once ; yet each from each
Recedes as far as each of them from earth.
And every star from every other burns
No less remote.
30 From the profound of heaven,
Untravelled even in thought, keen piercing rays
Dart through the void, revealing to the sense
Systems and worlds unnumbered. Take the glass,
And search the skies. The opening skies pour down
35 Upon your gaze, thick showers of sparkling fire, —
Stars, crowded, thronged, in regions so remote
That their swift beams, — the swiftest things that be, —
Have travelled centuries on their flight to earth.
Earth, Sun, and nearer Constellations ! what
40 Are ye, amid this infinite extent
And multitude of God's most infinite works ?
334 AMERICAN COMMOiN-SCHOOL [PAKT H.
And these are Suns ! — vast, central, living fires,
Lords of dependent systems. Kings of worlds,
That wait as satellites upon their power.
And flourish in their smile. Awake my soul,
5 And meditate the wonder ! Countless suns
Blaze round thee, leading forth their countless worlds!
Worlds, — in whose bosoms living things rejoice,
And drink the bliss of being, from the fount
Of all-pervading Love.
10 What mind can know,
What tongue can utter all their multitudes, —
Thus numberless in numberless abodes.
Known but to Thee, blest Father ? Thine they are.
Thy children, and Thy care, — and none o'erlooked
15 Of Thee ! No, not the humblest soul that dwells
Upon the humblest globe, which wheels its course
Amid the giant glories of the sky.
Like the mean mote that dances in the beam.
Amongst the thousand mirrored lamps which fling
20 Their wasteful splendor from the palace wall.
None, none escape the kindness of Thy care :
All compassed underneath Thy spacious wing.
Each fed and guided by Thy powerful hand.
Tell me, ye splendid Orbs ! — as from your thrones
25 Ye mark the rolling provinces that own
Your sway, — what beings fill those bright abodes ?
How formed, how gifted ; what their powers, their state,
Their happiness, their wisdom ? Do they bear
The stamp of human nature ? Or has God
30 Peopled those purer realins whh lovelier forms,
And more celestial minds? Does Innocence
Still wear her native and untainted bloom?
Or has Sin breathed his deadly blight abroad,
And sowed corruption in those fairy bowers ?
35 Has War trod o'er them with his foot of fire?
And Slavery forged his chains, and Wrath, and Hate,
And sordid Selfishness, and cruel Lust,
Leagued their base bands to ti'ead out Light and Truth,
And scatter woe where Heaven had planted joy?
40 Or are they yet all Paradise, unfallen
And uncorrupt ; — existence one long joy,
Without disease upon the frame, or sin
PART II.] HEADER AND SPEAKER. 335
Upon the heart, or weariness of life, —
Hope never quenched, and age unknown,
And death unfeared ; while fresh aixd fadeless youth
Glows in the light from God's near throne of Love?
5 Open your lips, ye wonderful and fair !
Speak, speak ! the mysteries of those living worlds;
Unfold! — No language! Everlasting light,
And everlasting silence ! Yet the eye
May read and understand. The hand of God
10 Has written legibly what man may know, —
The glory of the Maker. There it shines,
Ineffable, unchangeable ; and man.
Bound to the surface of this pigmy globe,
May know and ask no more.
15 In other days.
When death shall give the encumbered spirit wings,
Its range shall be extended ; it shall roam.
Perchance, amongst those vast mysterious spheres,
Shall pass from orb to orb, and dwell in each
20 Familiar with its children, — learn their laws,
And share their state, and study and adore
The infinite varieties of bliss
And beauty, by the hand Divine
Lavished on all its works.
25 Eternity
Shall thus roll on with ever fresh delight ;
No pause of pleasure or improvement ; world
On world still opening to the instructed mind
An unexhausted universe, and time
30 But adding to its glories ; while the soul,
Advancing ever to the source of light
And all perfection, lives, adores, and reigns,
In cloudless knowledge, purity, and bliss.
LESSON CLXXVni. THE FATE OF TYRANNY. MoSOH.
Oppression dies : the tyrant falls :
The golden city bows her walls !
Jehovah breaks the avenger's rod.
The son of Wrath, whose ruthless hand
Hurls desolation o'er the land.
336 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOI- [PART II.
Has run his raging race, has closed the scene of blood.
Chiefs, armed around, beliold their vanquished lord;
Nor spread the guardian shield, nor lift the loyal sword.
He falls ; and earth again is free :
Hark ! at the call of Liberty,
All Nature lifts the choral song.
The fir-trees on the mountain's head,
Rejoice through all their pomp of shade;
The lordly cedars nod on sacred Lebanon :
Tyrant ! they cry, since thj'^ fell force is broke,
Our proud heads pierce the skies, nor fear the woodman's stroke.
Hell, from her gulf profound.
Rouses at thine approach; and all around,
Her dreadful notes of preparation sound.
See, at the awful call,
Her shadowy heroes all,
E'en mighty kings, the heirs of empire wide,
Rising with solemn state, and slow,
From their sable thrones below, ^
Meet and insult thy pride.
" What ! dost thou join our ghostly train,
A flitting shadow light and vain ?
Where is thy pomp, thy festive throng.
The revel dance, and wanton song?
Proud king ! Corruption fastens on thy breast ;
And calls her crawling brood, and bids them share the feast.
" Lucifer ! thou radiant star ;
Son of the Morn ; whose rosy car
Flamed foremost in the van of day;
How art thou fallen, thou King of Light!
How fallen from thy meridian height !
Who saidst, ' The distant poles shall hear me and obey.
High o'er the stars my sapphire throne shall glow.
And, as Jehovah's self, my voice the heavens shall bow.' "
He spake, he died. Distained with gore.
Beside yon yawning cavern hoar.
See where his livid corse is laid.
The aged pilgrim, passing by.
Surveys him long with dubious eye,
And muses on his fate, and shakes his reverend head.
" Just Heavens ! is thus thy pride imperial gone ?
Is this poor heap of dust the King of Babylon ?
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 337
Is this the man, whose nod
Made the earth tremble ; whose terrific rod
Levelled her loftiest cities ? Where he trod,
Famine pursued and frowned ;
Till Nature, groaning round,
Saw hetrich realms transformed to deserts dry;
While, at his crowded prison's gate,
Grasping the keys of fate.
Stood stern Captivity.
Vain man ! behold thy righteous doom ;
Behold each neighboring monarch's tomb ;
The trophied arch, the breathing bust,
The laurel shades their sacred dust :
While thou, vile outcast, on this hostile plain,
Moulder'st a vulgar corse, among the vulgar slain.
" No trophied arch, no breathing bust,
Shall dignify thy trampled dust :
No laurel flourish o'er thy grave.
For why, proud king, thy ruthless hand
Hurled desolation o'er the land.
And crushed the subject race, whom kings are born to save:
Eternal infamy shall blast thy name.
And all thy sons shall share their impious father's shame.
" Rise, purple Slaughter I furious rise ;
Unfold the terror of thine eyes ;
Dart thy vindictive shafts around :
Let no strange land a shade afford.
No conquered nations call them lord ;
Nor let their cities rise to curse the goodly ground.
For thus Jehovah swears ; ' No name, no son,
No remnant shall remain of haughty Babylon.' "
Thus saith the righteous Lord :
" My vengeance shall unsheathe the flaming sword ;
O'er all thy realms my fury shall be poured.
Where yon proud city stood,
I '11 spread the stagnant flood ;
And there the bittern in the sedge shall lurk,
Moaning with sullen strain ;
While, sweeping o'er the plain.
Destruction ends her work.
Yes, on mine holy mountain's brow,
I '11 crush this proud Assyrian foe
29
338 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAHT IL
The irrevocable word is spoke.
From Judah's neck ihe galling yoke
Spontaneous falls, she shines with wonted state ;
Thus by myself I swear, and what I swear is fate."
LESSON CLXXIX. THE DOWNFALL OF POLAND.
Thomas Campbell.
O sacred Truth ! thy triumph ceased a while,
And Hope, thy sister, ceased with thee to smile,
When leagued Oppression poured to Northern wars
Her whiskered panders and her fierce hussars,
5 Waved her dread standard to the breeze of morn,
Pealed her loud drum, and twanged her trumpet horn;
Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van.
Presaging wrath to Poland, — and to man !
Warsaw's last champion from her height surveyed,
10 Wide o'er the fields a waste of ruin laid, —
O Heaven ! he cried, my bleeding country save ! —
Is there no hand on high to shield the brave ?
Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains,
Rise, fellow-men I our country yet remains !
15 By that dread name, we wave the sword on high !
And swear for her to live ! — with her to die !
He said, and on the rampart-heights arrayed
His trusty warriors, few, but undismayed;
Firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they form,
20 Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm ;
Low murmuring sounds along their banners fly,
' Revenge, or death,' — the watch-word and reply ;
Then pealed the notes, omnipotent to charm,
And the loud tocsin told their last alarm !
25 In vain, alas ! in vain, ye gallant few!
From rank to rank your volleyed thunder flew : —
Oh ! bloodiest picture in the book of Time,
Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime;
Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe,
30 Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe !
Dropped from her nerveless grasp the shattered spear
Closed her bright ej^e, and curbed her high career;
Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell,
And Freedom shrieked — as Kosciusko fell.
PART 11.] READER AND SPEAKER. 339
The sun went down, nor ceased the carnage there ;
Tumultuous murder shook the midnight air, —
On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow,
His blood-dyed waters murmuring far below ;
5 The storm prevails, the rampart yields away,
Bursts the wild cry of horror and dismay !
Hark ! as the mouldering piles with thunder fall,
A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call !
Earth shook, — red meteors flashed along the sky,
10 And conscious Nature shuddered at the cry!
O righteous Heaven ! ere Freedom found a grave,
Why slept the sword, omnipotent to save ?
Where was thine arm, O vengeance ! where thy rod,
That smote the foes of Sion and of God ;
15 That crushed proud Ammon, when his iron car
Was yoked in wrath, and thundered from afar ?
Where was the storm that slumbered till the host
Of blood-stained Pharaoh left their trembling coast ;
Then bade the deep in wild commotion flow,
20 And heaved an ocean on their march below ?
Departed spirits of the mighty dead !
Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled I
Friends of the world ! restore your swords to man,
Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the van !
25 Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone.
And make her arm puissant as your own !
Oh ! once again to freedom's cause return
The patriot Tell, — the Bruce of Bannockburn !
Yes, thy proud lords, unpitied land ! shall see
30 That man hath yet a soul, — and dare be free !
A little while, along thy saddening plains.
The starless night of Desolation reigns ;
Truth shall restore the light by Nature given,
And, like Prometheus, bring the fire of Heaven !
35 Prone to the dust Oppression shall be hurled,
Her name, her nature, withered from the world !
LESSON CLXXX. NAPOLEON AT PvEST. JOHN PIERPONT.
His falchion flashed along the Nile ;
His hosts he led through Alpine snows ;
O'er Moscow's towers, that blazed the while,
His eagle flag unrolled, — and froze.
340 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [pART IL
Here sleeps he now, alone ! Not one,
Of all the kings, whose crowns he gave,
Bends o'er his dust; — nor wife nor son
Has ever seen or sought his grave.
6 Behind this sea-girt rock, the star,
That led him on from crown to crown,
Has sunk ; and nations from afar
Gazed as it faded and went down.
High is his couch ; — the ocean flood,
10 Far, far below, by storms is curled ; -
As round him heaved, while high he stood,
A stormy and unstable world.
Alone he sleeps ! The mountain cloud,
That night hangs round him, and the breath
15 Of morning scatters, is the shroud
That wraps the conqueror's clay in death.
Pause here ! The far-ofT world, at last.
Breathes free ; the hand that shook its thrones.
And to the earth its mitres cast,
20 Lies powerless now beneath these stones.
Hark ! comes there, from the pyramids,
And from Siberian wastes of snow,
And Europe's hills, a voice that bids
The world he awed to mourn him ? — No :
25 The only, the perpetual dirge
That's heard there, is the sea-bird's cry, —
The mournful murmur of the surge, —
The cloud's deep voice, the wind's low sigh.
LESSON CLXXXI. NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. DR. CHANNING.
Such was Napoleon Bonaparte. But some will say, he
was still a great man. This we mean not to deny. But
we would have it understood, that there are various kinds
or orders of greatness, and that the highest did not belong
5 to Bonaparte. There are different orders of greatness.
Among these the first rank is unquestionably due to moral
greatness, or magnanimity; to that sublime energy, by
which the soul, smitten with the love of virtue, binds itself
PART 11,] READER AND SPEAKER. 341
indissolubly, for life and for death, to truth and duty;
espouses as its own the interests of human nature ; scorns
all meanness and defies all peril ; hears in its own con-
science a voice louder than threatenings and thunders ;
5 withstands all the powers of the universe, which would
sever it from the cause of freedom, virtue, and religion ;
reposes an unfaltering trust in God in the darkest hour,
and is ever "ready to be offered up" on the altar of its
country or of mankind. Of this moral greatness, which
10 throws all other forms of greatness into obscurity, we see
not a trace or a spark in Napoleon. Though clothed with
the power of a God, the thought of consecrating himself
to the introduction of a new and higher era, to the exalta-
tion of the character and condition of his race, seems never
15 to have dawned on his mind. The spirit of disinterested-
ness and self-sacrifice seems not to have waged a moment's
war with self-will and ambition. His ruling passions were
singularly at variance with magnanimity. Moral great-
ness has too much simplicity, is too unostentatious, too
20 self-subsistent, and enters into others' interests with too
much heartiness, to live a day for what Napoleon always
lived, to make itself the theme, and gaze, and wonder of a
dazzled world.
Next to moral, comes intellectual greatness, or genius in
25 the highest sense of that word ; and by this, we mean that
sublime capacity of thought, through which the soul, smit-
ten with the love of the true and the beautiful, essays to
comprehend the universe, soars into the heavens, pene-
trates the earth, penetrates itself, questions the past, anti-
30 cipates the future, traces out the general and all-compre-
hending laws of nature, binds together by innumerable
affinities and relations all the objects of its knowledge,
and, not satisfied with what is finite, frames to itself ideal
excellence, loveliness, and grandeur. This is the great-
35 ness which belongs to philosophers, inspired poets, and to
the master spirits of the fine arts.
Next comes the greatness of action; and by this we
mean the sublime power of conceiving and executing bold
and extensive plans ; constructing and bringing to bear on
40 a mighty object a complicated machinery of means, ener-
gies, and airangements, and accomplishing great outward
effects. To this head belongs the greatness of Bonaparte,
and that he possessed it, we need not prove, and none will
be hardy enotigh to deny. A man who raised himself
•29*
949 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II.
from obscurity to a tlironc, who changed the face of the
world, who made himself felt through powerful and civil-
ized nations, who sent the terror of his name across seas
and oceans, whose will was pronounced and feared as des-
5 tiny, whose donatives were crowns, whose anle-chamber
was thronged by submissive princes, who broke down the
awful barrier of the Alps, and made them a highway, and
whose f;\me was spread beyond the boundaries of civiliza-
tion to the steppes of the Cossack, and the deserts of the
10 Arab; a man, who has left this record of himself in his-
tory, has taken out of our hands the question whether he
shall be called great. All must concede to him a sublimo
power of action, an energy equal to great effects.
LESSON CLXXXII. THE THUNDER STORM. WASHINGTON
IRVING.
[Scenery in tlie Highlands, on the River Hudson.]
In the second day of the voyage, they came to the High-
lands. It was the latter part of a calm, sultry day, that
they floated gently with the tide between these stem moun-
5 tains. There was that perfect quiet, which prevails over
nature, in the languor of summer heat ; the turning of a
plank, or the accidental falling of an oar, on deck, was
echoed from the mountain side, and reverberated along
the shores ; and, if by chance, the captain gave a shout of
10 command, there were airj' tongues that mocked it, from
every cliff.
Dolph gazed about him, in mute delight and wonder, at
these scenes of nature's magnificence. To the left, the
Dunderberg reared its woody precipices, height over
15 height, forest over forest, away into the deep summer sky.
To the right, strutted forth the bold promontory of An-
tony's Nose, with a solitary eagle wheeling about it ;
while beyond, mountain succeeded to mountain, until they
seemed to lock their arms together, and confine this
20 mighty river in their embraces. There was a feeling of
quiet luxury in gazing at the broad, green bosoms, here
and there, scooped out among the precipices ; or at wood-
lands high in air, nodding over the edge of some beetling
bluff, and their foliage all transparent in the yellow sun-
25 shine.
In the midst of his admiration, Dolph remarked a pile
of bright snowy clouds, peering above the western heights.
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 343
It was succeeded by another, and another, each seemingly
pushing onwards its predecessor, and towering, with daz-
zling brilliancy, in the deep blue atmosphere : and now
muttering peals of thunder were faintly heard, rolling be-
5 hind the mountains. The river, hitherto still and glassy,
reflecting pictures of the sky and land, now showed a dark
ripple at a distance, as the breeze came creeping up it.
The fish-hawks wheeled and screamed, and sought their
nests on the high dry trees ; the crows flew clamorously
lO'to the crevices of the rocks; and all nature seemed con-
scious of the approaching thunder-gust.
The clouds now rolled, in volumes, over the mountain
tops ; their summits still bright and snowy, but the lower
parts of an inky blackness. The rain began to patter down
15 in broad and scattered drops ; the wind freshened, and
curled up the waves ; at length, it seemed as if the belly-
ing clouds were torn open by the mountain tops, and com-
plete torrents of rain came rattling down. The lightning
leaped from cloud to cloud, and streamed quivering against
20 the rocks, splitting and rending the stoutest forest trees.
The thunder burst in tremendous explosions ; the peals
were echoed from mountain to mountain ; they crashed
upon Dunderberg, and then rolled up the long defile of the
Highlands, each headland making a new echo, until old
25 Bull Hill seemed to bellow back the storm.
For a time, the scudding rack and mist, and the sheeted
rain, almost hid the landscape from the sight. There was
a fearful gloom, illumined still moi'e fearfully by the
streams of lightning, which glittered among the rain-drops.
30 Never had Dolph beheld such an absolute warring of the
elements ; it seemed, as if the storm was tearing and rend-
ing its way through this mountain defile, and had brought
all the artillery of heaven into action.
LESSON CLXXXIII. CLASSICAL LEARNING. JOSEPH STORY.
The importance of classical learning to professional ed-
ucation, is so obvious, that the surprise is, that it could
ever have become matter of disputation. I speak not of
its power in refining the taste, in disciplining the judg-
ment, in invigorating the understanding, or. in warming
the heart with elevated sentiments ; but of its power of
direct, positive, necessary instruction. Until the eigh-
teenth :ontury, the mass of science, in its principal
34'1 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAIIT II.
branches, was ileposilcd in llie d(;ad languages, and much
of it still reposes there. To be ignorant of these lan-
guages, is to shut out the lights of former times, or to ex-
amine them only through the glimmerings of inadequate
5 translations.
It is often said, that there have been eminent men and
eminent writers, to whom the ancient languages were un-
known, — men who have risen by the force of their talents,
and writers who have written with a purity and ease
10 which hold them up, as models for imitation. On the
other hand, it is as often said, that scholars do not always
compose either with elegance or chasteness ; that their
diction is sometimes loose and harsh, and sometimes pon-
derous and affected.
15 Be it so. I am not disposed to call in question the ac-
curacy of either statement. But I would, nevertheless,
say that the presence of classical learning was not the
cause of the faults of the one class, nor the absence of it,
the cause of the excellence of the other. And I would
20 put this fact, as an answer to all such reasonings, that
there is not a single language of modern Europe, in which
literature has made any considerable advances, which is
not directly of Roman origin, or has not incorporated into
its very structure many, very many, of the idioms and pe-
25 culiarities of the ancient tongues. The English language
affords a strong illustration of the truth of this remark.
It abounds with words and meanings drawn from classical
sources. Innumerable phrases retain the symmetry of
their ancient dress. Innumerable expressions have re-
30 ceived their vivid tints from the beautiful dyes of Roman
and Grecian roots. If scholars, therefore, do not write
our language with ease, or purity, or elegance, the cause
must lie somewhat deeper than a conjectural ignorance of
its true diction.
35 I repeat, there is not a single nation from the north to
the south of Europe, from the bleak shores of the Baltic
to the bright plains of immortal Italy, whose literature is
not imbedded in the very elements of classical learning.
The literature of England is, in an emphatic sense, the
40 production of her scholars, — of men who have cultivated
letters in her universities, and colleges, and grammar-
schools, — of men who thought an}'- life too short, chiefly
because it left some relic of antiquity unmastered, and any
other fame humble, bncaiise it faded in the presence of
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 345
Koman and Grecian genius. He who studies English lit-
erature without the lights of classical learning, loses half
the charms of its sentiments and style, of its force and
feelings, of its delicate touches, of its delightful allusions,
5 of its illustrative associations. Who that reads the poetry
of Gray, does not feel that it is the refinement of classical
taste, which gives such inexpressible vividness and trans-
parency to his diction ? Who that reads the concentrated
sense and melodious versification of Dryden and Pope,
10 does not perceive in them the disciples of the old school,
whose genius was inflamed by the heroic verse, the terse
satire, and the playful wit of antiquity ? Who that medi-
tates over the strains of Milton, does not feel that he drank
deep
15 At " Siloa's brook, that flowed
Fast by the oracle of God ;"
that the fires of his magnificent mind were lighted by
coals from ancient altars ?
It is no exaggeration to declare, that he who proposes to
20 abolish classical studies, proposes to render, in a great
measure, inert and unedifying the mass of English litera-
ture for three centuries ; to rob us of much of the glory of
the past, and much of the instruction of future ages ; to
blind us to excellences which few may hope to equal, and
25 none to surpass ; to annihilate associations which are in-
terwoven with our best sentiments, and give to distant
times and countries a presence and reality, as if they were,
in fact, our own.
LESSON CLXXXIV. THE BUNKER HILL MONUMENT. DANIEL
WEBSTER.
The Bunker Hill Monument is finished. Here it stands.
