1§j
<m
IQjK
3i i "
sic7
pcxc^otp
o>
,'+*> JCcImM /
v ' P,
Cbap. I. SELECT SENTENCES, &C. 29
SECTION IX.
That every day has its pains and sorrows, is universally experienced, and almost universally confessed. But let us not attend only to mournful truths; if we look impartially fj about us, we stfall find, that everyday has likewise its pleasures and its joys.
W$ should cherish sentiments of charity towards all men. The Author of all good nourishes much piety and virtue in hearts that are unknown to us ; and beholds repentance ready to spring up among many, whom we consider as rep- robates.
No one ought to consider himself as insignificant in the
Lsight of bis Creator. In our several stations, we are all sent forth to be labourers in the vineyard of our heavenly Fa- ther. Every man has his work allotted, his talent commit- ted to him ; by the due improvemetv of which he may, in
- one way or other, serve God, promote virtue, and be useful in the world.
The love of praise should be preserved undeg proper sub- ordination to the principle of duly. In itself, it is a useful motive to action ; but when allowed to extend its influence too far, it corrupts the whole character, and produces guilt,
" disgrace, and misery. To be entirely destitute of it, is a defect. To be governed by it, is depravity. The proper
■ adjust men \ of the several principles of action in human na- ture is a matter tVat deserves our highest attention. For when any one of them becomes too weak or too strong, it endangers both our virtue and our happiness.
The desires and passions of a vicious man, having or ce obtained an unlimhed sway, trample him under their feet. They make him r$el that he is subject to various, contra- dictory, and imperious masters, who often pull him different ways. His soul is rendered the receptacle of many repug-
j nant and jarring dispositions ; and resembles some barbarous country, cantoned out into different principalities, which
: are continually waging war on one another. * Diseases, poverty* disappointment, and shame, are far
; from being, in every instance, the unavoidable doom of man. They are much more frequently the offspring of his own misguided choice. Intemperance engenders disease, sloth produces poverty, pride creates disappointments, and dis- honesty exposes to sham©. The nngovemed passions o(\ Li/
inm\ betray them into a thousand follies; their follies intrf* crimes ; and their primes into misfortunes.
30 THE ENGLISH READER. Part T,
When we reflect on the many distresses which abound in human 'life ; on the scanty proportion of happiness which any man is he re allowed to enj»»y ; on the small difference which the diversity of fortune makes on that scanty propor- tion ; it is surprising, that envy should evei have been a prevalent passion among men much more that it should have prevailed among Christians, Where so much is suffe- red |n common, little room is left for envy. There is more occasion for pity and sympathy, and an inclination to assist each other.
At our first setting out in life, when yet unacquainted , with the world and its snares, when every pleasure enchants with its smile, and every object «hines with the glo*s of novelty, let us beware of the seducing appearances which surround us ; and recollect what others have suffered from the power of headstrong desire. If we allow any passion, even though it be esteemed innocent, to acquire an abso- lute ascendant, our inward peace will be impaired. But if any, which has the taint of guilt, take early possession of our mind, we may date, from that moment, the ruin of our tranquillity.
Every man has some darling passion, which generally af- fords the first introduction to vice. The irregular gratifi- cations, into which 'it occasionally seduces him, appear un- der the form of venial weaknesses ; and are indulged, in the beginning, with scrupulousness and reserve. But,* by long- er practice, these restraints weaken, and the power of habit grows. One vice brings in another to its aid. By a sort of natural affinity, they connect and entwine themselves together, till their roots come to be spread wide and deejf over all the soul.
SECTION X.
Whence arises the misery of this present world ? It not owing to our cloudy atmosphere, our changing season! and inclement* skies. It is not owing to the debility of ml bodies, or to the unequal distribution of the goods of fol tune. Amidst all disadvantages of this kind, a pure, a steal fast, and enlightened mind, possessed of strong virtu| could enjoy itself in peace, and smile at the impotent saults oi fortune and the elements. It is within onrselvl that misery has fixed its seat. Our disordered hearts, ol guilty passions, our violent prejudices, and misplaced <f Vires, arc the instruments of the trouble which we endul
Chap. I. SELECT SENTENCES, &C. 31
These sharpen the darts which adversity would otherwise point in vain against US. 1
While the vain and the licentious are revelling in the midst of extravagance and riot, how little do they think of those scenes of sore distress which are passing at that mo- ment throughout the world ; multitudes struggling for a poor subsistence, to support the wife and children whom they love, and who look up to them with eager eyes for that bread which they can hardly procure ; multitudes groaning under sickness in desolate cottages uuteuded and uumourned ; many, apparently in a better situation in life, pining away in secret with concealed griefs ; families weeping over the beloved friends whom they have lost, or in all the bitter- ness of anguish, bidding those who are just expiring the last adieu.
Never adventure on too near an approach to what is evil* Familiarize noi yourselves with it, in the slightest instances, without fear. Listen with reverence to every reprehension of conscience ; and preserve the most quick and accurate sensibility to right and wrong. If ever your moral impres- sions begin to decay, and your natural abhorrence of gin It \o lessen, you have ground to dread that the ruin of virtue is fast approaching.
By disappointments and trials the violence of our passions is tamed, and our minds are formed to sobriety and redac- tion. In the varieties of life, occasioned by the vicis i udes of worldly fortune, we are inured to habits both of he ac- tive and the suffering virtues. How much soever w com- plain of the vanity of the world, tacts plainly show, tha if its vanity were less, it could not answer the purpose of salu- tary discipline. Unsatisfactory as it is, its pleasures are still too apt to corrupt our hearts. H<w fatal then must the consequences have been, had it yielded us more complete enjoyment. If, with all iia troubles, we are in danger of be^ sng too much attached to it, how en irely wou d it have se- duced our affections, if no troubles had been mingled with its pleasures !
In reasons of distress or difficulty, to abandon ourselves to dejection, carries no mark of a great or a worthy mm -•«.— Jns.ead of sinking under trouble, and declaring "hat tits soul is i?eary oi' life," it becomes a wise and goo i ma.*, id the evil day, with firmness to maintain hi post ; to bear up against t(e storm; *o haVe recourse so those advantages which, in the w st of times, are aiwavs left to integrity aotu u/ © * as
32 THE ENGLISH READER. Part L
virtue ; and never to give up the hope that better days may yet arise.
How many young persons have at first set out in the world with excellent dispositions of heart; generous, charitable* and humane ; kind to their friends, and amiable among ail with whom they had intercourse ! And yet how often have we seen all those fair appearances unhappily blasted in the progress of life, merely through the influence of loose and cor- rupting pleasures: and those very persons, who promised once to be blessings to the world, stink down, in the end, to be the burden and nuisance of society.
The most common propensity of mankind, is to store futu- rity with whatever is agreeable to them ; especially in those periods of life, when imagination is lively, and hope is ardent. Looking forward to the year now beginning, they are ready to promise themselves much, from the foundation* of prospe- rity which they have laid ; from the friendships and connex- ions which they have secured ; and from the plans of conduct which they have formed. Alas! how deceitful do all these dreams of happiness often prove! While many are saying in secret to their hearts, "To-morrow stia.ll be as this da/, and more abundant ly," we are obliged in return to say to them, "Boast not yourselves of to-morrow ; for you know not what a day may briug forth !"
CHAPTER If. NARRATIVE PIECES.
SECTION I.
No rank or possessions can make the guilty mind happy.
1. Dionvsius, the tyrant of Sicily, was far from being happy, though he possessed great riches, and all the plea- sures which wealth and power could procure. Damocles, one of his flatterers, deceived by those specious appearances of happiness, took occasion to compliment him on the ex- tent of his power, his treasures and royal magnificence; and declared that no monarch had ever been greater or happier * an Dionysius.
?. "Hast thou a mind, Damocles, says the king, to taste
Chap. 2. Narrative pieces. 41
determined to grow rich by silent profit, and persevering in- dustry
10. Having sold his patrimony, he engaged in merchandise; and in twenty years purchased lands, on which he raised a house, equal iu siimptuousness to that of the vizier, to which he invited all the ministers of pleasure, expecting to enjoy all the felicity which he had imagined riches able to afford. Leisure soon made him weary of himself, and he longed to be persuaded that he was great and happy. He was courte- ous and liberal : he gave all that approached him hopes oi. being rewarded. Every art of praise was tried, and every* source of adulatory fictiou was exhausted.
11. Ortogrul heard his flatterers without delight, because he found himself unable to believe them. His own heart told him its frailties; his own understanding reproacfted him * withJaults.^, "How long, said he with a deep sigh, have I been* labouring iu vain to amass wealth, which at last is use- less ! Let no man hereafter wish to be rich, who is already too wise to be flattered." dr. johnson.
KU^^ttttf
SECTION VI.
The Hill of Science.
1. In that season of the year, when the serenity of the sky, the various fruits which cover the ground, the discoloured fo- liage of the trees, and all the sweet, but fading graces of iu- spiring an: umn, open the mind to benevolence, and dispose it for contemplation, I was wandering in a beautiful and ro- mantic country, till curiosity began to give way to weariness; and I sat down on the fragment of a rock overgrown with moss; where the rustling of the falling leaves, ihe dashing of waUrs, and the hum of the distant city, soothed my mind into the mo«t perfect tranquillity ; and sleep insensibly stole upon me, as I was indulging the agreeable reveries, which the objects around me naturally inspired.
2. I immediately found myself in a vast extended plain, in the middle of which arose a mountain higher than i had be- fore any conception of. It was covered with a multitude of people, chiefly youth ; many of whom pressed forward with the liveliest expression of ardour in their countenance, though the way was in many places steep and difficult.
3. I observed, thai th.:se, who had but just begttn to climb W the hill, thought themselves not far from the top ; but as
42 THE ENGLISH READER. Part I.
they proceeded, new hills were continually rising to their view ; and the summit of the highest they could before dis- cern seemed hut the foot of another, till the mountain at length appeared to lose itself in the cloudsv /As I was gaz- ing on these things with astonishment* a friendly instructor suddenly appeared : "The mountain before thee, said he, is the Hill of Science. On the top is the temple of Truth, whose head is above the clouds, and a veil <>f pure light cov* ers her face. Observe the progress of her votaries ; be silent .and attentive. "
t 4. After I had noticed a variety of objects, I turned my eye towards the multitudes who w«re climbing the steep as- ■cent; and observed amongst them a youth of a lively look, a piercing eye, and something fiery and irregular in all his £ mo ton^J His name was Genius. He darted like an eagle up the mountain ; and left his companions gazing after him with envy and admiration: hut his progress was unequal, anfl in- terrupted by a thousand caprices. When pleasure warbled in the valley, he mingled in her train.
5. When pride beckoned towards the precipice, he ven- tured to the tottering edge. He delighted in devious, and untried paths; and made so many excursions from the road, that his feebler companions often outstripped him. I obser- ved that the muses beheld him with partiality: but Truth often frowned and turned aside her face.
6. While Genius was thus wasting his strength in eccen- < trie flight^! saw a person of very different appearance, nam- ed Application. He crept along with a slow and unremitting pace, his eyes fixed on the top of the mountain, patiently re- moving; every stone that obstructed his way, till he saw most of those b low him, who had at first derided his slow and toil- some progress.
7. Indeed, there were few who ascended the hill with equai ami uninterrupted steadiness ; for, besides the difficul- ties of the way, they were continually solicited to turn aside by a numerous crowd of appetites, passions, and pleasures, whose importunity, when once complied with, they became lrss"and less able to resist ; and though they often returned to the path, the asperities of the road were more sc . erely felt ; the hill appeared more steep and rugged ; the fruits, which were wholesome and refreshing, seemed harsh and ill tasted ; their sight grew dim ; and their feet tripped at eve- ry little obstruction.
8. I saw,. with some surprise, that the muses, whose busi- ness was to cheer and encourage those who were toilinsup
Chap. 2. NARRATIVE Heces. 43
the ascent, would often sing in the bowers of pleasure, and accompany those who were enticed away at the call of the passions. They accompanied them, however, but a little way, and always forsook them when they lost sight of the hill. The tyrants then doubled their chains upou^ie un- bappy captives ; and led thein away, without resisWice, to the cell* of Ignorance, or the mansions of Misery.
9. Amongst the innumerable seducers, who were endea- vouring to draw away the votaries of Tru'h from the path of Science, there was one, so little formidable in her appear- ance, and so gentle and languid in her attempts, t-iat I should scarcely have taken notice of her, but from the numbeis she
rp bad imperceptibly loaded with^chains.^ ^/z-^Z.
10. Indolence, (for so she was called,) far from proceeding to open hostilities, did not attempt to turn their feet out of the path, but contented herself with retarding then progress; and the purpose she could not force them to abandon, she persuaded them to delay. Her touch had a power like that of a torpedo, which withered the strength of those who came within its influence. Her unhappy captives still turned their faces towards the temple, and always hoped to arrive there ; but the ground seemed to slide from beneath their feet, and they found themselves at the bottom, before they suspected they had changed their place.
11. The placid serenity, which at first appeared in their countenance, changed by degrees into a melancholy languor, which Was tinged with deeper aud deeper gloom, as Ihey gli- ded down the stream of Insignificance ; a dark and sluggish water, which is curled by no bieeze, and enlivened by no murmur, till it falls into a dead sea, where startled passen- gers are awakened by the shock, and the next moment buri- ed in the gulf of oblivion.
12. Of all the unhappy deserters from the paths of Sci- ence, none seemed less able to return than the followers of Indolence. The captives of Appetite and Passion would of- ten seize the moment when their tyrants weva languid or a- slepp, to escape from their enchantment ; but Un^ttmge of-)t Indolence was constant and unremitted; and was seldom re- sisted, till resistance was in vain.
13. Afier contemplating these things, I turned my eyes to- wards the top of the mountain, wheie the air was always pure and exhilarating, the path shaded with laurels and ever- greens^ and the effulgence which bramed from the face of Science seemed to shed a glory round her votaries Happy, said I, are they who are permitted to ascend the mountain !
41 THE ENGLISH READER. Part I*
But while I was pronouncing this exclamation, with uncom- mon ardour, I saw standing beside me, a form of diviner fea* tures, and a more benign radiance.
14. "Happier, said she, are they whom Virtue conducts to the mmsions of Content !" "What, said I, does Virtue re- side uflme vale ?" "I am found, said she, in the vale, and I illuminate the mountain. 1 eheer the cottager at his toil, and inspire the sage at bis meditation. I mingle in the crowd of cities, and bless the hermit in his cell. I have a temple in every heart that owns ray influence ; aud to him that wishes for me, ! am already present. Science may raise thee to eminence ; but I alone can guide thee to feli- city."
15. While Virtue was thus speaking, I stretched out my <. arms towards her, with a vehemence that broke my slumber.
The chill dews were falling around me, and the shades of eve- ning stretched over the landscape. ! hastened homeward,* and resigned the night to silence and meditation, aiken.
SECTION VIL
The journey of a day : picture of human life.
1. Obidaii, the son of Abensina, left the caravansera early in the morning, and pursued his journey through the plains of Indostan. He was fresh and vigorous with rest ; he was animated with hope ; he was incited by desire : he walked swiftly forward over the vallies, and saw the hills gradually rising before him.