Fortunate in the natural eminence on which it is placed.
— higher, infinitely higher, in its objects and purpose, it
rises over the land, and over the sea ; and visible, at their
5 homes, to three hundred thousand citizens of Massachu-
setts, — it stands, a memorial of the last, and a monitor to
the present, and all succeeding generations.
I have spoken of the loftiness of its purpose. If it had
been without any other design than the creation of a work
10 of art, the granite, of which it is composed, would have
slept in its native bed. It has a purpose ; and that pur-
346 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART U.
pose gives it character. That purpose enrobes it with dig-
nity and moral grandeur. That well known purpose it is,
which causes us to look up to it with a feeling of awe.
5 It is itself the orator of this occasion. It is not from my
lips, it is not from any human.lips, that that strain of elo-
quence is this day to flow, most competent to move and
' excite the vast multitudes around. The potent speaker
stands motionless before them. It is a plam shaft. It
10 bears no inscriptions, fronting to the rising sun, from
which the future antiquarian shall wipe the dust. Nor
does the rising sun cause tones of music to issue from its
summit. But at the rising of the sun, and at the setting
of the sun, in the blaze of noon-day, and beneath the
15 milder cflalgence of lunar light, it looks, it speaks, it acts,
to the full comprehension of every American mind, and
the awakening of glowing enthusiasm in every American
heart. Its silent, but awful utterance ; its deep pathos, as
it brings to our contemplation the 17th of June, 1775, and
20 the consequences which have resulted to us, to our coun-
try, and to the world, from the events of that day, and
which we know must continue to rain influence on the
destinies of mankind, to the end of time; the elevation
with which it raises us high above the ordinary feelings
25 of life, surpass all that the study of the closet, or even the
inspiration of genius can produce. To-day, it speaks to
us. Its future auditories will be through successive gen-
erations of men, as they rise up before it, and gather round
it. Its speech will be of patriotism and courage ; of civil
30 and religious liberty; of free government; of the moral
improvement and elevation of mankind ; and of the im-
mortal memory of those who, with heroic devotion, have
sacrificed their lives for their country.
LESSON CLXXXV. — APPEAL IN FAVOR OF THE UNION.
JAMES MADISON.
I submit to you, my fellow-citizens, these considerations,
in full confidence that the good sense, which has so often
marked your decisions, will allow them their due weight
and effect; and that you will never suffer difficulties, how-
ever formidable in appearance, or however fashionable
the error on which they may be founded, to drive you into
the gloomy and perilous scenes, into which the advocates
for disunion would conduct you.
PAET II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 347
Hearken not to the unnatural voice, which tells you that
the people of America, knit together, as they are, by so
many cords of affection, can no longer live together, as
members of the same family ; can no longer continue the
5 mutual guardians of their mutual happiness ; can no lon-
ger be fellow-citizens of one great, respectable and flour-
ishing empire. Hearken not to the voice, which petulant-
ly tells you, that the form of government, recommended
for your adoption, is a novelty in the political world ; that
10 it has never yet had a place in the theories of the wildest
projectors ; that it rashly attempts what it is impossible to
accomplish. No, my countrymen ; shut your ears against
this unhallowed language. Shut your hearts against the
poison which it conveys. The kindred blood, which flows
15 in the veins of American citizens, the mingled blood,
which they have shed in defence of their sacred rights,
consecrates their union, and excites horror at the idea of
their becoming aliens, rivals, enemies. And if novelties
are to be shunned, believe me, the most alarming of all
20 novelties, the most wild of all projects, the most rash of all
attempts, is that of rending us in pieces, in order to pre-
serve our liberties, and promote our happiness.
But why is the experiment of an extended republic to be
rejected, merely because it may comprise what is new?
25 Is it not the glory of the people of America, that, whilst
they have paid a decent regard to the opinions of former
times, and other nations, they have not suffered a blind
veneration for antiquity, for custom, or for names, to over-
rule the suggestions of their own good sense, the knowl-
30 edge of their own situation, and the lessons of their own
experience ? To this manly spirit, posterity will be in-
debted for the possession, and tlie world for the example,
of the numerous innovations displayed on the American
theatre, in favor of private rights, and public happiness.
35 Had no important step been taken by the leaders of the
revolution, for which a precedent could not be discovered ;
had no government been established, of which afi exact mod-
el did not present itself, — the people of the United States
might, at this moment, have been numbered among the
40 melancholy victims of misguided councils ; must, at best,
have been laboring under the weight of some of those
forms, which have crushed the liberties of the rest of man-
kind.
Happily, for America, happily, we trust, for the whole
348 AMEIUCAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PABT U.
human race, tliey pursued a new and more noble course.
They accomplished a revolution, which has no parallel
in the annals of human society. They reared fabrics of
government, which have no model on the face of the globe.
5 They formed the design of a great confederacy, which it
is incumbent on tlieir successors to improve and perpetu
ate. If their works betray imperfections, we wonder at
the fewness of them. If they erred most in the structure
of the union, this was the work most difhcult to be exccu-
10 led ; this is tlie work which has been new-modelled by
the act of your convention ; and it is that act, on which
you are now to deliberate and decide.
LESSON CLXXXVI. FRANCE AND ENGLAND. JOHN C.
CALHOUN.
The love of France, and the hatred of England, have
also been assigned as the cause of the present measures.
" France has not done us justice," says the gentleman from
Virginia; "and how can we, without partiality, resist the
5 aggressions of England ?" I know, sir, we have still cause
of complaint against France; but it is of a different char-
acter from those against England. She professes now to
respect our rights, and there cannot be a reasonable doubt,
that the most objectionable parts of her decrees, as far
10 as they respect us, are repealed. We have already for-
mally acknowledged this to be a fact.
I, however, protest against the whole of the principles
on which this doctrine is founded. It is a novel doctrine,
and nowhere to be found out of this house, that you can-
15 not select your antagonist, without being gniilty of partial-
ity. Sir, when two invade your rights, you may resist
both, or either, at your pleasure. It is regulated by pru-
dence, and not by right. The stale imputation of partial-
'*itv to France, is better calculated for the columns of a
20 newspaper, than for the walls of this house. I ask, in
this pp ■'"Ocular, of the gentleman from Virginia, but for the
same measure which he claims for himself. That gen-
tleman is at a loss to account for, what he calls, our hatred
to England. He asks, " How can we hate the country of
25 Locke, of Newton, Hampden and Chatham ; a country
having the same language and customs with ourselves,
and descending from a common ancestry ?" Sir, the laws
of human affections are uniform. If we have so much to
PART n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 349
attach us to that country, powerful, indeed, must be the
cause which has overpowered it.
Yes, sir, there is a cause strong enough. Not that oc-
cuh, courtly affection, which he has supposed to be enter-
5 tained for France ; but it is to be found in continued and
unprovoked insult and injury, — a cause so manifest, that
the gentleman from Virginia had to exert much ingenuity
to overlook it. But, sir, here I think the gentleman, in
his eager admiration of that country, has not been suffi-
10 ciently guarded in his argument. Has he reflected on
the cause of that admiration ? Has he examined the rea-
sons of our high regard for her Chatliam ? It is his ardent
patriotism; the heroic courage of his mind, that could not
brook the least insult or injury offered to his country, but
15 thought that her interest and honor ought to be vindi-
cated, at every hazard and expense. I hope, when we are
called on to admire, we shall also be asked to imitate. I
hope the gentleman does not wish a monopoly of those
great virtues to remain to that nation.
20 " The balance of power " has also been introduced as an
argument for submission. England is said to be a barrier
against the military despotism of France. There is, sir,
one great error in our legislation. We are ready enough
to protect the interests of the States, and it should seem,
25 from this argument, to watch over those of a foreign na-
tion, while we grossly neglect our own immediate con-
cerns. This argument of the balance of power, is well
calculated for the British parliament, but not at all fitted
to the American congress. Tell them, that they have to
30 contend with a mighty power, and that, if they persist in
insult and injury to the American people, they will com-
pel them to throw the whole weight of their force into the
scale of their enemy. Paint the danger to them ; and if
they will desist from injury, we, I answer for it, will not
35 disturb the balance. But it is absurd for us to talk of ftie
balance of power, while they, by their conduct, smile with
contempt at our simple, good-natured policy. If, however,
in the contest, it should be found, that they underrate us,
which I hope and believe, and that we can effect the bal-
40 ance of power, it will not be difficult for us to obtain such
terms as our rights demand.
I, sir, will now conclude, by adverting to an argument
of the gentleman from Virginia, used in debate on a pre-
seding day. He asked, " Why not declare war immediate-
30
360 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART n.
ly?" The answer is obvious ; because we are not yet pre-
pared. But, says the gentleman, " such language, as is
here held, will provoke Great Britain to commence hos-
tilities." I have no such fears. She knows well, that
5 such a course would unite all parties here ; a thing,
which, above all others, she most dreads. Besides, such
has been our past conduct; that she will still calculate on
our patience and submission, till war is actually com-
menced.
LESSON CLXXXVII. MILITARY INSUBORDINATION.
HENRY CLAY.
Mr. Chairman, — I trust that I shall be indulged with
some few reflections upon the danger of permitting the
conduct, on which it has been my painful duty to animad-
vert, to pass without a solemn expression of the disappro-
5 bation of this house. Recall to your recollection, sir, the
free nations which have gone before us. Where are the^y
now ?
"Gone glimmering through the dream of things that were,
A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour."
10 And how have they lost their liberties ? If we could trans-
port ourselves back, sir, to the ages, when Greece and
Rome flourished in their greatest prosperity, and, mingling
in the throng, should ask a Grecian, if he did not fear that
some daring military chieftain, covered with glory, some
15 Philip, or Alexander, would one day overthrow the liber-
ties of his country, — the confident and indignant Grecian
would exclaim, ' No ! no ! we have nothing to fear from our
heroes ; our liberties will be eternal.' If a Roman citizen
had been asked, if he did not fear that the conqueror o-f
20 Gaul might establish' a throne upon the ruins of public
liberty, he would have instantly repelled the unjust insin-
uation. Yet Greece has fallen ; Caesar has passed the
'^lubicon ; and the patriotic arm even of Brutus could not
preserve !he liberties of his devoted country.
25 Sir, we are fighting a great moral battle, for the bene-
fit, not only of our country, but of all mankind. The eyes
of the whole world are in fixed attention upon us. One,
and the largest portion of it, is gazing with jealousy, and
with envy; the other portion, with hope, with confidence,
30 and with affection. Everywhere, the black cloud of legit-
imacy, is suspended over the world, save only one bright
spot, which breaks out from the political hemisphere of
PAET 11.] READER AND SPEAKER. 351
the west, to enlighten, and animate, and gladden, the hu-
man heart. Obscure that, by the downfall of liberty here,
and all mankind are enshrouded in a pall of universal
darkness. Beware, then, sir, how you give a fatal sanction,
5 in this infant period of our republic, to military insubor-
dination. Remember that Greece had her Alexander,
Rome her Ceesar, England her Cromwell, France her
Bonaparte ; and, that if we would escape the rock on
which they split, we must avoid their errors.
10 I hope, sir, that gentlemen will deliberately survey the
awful isthmus, on which we stand. They may bear down
all opposition. They may even vote the general"^ the
public thanks. They may carry him triumphantly through
this house. But if they do, sir, in my humble judgment,
15 it will be a triumph of the principle of insubordination, —
a triumph of the military over the civil authority, — a tri-
umph over the powers of this house, — a triumph over the
constitution of the land, — and I pray, sir, most devoutly,
that it may not prove, in its ultimate effects and conse-
20 quences, a triumph over the liberties of the people.
LESSON CLXXXVIII. LOSS OF NATIONAL CHARACTER. ^MAXCY.
The loss of a firm national character, or the degradation
of a nation's honor, is the inevitable prelude to her destruc-
tion. Behold the once proud fabric of a Roman empire, —
an empire carrying its arts and arms, into every part of
5 the eastern continent ; the monarchs of mighty kingdoms,
dragged at the wheels of her triumphal chariots ; her eagle
waving over the ruins of desolated countries. Where is
her splendor, her wealth, her power, her glory ? Extin-
guished for ever. Her mouldering temples, the mournful
10 vestiges of her former grandeur, afford a shelter to her
muttering monks. Where are her statesmen, her sages,
her philosophers, her orators, her generals ? Go to their
solitary tombs, and inquire. She lost her national char-
acter, and her destruction followed. The ramparts of her
15 national pride were broken down, and Vandalism desola-
ted her classic fields.
Citizens will lose their respect and confidence in our
government, if it does not extend over them the shield of
an honorable national character. Corruption will creep in,
20 and sharpen party animosity. Ambitious leaders will seize
upon the favorable moment. The mad enthusiasm for
* General Jnrksnn.
362 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PABT IL
revolution, will call into action the irritated spirit of our
nation, and civil war must follow. The swords of our
countrymen may yet glitter on our mountains; their blood
may yet crimson our plains.
5 Such, — the warning- voice of all antiquity, the example
of all republics proclaim, — may be our fate. But let us
no longer indulge these gloomy anticipations. The com-
mencement of our liberty, presages the dawn of a brighter
period, to the world. That bold, enterprising spirit which
10 conducted our heroes to peace and safety, and gave us a
lofty rank amid the empires of the world, still animates
the bosoms of their descendants. Look back to that
moment, when they unbarred the dungeons of the slave,
and dashed his fetters to the earth ; when the sword of a
15 Washington leaped from its scabbard, to revenge the
slaughter of our countrymen. Place their example before
you. Let the sparks of their veteran wisdom flash across
your minds, and the sacred altars of your liberty, crowned
with immortal honors, rise before you. Relying on the
20 virtue, the courage, the patriotism, and the strength of our
country, we may expect our national character will become
more energeiic, our citizens more enlightened, and may
hail the age, as not far distant, when will be heard, as the
proudest exclamation of man : " I am an American."
LESSON CLXXXIX. LAFAYETTE AND NAPOLEON.
E. EVERETT.
Of all the ancient nobility, who returned to France,
Lafayette and the young Count de Vaudreuil, were the
only individuals who refused the favors which Napoleon
was eager to accord to them. Of all to whom the cross
5 of the legion of honor was tendered, Lafayette alone had
the courage to decline it. Napoleon, either for want of
" true perception of moral greatness, or because the detesta-
ble servility of the mass of returning emigrants had taught
him to think there was no such thing as honor or inde-
10 pendence in man, exclaimed, when they told him that
Lafayette refused the decoration, " What, will nothing
satisfy that man but the chief command of the National
Guard of the empire?" — Yes, much less abundantly sat-
isfied him ; — the quiet possession of the poor remnants of
15 his estate, enjoyed without sacrificing his principles.
From this life nothing could draw him. Mr. Jefferson
PART II. READER AJ^D SPEAKER. 35^
offered him the place of governor of Louisiana, then just
become a territory of the United States ; but he was unwil-
ling-, by leaving France, to take a step that would look like
a final abandonment of the cause of constitutional libertj',
5 on -the continent of Europe. Napoleon ceased to impor-
tune him ; and he lived at Lagrange, retired and unmo-
lested, the only man who had gone through the terrible
revolution, with a character free from every just impeach-
ment. He entered it with a princely fortune, — in the
10 various high offices which he had filled he had declined
all compensation, — and he came out poor. He entered it
in the meridian of early manhood, with a frame of iron.
He came out of it fifty years of age, his strength impaired
by the cruelties of his long imprisonment. He had filled
15 the most powerful and responsible offices ; and others still
more powerful, — the dictatorship itself, — had been offered
him; — he was reduced to obscurity and private life. He
entered the revolution with a host of ardent colleagues of
the constitutional party. Of those who escaped the guil-
20 lotine, most had made peace with Napoleon ; not a few of
the Jacobins had taken his splendid bribes ; the emigrating
nobility came back in crowds, and put on his livery ; fear,
interest, weariness, amazement, and apathy reigned in
France and in Europe ; — kings, emperors, armies, nations,
25 bowed at his footstool ; — and one man alone, — a private
man, who had tasted power, and knew what he sacrificed ;
— Avho had inhabited dungeons, and knew what he risked ;
— who had done enough for liberty, in both worlds, to sat-
isfy the utmost requisitions of her friends, this man alone
30 stood aloof in his honor, his independence, and his poverty.
And if there is a man in this assembly, that would not
rather have been Lafayette to refuse, than Napoleon to
bestow his wretched gewgaws ; that would not rather have
been Lafayette in retirement and obscurity, and just not
35 proscribed, than Napoleon, with an emperor to hold his
stirrup ; — if there is a man who would not have preferred
the honest poverty of Lagrange to the bloody tinsel of St.
Cloud ; — that would not rather have shared the peaceful
fireside of the friend of Washington, than have spurred his
40 triumphant courser over the crushed and blackened heaps
of slain, through the fire and carnage of Marengo and Aus-
terlitz, that man has not an American heart in his bosom.
30*
364 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAHT 11
LESSON CXC. THE VISION OF LIBERTY. HENRY WARE, JE.
The evening heavens were calm and bright;
No dimness rested on the glittering light,
That sparkled from that wilderness of worlds on high;
Those distant suns burned on with quiet ray;
5 The placid planets held their modest way ;
And silence reigned profound o'er earth, and sea, and sky.
Oh ! what an hour for lofty thought !
My spirit burned within ; I caught
A holy inspiration from the hour.
10 Around me, man and nature slept ;
Alone my solemn watch I kept.
Till morning dawned, and sleep resumed her power.
A vision passed upon my soul,
I still was gazing up to heaven,
15 As in the early hours of even ;
I still beheld the planets roll.
And all those countless sons of light
Flame from the broad blue arch, and guide the moonless
night.
20 When lo ! upon the plain,
Just where it skirts the swelling main,
A massive castle, far and high.
In towering grandeur broke upon my eye.
Proud in its strength and years, the ponderous pile
25 Flung up its time-defying towers ;
Its lofty gates seemed scornfully to smile
At vain assault of human powers.
And threats and arms deride.
Its gorgeous carvings of heraldic pride,
30 In giant masses graced tl>e walls above ;
And dungeons yawned below.
Yet 1%^ there and moss their garlands wove.
Grave, silent chroniclers of time's protracted flow.
Bursting on my steadfast gaze,
35 See, within, a sudden blaze !
So small at first, the zephyr's slightest swell,
That scarcely stirs the pine-tree top,
Nor makes the withered leaf to drop.
The feeble fluttering of that flame would quell.
FART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 356
But soon it spread, —
Waving, rushing, fierce, and red, —
From wall to wall, from tower to tower,
Kaging with resistless power ;
5 Till every fervent pillar glowed,
And every stone seemed burning coal.
Instinct with living heat that flowed
Like streaming radiance from the kindled pole.
Beautiful, fearful, grand,
10 Silent as death, I saw the fabric stand.
At length a crackling sound began ;
From side to side, throughout the pile it ran ;
And louder yet and louder grew,
Till now in rattling thunder-peals it grew ;
15 Huge shivered fragments from the pillars broke,
Like fiery sparkles from the anvil's stroke.
The shattered walls were rent and riven,
And piecemeal driven.
Like blazing comets through the troubled sky.
20 'Tis done; what centuries had reared.
In quick explosion disappeared.
Nor even its ruins met my wondering eye.
But in their place, —
Bright with more than human grace,
25 Robed in more than mortal seeming,
Radiant glory in her face.
And eyes with heaven's own brightness beaming, —
'Rose a fair majestic form.
As the mild rainbow from the storm.
30 I marked her smile, I knew her eye ;
And when, with gesture of command.
She waved aloft the cap-crowned wand,
My slumbers fled mid shouts of "Liberty!"
Read ye the dream ? and know ye not
35 How truly it unlocked the world of fate ?
Went not the flame from this illustrious spot,
And spreads it not, and burns in every state?
And when their old and cumbrous walls.
Filled with this spirit, glow intense,
40 Vainly they reared their impotent defence :
The fabric falls !
366. AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART 11.
That fervent energy must spread,
Till despotism's towers be overthrown;
And in their stead,
Liberty stands alone !
5 Hasten the da)^ just Heaven I
Accomplish thy design ;
And let the blessings thou hast freely given,
Freely on all men shine ;
Till equal rights be equally enjoyed,
10 And human power for human good employed ;
Till law, not man, the sovereign rule sustain,
And peace and virtue undisputed reign.
LESSON CXCI. SIIAKSPEARE. CHARLES SPRAGUE.
Then Shakspeare rose ! —
Across the trembling strings
His daring hand he flings.
And lo ! a new creation glows ! —
5 There clustering round, submissive to his will,
Fate's vassal train his high commands fulfil.
Madness, with his frightful scream,
Vengeance, leaning on his lance.
Avarice, with his blade and beam,
10 Hatred, blasting with a glance.
Remorse, that weeps, and Kage, that roars,
And Jealousy, that dotes, but dooms, and murders, yet
adores.
Mirth, his face with sunbeams lit.
Waking Laughter's merry swell,
15 Arm in arm with fresh-eyed Wit,
That waves his tingling lash, while Folly shakes his bell.
From the feudal tower pale Terror rushing,
Where the prophet bird's wail
Dies along the dull gale,
20 And the sleeping monarch's blood is gushing.
Despair, that haunts the gurgling stream.
Kissed by the virgin moon's cold beam,
Where some lost maid wild chaplets wreathes,
And swan-like there her own dirge breathes.
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 357
Then broken-hearted sinks to rest,
Beneath the bubbling wave that shrouds her maniac breasU
Young Love, with eye of tender gloom,
Now drooping o'er the hallowed tomb,
5 Where his plighted victims lie,
Where they met, but met to die : —
And now, when crimson buds are sleeping.
Through the dewy arbor peeping,
Where beauty's child, the frowning world forgot,
10 To youth's devoted tale is listening,
Rapture on her dark lash glistening,
While fairies leave their cowslip cells, and guard the hap-
py spot.
Thus rise the phantom throng,
Obedient to their master's song,
15 And lead in willing chain the wondering soul along.
For other worlds war's great one sighed in vain, —
O'er other w^orlds see Shakspeare rove and reign !