2. As he passed along, his ears were delighted with the morning song of the bird of paradise; he was fanned by the* last flutters of the sinking breeze, and sprinkled with dew
% Jby groves of spices. He sometimes contemplated the tow- 'erTng height of the oak, monarch of the hill ; and sometimes caught the gentle fragrance of the primrose, eldest daughter of the spring : all lus senses were gratified, and all care was banished from his heart.
3. Thus he went on, till the sun approached his meridian, and the increased heat preyed upon his strength; he then looked round about him for some more commodious path. He saw, on his right hand, a grove that seemed to wave its shades as a sign of invitation; he entered it, and found tin coolness and verdure irresisiably pleasant.
4. He did not, however, forget whither he was travelling but found a narrow way bordered with flowers, which appea
•,
Chap. 2. NARRATIVE PIECES. 45
red to hare the same direction with the main road ; and was pleased that hy this happy experiment, he had found means to unite pleasure with business, and to gain the rewards of diligence without sufferiog its fatigues.
5. lie therefore still continued to walk ^for a tinre, with- out the least remission of his ardour, except thatwie was sometimes tempted to stop by the music of the birds, which the heat had assembled in the shade; and sometimes amused himself with plucking the flowers that covered the banks on either side, or the fruits that hung upon the branches. At last, the green path began to decline from its first tendency, and to wind among the hills and thickets, cooled with foun- tains, and murmuring with waterfalls.
6. Here Obidah paused for a time, and began to consider whether it were longer safe to forsake the known and com- mon track; but remembering that the heat was now in its greatest violence, and that the plain was dusty and uneven, he resolved to pursue the new path, which he supposed only to make a few meanders, in compliance with the varieties of the ground, and »o end at last in the common road.
7. Having thus calmed his solicitude, he renewed his pace, though he suspected that he was net gaining ground. This uneasiness of his mind inclined him to lay hold on every new object, and give way to every sensation that might sooth or divert him. He listened to every echo ; he mounted^ ev- ery hill for a fresh prospect ; he turned aside to every cas- cade ; and pleased himself with tracing the course of a gentle river that rolled among the trees, and watered a large region with innumerable circumvolutions.
8. In these amusements, the hours passed away unaccoun- ted ; his deviations had perplexed his memory, and he knew not towards what point to travel. He stood pensive and confused, afraid to go forward lest he should go wrong, yet conscious that the time of loitering was now past. While he was thus tortured with uncertainty, the sky was overspread with clouds ; the day vanished from before him ; and a sud- den tempest gathered round his head.
£. He was now routed by his danger to a quick and pa:nful remembrance of his folly ; he now saw how happiness is lost when ease is consulted ; he lamented the unmanly impatience that prompted him to s eek shelter in the grove ; and despi- sed the petty curiosity that led him on from trifle to trifle. While he was thus reflecting, the air grew blacker, and a clap itf thunder brake hks meditation.
IQ> Be new resolved to dp what yet remained iu his powv
46 THE ENGLISH READER. Piivt t
er, to trearl back the ground which he had passed, and try to find some issue vvhere the wood might open into the plain* He prostrated himself on the ground, and recommended his life to the Lord of nature. He rose with confidence and tranquility, and pressed on with resolution. The beasts of the desfft were in motion, and on every hand were heard the mingled howls of rage and fear, and ravage and expira- tion. All the horrors of darkness and solitude surrounded him ; the winds roared ru the woods; and the torrents tuua«* bied from the hills.
11. Thus forlorn and distressed, he wandered through the1 wild, without knowing whither he was going, or whether he was evvvy moment drawing nearer to safety, or to destnie- lion. At length, not fear, but labour, began to overcome him ; his breath grew short, and his knees trembled ; and be was on the point of lying down in resignation to his fate,* when he beheld, through the brambles, the glimmer of a ta- per.
12. He advanced towards the light ; and finding that it proeeeded from the cottage of a hermit, he called humbly at the door, and obtained admission. The old man set before him such provisions as he had collected for himself, on which Obidah fed with eagerness and gratitude.
13. When the repast was over, "Tell me, said the hermity by what chance thou hast been brought hither? 1 have been now twenty years an inhabi'ant of the wilderness, in which I never saw, man before." Obidah then related the occurrences of his journey, without any concealment or pal- liation.
14. "Son, said the hermit, let the errors and follies, the dan^rs and escapes of this day, sink deep into thy heart. — Remember, my son, that human life is the journey of a day. We rise in the morning of youth, full of vigour, and full of expectation : we set forward with spirit and hope, with gaie- ty and with diligence, and travel on a while in the direct road of piety towards the mansions of rest.
15. "In a short time, we remit our fervour, and endeavour to find some mitigation of our duty, and some more easy means of obtaining the same end. We then relax our vigour, and resolve no longer to be terrifkd with enmes at a distance; but rely upon our own constancy, and venture to approach what we resolve never to touch. We thus enter the bowers of ease, and repose in the shades of security.
1ft. "Here the heart softens, and vigilance subsides; we are then willing to inquire whether another advance cannot
Cbap. 3. DIDACTIC PIECES^ 47
be made, and whether we may not at last turn our eyes up- on the gardens of pleasure. We approach tbem with scruple and hesitation ; we enter them, but enter timorous and trem- bling ; and always hope to pass through them without losing the load 'o virtue, which, for a while, we keep in our sight, and to which we purpose to return. But temptatiou suc- ceeds temptation, and one compliance prepares us tor ano- ther: we in time lose the happiness of innocence, and solace our disquiet with sensual gratifications.
17. "By degrees, we let fall the remembrance of our ori- ginal intention, and quit I he only adequate object of rational desire. We entangle ourselves in business, immerge ourselves in luxury, and rove through the labyrinths of inconstancy,; till the darkness of old ace begins to invade us, and disease and anxiety obstruct our way. We then look back upon our lives with horror, with sorrow, witii repentance; and wish, but too often vainly wish, that we had not forsaken the ways of virtue.
18. **flappy are they, my son, who shall learn from thy example, not to despair ; but shall remembei, that, though the day is past, and their strength is wasted, there yet re- mains one effort to be made ; that reformation is never hope- less, nor sincere endeavours ever unassisted ; that the wan- derer may at length return after all his errors; and that he who implores strength and courage from above, shall find dan- ger and difficulty give way before him. Go now, my son, to thy repose ; commit thyself to the care of Omnipotence ; and when the morning calls again to toil, begin anew thy jour- Bey and thy life." dr. johjxson.
chapter nr.
DIDACTIC PIECES,
SECTION I,
The importance of a good Education,
1. I consider a human soul, without education, like mar- ble in the quarry ; which shows none of its inherent beau- ties, umil the skill of the polisher fetches out the colours, makes the surface shine, and discovers every ornajneutai E2
*&' THE EffGLtStt READER. Part Ik
cloud, spot, and vein, that runs through the boxfy of it. Ed- ucation, after the same manner, when it works upon a noble mind, draws out to view every latent virtue and perfection, which, without such helps, are never able to make their ap- pearance.
3. If my reader will give me leave to change the allusion so soon upon him, 1 shall make use of the same instance to illustrate the force of education, which Aristotle has brought to explain his doctrine of substantial forms, when he tells ns that a statue lies fcid in a block of marble; and that the art of the statuary only clears away the superfluous matter, and removes the rubbish. The figure is in the stone, and the sculptor only finds it.
3. What sculpture is to a block of marble, education is to a human soul. The philosopher, the saint, or the hero, the wise, the good, or the great man, very often lies hid and con- cealed in a plebeian, which a proper education might have disinterred, and have brought to light. I am therefore much delighted with reading the accounts of savage nations ; and with contemplating those virtues which are wild and uncul- tivated; to see courage exerting itself in fierceness, resolu- tion in obstinacy, wisdom in cunning, patience in suliennes$ and despair.
4. Man's passions operate variously, and appear in differ- ent kinds of actions, according as they are more or less recti- fied and swayed by reason. When one hears of negroes whOj, upon the death of their masters, or upon changing their ser° vice, hang themselves upon the next tree, as it sometimes, happens in our American plantations, who can forbear admH ring their fidelity, though it expresses itself in so dreadful a manner.
5. What might not that savage greatness of soul, whicfy appears in those poor wretches on many occasions, be raised, to, were it rightly cultivated ? And what colour of excuse can there be, for the contempt with which we treat this part of our species; that we should not put them upon the common footing of humanity ; that we should only set an in- significant fine upon the man who murders them; nay, that we should, as much as in ns lies, cut them off from the pros- pects of happiness in another world, as well as in this ; and deny them that which we look upon as the proper means for attaining it ?
4. It is therefore an unspeakable blessing, to be born in those parts of the world where wisdom and knowledge flour- ish ; though, it must be confessed, there are, even in these
Cbap. 3. DIDACTIC PIECES. 49 I
parts, several poor, uninstructed persons, who are but little above the inhabitants of those nations of which 1 have been ' liere speaking; as those who have had the advantages of a , more liberal education, rise above one another bv several dif- i fereut degrees of perfection,
7. For, to return to our statue in the block of marble, we I see it sometimes only begun to be chipped, sometimes rough Iiewn, and but just sketched into a human figure; sometimes we see the man appearing distinctly in all his limbs and fea- tures; sometimes, we find the figure wrought up to great elegancy ; but sejdom meet with any to which the hand of JPhfrrffTTs or a Praxiteles could not give several nice touches and finishings. addisojv, > ,
SECTION IT.
On Gratitude.
1. There is not a more pleasing exercise of the mind, than gratitude. It is accompanied with so great inward satisfac- tion, that the duty is sufficiently rewarded by the perform- ance. It is not like the practice of many other virtues, dif- ficult and painful, but attended with so much pleasure, that were there no positive command which enjoined it, nor any recompense laid up for it hereafter, a generous mind would indulge it, for the natural gratification which it affords.
2. If gratitude is due from man to man, how much more from man to his Maker ! The Supreme Being does not only Confer upon us those bounties which proceed more immedi- ately from his hand, but even those benefits which are con- veyed to us by others. Every blessing we enjoy, by what means soever it may be derived/upon us, is the gift of Hina who is the great Author of good, and the Father of mercies.
3. If gratitude, when exerted towards one another, natu- rally produces a very pleasing sensation in the mind of a grateful man, it exalts the soul into rapture, when it is em- ployed on this great object of gratitude ; on this beneficent Being, who has given us every thing we already possess, and from whom we expect every thing we yet hope for.
ADDISON.
SECTION III,
On Forgiveness,
^ 1. The most plain and natural sentiments of equity con- cur with divine authority, to enforce the duty of forgiveness.
50 THE ENGLISH READER. Part I*
Let him who nefcer in his life has done wrong, be allowed the privilege of remaining; inexorable. But let such as are con- scious of frailties and crimes, consider forgiveness as a debt which they owe to others. Common failings are the strong- est lesson to mutual forbearance. Were this virtue unknown among men, order and comfort, peace and repose, would be strangers to human life.
2. Injuries retaliated according to the exorbitant measure which passion prescribes, would excite resentment in return. The injured person would become the iujurer ; and thus wrongs, retaliations, and fresh injuries, would circulate, in endless succession, till the world was rendered afield of blftod. Of all the passions which invade the human breast, reveuge is the most direful.
3. When allowed to reign with full dominion, it is more than sufficient to poison the few pleasures which remain to man in his present state. How much soever a person may* suffer from injustice, he is always in hazard of suffering more from the prosecution of revenge. The violence of an enemy cannot inflict what is equal to the torment he creates to him- self, by the means of the fierce and desperate passions which he allows to rage in his soul.
4. Those evil spirits who inhabit the regions of misery, are represented as delighting in revenge and cruelty. But ail that is great and good in the universe, is on the side of cle« mency and mercy. The Almighty Ruler of the world, tho' for ages offeuded by the unrighteousness, and insulted by th© impiety of men, is "long-suffering and slow to anger.*'
5. His Son, when he appeared in our nature, exhibited, both in his life and death, the most illustrious example ot ibr^ giveness which the world ever beheld. If we look into tho history of mankind, we shall find that, in every age, they wha have teen respected as worthy, or admired as great, have been distinguished for this virtue.
6. Revenge dwells in little minds. A noble and magnani- mous spirit is always superior to it. It suffers not from the injuries of men those severe shocks which others feel. Col- lected within itself, it stands unmoved by their impotent as- saults ; and with generous pity, rather than anger, looks down on their unworthy conduct, it has been truly said, that the greatest man on earth can no sooner commit an in-? jury, than a good man can make himself greater, by forgiv*
lag it, BLAtRc
7*«5fc fctMk^ ih^zh- ir^lkj
Chap. 3. jMBactic pieces. »1
r£^C J» SECTION \y. [^
Motives to the practice of gentleness.
1. To promote the virtue of gentleness we ought to view our character with an impartial eye ; and to learn from nur own failings, to give that indulgence which in our turn we claim. It is pride which fills the world with so much harsh- ness and severity. In the fulness of self-estimation, we for- get what we are. We claim attentions to which we are not entitled. We are rigorous to offences,, as if we had never of- fended ; unfeeling to distress, as if we knew not what it was to sutler. From those airy regions of pride and folly, let us descend to our proper level.
2. Let us survey the natural equality on which Providence has placed man with man, and reflect on the infirmities com- mon to all. If the reflection on natural equality and mutual offences, be insufficient to prompt humanity, let us at least femember what we are in the sight of our Creator. Have we none of that forbearance to give one another, which we all so earnestly, in treat from heaven ? Can we look for clem- ency or gentleness from our Judge, when we are so backward to show it to our brethren ?
3. Let us also accustom ourselves to reflect on the small pnnment of those things, which are the usual incentives to vi- olence and contention. In the ruffled and angry hour, we view every appearance through a false medium. The most inconsiderable point of interest, or honour, swells into a mo- mentous object; and the slightest attack seems to threaten immediate ruin.
4. But after passion or pride has subsided, we look around In vain for the mighty mischiefs we dreaded. The fabric, which our disturbed imagination had, reared, totally disap- pears. But though the cause of contention has dwindled a- way, its consequences remain. We have alienated a friend ; we have embittered an enemy ; we have sown the seeds of future suspicion, malevolence, or disgust.
5. Let us suspend our violence for a moment, when causes of discord occur. Let us anticipate that period of coolness, which of ifself will soon arrive. Let us reflect how little we have, any prospect of gaining by fierce contention ; but how much of the true happiness of life we are certain of throwing away. Easily, and from the smallest chink, the bitter waters of strife are let forth; but their course cannot be foreseen ; ami he seh om fails of suffering most from their poisonous ef- fect, who first allowed them to flow. bi,air,
$2 THE ENGLISH READER. Part L
SECTION V.
A suspicious temper the source of misery to its possessor.
1. As a suspicious spirit is the source of many crimes and calamities in the world, so it is the spring of certain misery to the person who indulges it. His friends will be few ; and small will be his comfort in those whom he possesses. Be- lieving others to be his enemies, he will of course make them siicb. Let his cau'ion be ever so great, the asperity of his thoughts wiH often break out in his behaviour; and in return for suspecting and hating, be will incur suspicion and ha- tred,
2. Besides the external evils which he draws upon himself* arising from alienated friendship, broken confidence, and opwi enmity, the suspicions temper itself is one of the worst evih which any man can suffer. If "in all fear th« re is torment,** how miserable must be his state who, by living in perpetual jealousy, lives in perpetual dread !
3. Looking upon himself to be surrounded with spies, ene- mies, and designing men, he is a stranger to reliance and trust. He knows not to whom to open himself. He dresses his countenance in forced smiles, while his heart throbs with- in from apprehensions of secret treachery. Hence fretful* ness and Ul-bumonr, disgust at the world, and all the painful sensations of an irritated and embittered mind.
4. So numerous and great are the evils arising from a suspi- cious disposition, that, of the two extremes, it is more eligN ble to expose ourselves to occasional disadvantage from thinking too well of others, than to suffer continual misery by thinking always ill of them. It is better to be sometimes imposed upon, than never to trust. Safety is purchased at too dear a rate, when, in order to secure it, we are obliged to be always clad in armour, and to live in perpetual hostili- ty with our fellowsi
5. This is, for the sake of living, to deprive ourselves of the comfort of life. The man of candour enjoys his situa- tion, whatever it is, with cheerfulness and peace. Prudence directs his intercourse with the world ; but no black suspi- cions haunt his hours of rest. Accustomed to view the cha-» racters of bis neighbours in the most favourable light, he is like one who dwells amidst tho^e beautiful scenes of nature on which the eye rests with pleasure.
6. Whereas the suspicious man, having his imagination fik ted with all tke shacking forms of huraau falsehood* duceifc,
Ctiap. 3. DIDACTIC PIECES. 53
and treachery, resembles the traveller in the wilderness, who discerns no object aronnd him but such as are either dreary; or terrible ; caverns that open, serpents that hiss, and beasts of prey that howl. * blair.
SECTION VL? /- .
' ' / * /837. Comfortfof Religion, r ^
1. There are many who have passed the age of youth and beauty ; who have resided the pleasures of that smiling sea- son ; who begin to decline into the vale of years, impaired in their health, depressed in their fortunes, stript of Uieir friends, their children, and perhaps still more tender connex- ions. What resource can this world afford them ? It pre- sents a dark and dreary waste, through which there does not issue a single ray of comfort.
2. Every delusive prospect of ambition is now at an end ; Ions experience of mankind, an experience very different from what the open and generous soul of youth had tondly dreampt of. has rendered the heart almost inaccessible to uew friend- ships. The principal sources of activity are taken away, when they for whom we labour are cut off from us ; they who animated, and who sweetened all the toils of life.
3. Where then can the soul find refuge, but iu the bosom of Religion ? There she is admitted to those prospects of Providence and futurity, which alone can warm and fill the heait. I speak here of such as retain the feelings of humani- ty ; whom misfortunes have softened, and perhaps rendered snore delicately sensible ; not of such as possess that stupid 'insensibility, which some are pleased to dignify with the name of Philosophy.
4. It might therefore be expected, that those philosophers who think they stand in no need themselves of the assistance of religion to support their virtue, and who never feel the want of its consolations, would yet have the humanity to Con- sider the very different situation of the rest of mankind ; and not endeavour to deprive them of what habit at least, if they will not allow it to be nature, has made necessary to their morals, and to their happiness.
5. It might be expected, that humanity would prevent them from breaking into the hst retreat of the unfortunate, who can no longer be the objects of their envy or resentment, and tearing from them their only remaining comfort. The attempt to ridicule religion may be agreeable to some, by
54 THE ENGLISH READER, Part I.
relieving (hem from restraint upon their pleasures ; and may render others very miserable, by making tnera doubt those truths in which they were most deeply interested; but it cau convey real good and happiness to no one individual.
GREGORY.
■* SECTION VIL
Diffidence of our abilities, a mark of wisdom.
1. It is a sure indication of good sense, to be diffident of it. We then, and not till then, are growing wise, when we begin to discern how weak and unwise we are. An absolute perfection of understanding, is impossible: — he makes the nearest approaches to it, who has the sense to discern, and the humility to acknowledge its imperfections,
2. Modesty always sits gracefully upon youth ; it covers a multitude of faults, and doubles the lustre of every virtue which it seems to hide : the perfections of men being like those flowers which appear more beautiful, when their leaves are a little contracted and folded up, than when they are lull blown, and display themselves without any reserve, to the view.
3. We are some of us very fond of knowledge, and apt to value ourselves upon any proficiency in the sciences: one science however there is. worth more than all the rest, md that is, the science of Jiving well ; which shall remain, whea 'tongues shall cease,' and 'knowledge shall vanish away.'
4. As to new notions, and new doctrines, of which this age is very fruitful, the time will come, when we shall have no pleasure in them : nay, the time shall ome, when they shall? be exploded, and would have been forgotten, it they had not been preserved in those excellent books, which contain a confutation of them ; like insects preserved for ages in am- ber, which otherwise would soon have returned to the com- mon mass of things.
5. But a firm belief of Christianity, and a practice suitable to it, will support and invigorate Uie mind to the last; and most of all, at last, at the important hour, which must decide our hopes and apprehensions : and the wisdom which, like our Saviour, comet h from above, will, through his merits, bring us thither. All our other studies and pursuits, howe^r' different, ousrht to be subservient to, and centre in this irand point, the pursuit of -eternal happiness, by being good in our- selves and useful to the world. seed.
Chap. 3. DIDACTIC PIECES. 55
SECTION VIII.
On the importance of order in the distribution of our time.
1. Time we ought to consider as a sacred trust committed to us by Gog; of which we are now the depositaries, and are to render an account at the last. That portion of it which be has allotted to us, is intended partly tor the concerns of this world, and- partly for those of the next. Let each of these occupy, in the distribution of our time, that space which properly belongs to it.
2. Let not the hours of hospitality and pleasure interfere with the discharge of our necessary affairs ; and let not what we call necessary affairs, encroach upon the time which is clue to devo'ion. To every thing there is a season, and a time for every purpose under the heaven. If we delay till to-morrow what ought to be done to-day, we overcharge the morrow with a bur Sen that belongs not to it. We load the wheels of time, and prevent them from carrying us along smoothly.
3. Me who every morning plans the transactions of the day, and follows out that plan, carries on a thread which will guide him through the labyrinth of the most busy life. The order- ly arrangement of his life is like a ray of light, which darts itself through ail his affairs. But where no plan is laid, where the disposal of time is surrendered merely to the chance of incidents, all things lie hrWdled together in one chaos, which admits neither of distribution nor review.
4. The first requisite for introducing order into the man- agement of our time, is to be impressed with a just sense of its value. Let us consider well how much depends upon it, and how fast it flies away. The bulk of men are in nothing more capricious or inconsistent, than in their appreciation of time. When they think of it, as the measure of their conti- nuance upon earth, they highly prize it, aud with the great- est anxiety seek to lengthen it out.
5. Jjyut when they view it in separate parcels, they ap- pear to hold it in contempt, and squander it with inconside- rate profusion. WThile they complain that life is short, they are often wishing its different periods at an end. Covetous of every other possession, of time only are they prodigal. They allow every idle man to be master of this property, and make every frivolous occupation welcome that can help them ^ Consume it ~/~
6. Among those who are so careless of time, it is not to F
$5 THE ENGLISH READER. Part I.
foe expected that order should be observed in its distribution. But by this fatal neglect, how many materials of severe and lasting regret are they laying up in store for themselves ! — The time which they suffer to pass away in the midst of con- fusiou, bitter repentance seeks aftewards in vain to recal. What was omitted to be done at its proper moment, arises to be the torment of some fnture season.
7. Manhood is disgraced by the consequences of neglected youth. Old age, oppressed by cares that belonged to a for- mer period, labours under a burden not its own. At the close of life, the dying man beholds with anguish, that his days are finishing, when his preparation for eternity is hard- ly commenced. Such are the effects of a disorderly waste of time, through not attending to its value Every thing in the life of such a person is misplaced. Nothing is performed aright, from not being performed in due season.
8. But he who is orderly in the distribution of his time, takes the proper method of escaping those manifold evils. He is justly said to redeem the time. By proper manage- ment, he prolongs it. He lives much in little space ; more in a few years than others do in many. He can live to God and his own soul, and at the same time attend to all the law- ful interests of the present world. He looks back on the past, and provides for the future.
9. He matches and arrests the hours as they fly. They are marked down for useful purposes, and their memory re- mains. Whereas those hours fleet by the man of confusion like a shadow. His days and years are either blanks of which, lie has no remembrance, or they are filled up with so confused and irregular succession of unfinished transactions, that tbo* he remembers he has been busy, yet he can give no account of the business which has employed him. blair.
SECTION IX.
The dignity of virtue amidst corrupt examples*
1. The most excellent and honourable character which can adorn a man and a christian, is acquired by resisting the tor- rent of vice, and adheri;.* to the cause of God and vinue against a corrupted multitude. It will be found to hold ii> general, that they who, in any of (be great tines of life, have distinguished themselves for tanking profoundly, and acting nobly, have despised popular prejudices; and depaited it several things from the common ways of the world-
Chap. 3. DIDACTIC PIECES. 5?
2. On no occasion is this more requisite for true honour, than where religion and morality are concerned. In times, of prevailing licentiousness, to maintain unblemished virtue, and uncorrupted integrity ; in a public or a private cause, to stand firm by what is fair and just, amidst discouragements and opposition; despising ground less censure and reproach; disdaining all compliance with publie manners, when they are vicious and unlawful ; and never ashamed of the punctual discharge of every duty towards God and man ; — this is what shows true greatness of spirit, and will force approbation even from the degenerate multitude themselves.
3. "This is the man, ((heir conscience will oblige them to acknowledge,) whom we are unable to bend to mean conde- scensions. We see it is in vain either to flatter or to threa- ten him; he rests on a principle within* which we cannot shake. To this man we may, on any occasion, safely commit our cause. He is incapable of betraying his trust, or desert- ing his friend, or denying his faith."
4. It is, accordingly, this steady, inflexible virtue, this re- gard to principle, superior to all custom and opinion, which peculiarly marked the characters of those in any age, who have shone with distinguished lustre; and has consecrated their memory to posterity. It was this that obtained to an- cient Enoch the most singular testimony of honour from hea- ven.
5. He continued to "walk with God," when the world a- pos'atized from him. He pleased God, and w<^s beloved of bim ; so thai living among sinners, he was translated to hea- ven without seeing death : "Yea, speedily was he taken a- way, lest wickedness should have altered his understanding, or deceit beguiled his soul."
6. When Sodom could not furnish ten righteous men to save it, Lot remained unspotted amidst I he contagion. 'He lived like an angel among spirits of darkness; and the de- stroying flame was not permitted to go forth, till the good man was called away, by a heavenly messenger, from his de- voted city.
7. When "all flesh had corrupted their way upon the earth," then lived Noah, a righteous man, and a preacher of righteousness. He stood alone and was scoffed at by the profane crew. But they by the deluge were swept away ; while on him. Providence conferred the immortal honour of being the restorer of a better race, and the father of a new woi Id. Such examples as these* and such honours conferred
68 THE ENGLISH READER. Part I.
by God on them who withstood the multitude of evil doers, should often be present to our minds.
8. Let us oppose them to the numbers of low and eorrupt examples, which we behold around us ; and when we are in hazard of being swayed by such, fet us fortify our virtue, by thinking of those who, in former times, shone ttke stars in the midst of surrounding darkness, and are now shining in the kingdom of heaven, as the brightness of the firmament, for ever and ever. blair.
SECTION X.
The mortifications of Vice greater than those of Virtue.
1. Though no condition of human life is free from uneasi- ness, yet it must be allowed, lh»t the uneasines* belonging to a sinful course, is far greater, than what attends a course of well-doing. If we are weary of the labours of virtue, we may be assured, that the world, whenever we try the ex- change, will lay upon us a much heavier load.
2. It is the outside only of a licentious life, which is gay and smiling. Within, it conceals toil, and trouble, and dead- ly sorrow. For vice poisons human happiness in the spring, by introducing disorder into the heart. Those passion* which it seems to indulge, it only feeds with imperfect gratifica- tions ; and thereby strengthens them for preying, in the end, on their unhappy victims.
3. ft is a great mistake to imagine, that the pain of self- denial is confined to virtue. He who follows the world, as much as he who follows Christ, must "take up his cross ;*• and to him assuredly, it will prove a more oppressive burden* Vice allows all our passions to range uncontrolled ; and where each claims to be superior, it is impossible to gratify all. The predominant desire cau only be indulged at the expeuse of its rival.
4. No mortifications which virtue exacts, are more severe thai those, which ambition imposes upon the love of ease, pride upon interest, and covetousness upon vanity. Self-de- nial, therefore, belongs, in common, to vice and virtue ; but with this remarkable difference, that the passions winch vir- tue requires us to mortify, it tends to weaken ; whereas, those which vice obliges us to deny, it, at the same time, strengthens. The one diminishes the pain of self-denial, ny moderating the demand of passion ; the other increases it, by rendering those demands imperious and violent.
Chap. 3. DIDACTIC PIECES. 59
5i What distresses that occur in the calm life of virtue, can be compared to those tortures, which remorse of conscience inflicts on the wicked; to those severe humiliations arising from guiit combined with misfortunes, which sink thnm to the . dust ; to those violent agitations of shame and disappoint- ment, which sometimes drive them to the most fatal extremi- ties, and make them abhor their existence ! How often, in the midst of those disastrous situations, into which their crimes have brought 4hem, have they execrated the seduc- tions of vice ; and, with bitter regret, look back to the day on which they first forsook the path of innocence ! blair,
SECTION XL
On Contentment.
1. Contentment produces, in some measure, all those ef- fects which the alchymist usually ascribes to what he calls the philosopher's stone ; and if it does not bring riches, it does the same thing, by banishing the desire of them. If it cannot remove the disquietudes arising from a man's mind, body, or fortune, it makes him easy under them, it has in- deed a kindly influence on the soul of man, in respect of eve- ry being to whom he stands related.
2. It extinguishes all murmur, repining, and ingratitude, towards that being who has allotted him his part to act in this world. It destroys all inordinate ambition, and every tendency to corruption, with regard to the community where- in he is placed. It gives sweetness to his conversation, and a perpetual serenity to all his thoughts.
3. Among the many methods which might be made use of for acquiring this virtue, I shall mention only the two follow- ing. First of all, a man should always consider how much he bas more than he wants; and secondly, how much more un- Lappy he might be than he really is.
4. First, a man should always consider how much be has more than he wants. I am wonderfully pleased with the re- ply which Aristippus made to one, who condoled with him upon the loss of a farm : "Why, said he, I have three farms still, and you have but one ; so that i ought rather to be af- flicted for you, than you for me."
5. On the contrary, foolish men are more apt to consider what they have lost, than what they possess ; and to fix their eyes upon those who are richer than themselves, rather than m those who are under greater difficulties. Ail the real
¥2
60 THE ENGLISH READER. Part I.
pleasures and conveniences of life lie in a narrow compass; but it is the humour of mankind to be always looking for- ward, and straining after one who has got the start of them in wealth and honour.
6. Fortius reason, as none can properly be called rich, who have not more than they want, there are tew rich men in any of the politer nations, but among the middle sort of people, who keep their wishes within their fortunes, and have more wealth than they know how to enjoy. w f
7 Persons of higher rank live in a kind of splendid pover- ty ; and are perpetually wanting, because instead of acqui- escing in the solid pleasures of life, they endeavour to outvie one another in shadows and appearances. Men of sense have at all times beheld, with a great deal of mirth, this silly game that is playing over their heads; and, by contracting their desires, they enjoy all that secret satisfaction which others are always in quest of.