The rapt magician of his own wild lay.
Earth and her tribes his mystic wand obey ;
20 Old ocean trembles, thunder cracks the skies,
Air teems wnth shapes and tell-tale spectres rise :
Night's paltering hags their fearful orgies keep,
And faithless guilt unseals the lip of sleep :
Time yields his trophies up, and death restores
25 The mouldered victims of his voiceless shores.
The fireside legend, and the faded page,
The crime that cursed, the deed that blessed an age,
All, all come forth, — the good to charm and cheer;
To scourge bold vice, and start the generous tear;
30 With pictured folly gazing fools to shame.
And guide young Glory's foot along the path of fame.
LESSON CXCU. SPEECH OF RIENZI TO THE ROMANS. MisS
Mitford.
Rienzi. Friends,
I come not here to talk. Ye know too well
The story of our thraldom. We are slaves !
The bright sun rises to his course, and lights
A race of slaves ! He sets, and his last beam
Falls on a slave : not such as, swept along
368 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II.
By the full tide of power, the conqueror leads
To crimson glory and undying fame,
But base, ignoble slaves, — slaves to a horde
Of petty tyrants, feudal despots ; lords,
5 Rich in some dozen paltry villages, —
Strong in some hundred spearmen, — only great
In that strange spell, — a name. Each hour, dark fraud,
Or open rapine, or protected murder.
Cries out against them. But 'this very day,
10 An honest man, my neighbor, there he stands, —
Was struck, — struck like a dog, by one who Vv'ore
The badge of Ur.sini ; because, forsooth.
He tossed not high his ready cap in air,
Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts,
15 At sight of that great ruffian. Be we men,
And suffer such dishonor ? Men, and wash not
The stain away in blood ? Such shames are common.
I have known deeper wrongs. I, that speak to ye,
I had a brother once, a gracious boy,
20 Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope, —
Of sweet and quiet joy, — " there was the look
Of heaven upon his face, which limners give
To the beloved disciple." How I loved
That gracious boy ! Younger by fifteen years,
25 Brother, at once, and son ! " He left my side,
A summer bloom on his fair cheeks, — a smile
Parting his innocent lips." In one short hour
The pretty, harmless boy was slain ! I saw
The corse, the mangled corse, and then I cried
30 For vengeance ! — Rouse, ye Romans ! — Rouse, ye slaves
Have ye brave sons ? Look in the next fierce brawl
To see them die. Have ye fair daughters? Look
To see them live, torn from your arms, distained,
Dishonored ; and, if ye dare call for justice,
35 Be answered by the lash. Yet, this is Rome,
That sat on her seven hills, and from her throne
Of beauty ruled the world ! Yet, we are Romans.
Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman
Was greater than a king! And once again, —
40 Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread
Of either Brutus ! once again I swear,
The eternal city shall be free ! her sons
Shall walk with princes.
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 359
LESSON cxciii. — SAME SUBJECT. — Thomos Moorc.
" Komans ! look round you, — on this sacred place
There )nce stood shrines, and gods, and godlike men, —
What see you now ? what solitary trace
Is left of all that made Rome's glory then?
5 The shrines are sunk, the sacred mount bereft
Even of its name, — and nothing now remains
But the deep memory of that glory, left
To whet our pangs and aggravate our chains!
But shall this be ? — our sun and sky the same,
10 Treading the very soil our fathers trod, —
What withering curse hath fallen on soul and frame,
What visitation hath there come from God,
To blast our strength, and rot us into slaves,
Here, on our great forefathers' glorious graves?
15 It cannot be, — rise up, ye mighty dead,
If we, the living, are too weak to crush
These tyrant priests, that o'er your empire tread,
Till all but Romans at Rome's tameness blush!
Happy Palmyra ! in thy desert domes,
20 Where only date-trees sigh, and serpents hiss ;
And thou, whose pillars are but silent homes
For the stork's brood, superb Persepolis !
Thrice happy both, that your extinguished race
Have left no embers, — no half-living trace, —
25 No slaves, to crawl around the once proud spot,
Till past renown in present shame's forgot;
While Rome, the queen of all, whose very wrecks,
If lone and lifeless through a desert hurled,
Would wear more true magnificence than decks
30 The assembled thrones of all the existing world, —
Rome, Rome alone, is haunted, stained, and cursed.
Through every spot her princely Tiber laves,
By living human things, — the deadliest, worst.
That earth engenders, — tyrants and their slaves !
35 And we, — oh ! shame, — we, who have pondered o'er
The patriot's lesson, and the poet's lay;
Have mounted up the streams of ancient lore,
Tracking our country's glories all the way, —
Even we have tamely, basely kissed the ground,
40 Before that Papal Power, that Ghost of Her,
The World's Imperial Mistress, — sitting, crowned
And ghastly, on her mouldering sepulchre !
360 AMEEICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II.
But this is past, — too long have lordly priests
And priestly lords led us, with all our pride
Withering about us, — like devoted beasts,
Dragged to the shrine, with faded garlands tied.
5 'T is o'er, — the dawn of our deliverance breaks !
Up from his sleep of centuries awakes
The Genius of the Old Republic, free
As first he stood, in chainless majesty,
And sends his voice through ages yet to come,
10 Proclaiming Rome, Rome, Rome, Eternal Rome!"
LESSON CXCIV. GUSTAVUS VASA TO THE SWEDES. Brookt
Are ye not marked, ye men of Dalecarlia,
Are ye not marked by all the circling world.
As the last stake ? What but liberty.
Through the famed course of thirteen hundred years,
5 Aloof hath held invasion from your hills,
And sanctified their name ? And will ye, will ye
Shrink from the hopes of the expecting world,
Bid your high honors stoop to foreign insult,
And in one hour give up to infamy
10 The harvest of a thousand years of glory?
Die all first !
Yes, die by piecemeal !
Leave not a limb o'er which a Dane can triumph !
Now from my soul I joy, I joy my friends,
15 To see ye feared ; to see that even your foes
Do justice to your valor I — There they are.
The powers of kingdoms, summed in yonder host,
Yet kept aloof, j-et trembling to assail ye,
And oh ! when 1 look around and see you here,
20 Of number short, but prevalent in virtue.
My heart swells high, and burns for the encounter.
True courage but from opposition grows ;
And what are fifty, what a thousand slaves,
Matched to the virtue of a single arm
25 That strikes for liberty? that strikes to save
His fields from fire, his infants from the sword,
And his large honors from eternal infamy ?
What doubt we then ? Shall we, shall we stand here !
Let us on !
30 Firm are our hearts, and nervous are our arms,
PART U.] READER AND SPEAKER. 361
With US truth, justice, fame, and freedom close,
Each, singly, equal to a host of foes.
LESSON CXCV. A FIELD OF BATTLE. Shelley.
Ah ! whence yon glare
That fires the arch of heaven ? — that dark red smoke
.^lotting the silver moon ? The stars are quenched
In darkness, and the pure and spangling snow
5 Gleams faintly througii the gloom that gathers round !
Hark to that roar, whose swift and deafening peals,
In countless echoes, through the mountain ring,
Starting pale Midnight on her starry throne !
Now swells the intermingling din ; the jar,
10 Frequent and frightful, of the bursting bomb;
The falling beam, the shriek, the groan, the shout,
The ceaseless clangor, and the rush of men
Inebriate with rage ! Loud, and more loud.
The discord grows, till pale Death shuts the scene,
15 And o'er the conqueror and the conquered draws
His cold and bloody shroud. Of all the men.
Whom day's departing beam saw blooming there,
In proud and vigorous health, — of all the hearts.
That beat with anxious life at sunset there, —
20 How few survive ! how few are beating now !
All is deep silence, like the fearful calm
That slumbers in the storm's portentous pause ;
Save when the frantic wail of widowed love
Comes shuddering on the blast, or the faint moan
25 With which some soul bursts from the frame of clay
Wrapt round its struggling powers.
The gray morn
Dawns on the mournful scene ; the sulphurous smoke
Before the icy wind slow rolls away,
30 And the bright beams of frosty morning dance
Along the spangling snow. There tracks of blood,
Even to the forest's depth, and scattered arms.
And lifeless warriors, whose hard lineaments
Death's self could change not, mark the dreadful path
35 Of the outsallying victors : far behind.
Black ashes note where their proud city stood.
Within yon forest is a gloomy glen, —
Each tree which guards its darkness from the day,
Waves? o'er a warrior's tomb.
31
362 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PABT U
LESSON CXCVI. RESISTANCE TO OPPRESSION. PATRICK
HENRY.
Mr. President, — It is natural for man to indulge in the
illusions of hope. We are apt to sliut our eyes against a
painful truth, and listen to the song of that syren, till she
transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men
5 engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty V Are
we disposed to be of the number of those, who, having
eyes, see not, and having ears, hear not, the things which
so nearly concern their temporal salvation ? For my
part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing
10 to know the whole truth ; to know the worst, and to pro-
vide for it.
I have but one lamp, by which my feet are guided ; and
that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of
judging of the future but by the past. And judging by
15 the past, I wish to know what there is in the conduct of
the British ministry, for the last ten years, to justify those
hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace
themselves and the House ? Is it that insidious smile,
with which our petition has been lately received ? Trust
20 it not, sir ; it will prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not
yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss.
Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our peti-
tion comports with those warlike preparations which
cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and
25 armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation ?
Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled,
that force must be called in to win back our love ? Let
us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements
of war and subjugation ; the last arguments to which
30 kings resort.
I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, if
its purpose be not to force us to submission ? Can gentle-
men assign any other possible motive for it? Has Great
Britain any enemy, in this quarter of the world, to call for
35 all this accumulation of navies and armies? No, sir, she
has none. They are meant for us : they can be meant for
no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us
those chains, which the British ministry have been so long
forging. And what have Vv^e to oppose them? Shall
40 we try argument ? Sir, we have been trying that for the
last ten years. Have we any thing new tc ofTer upon
the subject ? Nothing. We have held the subject up in
PART n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 363
every light of which it is capable : but it has been all in
vain.
Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication ?
What terms shall we find, which have not been already ex-
5 hausted ? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves
longer. Sir, we have done everything that could be done,
to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have peti-
tioned ; we have remonstrated ; Ave have supplicated ; we
have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have im-
10 plored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the
ministry and parliament. Our petitions have been slight-
ed ; our remonstrances have produced additional violence
and insult ; our supplications have been disregarded ; and
we have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the
15 throne !
In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond
hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any
room for hope. If we wish to be free, — if we mean to
preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges, for which
20 we have been so long contending, — if we mean not basely
to abandon the noble struggle, in which we have been so
long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never
to abandon, until the glorious object of our contest shall be
obtained, — we must fight ! I repeat it, sir, we must fight !
$S An appeal to arms, and to the God of Hosts, is all that is
left us !
They tell us, sir, that we are weak ; unable to cope
Avith so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be
stronger? Will it be the iiext week, or the next year?
30 Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a
British guard shall be stationed in every house ? Shall
we gather strength by irresolution and inaction ? Shall
we acquire the means of effectual resistance, by lying su-
pinely on our backs, and hugging the delusive phantom
35 of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and
foot? Sir, we are not weak, if we make a proper use of
those means which the God of nature hath placed in our
power.
Three millions of people, armed in the holy cause of
40 liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess,
are invincible by any force which our enemy can send
against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles
alone. There is a just God who presides over the desti-
nies of nations ; and who will raise up friends to fight our
364 AJIKRICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II.
battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone ;
it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir,
we have no election. If we were base enough to desire
it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There
5 is no retreat, but in submission and slavery ! Our chains
are forged ! Their clanking may be heard on the plains
of Boston ! The war is inevitable, — and let it come ! I
repeat it, sir, let it come !
It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen
10 may cry, peace, peace, — but there is no peace. The war
is actually begun ! The next gale, that sweeps from the
north, will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms !
Our brethren are already in the field ! Why stand we
here idle ? What is it that gentlemen wish ? What
15 would they have ? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to
be purchased at the price of chains and slavery ? Forbid
it. Almighty God ! I know not what course others may
take ; but as for me, give me liberty, or give me death !
LESSON CXCVII. DUTIES OF AMERICAN CITIZENS. LEVI
WOODBURY.
It behooves us to look our perils and difficulties, such as
they are, in the face. Then, with the exercise of candor,
calmness, and fortitude, being able to comprehend fully
their character and extent, let us profit by the teachings of
5 almost every page in our annals, that any defects, under
our existing system, have resulted more from the manner
of administering it, than from its substance or form.
We less need new laws, new institutions, or new pow-
ers, than we need, on all occasions, at all times, and in
10 all places, the requisite intelligence concerning the true
spirit of our present ones ; the high moral courage, under
every hazard, and against every ofTender, to execute with
fidelity the authority already possessed ; and the manly
independence to abandon all supineness, irresolution, vacil-
15 lation, and time-serving pusillanimity, and enforce our pres-
ent mild system with that uniformity and steady vigor
throughout, which alone can supply the place of the greater
severity of less free institutions.
To arm and encourage us in renewed efTorts to accom-
20 plish every thing on this subject which is desirable, our
history constantly points her finger to a most efficient re-
source, and indeed to the only elixir, to secure a long life
PART U,] READER AND SPEAKER. 365
to any popular government, in increased attention to use-
ful education and sound morals, with the wise description
of equal measures and just practices they inculcate on
every leaf of recorded time. Before their alliance, the
5 spirit of misrule will always, in time, stand rebuked, and
those who worship at the shrine of unhallowed ambition,
niust quail.
Storms, in the political atmosphere, may occasionally
happen by the encroachments of usurpers, the corruption
10 or intrigues of demagogues, or in the expiring agonies of
faction, or by the sudden fury of popular frenzy ; but, with
the restraints and salutary influences of the allies before
described, these storms will purify as healthfully as they
often do in the physical world, and cause the tree of lib-
15 erty, instead of falling, to strike its roots deeper. In this
struggle, the enlightened and moral possess also a power,
auxiliary and strong, in the spirit of the age, which is not
only with them, but onward, in every thing to ameliorate
or improve.
20 When the struggle assumes the form of a contest with
power, in all its subtlety, or with undermining and cor-
rupting wealth, as it sometimes may, rather than with
turbulence, sedition, or open aggression by the needy and
desperate, it will be indispensable to employ still greater
25 diligence ; to cherish earnestness of purpose, resoluteness
in conduct ; to apply hard and constant blows to real
- abuses, rather than milk-and-water remedies, and encour-
age not only bold, free, and original thinking, but deter-
mined action.
30 In such a cause, our fathers were men whose hearts
were not accustomed to fail them, through fear, however
formidable the obstacles. Some of them were companions
of Cromwell, and imbued deeply with his spirit and iron
decision of character, in whatever they deemed right: "If
35 Pope, and Spaniard, and devil, (said he,) all set themselves
against us, though they should compass us about as bees,
as it is in the 18th Psalm, yet in the name of the Lord we
will destroy them." We are not, it is trusted, such degen-
erate descendants, as to prove recreant, and fail to defend,
40 with gallantry and firmness as unflinching, all which we
have either derived from them, or since added to the rich
inheritance.
At such a crisis, therefore, and in such a cause, yielding
to neither consternation nor despair, may we not all profit
31*
366 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART U.
by the A-chcmcnt exhortations of Cicero to Atticus : "If
you are asleep, awake ; if you arc standing, move ; if you
are moving, run; if you are running, fly?"
All these considerations warn us, — the grave-stones of
5 almost every former republic warn us, — \Jiat a high stand-
ard of moral rectitude, as well as of intelligence, is quite as
indispensable to communities, in their public doings, as to
individuals, if they would escape from either degeneracy
or disgrace.
LESSON CXCVIII. — POLITICAL CORRUPTION. GEO. m'dUFFIE.
Sir, — we are apt to treat the idea of our own corrupti-
bility, as utterly visionary, and to ask, with a grave affecta-
tion of dignity, — what ! do you think a member of congress
can be corrupted ? Sir, I speak what I have long and de-
5 liberately considered, when I say, that since man was cre-
ated, there never has been a political body on the face of
the earth, that would not be corrupted under the same cir-
cumstances. Corruption steals upon us, in a thousand
insidious forms, when we are least aware of its approaches.
10 Of all the forms in which it can present itself, the bribery
of office is the most dangerous, because it assumes the
guise of patriotism to accomplish its fatal sorcery. We
are. often asked, where is the evidence of corruption?
Have you seen it? Sir, do you expect to see it? You
15 might as well expect to see the embodied forms of pesti-
lence and famine stalking before you, as to see the latent
operations of this insidious power. We may walk amidst
it, and breathe its contagion, without being conscious of
its presence. All experience teaches us the irresistible
20 power of temptation, when vice assumes the form of virtue.
The great enemy of mankind could not have consum-
mated his infernal scheme for the seduction of our first pa-
rents, but for the disguise in which he presented himself.
Had he appeared, as the devil, in his proper form ; had the
25 spear of Ithuriel disclosed the naked deformity of the fiend
of hell, the inhabitants of Paradise would have shrunk, with
horror, from his presence. But he came, as the insinuat-
ing serpent, and presented a beautiful apple, the most de-
licious fruit in all the garden. He told his glowing story,
30 to the unsuspecting victim of his guile. " It can be no
crime to taste of this delightful fryit. It will disclose to
you the knowledge of good and evil. It will raise you to
an equality with the angels." Such, sir, was the process;
PART U.] READER AND SPEAKER. 367
and, in this simple but impressive narrative, we have the
most beautiful and philosophical illustration of the frailty
of man, and the power of temptation, that could possibly
be exhibited.
5 Mr. Chairman, I have been forcibly struck with the simi-
larity between our present situation and that of Eve, after
it was announced that Satan was on the borders of Para-
dise. We, too, have been warned that the enemy is on our
borders. But God forbid that the similitude should be car-
10 ried any farther. Eve, conscious of her innocence, sought
temptation, and defied it. The catastrophe is too fatally
known to us all. She went, " with the blessings of Heaven
on her head, and its purity in her heart," guarded by the
ministry of angels, — she returned, covered with shame, un-
15 der the heavy denunciation of Heaven's everlasting curse.
Sir, it is innocence that temptation conquers. If our
first parent, pure as she came from the hand of God, was
overcome by the seductive power, let us not imitate her
fatal rashness, seeking temptation, when it is in our power
20 to avoid it. Let us not vainly confide in our own infalli-
bility. We are liable to be corrupted. To an ambitious
man, an honorable office will appear as beautiful and fas-
cinating, as the apple of Paradise.
I admit, sir, that ambition is a passion, at once the most
25 powerful and the most useful. Without it, human affairs
would become a mere stagnant pool. By means of his
patronage, the president addresses himself, in the most irre-
sistible manner, to this, the noblest and strongest of our
passions. All that the imagination can desire, — honor,
30 power, wealth, ease, — are held out, as the temptation. Man
was not made to resist such temptations. It is impossible
to conceive, — Satan himself could not devise, — a system
which would more infallibly introduce corruption and death,
into our political Eden. Sir, the angels fell from heaven,
35 with less temptation.
LESSON CXCIX. — INTELLIGENCE NECESSARY TO PERPETUATE
INDEPENDENCE. DAWES.
That education is one of the deepest principles of inde-
pendence, need not be labored in this assembly. In arbi-
trary governments, where the people neither make the Law,
nor choose those who legislate, the more ignorance, the
5 more peace. But in a government, where the people fill
all the branches of the sovereignty, intelligence is the life
368 AMEKICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II.
of liberty. An American would resent his being denied
the use of his musket ; but he would deprive himself of a
stronger safeguard, if he should want that learning which
is necessary to a knowledge of the constitution. It is easy
5 to see, that our Agrarian law, and the law of education,
were calculated to make republicans, to make men. Ser-
vitude could never long consist with the habits of sucli
citizens. Enlightened minds, and virtuous manners, lead
to the gates of glory.
10 The sentiment of independence must have been connat-
ural in the bosoms of Americans ; and, sooner or later, must
have blazed out, into public action. Independence fits the
soul of her residence, for everj' noble enterprise of humanity
and greatness. Her radiant smile lights up celestial ardor
15 in poets and orators, who sound her praises through all
ages ; in legislators and philosophers, who fabricate wise
and happy governments, as dedications to her fame ; in
patriots and heroes, who shed their lives in sacrifice to her
divinity. At this idea, do not our minds swell with the
20 memory of those, whose godlike virtues have founded her
most magnificent temple in America ? It is easy for us to
maintain her doctrines, at this late day, when there is but
one party, on the subject, an immense people.
But what tribute shall we bestow, what sacred paean
25 shall we raise over the tombs of those who dared, in the
face of unrivalled power, and within the reach of majesty,
to blow the blast of freedom throughout a subject conti-
nent ? Nor did those brave countrymen of ours only ex-
press the emotions of glory ; the nature of their principles
30 inspired them with the power of practice, and they offered
their bosoms to the shafts of battle. Bunker's awful mount
is the capacious urn of their ashes ; but the flaming bounds
of the universe could not limit the flight of their minds.
They fled to the union of kindred souls; and those who
35 fell at the strait of Thermopyla3, and those who bled on the
heights of Charlestov/n, now reap congenial joys, in the
fields of the blessed.
LESSON CC. — SOUTH AMERICAN REPUBLICS. — DANIEL WEBSTER.
Sir, I do not wish to overrate, — I do not overrate, — the
progress of these new states in the great work of establish-
ing a well-secured popular liberty. I know that to be a
great attainment, and I know they are but pupils in the
5 school. But, thank God, they are in the school. They
are called to meet difficulties, such as neither we nor our
I-ART H.] READER AND SPEAKER. 369
fathers encountered. For these we ought to make large
allowances. What have we ever known, like the colonial
vassalage of these states ? When did we or our ancestors
feel, like them, the weight of a political despotism that
5 presses men to the earth, or of that religious intolerance
which would shut up heaven to all but the bigoted? Sir,
we sprung from another stock. We belong to another
race. We have known nothing, — we have felt nothing, —
of the political despotism of Spain, nor of the heat of her
10 fires of intolerance.