8. The truth is, this ridiculous chase after imaginary plea- sures, cannot be sufficiently exposed, as it is the great source of those evils which generally undo a nation. Let a man's estate be what it may, he is a poor man, if he does not live within it ; and naturally sets himself to sale to any one that call give him his price.
9. When Pit tacus, after the death of his brother, who had left him a good estate, wa* offered a great sum of money by the king of Lydia, he thanked him for his kindness ; but told him, he had already more ("by half than he knew what to do wiiii. In short, content is^quivalent to wealth, and luxury to poverty ; or, to give the thought a more agreeable turn, 'Content is natural wealth," says Socrates ; to which 1 shall add, luxury is artificial poverty.
10. I shall therefore recommend to the consideration of those, who are always aiming at superfluous and imaginary enjoyments, and who will not be at the trouble of contracting their desires, an excellent saying of Bion the philosopher, namely, "That no man has so much care, as he who endeav- ours after the most happiness."
11. In the second place, every one ought to reflect how much more unhappy he might be than he really is. The for- mer consideration took in all those who are sufficiently pro- vided with the means to make themselves easy : this regards such as actually lie under some pressure or misfortune. These may receive great alleviation, from such a comparison as the smbappy person may make between himself and others j or
Chap. 3. DIDACTIC PIECES. 6
between the misfortune which he suffers, and greater raisfor- tunes which might have b< fallen him. ^ — ~^ --
12 I like the siory of the honest Dutchman, who, upon breaking his leg by a fall from the main-mast, told the stan- ders by, it was a great mercy that it was 711* his- neck. To which, since I have got «nto quotations, give me leave to add the saying of an old philosopher, who, after having invited ] some of his friends to diue with him, was ruffled by a person ' that came into the room in a passion, and threw down the / table that stood before them : "Every one, says he, has his 1 calamity ; and he is a happy man that has no greater than, ^this."
13. We find an instance to the same purpose, in the life of doctor Hammond, written by bishop Fell. As this good roan was troubled with a complication of distempers, when lie had the gout upon him, he used to thank God that it was not the stone ; and when be had the stone, that be had not both these distempers on him at the same time.
14. I cannot conclude this essay without observing, that there never was any system, besides that of Christianity, which could effectually produce in the mind of man the vir- tue I have been hitherto speaking of. In order to make us contented with our condition, many of the present phi Joso^ phers tell us, that our discontent only hurts ourselves, with- out being able to make any alteration in our circumstances ; others, that whatever evil befals us is derived to us by a fatal necessity, to which superior beings themselves are subject ; while others very gravely tell the man who is miserable, that it is necessary he should be so, to keep up the harmony of the universe; and that the scheme of Providence would be troubled and perverted, were he otherwise.
\5. These, and the like considerations, Father silence than satisfy man. They may show him that his discontent is un- reasonable, hut they are by no means sufficient to relieve it. They rather give despair than consolation, lu a word, a roan might reply to one of these comforters, as Augustus did to his friend, who advised him not to grieve for the death of a person whom he loved, because his grief could not fetch him again : "It is for that Yery reason, said the emperor, that I grieve."
16. On the contrary, religion bears a more tender regard to human nature. It prescribes to every miserable man Ukt-v means of bettering his condition : nay, it shows him, that bearing his afflictions as he ought to do, will naturally end
6% THE ENGLISH READEK. Part J.
in the removal of them, ft makes him easy here, because it can make him happy hereafter. adimson.
SECTION XII.
Rank and riches afford no ground for envy,
1. Of all the grounds of envy among men, superiority in rank and fortune is the most general. Hence, tbe malignity which the poor commonly bear to the rich, as engrossing to themselves all the comforts of life. Hence, the evil eye withA which persons of inferior s ration scrutinize those who are] above them in rank ; and if they approach to that rank, thek| envy is generally strongest against such as are just one step higher than themselves.
2. Alas * my friends, all this envious disquietude, which agitates the world, arises from a deceitful figure which impo- ses on tbe public view. False colours are hung out ; the real state of man is not what it seems to be. The order of socie- ty requires a distinction of ranks to take place : but in point of happiness, all men come much nearer to equality than is commonly imagined ; and the circumstances, which form any material difference of happiness among them, are not of that Mature which renders them grounds of envy.
3. The poor man possesses not, it is true, some of the con- veniences aud pleasures of the rich ; but, in return, he is free from many embarrassments to which they are subject. By the simplicity and uniformity of his life, he is delivered from that variety of cares, which perplex those who have great af- fairs to manage, intricate plans to pursue, many enemies, perhaps, to encounter in tbe pursuit.
4. In the tranquillity of his small habitation, and private family, be enjoys a peace which is often unknown at courts. The gratifications of nature, which are always the most satis^ factory, are possessed by him to their full extent; and if he he a stranger to the refined pleasures of the wealthy, he is unacquainted also with the desire of them, and by consequence feels no want. His plain meai1 satisfies his appetite, with a relish probably higher than that of tbe rich man, who sits down to his luxurious banquet.
5. His sleep is more sound ; his health more firm : he
knows not what spleen, languor, and listlessness are. His ac- customed employments, or labours, arc not more oppressive to him. than the labour of attendance on courts and the great, tbe labours of dress, the fatigue of amusements, the very weight of idleness, frequently are to the rich.
Chap. 3. DIDACTIC PIECES. 63
6. In the mean time, a!! the beauty of the face of nature, all the enjoyments of domestic society, all the gaiety and cheerfulness of an easy mind, are as open to him as to those of the nicest rank. The splendour of retinue, the sound of titles, the appearances of high respect, are indeed soothing for a short time, to the great. But, become familiar, they are soon forgotten. Custom effaces their impression They sink into the rank of those ordinary things, which daily re- cur, without raising any sensation of joy.
7. Let us cease, therefore, from looking up with discon- tent and envy to those, whom bin h or fortune has placed a- bove us. Let us adjust the balance of happiness fairly. When we think of the enjoyments we want, we should think also of the troubles from which we are free. If we allow their just value to the comforts we possess, we shall find rea- son to rest sa isfied with a very moderate, though not an op- uleUt and splendid condition of fortune. Often, did we know the whole, we should be inclined to pity the state of those whom we uow envy. blaieu
SECTION XHL
Patience under provocations our interest as well as duty.
1. The wide circle of human society is diversified by an endless variety of characters, dispositions, and passions. U- niformity is, in no respect, the genius of the world. „ Every man is marked by some peculiarity which distinguishes him from another; and no where can two individuals be found, who are exactly and in all respects alike. Where so much diversity obtains, it caunot but happen, that in the inter- course which men are obliged to maintain, their tempers will often be ill adjusted to that intercourse; will jar, and inter- fere with each other.
2. Hence, in every station, the highest as well as the low- est, and in every condition of life, public, private, and dome- stic, occasions of irritation frequently arise. We are provo- ked, sometimes, by the folly and levity of those with whom we are connected ; sometimes, by their indifference or neg- lect ; by the incivility of a friend, the haughtiness of a supe- rior, or the insolent behaviour of one in lower station.
3. Hardly a day passes, without somewhat or other occur- ring, which serves to ruffle the man of impatient spirit. Of course, such a man lives in a continual siorm. He knows not what it is to enjoy a train of good humour. Servants,
i h
&4 THE ENGLISH READER. Part Fi
neighbours, friends, spouse, and children, all, through the un- restrained violence of his temper, become sources of distur- bance and vexation, to him. In vain is affluence ; in vain are iealth and prosperity. The least trifle is sufficient to dis- compose his mind and poison bis pleasures. His very amuse- ments are mixed with turbulence and passion.
4. I would beseech this man to consider, of what small moment the provocations which he receives, or at least ima- gines himself to receive, are really in themselves ; but of what great moment he makes them* by suffering them to de- prive him of the possession of himself. I would beseech him to consider, how many hours of happiness he throws away, which a little more patience would allow him to enjoy ; and how much he puts it in the power of the most insignificant persons to render him miserable.
5. "But who can expect," we hear him exclaim, "that he is to possess the insensibility of a stone ? How is it possi- ble for human nature to endure so many repeated provoca- tions ? or to bear calmly with so unreasonable behaviour ?" My brother ! if thou canst bear with no instances of unrea-. sonable behaviour, withdraw thyself from the world. Thou art no longer fit to live in it. Leave the intercourse of men, Retreat to the mountain and the desert ; or shut thyself up in a cell. For here, in the midst of society, offences must come.
6. We might as well expect, when we behold a calm at- mosphere, and a clear sky, that no clouds were ever to rise, and no winds to blow, as that our life were long to proceed without receiving provocations from human frailty. The careless and the imprudent, the giddy and the fickle, the ungrateful and the interested, exery where meet us. They are the briars and thorns, with which the paths of human, life are beset. He only, who can hold his course among them with patience and equanimity ; he who is prepared to bear what he must expect to happen, is worthy the name of a mart.
7. If we preserved ourselves composed but for amowent, we shouTcT jTerceT^eHffiel^ most oflhose" proyo^ cationTwhich welnagnily so hjglflyTlJ^^ more have rolled over our heads, the storm will, of itself have subsided"; the cause of our present impatience and disturbs lih^eHJvlTri^^ Can we not then^anticipate ,
this hour of calmness to ^rsejy^s^^uxcgje^ln^o enjoy "the peace which jtWTTTcertainlv bring? ~!Tlf others have bejiaved jmproperly, let us leave them
€hap. 3. didactic pieces. 65
to their own folly* without becoming; the_yjctjmj)f ' Jhejrjca:"
ff price.. ajuTpunishing ourselves on their account. Palkmce,
' in this exercise of it, cannot he too much studied by all wJh>
wish their life to flowHE a smooth stream. It is the reason
oFa man, jnjjjago^ijjpii to the passion of a child. IT is the
enjoy meat of peace, ^opposition to uproar and contusion.
BLAIR.
SECTION XIV.
Moderation in our wishes recommended.
*. The active mind of man seldom or never rests satisfied with its present condition, how prosperous soever. Origin- ally --formed for a wider range of objects, for a higher sphere of enjoyments, it finds itself, in every situation of fortune, straitened and confined. Sensible of deficiency in its stace, it is ever sending forth the fond desire, the aspiring wish, af- ter something beyond what is enjoyed at present.
2. Hence that restlessness which prevails so generally a- rooitg mankind. Hence, thai disgust of pleasures which they have 'ried ; that passion for novelty ; that ambition of rising to some degree of eminence or felicity, of which they have formed to themselves an indistinct idea. All which may b« considered as indications of a certain native, original great- ness in the human soul, swelling beyond the limits of its pre- sent condition ; and pointing to f»he higher objects for which it was made. Happy, it these latent remains of our primi- tive state, served to direct our wishes towards their proper destination, and to lead us imo the path of true b'iss.
3. But in this dark and bewildered state, the aspiring ten« deivcy of our nature unfortunately takes an opposite direc- tion, and feeds a very misplaced ambition. The flattering appearances which here preseut themselves to sense ; the dis- tinctions which fortune confers ; the advantage* and {;leas*> ures which we imagine the world to becapabie of -bestowing, fill up the ultimate wish of most men.
4. These are the objects which engross their solitary rau- sings, and stimulate their active labours; which warm the breasts of the young, animate the industry of the middle aa;ed* ^ and of? en keep alive the passions of the om\ until the very** close of life.
5. Assuredly, there is nothing unlawful in our wishing te~' be ftved from whatever is disagreeable, and to obtain a" fal- ter enjoyment of the comforts of life. But when these wish-
66 THE ENGLISH READER. fart I,
es are not tempered by reason, they are in danger of precip- itating us into much extravagance and folly. Desires and wishes are the first springs of action. Wheu they become exorbitant, the whole character is likely to be tainted.
6. if we suffer our fancy to create to itself world* of ideal happiness, we shall discompose the peace and order of our minds, and foment many hurtful passions. Here, then, let moderation begin its reign; by bringing within reasonable bounds the wishes that we form. As soon as they become extravagant, let us check them, by proper reflections on the, fallacious nature of those objects, which the world bangs out? to allure desire.
7. You have strayed, my friends, from the road which con-* ducts to felicity ; you have dishonoured the native dignity of your souls, in allowing your wishes to terminate on nothing higher than worldly ideas of greatness or happiness. Your imagination roves in a land of shadows. Unreal forms de- ceive you. It is no more than a phantom, an illusion of hap- piness, which attracts your fond admiration : nay, an illusion of happiness, which often conceals much real misery.
8. Do you imagine that all are happy, who have attained to tho«e summits of distinction, towards which your wishes aspire? A?as! how frequently has experience shown, that where roses were supposed to bloom, nothing but briars and thorns grew ! Reputation, beauty, riches, grandeur, nay, roy- alty itself, would, many a time, have been gladly exchanged by the possessors, for that more quiet and humble station, with which you are now dissatisfied.
9. With all that is splendid and shining in the world, it is decreed that there shouki mix many deep shades of wo. On the elevated situations of fortune, the great calamities of life chiefly fall. There, the storm spends its violence, and there the thunder breaks ; while safe and unhurt, the inhabitants of the vale remain below. Retreat, then, from those vain and pernicious excursions of extravagant desire.
10. Satisfy yourselves with what is rational and attainable. Train your minds tojmojlexate^vjews of hujman life, and hu- man happiness. Kemember. and admire, the wisdom of A- gur's pet Son : T "Remove far from me vanity and lies. Give me ueither poverty nor riches. Feed me with food conven- ient for me : lest I be full and deny thee ; and say, who is
the Lord ? or lest I be poor, and steal, and take the name of hiv God in vain l" blair.
Chap. 3. DIDACTIC PIECES. 67
SECTION XV.
Omniscience and omnipresence of the deity, the source of consolation to good men,
1. I was yesterday, about sunset, walking in the open fields, till the ni£ht insensibly Cell upon me. 1 at first amused my- self with all the richness and variety of colours, which appea- red in the western parts of the heavens. In proportion as they faded away and went our, several stars and planets ap- peared one after another, till the whole lirmameut was in a
glow. The blueness of the ether was considerably heighten- ed and enlivened; by the season of the year, and the rays of all those luminaries that passed through it.
2. The galaxy appeared in its most beautiful white. To complete the scene, the full moon rose, at length, in ihat *j4
|j£3ond<d majesty, which Milton takes notice of; and opened., to the^eye a new picture of nature, which was more finely shaded, and disposed among softer lights, than that which the sun had before discovered to us.
3. As I was surveying the moon walking in her brightness, . and taking her progress among the constellations, a thought arose in me, which I believe very often perplexes and dis- turbs men of serious and contemplative natures. David him- self tell into it ia that reflection, "When 1 consider the hea- vens, the work of thy fingers ; the moon and the stars which thou hast ordained ; what is man that thoii art mindful of hiai,
| and the sou of man that thou regardesl him !"
4. In the same manner, when I consider that infinite host of stars, or, to speak more philosophically, of sous, which were then shining upon me j with those innumerable sei* of planets or worlds, which were moving round *heh respective suns- when I still enlarged the idea,' and supposed another heaven of suns and worlds rising still above U;f which we discovered; and these stil) enlightened by a superior rirma-
I men- of luminaries, which are planted at so great a distance,
j thai they may appear to the inhabi an^ of the former, as the
stars do to us : in short, while I pursued this thought, I could
not but reflect on th*t little insignificant figure which I my-
se f bore amidst the immen^i y of God's works.
5. Were the sun, which * nligh ens this part of the crea- tion, with aU the host of planetary worlds that move above him, utterly extinguished Mid annihilated, they would not be missed, more than a gr,ii:> >(' sand upon the sen shore.— - The space they possess is so exceedingly little in comparison
X W-l^&c<M<<- cO^c^ /ryi_ot^^l
68 THE ENGLISH READER. Part I;
of the whole, it would scarcely make a blank in the crea- tion.
6. The chasm would be imperceptible to an eye, that could take in the whole compass of nature, and pass from one end of the creation to the other; as it is possible there may be such a sense in ourselves hereafter, or in creatures which are at present more exalted than ourselves. By the help of glasses, we see many stars, which we do not discover with our naked eyes; and the finer our telescopes are, the more still are our discoveries.
7. Huy genius carries this thought so far, that he does not think it impossible there may be stars, whose light has not yet travelled down to us, siuce their first creation. There is no question that the universe has certain bounds set to it ; but when we consider that it is the work of Infinite Power, prompted by Infinite Goodness, with an infinite space to ex- ert itself in, bow can our imagination set any bounds to it ?
8. To return, therefore, to my first thought, I could not but look -upon myself with secret horror, as a being that was not worth the smallest regard of one who had so great a work under his care and superintendency. I was afraid of being overlooked amidst the immensity of nature ; and lost among that infinite variety of creatures, which, in all proba- bility, swarm through all these immeasurable regions of mat- ter.
9. In order to recover myself from this mortifying thought, I considered that it took its rise from those narrow concep- tions, which we are apt to entertain of the Divine Nature. We ourselves cannot attend to many different objects at the same time. If we are careful to inspect some things, we must of course neglect others. This imperfection which we observe in ourselves, is an imperfection that cleaves, in some degree, to creatures of the highest capacities, as they are creatures, that is, beings of finite and limited natures.
10. The presence of every created being is confined to a certain measure of space; and consequently his observation is stinted to a certain number of objects. The sphere in which we move, and act, and understand, is of a wider cir- cumference to one creature, than another, according as we rise one above another in the scale of existence. But the widest of these our spheres has its circumference.
11. When, therefore, we reflect oil the Divine Nature, we are so used and accustomed to this imperfection in ourselves, that we cannot forbear, in some measure, ascribing it to him, in whom there is n6 shadow of imperfection. Our rea-
2bap. 3. didactic pieces. 69
ion indeed assures ns, that his attributes are infinite; but f \ :he poorness of our conceptions wm such, that it cannot for- iJ )ear setting bounds to every thing il contemplates, till our •eason comes again to our succour, and throws down all those it tie prejudices, which rise in us unawares, and are natural o the mind of man.
12. We shall therefore utterly extinguish this melancholy :hought, of our being overlooked by our Maker, in the uiiliti- I 3licity of his works, and the infinity of Ihose objects among vhich he seems to be incessantly employed, if we consider n.the tirst place, that he is omnipresent; and in the second
hat he is omniscient.
13. If we consider him in his omnipresence, his being pas- ses through, actuates, and supports, the whole frame of na- nre. His creation, in every part of it, is full of him. There s nothing he has made, which is either so distant, so little, if so inconsiderable, that he does not essentially reside in it. 3is substance is within the substance of every being, whether ualerial or immaterial, and is intimately present to it, as hat being is to itself.
14. It would be an imperfection in him, were he able to nove out of one place, into another ; or to withdraw himself rom any thing that he has created, or from any part of that space which tie diffused and spread abroad to infinity. la hort, to speak of him in the language of the old philosopher, je is a being whose centre is every where, and his circumfe- ence no where. ^
15. In the second place, be is omniscient as well as omni- present. His omniscience, indeed, necessarily and naturally lows from his omnipresence. He cannot but be conscious of ■veiy motion that arises in the whole material world, which le thus essentially pervades ; and of every thought that is tirring in the intellectual world, to every part of which he 2 thus intimately united.
16. Were the soul separated from the body, and should it ?ith one glance of thought start beyond the bounds of the reation ; should it, for millions of years, continue its pro- cess through infinite space, with the same activity, it would [ill find itself within the embrace of its Creator, and encom- assed by the immensity of the Godhead.
17. In this consideration of the Almighty's omnipresence nd omniscience, every uncomfortable thought vanishes. He an not but regard every thing that has being, especially such f iiis creatures who fear they are not regarded by him". He
privy to all their thoughts, and to that anxiety of heart ia
70 THE ENGLISH READER. Part f.
particular, which is apt to trouble them oo this occasion ; for. as it is impossible he should overlook any of his creatures, so we may be confident that he regards with an eye of mer- cy, those who endeavour to recommend themselves to his notice ; and in unfeigned humility of heart, think themselves unworthy that he should be mindful of them. addison.
CHAPTER IV. ARGUMENTATIVE PIECES.
SECTION I.
Happiness is founded in rectitude 'of conduct.
1. All men pursue good, and would be happy, if they knew how ; not happy for minutes, and miserajde for hours; but happy, if possible! through every par? of their exigence.
■ i Either, therefore, there fanned of this steady, durable kind, or there is not. If not, fnen all good must be transient and uncertain ; and if so, an object of the lowest value, which can little deserve our attention or inquiry .
2. But if there be a better good, such a good as we arc seeking ; like every other thing, it must be derived fron sosne cause; and that cause must either be external, inter- nal or mixed; in as much as, except those three, there ii no other possible. Now a steady, durable good, cannot bt derived from an external cause; since ail deiived from ex ternals must fluctuate as they fluctuate.
3. By the same rule, it cannot be derived from a mixtun of the two; because the part which is external, will proper tionablv destroy its essence. What then remains but th< cause internal ? the very cause which we have suppled when we place the sovereign good in mind—in rectiu.de o conduct. HARRIS'
SECTION H.
Virtue and'piety man's highest interest. 1. I find myself existing upon a little spot, surrounde every way by an immense unknown expansion. — Where at
Chap. 4. ARGUMENTATIVE PIECES. 71
1 ? What sort of a place do I inhabit ? Is it exactly accom- modated in every instance to my convenience ? Is there no excess of cold, none of heat to offend me ? Am I never annoy- ed by animals, either of my own, or a different kind ? Is eve- ry thing subservient to me, as though I had ordered all my- self? No — nothing like it — the farthest from it possible.
2. The world appears not then originally made for the pri- vate convenience of me alone ? — It does not. But is it not possible so to accommodate it, by my own particular indus- try ? If to accommodate man and beast, heaven and earth ; if this be beyond me, it is not possible. What consequence then follows ; or can there be any other than this — If I seek an interest of my own detached from that of others, I seek an interest which is chimerical, and which can never have an existence.
3. How then must I determine ? Have I no interest at all ? If I have not, I am stationed here to no purpose. But why no interest ? Can I be contented with none but one separate and detached ? Is a social interest, joined with others, such an absurdity as not to be admitted ? — The bee, the beaver, and the tribes of herding animals, are sufficient to convince me, that the thing is somewhere at least possible.
4. How, then, am I assured that it is not equally true of man ? Admit it ; and what follows ? If so, then honour and justice are my interest; then the whole train of moral vir- tues are my iuterest ; without some portion of which not even thieves can maiutain society. *t
5. But, farther still — I stop not here — I pursue this sociaf interest as far as I can trace my several relations I pass from my own stock, my own neighbourhood, my own nation, to Hie whole race of mankind, as dispersed throughout the earth. Am I not related to them all, by the mutual aids of commerce, by the general intercourse of arts and letters, by that conwoon nature of which we all participate ?
6. Again— I must have food and clothing. Without a pro- per genial warmth, I instantly perish. Am I not related, in this view, to the very earth itself? to the distant sun, from whose beams I derive vigour ? to that stupendous course and order of the infinite host of heaven, by which the times and seasons ever uniformly pass on ?
7. Were this order once confounded, I could not probably survive a moment ; so absolutely do I depend on this com- mon general welfare. What, then, have I to do, but to en- large virtue into piety ? Not only honour and justice, and
G2
1,6 THE ENGLISH READER, JFart I,
what T owe to man, is ray interest ; but gratitude also, ac- quiescence, resignation, adoration, and all 1 owe to this great polity, and its great Governor our common Parent.
HARRIS- SECTION III.
*The injustice qf an uncharitable spirit.
1. A suspicious, uncharitable spirit, is not only inconsls* tent with ail social virtue and happiness, but it is also, in it- self, unreasonable and unjust. In order to form sound opin- ions concerning characters and actions, two things are espe- cially requisite ; information and impartiality. But such as are most forward to decide Unfavourably, are commonly des- titute of both. Instead of possessing, or even requiring full information, the grounds on which they proceed are frequent- ly the most slight and frivolous.
2. A tale, perhaps, which the idle have invented, the in- quisitive have listened to, and the credulous have propagat- ed; or a real incident, which rumour, in carrying it along, lias exaggerated and disguised, supplies them with materials of confident assertion, and decisive judgment. From an ac- tion they presently look into the heart, and infer the mo- tive. This supposed motive they conclude to be the ruling principle; and pronounce at once concerning the whole cha- racter.
3. Nothing can be more contrary both to equity and to sound reason, than this precipitate judgment. Any man who attends to what passes within himself, may easily discern what a complicated system the human character is ; and what a variety of circumstances must be taken into the account, in order to estimate it truly. No single instance of conduct whatever, is sufficient to determine it.
4. As from one worthy action, it were credulity, not cha- rity, to conclude a person to be (vee from all vice; so from one which is censurable, it is perfectly unjust to infer that the author of it is without conscience and without merit. If we knew all the attending circumstances, it might appear in an excusable light ; nay, perhaps under a commendable form. The motives of the actor may have been entirely different from those which we ascribe to him ; and where we suppose liim impelled by bad design, he may have been prompted by conscience and mistaken principle.
5. Admitting the action to have been in every view crim- inal, he may have been hurried into it through inadvertency
Chap. 4. ARGUMENTATIVE PIECES. 73
and surprise. He may have sincerely repented ; and I he virtuous principle may now have regained its full vigour. — Perhaps this was the corner of frailty ; the quarter on which he lay open to the incursions of temptation ; while the olher avenues of his heart were firmly guarded by conscience.
6 It is therefore evident, that no pari of the government of temper deserves attention more, than to keep our minds pure from uncharitable prejudices, and open io candour and humanity in judging of others. The worst consequences, both to ourselves and society, follow from the opposite spirit.
BLAIR.
SECTION IV.
The misfortunes of men mostly chargeable on themselves.
1. We find man placed in a world, where lie has by no means the disposal of the events that happen. Calamities isoiw times befal the worthiest and the best, which it is not in their power to prevent, and where nothing is left them, but to acknowledge, and to submit to, the high hand of hea- ven. For such visitations of trial, many good and wise rea- sons can be assigned, which the present subject leads me not to discuss. But though those unavoidable calamities make a part, yet they make not the chief part, of the vexatious and sorrows that distress human life.
2. A multitude of evils beset us, for the source of which we must look to another quarter. No sooner has any thing in the health, or in the circumstances of men, gone cross to their wish, than they begin to talk of the unequal distrihu-. Iron of the good things of this life; they envy the condition of others ; they repine at their own lot, and fret against the Ruler of the world.
3. Full of these sentiments, one man pines under a broken constitution. But let us ask him, whether he cau, fairly and bones* Jy, assign no cause for this but the unknown decree of heaven ? Has he duly valued the blessing of health, and al- ways observed the rules of virtue and sobriety ? Has he been moderate in his life, and temperate in all his pleasures ? If now he is only paying the price of his former, perhaps his for- gotten indigencies, has he any title to complain, as if he were suffering unjustly ?
4. Were we to survey the chambers of sickness ancl dis- tress, we should often find them peopled with the victims of ki'emperance and senuality. and with the children of vicious indolence and sloth. Among the thousands who languish
THE ENGLISH READER. Part f.
there, we should find the proportion of innocent sufferers to be 'small. We should see laded youth, premature old age, and the prospect of an untimely grave, to be the portion of multitudes, who, in one way or other, have brought those evils on themselves; while yet these martyrs of vice and folly have the assurance to arraign the hard fate of man, and to **fret against the Lord." *t 5. But you, perhaps, complain of hardships of another kind ; of the injustice of the world ; of the poverty which you suffer, and the discouragements under which you labour; of the crosses and disappointments of which your life has been doomed to be full. Before you give too much scope to your discontent, let me desire you to reflect impartially up- on your past train of life.
6. Have not sloth or pride, or ill temper, or sinful passions, misled you often from the path of sound and wise conduct ? Have you not been wanliiigJo yojLirselves in ijP4>£aYJ»g those oppoit unities which Providence oflfen^^you^ f«}£J5§ttexing and advancing your state ? If you have chosen to indulge your humour, or your taste, in the gratifications of indolence or pleasure, can you complain because others, in preference to you, have obtained those advantages which naturally be- long to useful labours, and honourable pursuits?
7. Have not the consequences of some take steps, inta which your passions, or your pleasures, have betrayed you, pursued you through much of your life ; tainted, perhaps, your cbaraeters,finvolverf\you in embarrassments, or sunk you
into neglect? It is m old saying, that every man is the
artificer of his own fortune in the world. It is certain, that the world seldom turns wholly against a man, unless through his own fault. "Religion is," in general, "profitable unto all things."
8. Virtue, diligence, and industry, joined with good tem- per and prudence, have ever been found the surest road to prosperity ; and where men fail at' attaining it, their want of success is far oftener owing to their having deviated from that road, than to their having encountered iusuperable bars in it. Some, by being too artful, forfeit the reputation of probity. Some, by being too open, are accounted to fail in prudence. Others, by being fickle and changeable, are dis- trusted by all.
9. The case commouly is, that men seek to ascribe their disappointments to any cause, rather than their own miscon- duct ; and when they can devise no other cause, they lay them to the charge of Providence. Their folly leads thena
Chap. 4. ARGUMENTATIVE PIECES. 75
into vices ; Ihrir vices in* o misfortunes ; and in their misfor- tunes they murmur against Providence*
10. They are doubly unjust towards their Creator. In their prosperity they are apt to ascribe their success to their own diligence, rather than to bis blessing; and in their ad- versity, they impute their distresses to hi* providence, not to their own misbehaviour. Whereas the truth is the very revere of this. "Every (good and every perfect gift comet h from above ;" and of evil and misery, man is the author to himself.
11. When, from the condition of individuals, we look a- luoad to the public state of the world, we meet with more proofs of the truth of this assertion. We see ^rea* societies of men tore, in pieces by intestine disscntious, tumults, and civil commotions. We see mighty armies going forth, in for- midable array, against each other, to cover the earth with blood, and to fill the air with the cries of widows and or- phan*. Sad evils these are, to which this miserable world is exposed.
12. But are these evils, I beseech you, to be imputed to God ? Was it he who sent forth slaughtering armies into the field, or who rilled the peaceful city with massacres and blood? Are. these miseries any other than the bitter frm? of men's violent and disorderly passions? Are they not clearly to be traced to the ambition and vices of princes, to the quarrels
of the great, and to the turbulence of the people ? Let us
lay them entirely out of the account, in thinking of Provi- dence ; and let us think only of the "foolishness of man.'*
13. Did man control his passions, and form his conduct ac- cording to the dictates of wisdom, humanity, and virtue, the earth would no looser be desolated by cruelty ; and human societies would live in order, harmony 1 and peace. In those scenes of mischief and violence which fill the world, let man behold, with shame, the picture of his vices, his ignorance, and folly. Let him be humbled by the mortifying view of his own perverseness ; but let not his "heart fret against the Lord." blair.