No rational man expects that the soutji can run the same
rapid career as the north ; or that an insurgent province of
Spain is in the same condition as the English colonies,
when they first asserted their independence. There is,
15 doubtless, much more to be done in the first, than in the
last case. But, on that account, the honor of the attempt
is not less ; and if all difficulties shall be in time sur-
mounted, it will be greater. The work may be more ar-
duous ; it is not less noble, because there may be more of
20 ignorance to enlighten, — more of bigotry to subdue, — more
of prejudice to eradicate.
If it be a weakness to feel a strong interest in the suc-
cess of these great revolutions, I confess myself guilty of
• that weakness. If it be weak, to feel that I am an Ameri-
25 can, to think that recent events have not only opened new
modes of intercourse, but have created also new grounds
of regard and sympathy between ourselves and our neigh-
bors; if it be weak to feel that the south, in her present
state, is somewhat more emphatically a part of America
80 than when she lay obscure, oppressed and unknown, under
the grinding bondage of a foreign power; if it be weak to
rejoice, when, even in any corner of the earth, human be-
ings are able to get up from beneath oppression, to erect
themselves, and to enjoy the proper happiness of their in-
35 telligent nature ; — if this be weak, it is a weakness from
which I claim no exemption.
A day of solemn retribution now visits the once proud
monarchy of Spain. The prediction is fulfilled. The
spint of Montezuma, and of the Incas, might now well say,
40 "Art thou, too, fallen, Iberia? Do we see
The robber and ttie murderer weak as we?
Thou ! that hast wasted earth, and dared despise
Alike the wrath and mercy of the skies, —
Thy pomp is in the grave ; thy glory laid
45 Low in the pit thine avarice has made."
370 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART 11.
LESSON CCI. EXCELLENCE OF THE HOLY SCRIPTURES.-
Beattie.
Is it bigotry to believe the sublime truths of the ospel,
with full assurance of faith ? I glory in such bigotry. 1
would not part with it for a thousand worlds. I congratu-
late the man who is possessed of it : for, amidst all the
5 vicissitudes and calamities of the present state, that man
*enjoys an inexhaustible fund of consolation, of which it is
not in the power of fortune to deprive him.
There is not a book on earth, so favoral)le to all the kind,
and all the sublime afTections ; or so unfriendly to hatred
10 and persecution, to tyranny, to injustice, and every sort of
malevolence, as the Gospel. It breathes nothing through-
out, but mercy, benevolence, and peace.
Poetry is sublime, when it awakens in the mind any
great and good afleclion, as piety or patriotism. This is
15 one of the noblest effects of the art. The Psalms are re-
markable, beyond all other writings, for their power of
inspiring devout emotions. But it is not in this respect
only, that they are sublime. Of the divine nature, they
contain the most magnificent descriptions, that the soul of
20 man can comprehend. The hundred and fourth Psalm, in
particular, displays the power and goodness of Providence,
in creating and preserving the world, and the various tribes
of animals in it, with such majestic brevity and beauty, as
it is vain to look for in any human composition.
25 Such of the doctrines of the Gospel, as are level to hu-
man capacity, appear to be agreeable to the purest truth,
and the soundest morality. All the genius and learning
of the heathen world, all the penetration of Pythagoras,
Socrates, and Aristotle, had never been able to produce
30 such a system of moral duty, and so rational an account
of Providence and of man, as are to be found in the New
Testament. Compared, indeed, with this, all other moral
and theological wisdom
Loses, discountenanced, and like folly shows.
LESSON CCn. SPEECH OF MR. GRIFFIN AGAINST CHEETHAM.
1 am one of those who believe, that the heart of the wil-
ful and the deliberate libeller, is blacker than that of the
highway robber, or of one who commits the crime of mid-
night arson. The man who plunders on the highway, may
have the semblance of an apology for what he does. An
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 371
affectionate wife may demand subsistence ; a circle of
helpless children raise to him the supplicating hand for
food. He may be driven to the desperate act, by the high
mandate of imperative necessity. The mild features of
5 the husband and the father, may intermingle with those of
the robber, and soften the roughness of the shade. Bui
the robber of character plunders that which "not enricheth
him," though it makes his neighbor " poor indeed."
The man who, at the midnight hour, consumes his neigh-
10 bor's dwelling, does him an injury which perhaps is not
irreparable. Industry may rear another habitation. The
storm may indeed descend upon him, until charity opens a
neighboring door : the rude winds of heaven may whistle
around his uncovered family. But he looks forward to
15 better days ; he has yei a hook to hang a hope on.
No such consolation cheers the heart of him whose char-
acter has been torn from him. If innocent, he may look,
like Anaxagoras, to the heavens ; but he must be constrained
to feel, that this world is to him a wilderness. For whith-
20 er shall he go ? Shall he dedicate himself to the service
of his country ? But will his country receive him ? Will
she employ in her councils, or in her armies, the man at
whom the "slow, unmoving finger of scorn" is pointed?
Shall he betake himself to the fire-side ? The story of his
25 disgrace will enter his own doors before him. And can he
bear, think you, can he bear the sympathizing agonies of
a distressed wife ? Can he endure the formidable presence
of scrutinizing, sneering domestics ? Will his children
receive instruction from the lips of a disgraced father?
80 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 wantonly
massacred; — and he now appears before a jury of his
country for redress. Will you deny him this redress ?
35 — Is character valuable ? On this point I will not insult
you with argument. There are certain things, to argue
which is treason against nature. The Author of our be-
ing did not intend to leave this point afloat at the mercy of
opinion ; but, with his own hand, has he kindly planted in
40 the soul of man an instinctive love of character.
This high sentiment has no affinity 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 elevation to the love of character . It is the
372 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART n.
love of character for which the poet has sung, the philoso-
pher toiled, the hero bled. It is the love of character
which wrought miracles at ancient Greece ; the love of
character is the eas^ie on which Rome rose to empire.
5 And it is the love of character animating' the bosom of her
sons, on which America must depend in those approaching
crises that may "try men's souls." Will a jury weaken
this our nation's hope? Will they by their verdict pro-
nounce to the youth of our country, that character is scarce
10 worth possessing?
We read of that philosophy which can smile over the
destruction of properly, — of that religion which enables its
possessor to extend the benign look of forgiveness and com-
placency, to his murderers. But it is not in the soul of
15 man to bear the laceration of slander. The philosophy
which could bear it, we should despise. The religion
which could bear it, we should not despise, — but we should
be constrained to say, that its kingdom was not of this
world.
LESSON CCIII. SIR ANTHONY ABSOLUTE AND CAPTAIN ABSO-
LUTE. — Sheridan.
Capt. ui. Sir Anthony, I am delighted to see you here,
and looking so well ! Your sudden arrival at Bath made
me apprehensive for your health.
Sir A. Very apprehensive, I dare say, Jack. What,
5 you are recruiting here, hey ?
Capt. A. Yes, sir, 1 am on duty.
Sir A. Well, Jack, I am glad to see you, though I did
not expect it ; for I was going to write to you on a little
matter of business. Jack, I have been considering that I
10 grow old and infirm, and shall probably not be with you
long.
Capt. A. Pardon me, sir, I never saw you look more
strong and hearty ; and I pray fervently that you may
concinue so.
15 Sir A. I hope your prayers may be heard, with all my
heart. Well then. Jack, I have been considering that I
am so strong and hearty, I may continue to plague you a
long time. Now, Jack, I am sensible that the income
of your commission, and what I have hitherto allowed
20 you, IS but a small pittance for a lad of your spirit.
Capt. A. Sir, you are very good.
PART 11.] READER AND SPEAKER. 373
Sir A. And it is my wish, while yet I live, to have
my boy make some figure in the world. I have re-
solved, therefore, to fix you at once in a noble indepen-
dence.
5 Capt. A. Sir, your kindness overpowers me. Yet, sir,
I presume you would not wish me to quit the army ?
Si?- A. Oh ! that shall be as your wife chooses.
Capt. A. My wife, sir !
Sir A. Ay, ay, settle that between you ; settle that
10 between you.
Capt. A. A wife, sir, did you say?
Sir A. Ay, a wife : why, did not I mention her before?
Capt. A. Not a word of her, sir.
Sir A. Yes, Jack, the independence I was talking of
15 is by a marriage ; the fortune is saddled with a wife ; but
I suppose that makes no diiierence ?
Capt. A. Sir, sir, you amaze me !
Sir A. What 's the matter with the fool ? — ^just now you
were all gratitude and duty.
20 Capt. A. I was, sir; you talked to me of independence
and a fortune, but not one word of a wife.
Sir A. Why, what difference does that make ? Sir,
if you have the estate, you must take it with the live
stock on it, as it stands.
25 Capt. A. Pray, sir, who is the lady ?
Sir A. What 's that to you, sir ? Come, give me your
promise to love, and to marry her directly.
Capt. A. Sure, sir, that 's not very reasonable, to sum-
mon my affections for a lady I know nothing of!
30 Sir A. I am sure, sir, 't is more unreasonable in you,
to object to a lady you know nothing of, —
Capt. A. You must excuse me, sir, if I tell you, once
for all, that in this point I can not obey you.
Sir A. Hark ye, Jack ; I have heard you for some
35 time with patience, — I have been cool, — quite cool : but
take care ; you know I am compliance itself, when I am
not thwarted ; no one more easily led, when I have my
own way ; but don't put me in a frenzy.
Capt. A. Sir, I must repeat it ; in this I can not obey
40 you.
Sir A. Now, hang me, if ever I call you Jack again,
while I live !
Capt. A. Nay, sir, but hear me.
Sir A. Sir, I won't hear a word, not a word ! not one
32
374 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAKT 11.
word ! So give me your promise by a nod, and I '11 tell
you what, Jack, — I mean you dog, — if you don't by
Capt. A. Wiiat, sir, promise to link myself to some
mass of ugliness ; to
5 Sir A. Zounds ! sirrah ! the lady shall be as ugly as I
choose : she shall have a hump on each shoulder ; she
shall be as crooked as the crescent -j her one eye shall roll
like the bulPs in Cox's museum ; she shall have a skin
like a mummy, and the beard x)f a Jew. She shall be all
10 this, sirrah ! Yes, I '11 make you ogle her all day, and
sit up all night to write sonnets on her beauty.
Capt. A. This is reason and moderation, indeed !
Sir A. None of your sneering, puppy ! no grinning,
jackanapes !
15 Capt. A. Indeed, sir, I never was in a worse humor
for mirth in my life.
Sir A. 'T is false, sir; I know you are laughing in
your sleeve ; I know vou '11 grin when I am gone, sir-
rah !
20 Capt. A. Sir, I hope I know rr^)'- duty better.
Sir A. None of your passion, sir ! none of your vio-
lence, if you please ; it won't do with me, I promise
yod.
Capt. A. Indeed, sir, I was never cooler in my life.
25 Sir A. 'T is a confounded lie ! I know you are in a
passion in your heart ; I know you are a hypocritical
young dog ; but it wont do.
Capt. A. Nay, sir, upon my word, —
Sir A. So you will fly out ! Can't you be cool, like
30 me? What good can passion do? Passion is of no service,
you impudent,' iffeolent, overbearing reprobate! There,
you sneer again ! Don't provoke me ! But you rely upon
the mildness of my temper, you do, you dog ! You play
upon the meekness of my disposition ! Yet take care ;
35 the patience of a saint may be overcome at last ! But
mark ! I give you six hours and a half to consider of
this ; if you then agree, without any condition, to do
every thing on earth that I choose, why, confound you ! I
may in time forgiv-e you. If not, don't enter the same
40 hemisphere with me ! cfea't dare to breathe the same air,
or use the same light with me ; but get an atmosphere
and a sun of your own -.A 'U strip you of your commis-
sion : I '11 lodge a five-and-three-pence in the hands of
trustees, and you shall live on the interest. I '11 disown
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 375
Jou ; I '11 disinherit you ; and hang me, if ever I call you
ack again ! [Exit.
Capt. A. Mild, gentle, considerate father, I kiss your
hands.
LESSON cciv. — Antony's address to the Roman popu-
lace . — Shakspeare.
Friends, Eomans, countrymen, lend me your ears :
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
The evil, that men do, lives after them ;
The good is oft interred with their bones :
5 So let it be with Ccesar ! The noble Brutus
Hath told you, Caesar was ambitious.
If it were so, it was a grievous fault : —
And grievously hath Caesar answered it.
Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest,
10 (For Brutus is an honorable man.
So are they all, all honorable men ;)
Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral.
He was my friend, faithful and just to me :
But Brutus says, he was ambitious ;
15 And Brutus is an l/onorabie man.
He hath brought many captives home to Rome,
Whose ransoms did the general cofiers fill :
Did this, in Caesar, seem aiflbitious ?
When that the poorhath cried, Cajsar hath wept:
20 Ambition should be made of sterner stuff.
Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ;
And Brutus is an honorable man.
You all dill see, that, on the Lupercal,
I thrice presented him a kingly crown ;
25 Which he did thrice refuse. Was th is ambition ?
Yet Brutus says, he was ambitious ;
And sure he is an honorable man.
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke ;
But here I am to speak what I do know.
30 You all did love him once, not without cause :
What cause withholds you then to mourn for him ? -
O judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason. — Bear with me :
My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar ;
35 And I must pause till it come back to me.
But yesterday, the word of Cajsar might
Have stood against the world : now lies he there,
376 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAKT 11.
And none so poor to do him reverence.
Masters ! If 1 were disposed to stir
Your hearts and minds to nmtiny and rage,
1 should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong,
5 Who, you all know, are honorable men.
I will not do them wrong, — I rather choose
To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you.
Than I will wrong such honorable men.
>•, But here 's a parchment, with the seal of Caesar ;
10 I found it in his closet : 't is his will.
Let but the commons hear this testartient,
(Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read,)
And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds,
And dip their napkins in his sacred blood, —
15 Yea, beg a hair of iiim for memory,
And, dying, mention it within their wills,
Bequcatliing it as a rich legacy,
Unto their issue.
If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.
20 You all do know this mantle : I remember
The first time ever Caesar put it on ;
'T was on a summer's evening in his tent : ^
That day he overcame the Nervii : —
Look ! In this place, ran Cassius' dagger through :—
25 See, what a rent the envious Casca made, —
Through this, the well-belo' -d Brutus stabbed;
And, as he plucked his curbed steel away,
Mark how the blood of Cresar followed it ! —
This was the most unkindest* cut of all !
30 For, when the B^ble Ca^sai saw him stab,
Ingratitude^more strong lh;\n traitors' arras,
i|uite vanquished him ! ''' in burst his mighty heart:
And, in his mantle, mufflii ..r up his face,
Even at the base of Pomp-v's statua,t
35 Which all the while ran L-lood, great Csesar fell.
Oh, what a fall was there, my countrymen I
Then I and you, and all of us, fell down ; *"■.,
Whilst bloody treason flourished over us.
Oh, now you weep ; and I perceive you feel
* This double superlative, like " the most straitest sect of our reli-
gion," TActs xxvi. 5,) was tolerated by the best English writers,
two or tnree centuries ago.
t Statua, for statue, is common among the old writers.
PART 11.] READKR ANI SPEAKER. 377
The dint of pity : — these are gracious drops.
Kind souls I What ! weep you when you hut hehold
Our Caesar's vesture wounded ? Look ye here ! —
Here is himself, — marred, as you see, by traitors.
5 Good friends ! sweet friends ! Let me not stir you up
To such a sudden flood of mutiny !
They that have done this deed are honorable !
What private griefs they have, alas, I know not, ^
. That made them do it ! They are wise and honorable,
10 And will, no doubt, with reason answer you.
I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts !
I am no orator, as Brutus is ;
But, as you know me all, a plain, blunt man.
That love my friend, — and that they knoAV full well,
15 That gave me public leave to speak of him !
For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth,
Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech,
To stir men's blood : — I only speak right on :
I tell you that which you yourselves do know,- -
20 Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor, poor dumb mouths,
And bid them speak for me. But, were I Brutus,
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony
Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue
In every wound of Ca;sar, that should move
25 The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.
.Jt- LESSON CCV. THE VICTOR ANGELS. MiltOTl.
Now when fair morn orient in Heaven appeared,
Up rose the victor Angels, and to ar"^«
The matin trumpet sung : in arms the^ tood
Of golden panoply, refulgent host,
5 Soon banded ; others from the dawaing hills
Looked round, and scouts each coast light armed scour
Each quarter, to descry the distant foe.
Where lodged, or whither fled, or if for fight,
In motion or in halt : him soon they met
10 Under spread ensigns moving nigh, in slow
But firm battalion ; back with speediest sail
Zophiel, of Cherubim the swiftest wing,
Came flying, aiVd in mid air aloud thus cried ;
'Arm, Warriors, ar?n for fight, — the foe at hand,
15 Whom fled we thought, will save us long pursuit
This day ; fear not his flight : so thick a cloud
^2*
378 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PABT H
He comes ; and setlled in his face I see
Sad resolution and secure : let each
His adamantine coat gird well, — and each
Fit well his helm, — gripe fast his orbed shield,
5 Borne even or high ; for this day will pour down,
If I conjecture aught, no drizzling shower.
But rattling storm of arrows barbed with fire."
m^o warned he them, aware themselves, and soon
In order, quit of all impediment;
10 Instant, without disturb, they took alarm.
And onward move, embattled : when behold !
Not distant far, with heavy pace the foe.
Approaching, gross and huge, in hollow cube.
Training his devilish enginery, impaled
15 On every side with shadowing squadrons deep,
To hide the fraud. At interview both stood
Awhile ; but suddenly at head appeared
Satan, and thus was heard commanding loud ;
"Vanguard, to right and left the front unfold ;
20 That all may see who hale us, how we seek
Peace and composure, and with open breast
Stand ready to receive them, if they like
Our overture, and turn not back perverse."
LESSON CCVl. — IMPRESSMENT OF AMERICAN SEAMEN.
HENRY CLAY.
Who is prepared to say, that American seamen shall be
surrendered, as victims', to the British principle of impress-
ment ? And, sir, what is this principle? She contends,
that she has a right to the services of her own subjects ;
5 and that, in the exeri;ise of this right, she may lawfully
impress them, even alihaugh she finds them in American
vessels, upon the high seas, without her jurisdiction. Now
I deny that she has any right, beyond her jurisdiction, to
come on board our vessels, upon the high seas, for any
10 other purpose, than in the pursuit of enemies, or their
goods, or goods contraband of war.
But she further contends, that her subjects cannot
renounce their allegiance to her, and contract a new obli-
gation to other sovereigns. I do not mean to go into the
15 general question of the right of expatriation. If, as is
contended, all nations deny it, all nations, at the same
time, admit and practice the right of naturalization. Great
PART U.] READER ANE SPEAKER, 379
Britain herself does this. Great Britain, in the very case
of foreign seamen, imposes, perhaps, fewer restraints upon
naturalization, than any other nation. Then, if subjects
cannot break their original allegiance, they may, accord-
5 ing to universal usage, contract a new allegiance.
What is the effect of this double obligation ? Undoubt-
edly, that the sovereign having the possession of the
subject, would have the right to the services of the sub-
ject. If he return within the jurisdiction of his primitive
10 sovereign, he may resume his right to his services, of
which the subject, by his own act, could not divest him
self. But his primitive sovereign can have no right to go
in quest of him, out of his own jurisdiction, into the juris-
diction of another sovereign, or upon the high seas ;
15 where there exists no jurisdiction, or it is possessed by
the nation owning the ship navigating them.
But, sir, this discussion is altogether useless. It is not
to the British principle, objectionable as it is, that we are
alone to look ; it is to her practice, no matter what guise
20 she puts on. It is in vain to assert the inviolability of the
obligation of allegiance. It is in vain to set up the plea
of necessity, and to allege that she cannot exist without
the impressment oi her seamen. The naked truth is, she
comes, by her press-gangs, on board of our vessels, seizes
25 our native as well as naturalized seamen, and drags them
into her service.
It is the case, then, of the assertion of an erroneous
principle, and of a practice not conformable to the asserted
principle, — a principle which, if it were theoretically right,
30" must be forever practically wrong, — a practice which can
obtain countenance from no principle whatever, and to
submit to which, on our part, would betray the most abject
degradation.
LESSON CCVII. "NEW ENGLAND, WHAT IS SHE ? ' DELENDA
EST CARTHAGO. Vi' TRISTAM BURGESS.
The policy of the gentleman from Virginia, calls him to
a course of legislation resulting in the entire destruction
of one part of our Union. Oppress New England, until
she shall be compelled to remove her manufacturing labor
5 and capital to the regions of iron, wool, and grain, and
nearer to those of rice and cotton. Oppress New England,
until she shall be compelled to remove her commercial
390 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAUT II.
labor and capital to New York, Norfolk, Charleston, and
Savannah. Finally, oppress that proscribed region, until
she shall be compelled to remove her agricultural labor
and capital, — her agricultural capital ? No, she cannot
5 remove that. Oppress and compel her, nevertheless, to
remove her agricultural labor to the flir-ofl' West ; and
there people the savage valley, and cultivate the deep
wilderness of the Oregon.
She must, indeed, leave her agricultural capital ; her
10 peopled fields ; her hills with culture carried to their tops ;
her broad deep bays ; her wide transparent lakes, long-
winding rivers, and populous waterfalls ; her delightful
villages, flourishing towns, and wealthy cities. She must
leave this land, bought by the treasure, subdued by the
15 toil, defended by the valor of men, vigorous, athletic, and
intrepid ; men, god-like in all making man resemble the
moral image of his Maker ; a land endeared, oh ! how
deeply endeared, because shared with women pure as the
snows ofitheir native mountains ; bright, lofty, and over-
20 awing, as t^ie clear, circumambient heavens over their
h^ads ; and yet lovely as the fresh opening bosom of their
own blushing and. blooming June. -^
" Mine own roinantic country," must we leave thee ?