SECTION V.
On disinterested friendship.
1. I am informed that ceriain Greek writers (philosophers it seems, in the opinion of 'heir countrymen,) have advanced some very extraordiuary positions relating to friendship ; as,
76 THE ENGLISH READER. Part I.
indeed, what subject is there, which these subtle geniuses have, not tortured with their sophistry ?
2. The authors to whom I refer, dissuade their disciples from eutering into any strong attachments, as unavoidably creating supernumerary disquietudes to those who engage in them ; and, as every man has more than sufficient to call forth his solicitude, in the course of his own affairs, it is a weakness, they contend, anxiously to involve himself in the concerns of others,
3. They recommend it also, in all connexions of this kind, to hold the bands of union extremely loose ; so as always to have it in one's power to straiten or relax them, as circum- stances and situations shall render most expedient. They add, as a capital article of their doctrine, that, "to live ex- empt from cares, is an essential ingredient to constitute hu- man happiness : but an ingredient, however, which he, who voluntarily distresses himself with cares, in which he has no necessary and personal interest, must never hope to pos- sess,"
4. I have been told likewise, that there is another set of pretended philosophers, of the same country, whose tenets, concerning this subject, are of a still more illiberal and un- generous cast.
5. The proposition they attempt to establish is, that "friendship is an affair of self-interest entirely ; and that the proper motive for engaging in it, is, not in order to gratify the kind and beuevolent affections, but for the benefit of that assistance and support which are to be derived from the con-* nexion."
6 Accordingly they assert, that those persons are most disposed to have recourse to auxiliary alliances of this kind, who are least qualified by nature, or fortune, to depend upon their own strength or powers; the weaker sex, for instauce, being generally more inclined to engage in friendships, than the male part of our species ; and those who are depressed by indigence, or labouring under misfortunes, than the weal- thy and the prosperous.
7. Excellent and obliging sages these, undoubtedly ! To strike out the friendly affections from the moral world, would be like extinguishing the sun in the natural ; each of thena being the source of the best and most grateful satisfactions, that heaven has conferred on the sons of men. But I should be glad to know, what the real value of this boasted exemp- tion from care, which they promise their disciples, justly amounts to ? an exemption flattering to self-love, I confess 3
Chap. 4. ARGUMENTATIVE PIECES. 77
but which, upon many occurrences in human life, should be rejected with the utmost disdain. i
8. For nothing, surely, can be more inconsistent with a well-poised and manly spirit, than to decline engaging in any laudable action, or to be discouraged from persevering in it, by an apprehension of the trouble and solicitude with which
it may probably be attended. <"B
9. Virtue herself, indeed, ought to be totally renounced, if it be right to avoid every possible means that may he pro- ductive of uneasiness ; for who, that is actuated by her prin- ciples, can observe the conduct of an opposite character, / without being affected with some degree of secrefl&tisfac- /* • tion ? 4 dill)
10. Are not the just, the brave, and the good, necessarily exposed to the disagreeable emotions of dislike and aversion, when they respectively meet with instances of -fraud, of cow- ardice, or of villany ? It is an essential property of evcy well constituted mind, to be affected with pain, or pleasure, according to the nature of those moral appearances that pre- sent themselves to observation.
11/ If sensibility, therefore, be not incompatible with true wisdom, (and it surely is not, unless we suppose that philoso- phy deadens every finer feeling of our nature,) what just rea- son can be assigned, why the sympathetic sufferiugs which may result from friendship, should be a sufficient inducement for banishing that generous affection from the human breast ?
12. Extinguish all emotions of the heart, and what differ- ence will remain, I do do not say between man and brute, but between man and a mere inanimate clod ? Away then with those austere philosophers, who represent virtue as harden- ing the soul against all the softer impressions of humanity !
13. The fact, certainly, is much otherwise. A truly good ! man is, upon many occasions, extremely susceptible of ten- 1 der sentiments ; and his heart expands with joy, or shrinks with sorrow, as good or ill fortune accompanies his friend. ^ I Upon the whole, then, it may fairly be concluded that, as in J the case of virtue, so in that of ft iendship, those painful sen- r sat ions, which may sometimes be pioduced by the one as well A as by the other, are equally insufficient grounds for excluding •aaeft of them from taking possession of our bosoms.
14. They who insist that futility is the first and prevail- ing motive, which induces mankind to enter into particular friendships,'* appear to me to divest the association of its most amiable and engaging principle. For to a mind rightly disposed, it is not so much the benefits received, as the affec- * I
73 THE ENGLISH READER. Part F.
tioiiate zeal from which they flow, that gives them their best aud most valuable recommendation.
15. It is so far indeed from being verified by fact, that a sense of our wants is the original cause of forming these ami- cable alliances ; that, on the contrary, it is observable, that none have been more distinguished in their friendships than those, whose power and opulence, but above all, whose supe- rior virtue, (a much firmer support) have raised them above every necessity of having recourse to the assistance of others.
16. The true distinction then, in this question, is, that "al- though friendship is certainly productive of utility, yet utili- ty is not the primary motive of friendship." Those selfish sensualists, therefore, who, lulled in the lap of luxury, pre- sume to maintain the reverse, have surely no claim to atten- tion ; as they are neither qualified by reflection nor experi- ence, to be competeut judges of the subject.
17. Is there a man upon the face of the earth, who would deliberately accept of all the wealth, fand all the affluence^ this world can bestow, if offered to him upon the severe terms of his being unconnected with a single mortal whom he could love, or by whom he should be beloved ? This would be to lead the wretched life of a detested tyrant, who, amidst per- petual suspicions and alarms, passes his miserable days a stranger to every tender sentiment ; and utterly precluded from the heart-felt satisfactions of friendship.
Melmoth's translation of Cicero's Lozlius.
SECTION VI.
On the immortality of the soul.
1. I was yesterday walking alone, in one of my friend's woods ; and lost myself in it very agreeably, as I was running over, in my mind, the several arguments that establish this great paint ; which is the basis of morality, and the source of all the pleasing hopes, and secret joys, that can arise in the heart of a reasonable creature. 1 considered those several proofs drawn, first, from the nature of the soul itself, and par- ticularly its immateriality ; which, though not absolutely ne- ces ary to the eternity of its duration, has, I think, been e- viuced to almost a demonstration.
2. Secondly, from its passions and sentiments; as particu- larly, from its love of existence ; its horror of annihilation ; and its hopes of immortality ; with that secret satisfaction which it finds in the practice of virtue ; and that uneasiness which follows upon the commission of vice. Thirdly, from
Chap. 4. ARGUMENTATIVE PIECES. 79 f
tbe mature of the Supreme Being, whose justice, goodness, •wisdom, and veracity, are all concerned in this point, i
3. Bur among, these, and other excellent arguments for the i immortality of the soul, there is one drawn from the perpe- I tual progress of the soul to it* perfection withou: a possibili- 1 ty of ever arriving at it; which is a hint that I do not re- f member to have seen opened and /Tm proved] by others, who > have written on this subject, though it seems to me to cany j a very great weight with it.
4. How can it enter into the thoughts of man. that the soul, which is capable of immense perfections, and of receiv- ing new improvements to all eternity, shall fall away into nothing, almost as soon as it is created ? Are such abilities made for no purpose ? A brute arrives at a point of perfec- tion, that he can never pass : in a ^ew years he has all the endowments he is capable of; and were he. to live ten thou- sand more, would be the same thing he is at present.
5. Were a human soul thus at a stand in her accomplish- ments ; were her faculties to be full blown, and incapable of farther enlargements ; I could imagine she might fall away insensibly, and drop at once into a state of annihilation. But can we believe a thinking being that is in a perpetual pro- gress of improvement, and travelling on from perfection to perfection, after having jtfst looked abroad into the works of her Creator, and made a few discoveries of his infinite good- ness, wisdom, and power, must perish at her first setting out, and in the very beginning of her inquiries^
6. Man, considered only in his present state, seems sent into the world merely to propagate his kind. He provides himself with a successor ; and immediately quits his post to make room for him. He does not seem born to enjoy life, but to deliver it down to others. This is not surprising to consider in animals, which are formed for our use, and which can finish their business in a short life.
7. The silk* worm, after having spun her task, lays her eggs and dies. But a man cannot take in his full measure of knowledge, has not time to subdue his passions, establish his soul in virtue, and come up to the perfections of his nature, before he is hurried off the stage. Would an infiuitely wise Being make such glorious creatures for so mean a purpose ? Can he delight in the production of such abortive intelligen- ces, such short-lived reasonable beings ? Would he give us talents that are not to be exerted ? capacities that are never to be gratified ? r-
80 THE ENGLISH READER. Part U
8. How can we find that wisdom which shines through all his works* in the formation of man, without looking on this world as only a nursery for the next ; and without believing that the several generations of rational creatures, which rise up and disappear in such quick succession, are only to receive their first rudiments of existence here, and afterwards to be transplanted iuto a more friendly climate, where they may spread and flourish to all eternity ?
9. There is not, in my opiuiou, a more pleasing and trium- phant consideration in religion, than this of the perpetual progress, which the soul makes towards the perfection of its nature, without ever arriviug at a period in it. To look up- on the soul as going on from strength to strength ; to consider that she is to shine for ever with new accessions of glory, and brighten to all eternity ; that she will be still adding virtue to virtue, and knowledge to knowledge ; carries in it some- thing wonderfully agreeable to that ambition, which is natu- ral to the mind of man.
10. Nay, it must be a prospect pleasing to God himself, tn see his creation for ever beautifying in his eyes ; and draw- ing nearer to bim, by greater degrees of resemblance. Me- thinks this single consideration, of the progress of a finite spi- rit to perfection, will be sufficient to extinguish alt envy in inferior natures, and all contempt in superior.
11. That cherub which now appears as a god to a human soul, knows very well that the period will come about in eternity, when the human soul shall be as perfect as he him- self now is ; nay, whenShe shall look down upon that degree of perfection as much as*he now falls short of it. It is true, the higher nature still advances, and by that means preserves his distance and superiority in the scale of being; but he knows that, how high soever the station is of which he stands possessed at present, the inferior nature will, at length, mount up to it, and shine forth in the same degree of glory.
12. With what astonishment arid veneration, may we look into our own souls, where there are such hidden stores of vir- tue and knowledge, such inexhausted sources of perfection! We know not yet what we shall be ; nor will it ever enter into the heart of man to conceive the glory that will be al- ways in reserve for him.
13. The soul, considered with its Creator, is like one of those mathematical lines, that may draw nearer to another for all eternity, without a possibility of tonehing it ; and can there be a thought so transporting, as to consider ourselves
„;
Chap. 5. DESCRIPTIVE PIECES.
in these perpetual approaches to Him. who is the standard not only of perfect ion, but of happiuess ? addison.
CHAPTER V. DESCRIPTIVE PIECES.
SECTION I.
7 he Seasons.
1. A mono the great blessings and wonders of creation, may be classed the regularities of limes and seasons. Immediate- ly afier the flood, the sacred promise was made to man, that seed time and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, day and night, should continue to the very end of all things. Accordingly, in obedience to that promise, the rotation is constantly presenting us with some useful and agreeable al- teration ; and all the pleasing novelty of life arises from these natural changes ; nor are we less indebted to them for many of its solid comforts.
2. It has been frequently the task of the moralist and poet, to mark, in polished periodSjfthe particular charms and conveniences of every change ; and, indeed, such discrimi- nate observations upon natural variety, cannot be undelight- ful ; since the blessing which every month brings along with it, is a fresh instance of the wisdom and bounty of tha' Pro- vidence, which regulates the glories of the year. We glow as we contemplate ; we feel a propensity to adore, whilst we enjoy.
3. I n the time of seed-sowing, it is the season of confidence: the grain which the husbaudman trusts to the bosom of the earth, shall, haply, yield its seven-fold rewards. Spring pre- sents us with a scene of lively expectation. That which was before sown, begins now to discover signs of. successful vege- tation. The labourer observes the change, and anticipates the harvest ; he Watches the progress of nature, and smiles at her influence ; while the man of contemplation walks forth with the evening, amidst the fragrance of flowers, and promi- ses of plenty ; nor returns to his cottage till darkness closes Jbe scene upon his eyes.
82 THE ENGLISH READER. PaFt L
4. Then cometh the harvest, when the large wish is satis* fied. and the granaries of nature an loaded wi h the mean* of life, even to a luxury of abundance. The powers of lan- guage are unequal to the description of this happy season. It is the carnival of nature : sun and shade, coolness and qui- etude, cheerfulness and melody, love and gratitude, unite to render every scene of summer delightful.
5. The division of light and darkness is one of the kindest efforts of Omnipotent Wisdom. Day and night yieid us con- trary blessings; and at the same time, assist each other, by giving fresh lustre to the delights of both. Amidst the glare of day, and bustle of life, how could we sleep ? Amidst the gloom of darkness, how could we labour?
6. How wi«e, how benignant, then, is the proper division ! The hours of light are adapted ro activity ; and those of dark- ness, to rest. Ere the d**y is parsed, exercise and nature pre- pare us for the pillow ; and »»y the time that the morning re* turns, we are again able to m^ei it with a smile. Thus, eve- ry season has a charm peculin to itself; and every momeal affords some interesting innovation. melmoth.
SECTION If.
The Cataract of Niagara, in Canada, North America.
1. This amazing fall of water is made by the river Saint Lawrence, in its passage Ifffooi Lake Erie into the Lake On- tario. The St Lawrence is one of the largest rivers in the world ; and yet the whole of its waters is discharged in this place, by a fall of one hundred and fifty feet perpendicular. It is not easy to bring the imagination to correspond to the greatness of the scene.
2 A river extremely deep and rapid, and that serves to drain the waters of almost all North America into the At* Jamie Ocean, is here poured precipitately down a ledge of rocks, that rises like a wall, across the whole bed of its stream. The river, a little above, is near three quarters of a mile broad ; and the rocks where it grows narrower, are lour hundred yards ever.
3. Their dir ction is not straight across, but ho'Jowiug in- wards like a horse-shoe ; so that the cataract, which bends to the shape of the obstacle, rounding inwards, presents a kind of theare the most tremendous in nature. Just in the mid* le of this circular wall of waters, a title island, that has braved the fury of the current, presents one of its points, and
Cbap. 5. DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 83
divides the stream at the top into two parts ; but they unite again long before they reach the bottom.
4. The noise of the fall is heard at the distance of several leagues; and the fury of the waters, at the termination of their fall, is inconceivable. The dashing produces a mist that rises to the very clouds ; and which forms a most beau- tiful rainbow, when the sun shines. It will be readily sup- posed, that such a cataract entirely destroys the navigation of the stream ; and yet some Indians iu their canoes it is said, have ventured down it with safely. goldsmith.
SECTION III.
The grotto of Antiwar os.
1. Of all the subterraneous caverns now known, the grot- to ol Aniparos is the most remarkable, as well for its extent as for the beauty of its sparry incrustations. This celebra- ted cavern was first explored by one Magui, an Italian trav- eller about one hundred years ago, at Antiparos, an inconsi- derable island of the Archipelago.