Beautiful patrimony of the wise and good ; enriched from
25 the economy, and ornamented by the labor and perseve-
rance of two hundred years ! Blust we leave thee, vener-
able heritage of ancient justice and pristine faith ? And,
God of our fathers ! must we leave thee to the dema-
gogues who have deceived, and traitorously sold us? We
30 must leave thee to them ; and to the remnants of the
Penobscots, the Pequods, the Mohicans, and Narragan-
setts ; that they may lure back the far-retired bear, from
the distant forest, again to inhabit in the young wilder-
ness, growing up in our flourishing cornfields, and rich
35 meadows ; and spreading, with briars and brambles, over
our most "pleasant places." V
All this shall come to pass, to the intent that N?w
England may again become a lair for wild beasts, and a
hunting-ground for savages ; the graves of our parents
40 be polluted ; and the place made holj'- by the first footsteps
of our pilgrim forefathers, become profaned by the mid-
night orgies of barbarous incantation. The evening wolf
shall again howl on our hills, and the echo of his yell
mingle once more with the sound of our water-falls. The
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 381
sanctuaries of God shall be made desolate. Where now
a whole people congregate in thanksgiving for the bene-
factions of time, and in humble supplication for the
mercies of eternity, there those very houses shall then be
5 left without a tenant. The owl, at noon-day, may roost
on the high altar of devotion, and the "fox look out at the
window," on the utter solitude of a New England Sab-
bath.
New England shall, indeed, under this proscribing
10 policy, be what Switzerland was, under that of* France.
New England, which, like Switzerland, is the eagle-nest
of freedom ; New England, where, as in Switzerland, the
cradle of iiifant liberty "was rocked by whirlwinds, iri their
rage ;" New England shall, as Switzerland was, in truth,
15 be "the immolated victim, where nothing but the skin
remains unconsumed by the sacrifice ;" New England, as
Switzerland had, shall have " nothiriff left but her rocks,
her 'ruins, and her demagogptl^s,"'^>Cf^
''^' The mind, sir, capable of conceiving a project of mis
20 chief so gigantic, must have been early schooled, and
deeply ipibued with all the great principles ■'of moral
j^ What, then, sir, shall we say of a spirit, regarding this
event as a "consummation deyg%*ly to be 'wisneS ?" — a
25 spirit, without one attribflite, or^ one hope, of the pure in
heart ; a spirit, which beguis and ?hds every thing, not
with prayer, but witK imprec!HI?ion ; a spirit, which blots
from the great canon of petffi^i, " (?ive us this day our
daily bread ;" that, for^oing""lfodily nutri^ni&nt, he may
30 attain to a higher relish for that unitiiiig^led food, prepjKed
ana served up^ to a soul "hungering and^ThiAtin^" after
wick^ness ;" a spirit, which, at^every rising sun, exclaims,
^'Ho(^e! hodi^ ! CarVttSfgo delenda .'" "To-day, to-day ! let
New England be d^estroyed V^jL^
t
LESSON CCVIII* — PARTY SPIRIT. WILLIAM GASTON. •
Threats of^ resistance, secession, separation, — have be-
come common as household words, in the wicked and
silly violence of public declaimers. The public ear is
familiarized, and the public mind will soon be accustomed,
5 to the detestable suggestions of Disunion ! Calculationa
and conjectures. What may the East do without the South.
382 AMKKICAN COMMOX-SCHOOL [PART 11.
and what may the South do without the East ? — sneers,
menaces, reproaches, and recriminations, all tend to the
same fatal end ! What can the East do without the
South ? What can the South do without the East ?W
/5* If it must be so, let patties and party men continue to
quarrel with little or no regard to the public good. They
may mystify themselves and others with disputations on
political economy, proving the most opposite doctrines lo
their own satisfaction, and perhaps, to the conviction of no
10 one else on earth. They may deserve reprobation for
their selfishness, their violence, their errors, or their
wickedness. They may do our country much harm.
They may retard its growth, destroy its harmony, impair
its character, render its institutions unstable, pervert
15 the public mind, and deprave the public morals. These
are, indeed, evils, and sore evils, but the principle of life
remains, and will jet struggle with assured success, over
these temporary rrJakidies. '!"
Still we are great, glorious, united, and free ; still we
20 have a name that is revered abroad, and loved at home, —
a name, which is a tower of strength to us against foreign
wrong, and a bond of internal union and harmony, — a
name, which no enemy pronounces but with respect, and
which no citizen hears, but with a throb of exultation.
25 Still we have that blessed Constitution, whiQli, with all its
pretended defects, and all its alleged violations, has con-
ferred more benefit on man, than ever yet flowed from any
other human institution',-^whlch lias established justice,
insured domestic tranquillity, 'provided for the common
30 defence, promoted the general welfare, and which, under
God, if 'we be true to ourselves, will insure "the blessings
of Liberty to us and our po^eritj'.
Surely, such a country, and such a Constitution, have
claims upon you, my* friends, which cannot be disre-
35 garded. I entreat and adjure you, then, by all that is
near and dear to you on ea^h, bv all the obligations of
patriotism, by the memory "of your fathers, who fell in the
great and glorious struggle, for the sake of your sons,
whom you would not have to blush for y«ur degeneracy ;
40 by all your proud recollections of the past, and all the
fond anticipations of the future renown of our nation, —
preserve that Country, — uphold thattConstitution. Re-
solve, that they shall not be lost, while in your keeping; and
may God Almighty strengthen you to perform that ^ow !
TIRT n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 383
LESSON CCIX. RESTLESS SPIRIT OF MAN. WILBUR FISK.
There is a spirit, an active, aspiring principle in man,
which cannot be broken down by oppression, or satisfied
by indulgence.
" He has a soul of vast desires,
5 It burns within with restless fires :"
Desires, which no earthly good can satisfy ; fires, which
no waters of affliction or discouragement can quench.
And it is from this, his nature, that society derives all its
interests, and here also lies all its danger. This spirit is
lO at once the terror of tyrants, and the destroyer of repub-
lics.
To form some idea of its strength, let us look at it in
its different conditions, both when it is depressed, and
when it is exalted. See, when it is bent down, for a time,
15 by the iron grasp and leaden sceptre of tyranny, cramping,
and curtailing, and hedging in the soul, and foiling it in
all its attempts to break from its bonds and assert its
native independence. In these cases, the noble spirit,
like a wild beast in the toils, sinks down, at times, into
20 sullen inactivity, only that it may rise again, when
exhausted nature is a little restored, to rush, as hope
excites, or madness impels, in stronger paroxysms against
the cords which bind it -'own.
This is seen in the mobs and rebellions of the most
25 besotted and enslaved nations. Witness the repeated con-
vulsions in Ireland, tha' degraded and oppressed country.
Neither desolating annitc^, nor numerous garrisons, nor
the most rigorous adni'uistratic^-i, enforced by thousands
of public executions, cnii break the spirit of that restless
30 people.
Witness Greece : generations have passed away, since
the warriors of Greece have had their feet put in fetters,
and the race of herons had apparently become extinct ;
and the Grecian lyre had_ long been unstrung and her
35 lights put out. Her haughty masters thought her spirit
was dead ; but it was not dead, it only si pt. In a
moment, as it were, we saw all Greece in arms ; she shook
off her slumbers, and rushed, with frenzy and hope, upon
seeming impos'sibilitie^, to conquer or to die.
40 We see, then, that man has a spirit, which is not easily
broken down by oppression. Let us inquire, whether it
can be more easily satisfied by indulgence. And, in every
3S4 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART IL
Step of this inquiry, we shall find that no miser ever yet
had gold enough ; no office-seeker ever yet had honor
enough; no conqucrorevcr yet subdued kingdoms enough.
When the rich man had filled his store-houses, he must
5 pull down and build larger. When Cnesar had conquered
all his enemies, he must enslave his friends.
When Bonaparte had become the Emperor of France, he
aspired to the throne of all Europe. Facts, a thousand
facts, in every age, and among all classes, prove, that such
10 is the ambitious nature of the soul, such the increasing
compass of its vast desires, that the material universe,
with all its vastness, richness, and variety, cannot satisfy
it. Nor is it in the power of the governments of this
Avorld, in their most perfect forms, so to interest the feel-
15 ings, so to regulate the desires, so to restrain the passions,
or so to divert, or charm, or chain the souls of a whole
community, but that these latent and ungovernable fires
will, sooner or later, burst out and endanger the whole
body politic.
20 What has been the fate of the ancient republics ? They
have been dissolved by this same restless and disorganiz-
ing spirit, of which we have been speaking. And do we
not see the same dangerous spirit, in our own compara-
tively happy and strongly constituted republic ?
25 Here, the road to honor and wealth is open to all ; and
here, is general intelligence. But here, man is found to
possess the same nature as elsewhere. And the stirrings
of his restless spirit have already disturbed the peace of
society, and portend future convulsions. Party spirit is
30 begotten ; ambitious views are engendered, and fed, and
inflamed ; many are running the race for office ; rivals
are envied; characters are aspersed; animosities are en-
kindled ; and the whole community are disturbed by the
electioneering contest.
35 Already office-seekers, in different parts of the country,
unblushingly recommend themselves to notice, and palm
themseh'es upon the people, by every electioneering
manoGUvre ; and in this way, such an excitement is pro-
duced, in many parts of the Union, as makes the contend-
40 ing parties almost like mobs, assailing each other. Only
let the public sense become vitiated, and let a number of
causes unite to produce a general excitement ; and all our
fair political proportions would fall before the spirit of
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 386
party, as certainly and as ruinously, as the fair propor-
tions of Italian architecture fell before the ancient Goths
and Vandals.
LESSON OCX. RECTITUDE OF CHARACTER. ^WILLIAIVI WIRT.
The man who is so conscious of the rectitude of his
intentions, as to be willing to open his bosom to the
inspection of the world, is in possession of one of the
strongest pillars of a decided character. The course of
5 such a man will be firm and steady, because he has
nothing to fear from the world, and is sure of the appro-
bation and support of Heaven. While he, who is con-
scious of secret and dark designs, which, if known, would
blast him, is perpetually shrinking and dodging from pub-
10 lie observation, and is afraid of all around, and much
more of all above him.
Such a man may, indeed, pursue his iniquitous plans
steadily ; he may waste himself to a skeleton in the guilty
pursuit ; but it is impossible that he can pursue them with
15 the same health-inspiring confidence, and exulting alacrity,
with him who feels, at every step, that he is in pursuit of
honest ends, by honest means.
The clear, unclouded brow, the open countenance, the
brilliant eye which can look an honest man steadfastly,
20 yet courteously, in the face, the healthfully beating heart,
and the firm, elastic step, belong to him whose bosom is
free from guile, and who knows that all his motives and
purposes are pure and right. Why should such a man
falter in his course ? He may be slandered ; he may be
25 deserted by the world ; but he has that within which will
keep him erect, and enable him to move onward in his
course, with his eyes fixed on Heaven, which he knows
will not desert him.
Let your first step, then, in that discipline which is to
30 give you decision of character, be the heroic determination
to be honest men, and to preserve this character through
every vicissitude of fortune, and in every relation which
connects you with society. I do not use this phrase,
"honest men," in the narrow sense, merely, of meeting
35 your pecuniary engagements, and paying your debts; for
this the common pride of gentlemen will constrain you to
do.
I use it in its larger sense of discharging all your
33
386 AMBRICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART U.
duties, both public and private, both open and secret, with
the most scrupulous, Heaven-attesting integrity : in that
sense, farther, which drives from the bosom all little, dark,
crooked, sordid, debasing considerations of self, and sub-
5 stitutes in their place a bolder, loftier, and nobler spirit ;
one that will dispose you to consider yourselves as born,
not so much for yourselves, as for your country, and your
fellow-creatures, and which will lead you to act, on every
occasion, sincerely, justly, generouslj^ magnanimously.
10 There is a mcjrality on a larger scale, perfectly con-
sistent with a just attention to your own affairs, which it
would be the height of folly to neglect ; a generous
expansion, a proud elevation, and conscious greatness of
character, which is the best preparation for a decided
15 course, in every situation into which you can be threwn ;
and, it is to this high and noble tone of character that 1
would have you to aspire.
I would not have you to resemble those weak and
meagre streamlets, which lose their direction at every
20 petty impediment that presents itself, and stop, and turn
back, and creep around, and search out every little chan-
nel through which they may wind their feeble and sickly
course. Nor yet would I have you to resemble the head-
long torrent that carries havoc in its mad career.
25 But I would have you like the ocean, that noblest
emblem of majestic Decision, which, in the calmest hour,
still heaves its resistless might of Avaters to the shore, fill-
ing the heavens, day and night, with the echoes of its
sublime Declaration of Independence, and tossing and
30 sporting on its bed, with an imperial consciousness cf
strength that laughs at opposition. It is this depth, and
weight, and power, and purity of character, that I would
have you to resemble ; and I would have you, like the
waters of the ocean, to become the purer by your own
35 action.
LESSON CCXI. WASHINGTON. — DANIEL WEBSTER.
America has furnished to the world the character of
Washington ! And if our American institutions had done
nothing else, that alone would have entitled them to the
respect of mankind.
5 Washington ! " First in war, first in peace, and first in
the hearts of his countrymen !" Washington is all oui
own ! The enthusiastic veneration and regard in which
PART n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 387
the people of the United States hold him, prove them to
be worthy of such a countryman ; while his reputation
abroad reflects the highest honor on his country and its
institutions. I would cheerfully put the question to-day
5 to the intelligence of Europe, and the world, what character
of the century, upon the whole, stands out in the relief of
history, most pure, most respectable, most sublime ; and I
doubt not, that, by a suffrage approaching to unanimity,
the answer would be, Washington !
10 This structure, "^ by its uprightness, its solidity, its dura-
bility, is no unfit emblem of his character. His public vir-
tues and public principles were as firm as the earth on
which it stands ; his personal motives, as pure as the se-
rene heaven in which its summit is lost. But, indeed,
15 though a fit, it is an inadequate emblem. Towering high
above the column which our hands have builded, beheld,
not by the inhabitants of a single city, or a single state, —
ascends the colossal grandeur of his character, and his life.
In all the constituents of the one, — in all the acts of the
20 other, — in all its titles to immortal love, admiration, and
renown, — it is an American production. It is the embod-
iment and vindication of our transatlantic liberty. Born
upon our soil, — of parents also born upon it, — never for a
moment having had a sight of the old world, — instructed,
25 according to the modes of his time, only in the spare, plain,
but wholesome elementary knowledge, which our institu-
tions provide for the children of the people, — growing up
beneath, and penetrated by, the genuine influences of
American society, — growing up amidst our expanding,
30 but not luxurious, civilization, — partaking in our great
destiny of labor, our long contest with unreclaimed nature
and uncivilized man, — our agony of glory, the war of in-
dependence, — our great victory of peace, the formation of
the Union, and the establishment of the Constitution, — he
35 is all, — all our own ! That crowded and glorious life, —
" \^ere multitudes of virtues passed along.
Each pressing foremost in the mighty throng,
Contending to be seen, then making room
For greater multitudes that were lo come ;" —
40 that life was the life of an American citizen.
I claim him for America. In all the perils, in every
darkened moment of the state, in the midst of the re-
* The Bunker Hill Monument.
3S8 AMERICAN CCiMMON-SCHOOL [PAHT IT.
proaches of enemies and the misgivings of friends, — I turn
to that transcendent name, lor courage and for consolation.
To him who denies, or doubts, whether our fervid liberty
can be combined with law, with order, with the security
of property, with the pursuits and advancement of happi-
5 ncss, — to him who denies that our institutions are capable
of producing exaltation of soul, and the passion of true
glory, — to him who denies that we have contributed any-
thing to the stock of great lessons and great examples,—
to all these I reply by pointing to Washington !
LESSON CCXII. — PUBLIC FAITH. FISHER AMES.
To expatiate on the value of public faith, may pass, with
some men, for declamation, — to such men I have nothing to
say. To others I will urge, — can any circumstance mark
upon a people more tUF-pitude and debasement, than the
5 Avant of it ? Can anything tend more to make men think
themselves mean, or degrade to a lower point their esti-
mation of virtue, than such a standard of action ?
It would not merely demoralize mankind; it tends to
break all the ligaments of societj^ to dissolve that myste-
10 rious charm which attracts individuals to the nation, and
to inspire, in its stead, a repulsive sense of shame and dis-
gust.
What is patriotism ? Is it a narow affection for the spot
where a man was born ? Are the very clods where we
15 tread entitled to this ardent preference because they are
greener? No, sir, this is not the character of the virtue;
and it soars higher for its object. It is an extended self-
love, mingling with all the enjoyments of life, and twisting
itself with the minutest filaments of the heart. It is thus
20 we obey the laws of society, because they are the laws of
virtue. In their authority we see, not the array of force
and terror, but the venerable image of our country's honor.
Every good citizen makes that honor his own, and cher-
ishes it not only as precious, but as sacred. He is willing
25 to risk his life in its defence, and is conscious that he
gains protection while he gives it. For what rights of a
citizen will be deemed inviolable, when a state renounces
the principles that constitute their security ? Or if his life
should not be invaded, what would its enjoyments be, in a
30 country odious in the eyes of strangers, and dishonored in
his own ? Could he look with affection and veneration to
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 389
such a country, as his parent ? The sense of having one
would die within him ; he woukl blush for his patriotism,
if he retained any, and justly, for it would be a vice. He
would be a banished man in his native land.
5 I see no exception to the respect, that is paid among
nations, to the law of good faith. If there are cases in this
enlightened period, when it is violated, there are none
when it is decried. It is the philosophy of politics, the
religion of governments. It is observed by barbarians, —
10 a whift' of tobacco smoke, or a string of beads, gives not
merely binding force, but sanctity to treaties. Even in
Algiers, a truce may be bought for money, but when rati-
fied, even Algiers is too wise, or too just, to disown and
annul its obligation. Thus we see, neither the ignorance
15 of savages, nor the principles of an association for piracy
and rapine, permit a nation to despise its engagements. If,
sir, there could be a resurrection from the foot of the gal-
lows, if the victims of justice could live again, collect
together and form a society, they would, however loath,
20 soon find themselves obliged to make justice, that justice
under which they fell, the fundamental law of their state.
They would perceive it was their interest to make others
respect, and they would therefore soon pay some respect
themselves to the obligations of good faith.
25 It is painful, I hope it is superfluous, to make even the
supposition, that America should furnish the occasion of
this opprobrium. No, let me not even imagine that a re-
publican government sprung, as our own is, from a people
enlightened and uncorrupted, a government whose origin
30 is right, and whose dail}^ discipline is duty, can, upon
solemn debate, make its option to be faithless, — can dare
to act Avhat despots dare not avow, what our own example
evinces, the states of Barbary are unsuspected of. No, let
me rather make the supposition, that Great Britain refuses
35 to execute the treaty, after we have done every thing to
carry it into effect. Is there any language of reproach,
pungent enough to express your commentary on the fact?
What would you say, or rather what would you not say?
Would you not tell them, wherever an Englishman might
40 travel, shame would stick to him, — he would disown his
country. You would exclaim, England, proud of your
wealth, and arrogant in the possession of power, — blush
for these distinctions, which become the vehicles of your
33*
390 AMERICAN COiyiMON-SCHOOL [PART 11.
dishonor. Such a naiion might truly say to corruption,
thou art my father, and to the worm, thou art my mother
and my sister. We shoukl say of such a race of men,
their name is a heavier burden than their debt.
LESSON CCXIII. FREE INSTITUTIONS FAVORABLE TO LITERA-
TURE. EDWARD EVERETT.
The greatest efforts of human genius have been made,
where the nearest approach to free institutions has taken
place. There shone not forth one ray of intellectual light,
to cheer the long and gloomy ages of the Memphian and
5 Babylonian despots. Not a historian, not an orator, not
a poet, is heard of in their annals. When you ask, what
was achieved by the generations of thinking beings, the
millions of men, whose natural genius was as bright as
that of the Greeks, nay, who forestalled the Greeks in the
10 first invention of many of the ai'ts, — you are told, that
they built the pyramids of Memphis, the temples of
Thebes, and the tower of Babylon, and carried Sesostris
and Ninus upon their shoulders, from the west of Africa
to the Indus.
15 Mark the contrast in Greece. With the first emerging'
of that country into the light of political liberty, the poems
of Homer appear. Some centuries of political misrule and
literary darkness follow ; and then the great constellation
of their geniuses seems to arise at once. The stormy elo-
20 quence and the deep philosophy, the imp>assioned drama
and the grave history, were all produced for the entertain-
ment of that " fierce democracie " of Athens. Here, then,
the genial influence of liberty on letters, is strongly put to
the test. Athens was certainly a free state ; free to licen-
25 tiousness, — free to madness. The rich were arbitrarily
pillaged to defray the expenses of the state ; the great
were banished to appease the envy of their rivals ; the
wise sacrificed to the fury of the populace. It was a state,
in short, where liberty existed with most of the imperfec-
30 tions which have led men to love and praise despotism.
Still, however, it was for this lawless, merciless people,
that the most chastised and accomplished literature, which
the world has known, was produced.
The philosophy of Plato was the attraction which drew,
PART 11.] READER AND SPEAKER. 391
to a morning's walk in the olive gardens of the academy,
the young men of this factious city. Those tumultuous
assemblies of Athens, — the A'ory same, which rose in
their wrath, and to a jman clamored for the blood of
5 Phocion, — required to be addressed, not in the cheap,
extemporaneous rant of modern demagogues, but in the
elaborate and thrice-repeated orations of Demosthenes.
No ! the noble and elegant arts of Greece grew up in no
Augustan age, — enjoyed neither royal nor imperial patron-
10 age. Unknown befoi'e in the world, strangers on the
Nile, and strangers on the Euphrates, they sprang at once
into life in a region not unlike our own New England, —
iron-bound, sterile, and free.