2. "Having been informed, says he, by the natives of Pa- ros, that, in the little island of Antiparos, which lies about two miles from the former, a gigantic statue was to be seen at the mouth of a cavern in that place, it was resolved that we (the French consul and himself,) should pay it a visit. — In pursuance of this resolution, after we had landed on the island and walked about four miles through the midst of beau* tiful plains and sloping woodlands, we at length came to a little hiil, on the side of which yawned a most horrid cavern, that, by its gloom, at first struck us with terror, and almost repressed curiosity.
3. "Recovering the first surprise, however, we entered boldly ; and had not proceeded above twenty paces, when the supposed statue of the giant presented itself to our view. We quickly perceived, that what the ignorant natives bad been terrified at as a giant, was nothing more than a sparry concretion, formed by the water dropping from the roof of the cave, and by degrees hardening iuto a figure, which their fears had formed iuto a monster.
4. "Incited by this extraordinary appearance, we were in- cited to proceed still further, in quest of new adventures in this subterranean abode. As we proceeded, new wonders offered themselves ; the spars, formed into trees and shrubs, presented a kind of petrified grove ; some white, some green, aud all receding in due perspective. They struck us witb
H2
84 THE ENGLISH READES. Part L
the more amazement, as we knew them to be mere produc- tion* of nature, who hitherto in solhude had, in her playful moments, dressed ihe scene, as if for her own amusement
5, "WV had as yet seen but a i'ew of the wonders of the place, and we were introduced only iuto the portico of this amazing temple. in one cornel of this half-illuminated re- cess, there appeared an opening of about three feet wide, which seemed to lead to a place totally dark, and which one of ttie natives assured ns contained nothing more than a re- gei voir oi water. Upon ihis information, we made an expe- riment, by throwing down some stones, which rumbliug along the sides of ihe descent for some time, the sound seemed at last quashed in a bed of water.
6, "In order, however, to be more ceruin, we sent in a Levaniiue mariner, who, by the promise of a good reward, ventured, with a flambeau in his hand, into this narrow aper- ture. After coir imiiDg within for about a quarter of an hour, he returned, hearing in his hand some beautiful pieces of white spar, which art could neither equal nor imitate. Up- on beiti mfotmed by him • hat the place was full of these beautiful incrustations, 1 ventured in once more with him, aboiit fifty paces, anxiously and cautiously descending, by a stefp o <i dangerous way.
7, "Finding, however, that we came to a precipice which led into a spacious amphitheatre, (if I may so call it,) still deeper than any other part, we returned, and being provided with a ladder, flambeau, and other things to expedite our de- scent, our whole company, man by man, ventured into the same opening ; and descending one after another, we at last saw ourselves all together in the most magnificent part of the cavern."
SECTION IV.
The grotto of Antlparos continued.
1. "Our candles being now al! lighted up, and the whole place completely illuminated, never could the eye be pre- sented with a more glittering, or a more magnificent scene. The whole roof hung with solid icicles transparent as glass,
i yet solid as marble. The eye could scarcely reach the lofty and noble ceiling; the sides were regularly formed with sprrs; and the who!e presented the idea of a magnificent theatre, illuminated with an immense profusion of lights.
2. "The floor consisted of solid marble; and, in several pla- ces, magnificent columns, throues, altars, and other objects
Chap. 5. DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. CS • 85 j
appeared, as if nature had designed to mock the curiosities of art. Our voices, upon speaking or singing, were redoubled loan astonishing loudness; and upon the firing of a gun, the noise and the reverberations were almost deafening.
3. **Jn the midst of this grand amphitheatre rsoe a concre- tion of about fifteen feet high, that, in some measure, resem- / bled an altar ; from which, taking the hint, we caused mass to be celebrated there. The beautiful columns that shot up j round the altar, appeared like candlesticks; and many other f natural objects represented the customary ornaments of this ' I rite.
^4. "B* low even this spacious grotto, there seemed another avern ; down which I ventured with my former manner, and descended about hfiy paces by means of a rope. I at last arrived at a small spot of level ground, where the bottom ap- peared different from that of the amphitheatre, being com- posed of soft clay, yielding to the pressure, and in which I thrust a stick to (he depth of six feet. In this, however, as above, numbers of the most beautiful crystals were formed? one of which, particularly, resembled a table.
5. "Upon our egress from this amazing cavern, we percei- ved a Greek inscription upon the rock at the mouth, but so obliterated by time, that we could not read it distinctly. It seemed to import, that one Antipater, in the time of Alexan- der, had come hither: but whether he penetrated into the depths of the cavern, he does not think fit to inform us." — This account of so beautiful and striking a scene, may serve to give us some idea of the subterraneous wonders of nature.
GOLDSMITH.
SECTION V.
Earthquake at Catanca.
1. One of the earthquakes most particularly described mi liistory, is that which happened in the year 1 693; the dama- ges of which were chiefly felt in Sicily, but its motioti was perceived in Germany, France, and England. It extended to a circumference of two thousand six hundred leagues ; chiefly affecting the sea coast, and great rivers ; more percei- vable also upon the mountains than in the vailies.
2. Its motions were so rapid, that persons who lay at their length, were tossed from side to side, as upon a rolling billow. The walls were dashed from their foundations ; and no fewer than fifty -four eities, with an incredible number of villages, were either destroyed or greatly damaged. The city of Ca-
86 THE ENGLISH READER. Fart T-
tanea, in particular, wav utterly over thrown. A traveller who was on his way t hither, perceived, at the distance of some mites, a black cloud like night, hanging over the place.
3. The sea, all of a sudden, began to roar ; mount iEtna to send forth great spires of flame ; and soon after a shock en- sued, with a noise as if all the artillery in the world had been at once discharged. Our traveller being obliged to alight instantly, felt himself raised a foot from the ground; and tur- ning his eyes to the city, he with amazement saw nothing but a thick cloud of dusr in the air.
4. The birds flew about astonished ; the sun was darkened ; the beasts rau howling from the hills; and although the shock did not continue above three minutes, yet near niueteen thousand of the inhabitants of Sicily perished tn the ruins. — Catauea, to which city the describ r was travelling, seemed the principal scene of ruin; its place only was to be found; and not a footstep of its former magnificence was to be seen remaining. goldsmith.
section vr.
Creation.
1. In the progress of the Divine works and government, there arrived a period, in which this earth wa> to be called into existence. When the signal moment, predestinated from all eternity, was come, the Deity arose in his might ; and with a word created the world. What an illustrious moment was that, when, from non-existence, there sprang at once in- to being, this mighty glol^I'pn which so many millions of creatures now dwell !
2. No preparatory measures were required. No long cir- cuit of means was employed. *'He spake; and it was done ; be commanded ; and it stood fast. "The earth was at first without form, and void ; and darkness was on the face of the deep." The Almighty surveyed the dark abyss, and fixed bounds to the several divisions of nature. He said, "Let there be light; and there was light.*'
3. Then appeared the sea. and the dry laud. The moun- tains rose ; and the rivers flowed. The sun and moon began their course in the skies. Herbs and plauts clothed the ground. The air, the earth, and the waters, were stored with their respective inhabitants. At last, man was made? after the image of God.
4. He appeared, walking with countenance erect ; and re- ceived his Creator's benediction, as the lord of this new world*
Chap. 5. DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 87
The Almighty beheld his work when it was finished ; and pronounced it good. Superior beings saw with wonder this new accession to existence. "The moruing stars sang toge- ther; and all the sons of God shouted for joy." blair.
SECTION VII.
Charity.
1. Charity is the same with benevolence or love; and 19 the term uniformly employed in the New Testament, to de- no e all the good affections which we ought to bear towards one another. 1* consists not in speculative ideas of general benevolence, floating in the head, and leaving the heart, as speculations too off en do, untouched and cold. Neither is it confined to that indolent good nature', which makes us rest satisfied with being free from inveterate malice, or ill-will to our fellow creatures, without prompting us to be of service to any.
2. True charity is an active principle. It is not properly a single virtue ; but a disposition residing in the heart, as a foun'aiu wheuce all the virtues of benignity, candour, for- bearance, generosity, compassion, and liberality, flow, as so many native streams. From general good will to all, it ex- tends its influence particularly to those with whom we stand in nearest connexion, and who are directly within the sphere of our sood offices.
3. From the country or community to which we belong, it descends to the smaller associations of neighbourhood, rela- tions, and friends ; and spreads itself over the whole circle of social and domestic life. I mean not that it imports a pro- miscuous undistinguished affection, which gives every roan an equal title to our love. Chanty, if we should endeavour to carry it so far, would be rendered an impracticable virtue; and would resolve itself into mere words, without affecting the heart.
4. True charity attempts not to shut our eyes to the dis- tinction between good and bad men ; nor to warm our hearts equally to those who befriend, and those who injure us. It reseives our esteem for good men, and our complacency for our friends. Towards our enemies it inspires forgiveness, hu- manity, and a solicitude for their welfare. It breathes uni- versal candour, and liberality of sentiment. It forms gentle- ness of temper, and dictates affability of manners.
£. It prompts corresponding sympathies with them who
88 THE ENGLISH READER. Part I.
rejoice and tbem who weep. It teaches us to slight and de- spise no man. Charity is the comforter of the afflicted, the protector of the oppressed, the reconciler of differences, the intercessor for offenders. It is faithfulness in the friend, pub- lic spirit in the magistrate, equity and patience in the judge, moderation in the sovereign, and loyalty in the subject.
6. In parents, it is care and attention ; in children, it is re- verence and submission. In a word, it is the soul of social life. It is the sun that enlivens and cheers the abodes of men. It is "like the dew of Hermon, says th* psalmi«t, and the dew that descends on Ihe mountains of Zion, where the Lord commanded the blessing, even life for evermore.'*
BLAIR.
^SECTION VIII.
Prosperity is redoubled to a good man.
1. None but the temperate, the regular, and the virtuous, know how to enjoy prosperity. They bring to its comforts the manly relish of a sound, uncorrupted mind. They stop at the proper point, before enjoyment degenerates iuto disgust, and pleasure is converted into pain. They are strangers to those complaints which flow from spleen, caprice, and all the fantastical distresses of a vitiated mind. While riotous in- dulgence enervates both the body and the mind, purity and virtue heighten all the powers of human fruition.
2. Feeble are all pleasures in which the heart has no share. The selfish gratifications of the bad, are both narrow in their circle, and short in their duration. But prosperity is redou- bled to a good man, by his generous use of it. It is reflected back upon him from every one whom he makes happy. In the intercourse of domestic affection, in the attachment of friends, the gratitude of dependants, the esteem and good will of all who know him, he sees blessings multiplied round him on every side.
3 "When the ear heard me, then it blessed me ; and when the eye saw me, it gave witness to me; because I delivered the poor that cried, the fatherless, and him that had none to help him. The blessing of him that was ready to perish camr upon me, and 1 caused the widow's heart to sing for joy. I was eyes to the blind, and feet was 1 to the lame : I was a father to the poor; and the cause which 1 knew uot I searched out."
4. Thus, while the righteous man flourishes like a tree plan- ted by the rivers of water, he brings forth also his fruit in its
//
Chap* 5. DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 89
season : and that fruit he brings forth not for himself alone. He flourishes, not like a tree in some, solitary desert? which scatters its blossoms to the wind, and communicates neither fruit nor sh.ide to any living thins ; but like a tree in the midst of an inhabited country, which to some affords friendly .shelter, to others fruit ; which is not only admired by a!f for its beauty ; but blessed by the traveller for the shade, and by the hungry for the sustenance it hath given. blair.
SECTION IX.
On the beauties of the Psalms.
1. Greatness confers no exemption from the cares and sorrows of life : its share of them frequently bears a mel- ancholy proportion to its exaltation. This the monarch of Israel experienced. He sought in piety, that peace which he could not find in empire; and alleviated the disquietudes of state, with the exercises of devotion. His invaluable Psalms convey those comforts to others, which they afforded to himself.
2. Composed upon particular occasions, yet designed for general use ; delivered out as services for Israelites under the Law, yet no less adapted to the circumstances of Christians under the Gospel : they present religion to us in the most engaging dress; — communicating truths which philosophy could never investigate, in a style which poetry can never equal ; while history is made the vehicle of prophecy, and creation lends all its charms to paint the glories of redemp- tion.
3. Calculated alike to profit and to please, they inform the understanding, elevate the affections, and entertain the ima- gination. Indited under the influence of him, to whom all hearts are known and all events foreknown, they suit man- kind in all situations ; grateful as the manna which descend- ed from above, and conformed itself to every palate.
4. The fairest productions of human wit, after a few peru- sals, like gathered flowers, wither in our hands, and lose their fragrancy ; but these unfading plants of Paradise become, as ire are accustomed to them, still more and more beautiful ; their bloom appears to be daily heightened ; fresh odours ire emitted, and new sweets extracted from them He who ras once tasted their excellencies, will desire to taste i hem igain ; and he who tastes them oftenest, will relish them >est.
1
g0 THE ENGLISH READER. Part I.
5 And now. could the author flatter himself, that any one would lake half the pleasure in reading his work, which he has °££ in writing it, he would not tear the loss of bis la- bour The employment detached him from the bustle and S of life, the din of politics, and the noise of folly Van- ity and vexation flew away for a season ; care and disquie- tude came not near his dwelling. He arose, fresh a? the morning? to his task ; the silence of the night invited mm to p„"ue!t i and he can truly say, that food and rest were not
Pr6feEveryepsal,miniproved infinitely upon his acquaintance with it and no one gave him uneasiness but the last : lor then he ^r eVed that his work was done. Happier hours than loose whfch have been spent in these meditations on the songs of 7ion he never expects to see in this world. V«ry pleisant- £ d"d they ptssTthey moved smoothlv and swiftly along ; tor when thus e.g ged/he counted no time. They are gone; SS they havei?. a relish and a fragrance upon ttao m.od; and the' remembrance of them is sweet. horne.
SECTION X.
Character of Alfred, king of England.
1 The merit of this prince, both in private and public
life d ay with advantage, be set in opposition to that ot any
monarch 07 ciltaen, which the annals of any age, or any na
roonarcn 01 *-'";' • „ indeed, to be the com
&&2^£ifc& SSrtfci which, under the de nmnuiatim. of a «ge or wise man, the philosophers have bee, fond of delh eating, rather as a fiction of their imagination ,T °. !«f„Ls of ever seein» it reduced to practice; so hap
tty blended ; and so powerfully did each prevent the othe
win (he coolest moderation; the most obstinate persey, I t with the eas.est flexibility ; the most severe ,us... wh the latest lenity ; the greatest rigour in comma* . ! £™-,t«t affability of deportment; the highest cap 5$ JS SSoffor'Sence, with the most shining tale.
^Nature also, as if desirous that so bright a product! „f her*" I should be set in the fairest light had bestow t Siffl i bodily accomplishments*: vigour ol limbs, d.gn o Sla™e and air/and a pleasant, engaging, and open conni
Chap. 5. DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 91
nance. By living in that barbarous age, be was deprived of historians worthy to transmit bis fame to posterity ; and we wish to see him delineated in more lively colours, and with I wore particular strokes, that we iniglR at least perceive some of those small specks and blemishes, from which, as a man, it is impossible he could be entirely exempted. hume.
SECTION XI.
Character of Queen Elizabeth.