The imperial astronomers of Chaldea went up almost
15 to the stars in their observatories ; but it was a Greek who
first foretold an eclipse, and measured the year. The
nations of the East invented the alphabet ; but not a line
has reached us of profane literature, in any of their lan-
guages, — and it is owing to the embalming power of
20 Grecian genius, that the invention itself has been trans-
mitted to the world. The Egyptian architects could erect
structures, which, after three thousand five hundred years,
are still standing in their uncouth, original majesty; but it
was only on the barren soil of Attica, that the beautiful
25 columns of the Parthenon and the Theseum could rest,
which are standing also. With the decline of liberty in
Greece, began the decline of all her letters, and all her
arts, though her tumultuous democracies were succeeded
by liberal and accomplished princes.
LESSON CCXIV. THE STUDY OF ELOCUTION NECESSARY FOR
A PREACHER. PROF. PARK.
Among all the attractions of divine worship, there is
none like that of the preacher's natural eloquence. No
instrument of music is so sweet as the human voice, when
attuned, as it may be, by care. The most exhilarating
band of performers on the dulcimer and the cymbal, will
be heard with less pleasiire, than he who has learned to
play well on that instrument which is as far superior to
all others, as a work of God is superior to the works of
man. Let it then no longer be said, that while an organ-
392 AMEniCAN COMMCIN-SCHOOL [PART 11.
ist will spend 3'ears in loarningf to manage a collection of
leaden pipes, the preacher is unwilling to exert himself
for acquiring a control ov^cr the stops and keys of what is
far more religious in its tones, than the organ. So, like-
5 wise, the human eye can be made eloquent, when the
tongue can say no more ; the palm of the hand, too, has
an eye which is full of meaning. But the philosophy
of these organs is neither understood, nor applied to prac-
tice, by our preachers.
10 If we dwelt in a land, where the preacher is the only
man who ventures to address an assembly, then we might
lean on this privilege, and rest assured, that a faulty elo-
quence in the pulpit, is belter than none at all among the
people. But we dwell in a land, where the laymen are
15 popular orators ; where the mechanic is master of a racy,
vigorous diction ; where the reformed inebriate can elec-
trify an audience who will sleep under a lifeless sermon ;
where the enemies of religion and social order, have
caught the spirit and the fire which the ministry have
20 lost. Other men can speak without reading ; and unless
we can use, in a good cause, the weapons which infidels
use in a bad one, we shall surrender the truth to dangers
which can arise nowhere, but in a republic. Nowhere,
but in this republic, is the force of popular eloquence felt
25 universally ; and the church will be overborne, if this
force be not controlled with unwonted skill.
We have not sought to recover the naturalness of man-
ner which an artificial education has perverted. We still
allow our theological seminaries to remain destitute of all
30 adequate instruction on this theme. It is confidently be-
lieved, that, if professorships of elocution were properly
endowed and supplied in our theological seminaries, a
more immediate and a more manifest service would be
rendered to the pulpit, than can be performed by almost
35 any other charity ; for the department of elocution is now
more neglected than any other ; and if nature were allowed
to resume the place, from which the worst species of art
has expelled it, the improvement in our speech would be
seen and felt more easily, qjiicMy, and generally, than
40 almost any other kind of improvement.
PAKT II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 393
LESSON CCXV. RELIEF OF REVOLUTIONARY OFFICERS.
MARTIN VAN BUREN.
Let US look, for a moment, at the arguments advanced
by the opponents of the bill. The meritorious services of
the petitioners, the signal advantages that have resulted
from these services to us and to posterity ; the losses sus-
5 tained by the petitioners, and the consequent advantages
derived by the government from the act of commutation,
are unequivocally admitted.
But it is contended, we have made a compromise legally
binding on the parties, and exonerating the government
10 from farther liability ; that, in an evil and unguarded hour,
they have given us a release, and we stand upon our
"bond."
Now, the question which I wish to address to the con-
science and the judgment of this honorable body, is this,
15 not whether this issue was well taken in point of law ;
not whether we might not hope for a safe deliverance
under it ; but whether the issue ought to be taken at all ;
whether it comports with the honor of the government to
plead a legal exemption against the claims of gratitude ;
20 whether, in other words, the government be bound at all
times to insist upon its strict legal rights.
Has this been the practice of the government on all for-
mer occasions ? Or, is this the only question on which
this principle should operate ? Nothing can be easier
25 than to show, that the uniform practice of the government
has been at war with the principle which is now opposed
to the claim of the petitioners..
Not a session has occurred, since the commencement of
this government, in which Congress has not relieved the
30 citizens from hardships resulting from unforeseen contin-
gencies, and forborne an enforcement of law, when its
enforcement would work great and undeserved injury. I
might, if excusable on an occasion like this, turn over the
statute book, page by page, and give repeated proofs of
35 this assertion. But it is unnecessary.
It appears, then, that it has not been the practice of the
government to act the part of Shylock with its citizens ,
and God forbid, that it should make its debut* on the
present occasion, not so much in the character of a merci-
40 less creditor, as a reluctant, though wealthy debtor; with-
holding the merited pittance from those to whose noble
* Pronounced dabu.
394 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PABT II.
daringf and unrivalled fortitude, we are indebted for the
privilege of sitting in judgment on their claims ; and
manifesting more sensibility for the purchasers of our
lands, than for those by whose bravery they were won ; and
5 but for whose achievements, those very purchasers, instead
of being the proprietors of their soil, and the citizens of
free and sovereign states, might now be the miserable
vassals of some worthless favorite of arbitrary power.
If disposed to be less liberal to the Revolutionary offi-
10 cers than to other classes of community, let us at least
testify our gratitude by relieving their sufTerings, and
returning a portion of those immense gains which have
been the glorious fruits of their toil and of their blood.
Such would, in my judgment, be a correct view of the
15 subject, had the government relieved itself of all farther
liability, by the most ample and unexceptionable perform-
ance of its stipulations. How much stronger, then, will
be their appeal to your justice, if it can be shown, that you
have no right to urge this act of commutation, as a com-
20 plete fulfilment of your promise ?
LESSON CCXVI. RAPACITY AND BARBARITY OF A BRITISH
SOLDIERY. WM. LIVINGSTON.
After deploring with you the desolation spread through
this state, by an unrelenting enemy, who have, indeed,
marked their progress with a devastation unknown to civ-
ilized nations, and evincive of the most implacable ven-
5 geance, I heartily congratulate you upon that subsequent
series of success, wherewith it hath pleased the Almighty
to crown the American arms ; and particularly, on the im-
portant enterprise against the enemy at Trenton, and the
signal victory obtained over them at Princeton, by the gal-
10 lant troops under the command of his excellency, General
Washington.
Considering the contemptible figure they make at pres-
ent, and the disgust they have given to many of their own
confederates amongst us, by their more than Gothic rav-
15 ages, (for thus doth the great Disposer of events often de-
duce good out of evil,) their irruption into our dominion
will probably redound to the public benefit. It has cer-
tainly enabled us the more effectually to distinguish our
friends from our enemies. It has winnowed the chaff
20 from the grain. It has discriminated the temporizing poli-
tician, who, at the first appearance of danger, was deter-
PAET U.] READER AND SPEAKER. 396
mined to secure his idol, property, at the hazard of the
general weal, from the persevering patriot, who, having
embarked his all in the common cause, chooses rather to
risk, rather to lose that all, for. the preservation of the
5 more estimable treasure, liberty, than to possess it, (enjoy
it he certainly could not,) upon the ignominious terms of
tamely resigning his country and posterity to perpetual
servitude. It has, in a word, opened the eyes of those
who were made to believe, that their impious merit, in
10 abetting our persecutors, would exempt them from being
involved in the general calamity.
But, as the rapacity of the enemy was boundless, their
havoc was indiscriminate, and their barbarity unparalleled.
They have plundered friends and foes. . Effects, capable
15 of division, they have divided. Such as were not, they
have destroyed. They have warred upon decrepit age ;
warred upon defenceless youth. They have committed
hostilities against the professors of literature, and the min-
isters of religion ; against public records, and private mon-
20 uments, and books of improvement, and papers of curiosity,
and against the arts and sciences. They have butchered
the wounded, asking for quarter ; mangled the dying, wel-
tering in their blood ; refused to the dead the rites of
sepulture ; suffered prisoners to perish for want of suste-
25 nance ; violated the chastity of women ; disfigured private
dwellings of taste and elegance ; and, in the rage of im-
piety and barbarism, profaned and prostrated edifices dedi-
cated to Almighty God.
And yet there are those amongst us, who, either from
30 ambitious or lucrative motives, or intimidated by the terror
of their arms, or from a partial fondness for the British con-
stitution, or deluded by insidious propositions, are secretly
abetting, or openly aiding their machinations to deprive us
of that liberty, without which man is a beast, and govem-
35 ment a curse.
LESSON CCXVII. FREE NAVIGATION OF THE MISSISSIPPI.
GOUVEKNEUR MORRIS.
Sir, I wish for peace ; I wish the negotiation may suc-
ceed ; and, therefore, I strongly urge you to adopt these res-
olutions. But though you should adopt them, they alone
will not ensure success. I have no hesitation in saying,
f
396 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAHT II.
that you ought to liave taken possession of New Orleans
and the Floridas, the instant your treaty was violated.
You ought to do it now. Your rights are invaded : con-
fidence in negotiation is vain : there is, therefore, no alter-
5 native but force. You are exposed to imminent present
danger : you have the prospect of great future advantage :
you are justified by the clearest principles of right: you
are urged by the strongest motives of policy : you arc
commanded by every sentiment of national dignity. Look
10 at the conduct of America in her infant years. When
there was no actual invasion of right, but only a claim to
invade, she resisted the claim ; she spurned the insult.
Did we then hesitate ? Did we then wait for foreign alli-
ance ? No, — arfiimated with the spirit, warmed with the soul
15 of freedom, we threw our oaths of allegiance in the face of
our sovereign, and committed our fortunes, and our fate, to
the God of battles. We then were subjects. We had not
then attained to the dignity of an independent republic.
We then had no rank among the nations of the earth. But
20 we had the spirit which deserved that elevated station. And
now that we have gained it, shall we fall from our honor?
Sir, I repeat to you, that I wish for peace ; real, lasting,
honorable peace. To obtain and secure this blessing, let
us, by a bold and decisive conduct, convince the powers of
25 Europe, that we are determined to defend our rights; that
we will not submit to insult ; that we will not bear degra-
dation. This is the conduct which becomes a generous
people. This conduct will command the respect of the
world. Nay, sir, it may rouse all Europe to a proper
30 sense of their situation. They see, that the balance of
power, on which their liberties depend, is, if not destroyed,
in extreme danger. They know that the dominion of
France has been extended by the sword, over millions,
who groan in the servitude of their new masters. These
35 unwilling subjects are ripe for revolt. The empire of the
Gauls is not, like that of Rome, secured by political insti-
tutions. It may yet be broken.
But whatever may be the conduct of others, let us act as
becomes ourselves. I cannot believe, with my honorable
40 colleague, that three fourths of America are opposed to
vigorous measures. I cannot believe, that they will mean-
ly refuse to pay the sums needful to vindicate their honor,
and support their independence. Sir, this is a libel on
the people of America. They will disdain submission to
PART n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 397
the proudest sovereign on earth. They have not lost the
spirit of '76. But, sir, if they are so base, as to barter
their rights for gold,--if they are so vile, that they will
. not defend their honor, — they are unworthy of the rank
5 they enjoy, and it is no matter how soon they are parcelled
out among: better masters.
LESSON CCXVni. OUR DUTIES TO OUR COUNTRY. DANIEL
WEBSTER.
This lovely land, this glorious liberty, these benign in-
stitutions, the dear purchase of our fathers, are ours ; ours
to enjoy, ours to preserve, ours to transmit. Generations
past, and generations to come, hold us responsible for this
5 sacred trust. Our fathers, from behind, admonish us, with
their anxious paternal voices ; posterity calls out to us,
from the bosom of the future ; the world turns hither its
solicitous eyes, — all, all conjure us to act wisely, and
faithfully, in the relation vt'hich we sustain. We can
10 never, indeed, pay the debt which is upon us ; but by vir-
tue, by morality, by religion, by the cultivation of every
good principle and every good habit, we may hope to en-
joy the blessing, through our day, and to leave it unim-
paired to our children. Let us feel deeply how much, of
15 what Ave are and what we possess, we owe to this liberty,
and these institutions of government.
Nature has, indeed, given us a soil which yields boun-
teously to the hands of industry ; the mighty and fruitful
ocean is before us, and the skies over our heads shed
20 health and vigor. But what are lands, and seas, and
skies, to civilized man, without society, without knowledge,
without morals, without religious culture ? and how can
these be enjoyed, in all their extent, and all their excel-
lence, but under the protection of wise institutions and a
25 free government?
Fellow-citizens, there is not one of us, there is not one
of us here present, who does not, at this moment, and at
every moment, experience in his own condition, and in the
condition of those most near and dear to him, the influence
30 and the benefits of this liberty, and' these institutions. Let
us then acknowledge the blessing ; let us feel it deeply
and powerfully; let us cherish a strong affection for it,
and resolve to maintain and perpetuate it. The blood of
34
J98 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II,
our fathers, let it not have been shed in vain ; the great
hope of posteritj', let it not be blasted.
The striking attitude, too, in which we stand to the
world around us, — a topic to which, I fear, I advert too
5 often, and dwell on too long, — cannot be altogether omitted
here. Neither individuals nor nations can perform their
part well, until they understand and feel its importance,
and comprehend and justly appreciate all the duties be-
longing to it. It is not to inflate national vanity, nor to
10 swell a light and empty feeling of self-importance ; but it
IS tliat we may judge justly of our situation, and of our
own duties, that I earnestly urge this consideration of our
position, and our character among the nations of the
earth.
15 It cannot be denied, but by those who would dispute
against the sun, that with America, and in America, a new
era commences in human affairs. This era is distin-
guished by free representative governments, by entire reli-
gious liberty, by improved systems of national intercourse,
20 by a newly awakened and an unconquerable spirit of free
inquiry, and by a diffusion of knowledge through the com-
munity, such as has been before altogether unknown and
unheard of. America, America, our country, our own
dear and native land, is inseparably connected, fast bound
25 up, in fortune and by fate, with these great interests. If
they fall, we fall with them; if they stand, it will be be-
cause we have upheld them.
Let us contemplate, then, this connection which binds
the prosperity of others to our own ; and let us manfully
30 discharge all the duties which it imposes. If we cherish
the virtues and the principles of our fathers. Heaven will
assist us to carry on the work of human liberty and human
happiness. Auspicious omens cheer us. Great examples
are before us. Our own firmament now shines brightly
35 upon our path. Washington is in the clear upper sky.
Those other stars have now joined the American constella-
tion ; they circle round their centre, and the heavens beam
with new light. Beneath this illumination, let us walk
the course of life, and at its close devoutly commend our
40 beloved country, the common parent of us all, to the Di-
vine Benignity.
PAET II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 399
LESSON CCXIX. — ENGLAND AND THE UNITED STATES. E.
EVERETT.
[From a Speech before the British Scientific Association.]
There seems to be something peculiar in the relation
between England and the United States, well calculated
to form a basis, as I trust it does and ever will, of
kind feelings between both. The relation of colony and
5 mother country, which formerly subsisted between Eng-
land and the United States, is, of course, not new in the
world. From the beginning of history, Egypt, Greece,
and Rome, sent out their colonies to relieve a superabun-
dant population, or in the spirit of commercial enterprise
10 or to consolidate their distant conquests ; but there can, in
^the nature of things, be no other example of such a rela-
tion as exists between us.
Only consider the separate companies of adventurers,
some of them actuated by the highest and noblest feelings
15 that can influence the heart and govern the conduct
of men, traversing a mighty ocean which bears them
all at once from the mature arts of civilization to the
wildest nature, — from the mother country into a savage
wilderness, unknown, till then, to the rest of man-
20 kind. Here they laid the deep and broad foundations of
free states, destined, under a multitude of causes, which it
is impossible for me here even to glance at, in the maturi-
ty of time to grow up into a great family of communities,
independent, at least politically, of the mother country;
25 but still, in their common language and kindred blood,
forming, with that mother country, one commercial, social,
and intellectual community, destined, I believe, as such, to
fulfd the highest ends in the order of Providence.
Suppose, that a similarity were traced by one of your
80 members, between the geological formations of our two
countries. Suppose, that, landing on the coast of America,
he should find there the most peculiar strata and the most
characteristic fossils of Great Britain, proving, beyond
doubt, that, in the primeval ages, our two countries were
35 part and parcel of the same continent ; would not this dis-
covery be hailed with pleasure, and this splendid general-
ization be welcomed, by every man of science, into the
circle of his favorite theories ?
Then I ask you, gentlemen, is it a less interesting fact,
40 that, in crossing this mighty ocean to America, you find
there the traces, not of similar strata of coal and gypsum,
400 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART H
not like formations of sandstone and «>'ranite and gray-
wackc, but the traces of kindred families of rational be-
ings ? Is it not a delightful fact, that the foot-prints that
you first meet there, are not merely those of the fossil ani-
5 mals, whose paradoxical existence was terminated in ages
into which history strives in vain to penetrate, even to the
vestibule, but the footsteps of men, of kindred men, of
men descended from your blood and your revered ances-
try, and called, with you, hand in hand, to walk together
10 over the great stage of accountable existence, and to en-
gage, with you, in the investigation of all those high and
grand problems that are tasking the minds of civilized men,
in this age of the world ?
It seems to me, that, if it be the great object of all
15 science, — as Sir John Herschell has said, — to expand
and elevate the mind ; that, among the topics consi-
dered this day, there is not one more calculated to expand
and elevate the rational mind, than such a connection
between two great countries. Why, it is only since
20 the reign of James the Second, and Charles the First,
which is but as yesterday, in the long line of British his-
tory, that a few adventurers rather stole across the ocean,
than navigated it. Two hundred years have passed away ;
and out of that little insignificant germ of national exist-
25 ence, millions and millions have grown up, and formed a
great and mighty nation, in close connection with your
own. And, in whatever light we regard each other, com-
mercial, political, literary, social, or moral, we are destined
to exercise an all-powerful influence upon each other, — I
30 believe I may say, without exaggeration, to the end of time.
In the world of science, I would rather say, there has
never been a separation between us. There are no boun-
dary cuiestions in that pacific realm. The first patron that
ever Sir Humphrey Davy had, (if it be not a shame to
35 pronounce the word patron, in connection with such a
name,) the first individual who had the honor of helping
him into notice was an American citizen ; for under the
somewhat lofty disguise of " Count Rumford," lies con-
cealed plain " Benjamin Thompson," the son of a New
40 England farmer. Dr. Franklin was first led to turn his
attention to electricity by experiments exhibited by an
itinerant British lecturer, in the large towns of the then
British colonies ; and he pursued his inquiries in this
branch of science with a few articles of apparatus sent out
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 401
to him by a friend in London. The resuh was his brilliant
discovery of the identity of lightning with the electric fluid.
In modern times, the merit of our modest and self-taught
mathematician, Bowditch, the American translator and
5 commentator of La Place, had nowhere been better known
and appreciated than here ; and, in reference to science,
in general, I wish it to be constantly borne in rnind by
every votary of its pursuit in this country, that fourteen
days are enough to elapse after the publication to the sci-
10 entific world here, of his speculations or discoveries, before
they are liberally received, considered and appreciated, ac-
cording to their merit, by the only other people on the face
of the globe, speaking the same language, and belonging
to the same school of civilization.
15 It is unnecessary to speak before this company, — to
which the name of Fulton is as familiar as those of Bolton
or Watt, — of the part alternately performed by the sci-
ence of England and America, in bringing about the use
of steam as a locomotive power, by land and by water, —
20 the great philosophical and mechanical improvement of the
day.
In literature, (though I know it is not proper before this
company to wander far beyond the pale of science,) yet I
know you will pardon me for saying that it is our boast
25 and joy, that Shakspeare and Milton were the countrymen
of our fathers. We worship at the same altars ; we rev-
erence the same canonized names as you. The great
modern names of your literary Pantheon, the Addisons,
Johnsons, and Goldsmiths of the last century, the Scotts
30 and Byrons of this, are hot more familiar to you than to
us. And may I not say, that the names that adorn the
nascent literature of my own country, — our Irvings, our
Prescotts, our Coopers, our Pierponts, our Bryants, our
Bancrofts, and our Channings, — may I not say, that they
35 are scarcely better known to us than to you ?
I know it is thought that a great difference exists be'-
tween our political institutions, — and certainly it is in
some respects considerable, — and those institutions, of
course, have a great influence on the character of a nation.
40 But all republicans as we are, (and 1 have seen something
of the continent of Europe as well as Great Britain,) all
republican as we are, taking our systems through and
through, I think the candid observer will admit that there
is a much greater similarity between you and us, even
34*
402 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART II.
politically speaking, than between England and any of her
sister monarchies. I believe we may boast, that we are
children of the British school of freedom. Though we are
ardently, passionately attached to liberty, it is liberty en-
5 slirined in constitutions, and organized by laws. On your
part, if I am not too presumptuous, as a stranger, in form-
ing an opinion, I think I may say that it is your boast, that
the pillars of the state are laid deep in those representative
institutions, by which the power, the will, and the affec-
10 tions of the people, are brought to the support of the throne.
And do we not, — English or American, — do we not derive
our only hope of a name and praise in the world, politi-
cally speaking, from our attachment to those old British
muniments of liberty, trial by jury, the habeas corpus, free-
15 doni of speech, and liberty of tlie press ? — do we not derive
it from that ardent love of self-government, tempered by a
proud submission to lawful sway which flowed in the veins
of Englishmen for centuries before America began to be?
and will, I trust, flow in the veins of Englishmen, and
20 their descendants in America, to the end of time.
LESSON CCXX. MASSACHUSETTS AND NEW YORK.
GOV. SEWARD.
[From an address at the meeting of the Legislatures of the two
States, to celebrate the completion of the Western Railroad.]
We cannot forget, that it was Massachusetts that en-
countered first, and suffered most, from the tyranny which
resulted in our national independence ; that the first blood
shed in that sacred cause, flowed at Lexington ; and that
5 Liberty's earliest rampart was established upon Bunker's
Hill. Nevertheless, the struggles and sacrifices of Massa-
chusetts, have, until now, been known to us through tra-
ditions not her own ; and seem to be those of a distant,
though an allied people, — of a country separated from us
10 by mountain barriers, such as divide every continent into
states and empires.
But what a change is here ! This morning's sun was
just greeting the site of old Fort Orange, as we took our
leave ; and now, when he has scarcely reached the meri-
15 dian, we have crossed that hitherto impassable barrier,
and met you here, on the shore of the Connecticut, the
battle ground of King Philip's cruel wars ; and, before that
sun shall set, we might ascend the heights of Charlestown,
PART 11.] READER AND SPEAKER. 403
or rest upon the rock that was wet with blood flowing from
the weary feet of the pilgrim fathers.
New York has been addressed here in language of mag-
nanimity. It would not become me to speak of her position,
5 her resources, or her influence. And yet I may, without
offending against the delicacy of her representatives here,
and of her people at home, claim that she is not altogether
unworthy of admiration. Our mountains, cataracts, and
lakes, cannot be surveyed without lifting the soul on high.
10 Our metropolis and our inland cities, our canals and rail-
roads, our colleges and schools, and our twelve thousand
libraries, evince emulation and a desire to promote the
welfare of our country, the progress of civilization, and
the happiness of mankind.
15 While we acknowledge that it was your Warren who
offered up his life at Charlestown, your Adams and your
Hancock, who were the proscribed leaders in the revolu-
tion, and your Franklin, whose wisdom swayed its coun-
sels ; we cannot forget that Ticonderoga and Saratoga are
20 within our borders ; that it was a son of New York who
first fell in scaling the heights of Abraham ; that another
of her sons shaped every pillar of the constitution, and
twined the evergreen around its capital ; that our Fulton
sent forth the mighty agent that is revolutionizing the
25 world ; and that, but for our Clinton, his lofty genius and
undaunted perseverance, the events of this day, and all its
joyous anticipations, had slept together in the womb of
futurity.
The grandeur of this occasion oppresses me. It is not,
30 as some have supposed, the first time that states have met.
On many occasions, in all ages, states, nations, and em-
pires, have come together ; but the trumpet heralded their
approach ; they met in the shock of war ; one or the
other sunk to rise no more ; and desolation marked, for
35 the warning of mankind, the scene of the fearful encoun-
ter. And if sometimes chivalry asked an armistice, it
was but to light up with evanescent smiles the stern visage
of war.
How different is this scene ! Here are no contending
40 hosts, no destructive engines, nor the terrors, nor even the
pomp of war. Not a helmet, sword, or plume, is seen in
all this vast assemblage. Nor is this a hollow truce
between contending states. We are not met upon a cloth
of gold, and under a silken cannpv, to practise deceitful
404 AMEnicAN COMMON-SCHOOL [part n.
courtesies, nor in mi amphitlieatre, with jousts and tourna-
ments, to make \rial of our skill in arms, preparatory to a
fatal conflict. We have come here, enlightened and fra-
ternal states, Avilhout paooaulrj^ or even insignia of
5 power, to renew pledges of lidelity, and to cultivate affec-
tion and all the arts of peace. Well may our sister states
look upon the scene with favor, and the nations of the
earth draw from it good auguries of universal and perpet-
ual peace.
LESSON CCXXL — THE BIBLE. GRIMK^.
The Bible is the only book, which God has ever sent,
the only one he ever will send, into this world. All other
books are frail and transient as time, since they are only
the registers of time ; but the Bible is durable as eternity,
5 for its pages contain the records of eternity. All other
books are weak and imperfect, like their author, man ; but
the Bible is a transcript of infinite power and perfection.
Every other volume is limited in its usefulness and influ-
ence ; but the Bible came forth conquering and to con-
10 quer : rejoicing as a giant to run his course, and like the
sun, "there is nothing hid from the heat thereof." The
Bible only, of all the myriads of books the world has seen,
is equally important and interesting to all mankind. Its
tidings, whether of peace or of woe, are the same to the
15 poor, the ignorant, and the weak, as to the rich, the wise,
and the powerful.
Among the most remarkable of its attributes, is justice ;
for it looks with impartial eyes on kings and on slaves, on
the hero and the soldier, on philosophers and peasants, on
20 the eloquent and the dumb. From all, it exacts the same
obedience to its commandments, and promises to the good,
the fruits of his labors ; to the evil, the reward of his
hands. Nor are the purity and holiness, the wisdom,
benevolence and truth of the Scriptures, less conspicuous,
25 than their justice. In sublimity and beauty, in the de-
scriptive and pathetic, in dignity and simplicity of narra-
tive, in power and comprehensiveness, depth and variety
of thought, in purity and elevation of sentiment, the most
enthusiastic admirers of the heathen classics have con-
30 ceded their inferiority to the Scriptures.
The Bible, indeed, is the only universal classic, the
classic of all mankind, of every age nnd countrv, of time
PART n.j READER AND SPEAKER. 405
and eternity, niore humble and simple than the primer of
a child, more grand and magnificent than the epic and the
oration, the ode and the drama, when genius with his
chariot of fire, and his horses of fire, ascends in whirlwind
5 into the heaven of his own invention. It is the best clas-
sic the world has ever seen, the noblest that has ever
honored and dignified the language of mortals !
If you boast that the Aristotles, and the Platos, and the
Tullies, of the classic age, "dipped their pens in intellect,"
10 the sacred authors dipped theirs in in.jpiration. If those
were the "secretaries of natui'e," these were the secre-
taries of the very Author of nature. If Greece and Rome
have gathered into their cabinet of curiosities, the pearls
of heathen poetry and eloquence, the diamonds of Pagan
15 history and Philosophy, God himself has treasured up in
the Scriptures, the poetry and eloquence, the philosophy
and history of sacred lawgivers, of prophets and apostles,
of saints, evangelists, and martyrs. In vain may you seek
for the pure and simple light of universal truth in the
20 Augustan ages of antiquity. In the Bible only is the
poet's wish fulfilled, —
" And like the sun be all one boundless eye."
LESSON CCXXII. FATE OF MONTEZUMA. WM. H. PRESCOTT.
When Montezuma ascended the throne, he was scarcely
twenty-three years of age. Young, and ambitious of
extending his empire, he was continually engaged in war,
and is said to have been present himself in nine pitched
5 battles. He was greatly renowned for his martial prow-
ess, for he belonged to the highest military order* of his
nation, and one into which but few even of its sovereigns
had been admitted.
In later life, he preferred intrigue to violence, as more
10 consonant to his character and priestly education. In this,
he was as great an adept as any prince of his time, and
by arts not very honorable to himself, succeeded in filching
away much of the territory of his royal kinsman of
Tezcuco. Severe in the administration of justice, he made
15 important reforms in the arrangement of the tribunals.
He introduced other innovations in the royal household,
* Quachictin.
406 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART U.
creating new offices, introducing- a lavish magnificence,
and forms of courtly etiquette, unknown to his ruder pred-
ecessors. He was, in short, most attentive to all that
concerned the exterior and pomp of royalty. Stately and
5 decorous, he was careful of his own dignity, and might be
said to be as great an "actor of majesty" among the bar-
barian potentates of the New World, as Louis the Four-
teenth was among the polished princes of Europe.
He was deeply tinctured, moreover, with that spirit of
10 bigotry, which threw such a shade over the latter days of
the French monarch. He received the Spaniards as the
beings predicted by his oracles. The anxious dread, with
which he had evaded their proffered visit, was founded on
the same feelings which led him so blindly to resign him-
15 self to them on their approach. He felt himself rebuked
by their superior genius. He, at once, conceded all that
they demanded, — his treasures, his power, even his per-
son. For their sake, he forsook his wonted occupations,
his pleasures, his most familiar habits. He might be said
20 to forego his nature ; and, as his subjects asserted, to
change his sex and become a woman. If we cannot
refuse our contempt for the pusillanimity of the Aztec
monarch, it should be mitigated by the consideration, that
his pusillanimity sprung from his superstition, and that
25 superstition in the savage is the substitute for religious
principle in the civilized man.
It is not easy to contemplate the fate of Montezuma
without feelings of the strongest compassion ; — to see him
thus borne along the tide of events beyond his power to
30 avert or control ; to see him, like some stately tree, the
pride of his own Indian forests, towering aloft in the pomp
and majesty of its branches, by its very eminence, a mark
for the thunderbolt, the first victim of the tempest which
was to sweep over its native hills ! When the wise king
35 of Tezcuco addressed his royal relative at his coronation,
he exclaimed, "Happy the empire, which is now in the
meridian of its prosperity, for the sceptre is given to one
whom the Almighty has in his keeping ; and the nations
shall hold him in reverence ! "
40 Alas ! the subject of this auspicious invocation lived to
see his empire melt away like the winter's wreath ; to see
a strange race drop, as it were, from the clouds on his
land ; to find himself a prisoner in the palace of his
fathers, the companion of those who were the enemies of
PAET Il.J READER AND SPEAKER. 407
his gods and his people ; to be insulted, reviled, trodden
in the dust, by the meanest of his subjects, by those who,
a few months previous, had trembled at his glance ; draw-
ing his last breath in the halls of the stranger ; — a lonely
5 outcast in the heart of his own capital ! He was the sad
victim of destiny, — a destiny, as dark and irresistible in its
. march, as that which broods over the mythic legends of
antiquity !
LESSON CCXXIII. SCENERY ABOUT HASSEN CLEAVER HILLS.
JOHN A. CLARK.
It is one of the most beautiful days of summer. The
sun is proudly marching through the heavens, in full-orbed
splendor. The tide of brightness, and the ilood of fervid,
glowing beams which he pours over the earth, makes an
5 impression upon all animated nature, which one scarcely
knows how to describe, though he feels it in every limb
and muscle, and sees it in every form of organized being,
from the smallest spire of grass, to the tallest tree of the
forest, — from the buzzing insect that sings at his ear, to
10 the vast herd that seek the shady shelter of the grove, or
stand panting midway in the brook. I, too, feel this power,
in the genial glow imparted to my system. The cool
shelter of this beautiful tree under which I sit, and the
sweet and varied landscape before me, make me almost
15 feel that I am encompassed with the Elysian fields.
The village is a mile distant, and some two hundred
feet below this spot. The elevated knoll on which I sit,
slopes 'down by a gentle declivity to the road, where the
traveller passes on to the village. Beyond, on the opposite
20 side of the road, the land again swells into a broad hill,
which the hand of cultivation has so neatly dressed, that
not a stump or stone is visible. One extended carpet of
green meets the eye, presenting a surface smooth and
beautiful, as the newly shorn lawn.
25 Beyond this hill, the earth again slopes off, and falls
into a valley, through which runs a little stream, minister-
ing fertility to the soil, and refreshment to the cattle that
graze the fields on either side of it. Still more remote,
the land, by beautiful undulations, again rises, and is again
30 depressed, till at length it sweeps off, by a more precipi-
tous descent, to the bed of the West Canada creek, which,
some fifteen miles above, is poured in wild beauty over
Trenton Falls.
408 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART H.
On the opposite side of the creek, the land again rises
with precipitous elevation, lifting itself upward in bold and
still bolder forms, till, in the distance, it meets the eye in
the broad outline of the Hasscn Cleaver Hills, that, like
5 some grand mountain ridge, tower upward till they seem to
prop the very heavens. This range sweeps along to the
south and east, till it seems in the distance blended with
another range, still more remote, that rises beyond the
Mohawk, wliich togetlier form a semicircle in a broad and
10 bold amphitheatre of hills. Over this range of hills, up to
their highest peaks, as well as through the whole extent
of the intervening country, are seen cultivated fields, inter-
spersed with woodlands, — and sprinkled all along, as far
as the eye can extend to the north and the south, corn-
15 fields, and orchards, and barns, and farm-houses, and
herds of cattle.
The sun is pouring his golden splendor over this rich
landscape. Now and then a passing cloud quenches the
bright lustre of his beams ; and light and shade alternately
20 rest upon the smooth, green surface of the hills. Just in
my rear, far to the left, starts up, like another Tower of
Babel, a smooth, verdant knoll, that, by its vast elevation
and singular formation, seems to constitute in the pathway
of heaven, to the eye that traces its outline, the quadrant of
25 an ellipse, at one of whose bases stands a beautiful cluster of
young butternuts, gracefully grouped together, and extend-
ing at least over an acre of ground, — at which point it is
said, that, in a remarkably clear sky, the waters of the
broad and distant Ontario may be seen.
30 Over this landscape universal quiet reigns. No sounds
come upon the ear, save now and then the cheerful chirp
of a bird, — the hum of the passing bee, — the lowing of a
cow, or the sighing of the summer breeze, that gently
creeps through the rich foliage which spreads its grateful
35 covering over my head.
God created these forms of beauty around me, and gave
to this scene all its loveliness ! If what His hand has
formed be so lovely, how lovely must He be, from whom
has emanated all these traces of varied and exquisite
40 beauty ! I have a book which courts my attention ; it is
from the pen of John Bunyan, entitled, '^'Come and Welcome
to Jesus Christ.'" In the face of Jesus Christ, where is dis-
played " the knowledge of the glory of God," I see stronger
lines of beauty, than in all this witching scenery that
45 stretches around me.
PART n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 409
LESSON CCXXIV. THE TREASURE THAT WAXETH NOT OLD.—
D. HUNTINGTON.
Oh ! I have loved, in youth's fair vernal mom,
To spread imagination's wildest wing,
The sober certainties of life to scorn,
And seek the visioned realms that poets sing, —
5 Where Nature blushes in perennial spring.
Where streams of earthly joy exhaustless rise.
Where Youth and Beauty tread the choral ring,
And shout their raptures to the cloudless skies,
While every jovial hour on downy pinion flies.
10 But, ah 1 those fairy scenes at once are fled.
Since stern experience waved her iron wand,
Broke the soft slumbers of my visioned head, •
And bade me here of perfect bliss despond.
And oft have I the painful lesson conned ;
15 When Disappointment mocked my wooing heart,
Still of its own delusion weakly fond,
And from forbidden pleasures loth to part,
Though shrinking oft beneath Correction's deepest smart.
And is there naught in mortal life, I cried,
20 Can sooth the sorrows of the laboring breast ?
No kind recess where baflied hope may hide.
And weary Nature lull her woes to rest ?
Oh ! granl^me, pitying Heaven, this last request, —
Since I must every loftier wish resign,
25 Be my few days with peace and friendship blessed ;
Nor will I at my humble lot repine,
Though neither wealth, nor fame, nor luxury be mine.
Oh ! give me yet, in some recluse abode.
Encircled with a faithful few, to dwell,
30 Where power can not oppress, nor care corrode.
Nor venomed tongues the tale of slander tell ;
Oh ! bear me to some solitary cell,
Beyond the reach of every human eye ;
And let me bid a long and last farewell
35 To each alluring object 'neath the sky.
And there in peace await my hour, — in peace to die.
"Ah vain desire !" a still small voice replied, —
" No place, no circumstance can Peace impart :
She scorns the mansion of unvanquished Pride, —
40 Sweet inmate of a pure and humble heart.
35
410 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAKT 11.
Take then thy station, — act thy proper part ; —
A Saviour's mercy seek, — his will perform :
His word has balm for sin's envenomed smart,
His love, diffused, thy shuddering breast shall warm
5 His power provide a shelter from the gathering storm."
Oh ! welcome hiding place ! Oh ! refuge meet
For fainting pilgrims, on this desert way !
Oh ! kind Conductor of these wandering feet
Through snares and darkness, to the realms of day !
10 So did the Sun of Righteousness display
His healing beams ; each gloomy cloud dispel :
While on the parting mist, in colors gay.
Truth's cheering bow of precious promise fell,
And Mercy's silver voice soft whispered, — " All is well."
LESSON CCXXV. THE YOUNG BIARINER's DREAM. DimOfld.
In slumbers of midnight the sailor boy lay,
His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind ;
But, watchworn and weary, his cares flew away.
And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind. •
5 He dreamed of his home, of his dear native bowers,
And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn ;
While memory each scene gayly covered with flowers,
And restored every rose, but secreted it^thorn.
Then fancy her magical pinions spread wide,
10 And bade the young dreamer in ecstasy rise ; —
Now far, far behind him, the green waters glide,
And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes.
The jassamine clambers, in flower, o'er the thatch ;
And the swallow sings sweet from her nest in the wall:
15 All trembling with transport, he raises the latch ;
And the voices of loved ones reply to his call.
A father bends o'er him with looks of delight;
His cheek is impearled with a mother's warm tear;
And the lips of the boy in a love-kiss unite,
20 With those of the sister his bosom holds dear.
The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast,
Joy quickens his pulses, — his hardships seem o'er;
And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest,—
"O God ! thou hast blest me ; I ask for no more."
PART II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 411
Ah ! whence is that flame which now bursts on his eye ?
Ah ! what is that sound which now larums his ear ?
'T is the lightning's red glare, painting wrath on the sky !
'T is the crashing of thunders, the groan of the sphere !
5 He springs from his hammock, — he flies to the deck, —
Amazement confronts him with images dire, —
Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a wreck, —
The masts fly in splinters, — the shrouds are on fire !
Like mountains the billows tremendously swell :
10 In vain the lost wretch calls on mercy to save ;
Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell.
And the death angel flaps his broad wing o'er the wave.
sailor boy ! woe to thy dream of delight !
In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss ;
15 Where now is the picture that fancy touched bright,
Thy parents' fond pressure, and love's honied kiss ?
1^^ Q sailor boy ! sailor boy ! never again
Shall home, love, or kindred, thy wishes repay ;
Unblessed, and unhonored, down deep in the main,
20* Full many a score fathom, thy frame shall decay.
No td|hb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee.
Or redeem form or fame from the merciless surge ;
7* B'H the wkite foam of waves shall thy winding-sheet be,
\/»^*,^«' e lid*viMs, in the midnight of winter, thy dirge !
25 'On a bed of green sea-flower thy limbs shall be laid;
Around thy white bones the re'^ coral shall grow ;
Of thy fair, yellow locks, threads of amber be made,
And every part suit to thy mansion below.
ays, months, years, and ages, shall circle away,
30 And still the vast waters above thee shall roll :
Earth loses thy pattern for ever and aye ; —
O sailor boy ! sailor boy ! peace to thy soul !
LESSON CCXXVI. GUSTAVUS VASA AND CRISTIERN. BrOoke.
Crist. Tell me, Gustavus, tell me why is this,
That, as a stream diverted from the banks
Of smooth obedience, thou hast drawn these men
Upon a dry unchanneled enterprise
5 To turn their inundation ? Are the lives
Of my misguided people held so light,
That thus thou 'dst push them on the keen rebuke
412 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL 'PART O.
Of guarded majesty; where justice wajls
All awful aud resistless, to assert
Th' impervious rights, llie sanctitude of kings;
And blast rebellion ? .
5 Qiist. Justice, sanctitude.
And rights ! patience I Rights ! what rights, thou tyrant ?
Yes, if perdition be the rule of power.
If wrongs give right, Oh ! tlien, supreme in mischief,
Thou wert the lord, the monarch of the world, —
10 Too narrow for thy claim. But if thou think'st
That crowns are vilely propertied, like coin,
To be the means, the specialty of lust,
And sensual attribution ; if thou think'st __^j
That empire is of tilled birth or blood ; »
15 That nature, in the proud behalf of one.
Shall disenfranchise all her lordly race,
And bow her general issue to the yoke
Of private domination ; then, thou proud one,
Here know me for thy king ! Howe'er be told, // ^'nM
20 Not claim hereditary, not the trust
Of frank election.
Not e'en the high anointing hand of Heaven, ^
Can authorize oppression, give a law j(/ j^^At^i
For lawless power, wed faith to violationf
25 On reason build misrule, or iustly l?.ind ^ /^ •
Allegiance to inj us j^e. ^Tfonny ||bi^ , )^^i
Absolves all faith ? and" who^vades our rights, ' ^f^V*^^
Howe'er his own commendfef can never be
But an usurper. But for t!hee, for thee flft«,i.
30 There is no name ! Thou hast ab ured mankirra,
Dashed safety from thy bleak, unsocial side, ^^^imk;
And waged wild war with universal nature. "^^^^
■-4i!»<<^' ''if'entious traitor ! thou canst talk it largely .
♦ ^^ "^i'- 'ioe umpire of the rights of kings, f^$ih
■Jio And power, prime attribute ; as on thy tongue ^PpC^
The poise of battle lay, and arms of force
To throw defiance in the front of duty ?
Look round, unruly boy ! thy battle comes.
Like raw, disjointed, mustering feeble wrath,
40 A war of waters, borne against a rock
Of our firm continent, to fume, and chafe,
And shiver in the toil.
Gust. IMistaken man !
I come empowered and strengthened in thy weakness .
PART II.] READEK AND SPEAKER. 413
For though the structure of a tyrant's throne
Rise on the necks of half the suffering world,
Fear trembles in the cement ; prayers, and tears,
And secret curses, sap its mouldering base, ^
5 And steal the pillars of allegiance from it ;
Then let a single arm but dare the sway.
Headlong it turns, and drives upon destruction.
Crist. Profane, and alien to the love of Heaven !
Art thou still hardened to the wrath divine, «
10 That hangs o'er thy rebellion ? Know'st thou not
Thou art at enmity with grace, cast out.
Made an anathema, a curse enrolled
Amon^ the faithful, thou and thy adherents,
Shorn from our holy church, and offered up
15 As sacred to perdition ? /' f ■ "
Gust. Yes, I know, ""■>
When such as thou, with 'sacrilegious hand, "^ •«'^,
Seize on the apostolic key of heaven.
It then becomes a tool for crafty knaves
20 To shut out virtue, and unfold those gates
That Heaven itself had barred against the lusts
Of avarice and ambition. Soft and sweet, j
As looks of charity or voice of lambs
That bleat upon the mountain, are the woi'ds
25 Of Christian meekness ! mission all divine !
The law of love, sole mandate. But your gall, *"^**
Ye Swedish prelacy, your gall hath turned
The words of sweet but undigested peace, «
To wrath and bitterness. Ye hallowed men, \
30 In whom vice sanctifies, whose precepts teach ' '
Zeal without truth, religion without virtue; '
Sacked towns, and midnight bowlings, through the realm .
Receive your sanction ! Oh ! 't is glorious mischief !
When vice turns holy, puts religion on, . •
35 Assumes the robe pontifical, the eye
Of saintly elevation, blesseth sin, ' ^
And makes the seal of sweet offended Heaven
A sign of blood.
Crist. No more of this ! [
40 Gustavus, wouldst thou yet return to grace, ' w ^
And hold thy motions in the sphere of duty.
Acceptance might be found.
Gtist. Imperial spoiler ! I
Give me my father, give me back my kindred, /
35*
414 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAKT IL
» Give me the fathers of ten thousand orphans,
Give me the sons in whom thy ruthless sword
Has left our widows childless. Mine they were,
Both mine and every Swede's, whose patriot hreast
5 Bleeds in his country's woundings. Oh ! thou canst not
Thou hast outsinned all reckoning! Give me, then,
My all that 's left, my gentle mother there.
And spare yon little trembler.
i . Crist. Yes, on terms
.clO Of compact and submission.
Chist. Ha ! with thee !
Compact with thee ! and mean'st thou for my country.
For Sweden ? No, — so bold my heart but firm,
, "- Although it wring for 't, though blood drop for tears,
*}.5 And at the sight my straining eyes dart forth, —
They both shall perish first !
i
* LESSON CCXXVII. TAMERLANE AND BAJAZET. RoWC.
[Bajazet and other Turkish priso?iers in chains, under
g2iard.]
Tarn. When I survey the ruins of this field,
t . The wild destruction, which thy fierce ambition
Has dealt among mankind; (so many widows
A And helpless orphans has thy battle made,
That half our Eastern world this day are mourners ;)
Well may I, in behalf of heaven and earth.
Demand from thee atonement for this \vi-ong.
Baj. Make thy demand of those that own thy power !
MKnow, I am still beyond it ; and though fortune
Has stript me of the train and pomp of greatness.
That outside of a king; yet still my soul.
Fixed high, and of itself alone dependent,
Is ever free and royal ; and even now,
i- • As at the head of battle, does defy thee.
15 ■ I know what power the chance of war has given.
And dare thee to the use oft. This vile speeching,
This after-game of words, is what most irks me :
I Spare that, and for the rest 't is equal all,
V Be it as it may.
20 Ta}7i. Well was it for the world.
When, on their borders neighboring princes met.
Frequent in friendly parle, by cool debates
Preventing wasteful war : such should our meeting
Have been, hadst thou but held in just regard
PART n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 416
The sanctity of leagues so often sworn to.
Canst thou believe thy prophet, or, what 's more,
That Power Supreme, which made thee and thy prophet,
Will, with impunity let pass that breach
5 Of sacred faith given to the royal Greek ?
Baj. Thou pedant talker ! ha ! art thou a king
Possessed of sacred power, Heaven's darling attribute,
And dost thou prate of leagues, and oaths, and prophets ?
I hate the Greek, (perdition on his name !)
10 As I do thee, and would have met you both,
As death does human nature, for destruction.
Tarn. Causeless to hate, is not of human kind :
The savage brute that haunts in woods remote
And desert wilds, tears not the fearful ti'aveller,
15 If hunger, or some injury provoke not-
Baj. Can a king want a cause, when empire bids
Go on ? What is he born for, but ambition ?
It is his hunger, — 't is his call of nature, *
The noble appetite which will be satisfied,
20 And, like the food of gods, makes him immortal.
Tarn. Henceforth, I will not wonder we were foes,
Since souls that difier so by nature, hate,
And strong antipathy forbid their union.
Baj. The noble fire, that warms me, does indeed
25 Transcend thy coldness. I am pleased we differ,
Nor think alike.
Tarn. No: for I think like a man,
Thou like a monster ; from whose baleful presence
Nature starts back ; and tliough she fixed her stamp
30 On thy rough mass, and marked thee for a man.
Now, conscious of her error, she disclaims thee.
As formed for her destruction.
'T is true, I am a king, as thou hast been ;
Honor and glory loo have been my aim ;
35 But though I dare face death, and all the dangers
Which furious war wears in its bloody front.
Yet would I choose to fix my name by peace.
By justice, and by mercy ; and to raise
My trophies on the blessings of mankind :
40 Nor would I buy the empire of the world
With ruin of the people whom I sway.
On forfeit of my honor.
Baj. Confusion ! wouldst thou rob me of my glory ?
Whilst I, (Oh ! blast the power that stops my ardor,)
416 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAHT It
Would, like a tempest, rusli amidst the nations,
Be greatly terrible, and deal, like Allah,
My angry thunder on the frightened world.
Tarn. Tlic world ! 't would be too little for thy pride :
5 Thou wouldst scale heaven.
Baj. I would. Away ! my soul
Disdains tliy conference.
Tarn. Tliou vain-, rash thing,
That, with gigantic insolence, hast dared
10 To lift thy wretched self above the stars.
And mate with power Almighty, thou art fallen !
Baj. 'T is false ! I am not fallen from aught I have been !
At least, my soul resolves to keep her state,
And scorns to make acquaintance with ill fortune.
15 Tarn. Almost beneath my pity art thou fallen !
To what vast heights had thy tumultuous temper
Been hurried, if success had crowned thy wishes !
Say, what had I to expect, if thou hadst conquered ?
Baj. Oh ! glorious thought ! Ye powers ! I will enjoy it,
20 Though but in fancy : imagination shall
Make room to entertain the vast idea.
Oh ! had I been the master but of yesterday,
The world, the world had felt me ; and for thee,
I had used thee, as thou art to me, a dog,
25 The object of my scorn and mortal hatred.
I would have caged thee for the scorn of slaves.
I would have taught thy neck to know my weight,
And mounted from that footstool to the saddle :
Till thou hadst begged to die ; and e'en that mercy
30 I had denied thee. Now thou knov^'st my mind,
And question me no farther.
Tarn. Well dost thou teach me
What justice should exact from thee. Mankind,
With one consent, cry out for vengeance on thee ;
35 Loudly they call to cut off this league-breaker.
This wild destroyer, from the face of earth.
Baj. Do it, and rid thy shaking soul at once
Of its worst fear.
Tarn. Why slept the thunder
40 That should have armed the idol deity,
And given thee power, ere yester sun was set,
To shake the soul of Tamerlane ? Hadst thou an arm
To make thee feared, thou shouldst have proved it on me,
Amidst the sweat and blood of yonder field,
PABT II.] READER AND SPEAKER. 417
When, through the tumult of the war I sought thee,
Fenced in with nations.
Baj. Oh ! blast the stars
That fated us to different scenes of slaughter !
5 Oh ! could my sword have met thee !
Tam. Thou hadst then,
As now, been in my power, and held thy life
Dependent on my gift. Yes, Bajazet,
I bid thee live. So much my soul disdains
10 That thou shouldst think I can fear aught but Heaven.
Nay, more ; couldst thou forget thy brutal fierceness,
And form thyself to manhood, I would bid thee
Live and be still a king, that thou mayst learn
^Vhat man should be to man : —
15 This royal tent, with such of thy domestics
As can be found, shall wait upon thy service ;
Nor will I use my fortune to demand
Hard terms of peace; but such as thou mayst ofTer
With honor, I with honor may receive.
LESSON CCXXVIII. AN INDEPENDENT JUDICIARY. JAMES A.
BAYABD.
Mr. Chairman, I am confident that the friends of this meas-
ure are not apprized of the nature of its operation, nor
sensible of the mischievous consequences which are likely
to attend it. Sir, the morals of your people, the peace
5 of the country, the stability of the government, rest upon
the maintenance of the independence of the judiciary. It
is not of half the importance in England, that the judges
should be independent of the crown, as it is with us, that
they should be independent of the legislature. Am I ask-
10 ed, Would you render the judges superior to the legisla-
ture ? I answer. No, but coordinate. Would you render
them independent of the legislature ? I answer. Yes, in-
dependent of every power on earth, while they behave
themselves well. The essential interest, the permanent
15 welfare of society, require this independence ; not, sir, on
account of the judge ; that is a small consideration ; but on
account of those between whom he is to decide. You cal-
culate on the weaknesses of human nature, and you suffer
the judge to be dependent on no one, lest he should be
20 partial to those on whom he depends. Justice does not
exist where partiality prevails. A dependent judge can-
418 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PAET II.
not be impartial. Independence is, therefore, essential to the
purity of your judicial tribunals.
Let it be remembered, that no power is so sensibly felt
by society, as that of the judiciary. The life and property
5 of every man, are liable to be in the hands of the judges.
Is it not our great interest to place our judges upon such
high ground, that no fear can intimidate, no hope seduce
them ? The present measure humbles them in the dust ;
it prostrates them at the feet of faction ; it renders them
10 the tools of every dominant party. It is this effect which
I deprecate ; it is this consequence which I deeply deplore.
What does reason, what does argument avail, when party
spirit presides ? Subject your bench to the influence of
this spirit, and justice bids a final adieu to your tribunals.
15 We are asked, sir, if the judges are to be independent
of the people. The question presents a false and delusive
view. We are all the people. We are, and as long as
we enjoy our freedom, we shall be, divided into par-
ties. The true question is, Shall the judiciary be perma-
20 nent, or fluctuate with the tide of public opinion ? I beg,
I implore gentlemen to consider the magnitude and value
of the principle which they are about to annihilate. If your
judges are independent of political changes, they may have
their preferences ; but they will not enter into the spirit of
25 party. But let their existence depend upon the support of
the power of a certain set of men, and they cannot be im-
partial. Justice will be trodden under foot. Your courts
will lose all public confidence and respect.
The judge" will be supported by their partisans, who, in
30 their turn, will expect impunity for the wrongs and vio-
lence they commit. The spirit of party will be inflamed to
madness ; and the moment is not far off, when this fair
country is to be desolated by a civil war.
Do not say, that you render the judges dependent only
35 on the people. You make them dependent on your pres-
ident. This is his measure. The same tide of public
opinion which changes a president, will change the ma-
jorities in the branches of the legislature. The legislature
will be the instrument of his ambition ; and he will have
40 the courts as the instrument of his vengeance. He uses
the legislature to remove the judges, that he may appoint
creatures of his own. In effect, the powers of the govern
ment will be concentrated in the hands of one man, who
will dare to act with more boldness, because he will be
PAET n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 419
sheltered from responsibility. The independence of the
judiciary was the felicity of our constitution. It was this
principle which was to curb the fury of party on sud-
den changes. The first moments of power, gained by a
5 struggle, are the most vindictive and intemperate. Raised
above the storm, it was the judiciary which was to control
the fiery zeal, and to quell the fierce passions of a victori-
ous faction.
We are standing on the brink of that revolutionary tor-
10 rent which deluged in blood one of the fairest countries of
Europe.
France had her national assembly, more numerous, and
equally popular with our own. She had her tribunals of
justice, and her juries. But the legislature, and her courts.
15 were but the instruments of her destruction. Acts of
proscription, and sentences of banishment and death, were
passed in the cabinet of a tyrant. Prostrate your judges
at the feet of party, and you break down the mounds
which defend you from this torrent. I have done. I
20 should have thanked my God for greater power to resist a
measure, so destructive to the peace and happiness of the
country. My feeble efforts can avail nothing. But it
was my duty to make them. The meditated blow is mor-
tal, and from the moment it is struck, we may bid a final
25 adieu to the constitution.
LESSON CCXXIX. MEMORIALS OF WASHINGTON AND FRANK-
LIN. JOHN QUINCY ADAMS.
[From Mr. Adams' speech on the reception, by Congress, of the bat-
tle sword of Washington, and the staff of Franklin.]
The sword of Washington ! The staff of Franklin !
Oh ! sir, what associations are linked in adamant with these
names ! Washington, whose sword, as my friend* has said,
was never drawn but in the cause of his country, and never
5 sheathed when wielded in his country's cause ! Franklin,
the philosopher of the thunderbolt, the printing-press, and
the plough-share ! — What names are these in the scanty
catalogue of the benefactors of human kind !
Washington and Franklin ! What other two men,
10 whose lives belong to the eighteenth century of Christen-
dom, have left a deeper impression of themselves upon the
age in which they lived, and upon all after time ?
Washington, the warrior and the legislator ! In war, con-
tending, by the wager of battle, for the independence of his
*Geo. W. Summers.
420 AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART U.l
country, and for the freedom of the human race ; ever man-
ifesting, amidst its horrors, by precept and example, his
reverence for the kiws of peace, and for tlie tenderest sym-
pathies of humanity ; in peace, sootliingthe ferocious spirit
5 of discord, among his own countrymen, into harmony and
union ; and giving to that very sword, now presented to
his country, a charm more potent than that attributed, in
ancient times, to the lyre of Orpheus.
Franklin ! — The mechanic of his own fortune ; teach-
10 ing, in early youth, under the shackles of indigence, the
way to wealth, and, in the shade of obscurity, the path to
greatness ; in the maturity of manhood, disarming the
thunder of its terrors, the lightning of its fatal blast ; and
wresting from the tyrant's hand the still more effective
15 sceptre of oppression: while descending into the vale of
years, traversing the Atlantic ocean, braving, in the dead
of winter, the battle and the breeze, bearing in his hand the
charter of Independence, which he had contributed to form,
and tendering, from the self-created nation, to the mighti-
20 est mcTnarchs of Europe, the olive-branch of peace, the mer-
curial wand of commerce, and the amulet of protection
and safety to the man of peace, on the pathless ocean, from
the inexorable cruelty and merciless rapacity of war.
And, finally, in the last stage of life, with fourscore win-
25 ters upon his head, under the torture of an incurable dis-
ease, returning to his native land, closing his days as the
chief magistrate of his adopted commonwealth, after con-
tributing by his counsels, under the presidency of Wash-
ington, and recording his name, under the sanction of de-
30 vout prayer, invoked by him to God, to that Constitution
under the authority of which we are here assembled, as
the representatives of the North American people, to receive,
in their name and for them, these venerable relics of the
wise, the valiant, and the good founders of our great con-
35 federated republic, — these sacred symbols of our golden
age. May they be deposited among the archives of our
government ! and every American, who shall hereafter be-
hold them, ejaculate a mingled offering of praise to that
Supreme Ruler of the Universe, by whose tender mercies
40 our Union has been hitherto preserved, through all the
vicissitudes and revolutions of this turbulent world, — and
of prayer for the continuance of these blessings, by the dis-
pensations of Providence, to our beloved country, from age
to age, till time shall be no more !
PAKT n.] READER AND SPEAKER. 421
LESSON CCXXX. DIALOGUE FROM HENRY IV. SkakspearC*
[Northumberland, Worcester, and Hotspur.l
Hot. Speak of Mortimer ?
Zounds, I will speak of him ; and let my soul
Want mercy, if I do not join with him :
Yea, on his part, I '11 empty all these veins,
5 And shed my dear blood drop by drop in the dust,
But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer
As high in the air as this unthankful king.
As this ingrate and cankered Bolingbroke. [ To Worcester.
North. Brother, the king hath made your nephew mad.
10 Wor. Who struck this heat up, after I was gone ?
Hot. He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners ;
And when I urged the ransom once again
Of my wife's brother, then his cheek looked pale ;
And on my face he turned an eye of death,
15 Trembling even at the name of Mortimer.
Wor. I cannot blame him : Was he not proclaimed,
By Richard that dead is, the next of blood ?
North. He was : I heard the proclamation :
And then it was, when the unhappy king
20 (Whose wrongs in us God pardon !) did set forth
Upon his Irish expedition ;
From whence he, intercepted, did return
To be deposed, and shortly murdered.
Wor. And for whose death, we in the world's wide mouth
25 Live scandalized, and foully spoken of.
Hot. But, soft, I pray you ; Did king Richard then
Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer
Heir to the crown ?
North. He did ; myself did hear it.
30 Hot. Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin king,
That wished him on the barren mountains starved.
But shall it be, that you, — that set the crown
Upon the head of this forgetful man ;
And, for his sake, wear the detested blot
35 Of murderous subornation, — shall it be.
That you a world of curses undergo ;
Being the agents, or base second means.
The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather?
Oh! pardon me, that I descend so low,
40 To show the line, and the predicament.
Wherein you range under this subtle king. —
36
42S AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PART •
Sliall it, for shame, be spoken in these days,
Or fill up chronicles in lime to come,
That men of your nobility and power.
Did 'gngc them both in an unjust behalf, —
6 As both of you, God pardon it ! have done, —
To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose,
And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke ?
And shall it, in more shame, be further spoken,
That you are fooled, discarded, and shook off
10 By him, for whom these shames ye underwent?
No ; yet time serves, wherein you may redeem
Your banished honors, and restore yourselves
Into the good thoughts of the world again :
Revenge the jeering and disdained contempt
15 Of this proud king, who studies, day'and night,
To answer all the debt he owes to you,
Even with the bloody payment of your deaths.
Therefore, I say,
Wor. Peace, cousin, say no more : ■
20 And now I will unclasp a secret book, .'j.) ^
And to your quick-conceiving discontents < '
I '11 read you matter deep and dangerous ;
As full of peril, and advent'rous spirit,
As to o'er-walk a current, roaring loud,
25 On the unsteadfast footing of a spear.
Hot. If he fall in, good night : — or sink or swim: —
Send danger from the east unto the west,
So honor cross it from the north to south,
And let them grapple ; — Oh ! the blood more stirs,
30 To rouse a lion, than to start a hare.
North. Imagination of some great exploit
Drives him beyond the bounds of patience.
Hot. By heaven, methinks, it were an easy leap
To pluck bright honor from the pale-faced moon ;
35 Or dive into the bottom of the deep.
Where fathom-line could never touch the ground.
And pluck up drowned honor by the locks ;
So he, that doth redeem her thence, might wear,
"Without corrival, all her dignities :
40 But out upon this half-faced fellowship !
Wor. He apprehends a world of figures here.
But not the form of what he should attend. —
Good cousin, give me audience for a while.
Hot. I cry you mercy.
Al
f
tr 11.] READER AND SPEAKER.
Wbr. Those same noble Scots,
That are your prisoners,-
Hot. I '11 keep them all ;
By heaven, he shall not have a Scot of them ;
5 No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not:
I '11 keep them, by this hand.
Wor. You start away.
And lend no ear unto my purposes. —
Those prisoners you shall keep.
10 Hot. Nay, I will ; that 's flat : —
He said, he would not ransom Mortimer;
Forbad my tongue to speak of Mortimer ;
But I will find him, when he lies asleep,
And in his ear I '11 holla — Mortimer !
15 Nay,
I '11 have a starling shall be taught to speak
Nothing but Mortimer, and give it him,
To keep his anger still in motion.
I Wor. Hear you,
. 20 Cousin ; a word.
[ Hot. All studies here I solemnly defy,
' Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke :
And that same sword-and-buckler prince of Wales, — -
But that I think his father loves him not,
25 And would be glad he met with some mischance,
I 'd have him poisoned with a pot of ale.
Wor. Farewell, kinsman ! I will talk to you,
When you are better tempered to attend.
North. Why, what a wasp-stung and impatient fool
30 Art thou, to break into this woman's mood ;
Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own ?
Hot. Why, look you, I am whipped and scourged with rods,
Nettled, and stung with pismires,^ when I hear
Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke.
35 In Richard's time, — What do you call the place ? —
A plague upon 't ! — it is in Gloucestershire ; —
'Twas where the mad-cap duke his uncle kept;
His uncle York ; — where I first bowed my knee
Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke,
40 When you and he came back from Ravenspurg.
North. At Berkley castle.
Hot. You say true :
Why, what a candy deal of courtesy
* Pronounced pizmire
4SM AMERICAN COMMON-SCHOOL [PARl n
This fawning greyhound then did proffer me !
Look, — tohoi his infant for time came to age,
And, — gentle Harry Percy, — and kind cousin, —
Oh, the devil take such cozeners ! — God forgive me !
5 Good uncle, tell your tale, for I have done.
LESSON CCXXXI. THE LOVE OF TRUTH. GEORGE PUTNAM.
Truth is the one legitimate object of all intellectual
endeavor. To discover and apprehend truth, to clear uj)
and adorn it, to establish, and present, and commend it, —
these are the processes and the ends of study and litera-
5 ture. To discern the things that really are, and how they
are, to distinguish reality from appearance and sham, to
know and declare the true ii i outward nature, in past
time, in the results of specula lion, in consciousness and
sentiment, — this is the businesi of educated mind. Logic
10 and the mathematics are instru tnents for this purpose, and
so is the imagination just as s trictly. A poem, a play, a
novel, though a work of fiction, must be true, or it is
a failure. Its machinery maj be unknown to the actual
world ; the scene may be laid : n Elysian fields, or infernal
15 shades, or fairy land ; but the law of truth must preside
over the work ; it must be the vehicle of truth, or it is
nought, and is disallowed. The Tempest, the Odyssey,
and Paradise Lost, derive their value from their truth ;
and I say this, not upon utilitarian principles, but accord-
20 ing to the verdict which every true soul passes upon them,
consciously or unconsciously. Lofty, holy truth, made
beautiful and dear and winning to the responsive heart, —
this is their charm, their wealth, their immortality. There
is no permanent intellectual success but in truth attained
25 and brought home to the eye, the understanding, or the
heart.
And for the best success in the pursuit of any object,
there must be a love of the object itself. The student, the
thinker, the author, who is true to his vocation, loves the
30 truth which he would develop and embody. Not for
bread, not for fame, primarily, he works. These things
may come, and are welcome ; but truth is higher and
dearer than these. Great things have been done for bread
and fame, but not the greatest. Plato, pacing the silent
35 groves of the academy, and Newton, sitting half a day on
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