1. There are few personages in history, who have been more exposed to the calumny of enemies, and the adulation of friends, than queen Elizabeth; and yet there scarcely is any, whose reputation has been more certainly determined by the unanimous consent of posterity. The unusual length of her administration, and the strong features of her charac- ter, were able to overcome all prejudices ; and, obliging her detractors to abate much of their invectives, and her admir- ers somewhat of their panegyrics, have, at last, in spite of political factions, and what is more, of religious animosities, produced a uniform judgment with regard to her conduct.
2. Her vigour, her constancy, her magnanimity, her pene- tration, vigilance, and address, are allowed to merit the high- est praises ; and appear not to have been surpassed by any person who ever filled a throne : a conduct less rigorous, less imperious, more sincere, more indulgent to her people, would have been requisite to form a perfect character. By she force of her mind, she controlled all her more active, and stronger qualities; and prevented them from running into ex- cess,
3. Her heroism was exempted from all temerity ; her fru- gality from avarice ; her friendship from partiality ; her en- terprise from turbulency and vain ambition. She guarded not herself with equal care, or equal success, from less infir- mities; the rivalship of beauty, the desire of admiratiou, the jealousy of love, and the sallies of anger.
4. Her singular talents for government, were founded equal- ly on her temper and her capacity. Endowed wi!h a great command over herself, she soon obtained an uncontrolled as- cendancy over the people. Few sovereigns of England suc- ceeded to the throne in more difficult circumstances; and none ever conducted the government with so uniform success and [felicity. ' ~~^
5. Though unacquainted with the practice of toleration, the true secret for managing religious factions, she preserved
02 THE ENGLISH READER. Part I.
her people, by her superior prudence, from those confusions in which theological controversy had involved all the neigh- bouring nations ; and though her enemies were the most pow- erful princes of Europe, the most active, the most enterpri- sing, and the least scrupulous, she was able, by her vigour, to make deep impressions on their state ; her own greatness meanwhile remaining untouched and unimpaired.
6. The wise ministers and brave men who flourished dur- ing her reign, share the praise of her success ; but, instead of lessening the applause due to her, they make great addition to it. They owed, ail of them, their advancement to her choice; they were supported by her constancy ; and. with all their ability, they were never able to acquire an undue ascendancy over her.
7. In her family, in her court, in her kingdom, she remain- ed equally mistress. The force of the tender passions was great over her, but the force of her mind was still superior; and the combat which her victory visibly cost her, serves ouly to display the firmriess of her resolution, and the lofti- ness of ber ambitious sentiments.
8. The fame of this princess, though it has surmounted the prejudices both of faction and of bigotry, yet lies still expos- ed to another prejudice, which is more durable, because more natural; and which, according to the different views in which we survey her, is capable either of exaltiug beyond measure, qr diminishing the lustre of her character. This prejudice is founded on the consideration of her sex.
9. When we contemplate her as a woman, we are apt to be struckwith the highest admiration of her qualities and ex- tensive capacity : but we are also apt to require some more softness of disposition, some greater lenity of temper, some of those amiable weaknesses by which her sex is distinguish- ed. But the true method of estimating her merit, is, to lay aside all these considerations, and to consider her merely as a rational beui£, placed in authority, and intrusted with the government of maukiud. hume.
SECTION XII.
The slavery of Vice. 1. The slavery produced by vice, appears in the depend- ence under which it brings the sinner, to circumstances of ex- ternal fortune. One of the favourite characters of liberty, is the independence it bestows. He who is truly a freeman, is above all servile compliances, and aUect subjection, rle is able to rest upon himself ; and while nc regards his superiors
Chap. 5. DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 93
with proper deference, neither debases himself by cringing to them, nor is tempted to purchase their favour by dishon- ourable means. But the sinner has forfeited every privilege of ibis nature.
2. His passions and habits render him an absolute depen- dant on the world, and the world's favour ; on the uncertain goods of fortune, and the fickle humours of men. For it is by these he subsists, and among these his happiness is sought; according as his passions determine him to pursue pleasures, riches, or preferments. Having no fund within himself whence to draw enjoyment, his only resource is in things without. His hopes and fears all hang upon the world. He partakes in ail its vicissitudes ; and is moved and shaken by every Kind of fortune. This is to be, in the strictest sense, a slave to the world.
3. Religion and virtue, on the other hand, confer on the mind principles of nobie independence. "The upright man is satisfied from himse f " He despises not the advantages of fortune, b<i< he centres not his happiness in them. With a modera-e si are o, th'eiii he can be contented ; and content- ment is felici y, Happy in his own integrity, conscious of the esteem of good men, reposing firm trust in the provi- dence, and the promises of God, he is exempted from servile dependence on other things.
4. He can wrap himself up in a good conscience, and look forward, without terror, to the change of the world. Let all things shift around him as they please, he believes that, by the Divine ordination, they shil! be made to work together in the issue for his good : and therefore, having much to hope from God, and little to fear from the wor'd, he can be easy in every state. One who possesses within himself such an establishment of mind is truly free.
5. But shall I call that man free, who has nothing that is his own. no property assured ; whose very heart is not his own, but rendered the appendage of external things, and the sport of fortune ? Is that man free, let his outward condi- tion be ever so splendid, whom his imperious passions detain at their call ; whom they send forth at their pleasure to drudge, and toil, and beg his only enjoyment from the casu- alties of the world ?
6. Is he freegtvho rmist bear with this man's caprice, and tha' man's sCorn ; must profess friendship where he hates, and respect where he coutemus ; who is not at liberty to ap^ pear in his own co.ours, or to speak his own sentiments ; who liares not be honest lest he should be poor ?
94 THE ENGLISH READER* Part I.
7. Believe it, no chains bind so hard, no fetters are so hea- vy, as those which fasten the corrupted heart to thi* treach- erous world ; no dependence is more contemptible than that under which the voluptuous, the covetous, or the ambitious inau, lies to the means of pleasure, gain, or power. Ye* this is the boasted liberty, which vice promises, as the recom- pense of setting us free from the salutary restraints of vsrtue.
BLAIR.
SECTION XIII.
The man of Integrity.
1. It will not take much time to delineate the character of the man of integrity, as by its nature it is a plain one, and easily understood. He is one, who makes it his constant rule to follow the road of duty, according as the word of God, and the voice of his conscience, point it out to him. He is not guided merely by affections, which may sometimes ^ive the colour of virtue to a loose and unstable character.
2. The upright man is guided by a fixed principle of mind, which determines him to esteem nothing but what is honour- able ; and to abhor whatever is base or unworthy, in moral conduct. Hence we Mud him ever the same ; at a!l times,* the trusty friend, the affectionate relation, the conscientious man of business, the pious worshipper, the public spirited citizen.
3 He assumes no borrowed appearance. He seeks no mask to cover him ; for he acts no studied part : but he is indeed what he appears to be, full of truth, candour, ami humanity. In all his pursuits, he knows no path, but the fair and direct one; and would much rather fail of success, than attain it by \ reproachful means. He never shows us a smiling counte- nance, while he meditates evil against us in his heart.
4. He never praises us among our friends, and then joins in traducing us among our enemies. We shall never find one part of his character at variance with another. In his man- ners, he is simpie and unaffected ; in all his proceedings, open and consistent. blur.
SECTION XIV.
Gentleness.
1. I begin with distinguishing rrue gentleness from pas- sive tameness of spirit, and from unlimited compliance with
Chap. 5. DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 95
the manners of others. Thai passive tameness, which sub- mits, without opposition, to every encroachment of the vio- lent and assuming, forms no part of Christian duty ; hut, on the contrary, is destructive of general happiness and order. That unlimited compliance, which, on every occasion, talis in with the opinions and manners of others, is so far from be- ing; a virtue, that it is itself a vice, and the parent of many vices.
2. It overthrows all steadiness of principle ; and produces that sinful conformity with the world, which taints the whole character. In the present corrupted state of human manners, always to assent and comply, is the very worst maxim we can adopt. It is impossible to support the purity and dignity of Christian morals, without opposing the world on various occa- sions, even though we should stand alone.
3. That gentleness therefore which belongs to virtue, is to be carefully distinguished from the mean spirit of cowards, and the fawning as>ent of sycophants. It renounces no just right from fear. It gives up no important truth from flattery. It is indeed not only consistent with a firm mind, butit neces- sarily requires a manly spirit, and a fixed principle, in order to g>ve it any real value. Upon this solid ground only, the polish of gentleness can with advantage be superinduced.
4. It stands opposed, not to the most determined regard for virtue and truth, but to harshness and severity, to prjde and arrogance, to violence and oppression. It is, properly, that part of the great virtue of charity, which makes us un- willing to give pain to any of our brethren. Compassion prompts us to relieve their wants. Forbearance prevents us from retaliating their injuries. Meekness restrains our angry passions ; candour, our severe judgments.
5. Gentleness corrects whatever is offensive in our man- ners; rtiid, by a constant train of humane attentions, studies to alleviate the burden of common misery. Its office there- fore is extensive, it is not, like some other virtues, called forth only on particular emergencies; but it is continually in action, when we are engaged in intercourse with men. It ought to form our address, to regulate our speech, aud to dif- fuse itself over our whole behaviour.
6. We must not, however, confound this gentle "wisdom which i* from above," with that artificial courtesy, that stu- died smoothness of manners, which is learned in the school of the world. Such accomplishments, the mo*t frivolous and empty may possess. Too often they are employed by the art- faj, as a snare; too often affected by the hard and unfeeling,
96 THE ENGLISH READER. Part I.
as a coyer to the baseness of their minds. We cannot, at the same time, avoid observing the homage which, even in such instances, the world is constrained to pay to virtue.
7. In order to render soercty agreeable, it is found neces- sary to assume somewhat, that may at least carry its appea- rance. Virtue is the universal charm. Even its shadow is courted when the substance is wanting. The imitation of its form has been reduced into an art ; and, in the commerce of life, the first study of all who would either gain the esteem, or win the hearts of others, is to learn the speech and to adopt the manners of candour, gentleness, aud humanity.
8. But that gentleness which is the characteristic of a good man, has, like every other virtue, its seat in the heart ; and let me add, nothing except what flows from the heart, can^ render even external manners truly pleasing. For no assum- ed behaviour can at all times hide the real character. In that unaffected civility which springs from a gentle mind, there is a charm iufinitely more powerful, than in all the stu- died manners of the most finished courtier.
9. True gentleness is founded on a sense of what we owe to him who made us, and to the common nature of which we ail share. It arises from reflection on our own failings and wants ; and from just views of the condition, and the duty of man. It is a native feeling, heightened & improved by prin- ciple. It is the heart which easily relents; which feels for every thing that is human ; aud is backward and slow to in- flict the least wound.
10. It is affable in its address, and mild in its demeanour; ever ready to oblige, and willing to be obliged by others ; breathing habitual kindness towards friends, courtesy to stran- gers, long-suffering to enemies. It exercises authority with moderation; administers reproof with tenderness; confers favours with ease aud modesty. It is unassuming in opinion, aud temperate in zeal. It contends not eagerly about trifles j slow to contradict, and still slower to blame ; but prompt to allay dissention, and to restore peace.
11. It neither intermeddles unnecessarily with the affairs, nor pries inquisitively into the secrets of others. It delights above all things to alleviate distress ; and, if it cannot dry up the falling tear, to sooth at least the grieving heart. Where it has not the power of being useful, it is never burdensome. It seeks to please, rather than to shine and dazzle ; and con- ceals with care that superiority, either of talents or of rank, which is oppressive to those who are beneath it.
12* Iu a word, it is that spirit and that tenor of manners,
Chap. 6. PATHETIC PIECES. 97
which the gospel of Christ enjoins, when it commands u& "to bear one another's burdens ; to rejoice with (hose wbo re- joice, and to weep with those who weep ; to please every one bis neighbour tor his good ; to be kind and tender hearted ; to be pitiful and courteous; to support the weak, and to be patient towards all men." blair.
CHAPTER VI. PATHETIC PIECES.
SECTION I.
Trial and execution of the Earl of Strafford, who fell a, sacrifice to the violence of the times, in*the reign of Charles the First.
1. The Earl of Strafford defended himself against the ac- cusations of the house of Commons, with all tbe presence of mind, judgment, and sagacity, that could be expected from Innocence and ability. His children were placed beside biro, &s he was thus defending his life, and the cause of his royal master. After he had, in a long and eloquent speech, deliv- ered without premeditation, confuted all the accusations of his enemies, lie thus drew to a conclusion.
2. "But, my lords, I have troubled yon too long ; longer than I should have done, but for the sake of these dear pled- ges, which a saint in heaven has left me/* Upon this he paused, dropped a tear, looked upon his children, and procee- ded : "What I forfeit for myself is a trifle : that my indiscre- tions should reach my posterity, wounds me to the heart.
3. "Pardon my infirmity. Something I should have add- 3(1, but I am not able ; and therefore I let it pass. And now, my lords, for myself. 1 have long been taught, that the af- flictions of this life are overpaid by that eternal weight of glo- ry, which awaits the innocent. And so, my lords, even so, jjvith the utmost tranquillity, I submit myself to your judg- ment, whether that judgment be life or death : not my- will, Dut thine, O God, be done !"
4. His eloquence aud innocence induced those judges to 3iiy, who were the most zealous to condemn him. The iiiig himself went to the house of lords, aud spoke for conic
93 THE ENGLISH READER. Part L
time in Ms defence ; but the spirit of vengeance, which had been chained for eleven years, was now roused; and nothing but his blood could give the people satisfaction. He was condemned by both houses ot parliament ; and nothing re- mained but for the king to give hi» consent to the bill of at* tainder.
5. But in the present commott* lis, the consent of the king would be very easily dispensed with ; and imminent danger might attend his refusal. Charles, however, who loved Straf- ford tenderly, hesitated and seemed reluctant ; trying every expedient to put off so dreadful an office, as that of signing the warrant for bis execuiion. While he continued in-Jiiis agitation of mind, and state of suspense, his doubts were at las' silenced by an act of great magnanimity in the condem- ned lord.
6. He received a letter from that unfortunate nobleman, desiring lU<n his life might be made a sacrifice to obtain re- conciliation between the king and his people : adding, that lie was prepared to die ; and that to a witling mind there could be no injury. Phis instance of noble generosity was but ill repaid by his master, who complied with his request, JRe consented to sign the faia! bill by commission; and fetraf- fonJ was beheaded on' Tower-hill , behaving with all that composed dignity of resolution, which was expected from his character, , goldsmith.
SECTION II.
An eminent instance of true fortitude.
1. All who have been distinguished as servants of God, or benefactors of men ; all who, in perilous situations, have act- ed their par* with such honour as to render their names il- lustrious through succeeding ages, have been eminent Cor for- titude of mind. Ot this we have one conspicuous example in the apostle Paul, whom it will be instructive tor us to view1 in a rem?rkable occurrence of his life. After having long acted as the apostle of the Gentiles, his mission called him to go to Jerusalem, where be knew that he was to encountei the utmost violence of his enemies.
2. Just before he set sail, he called together the elders ol bis favonntr church at Ephesus ; and in a pathetic speech, which does great honour to his character, gave them his las! farewell: Deeply affected by their knowledge of the certain dangeis to which he was exposing himself, all the assembly were tilled with distress, and melted into tears.
•hap. 6. PATHETIC PIECES. 99
3. The circumstances were such* as might have conveyed ejection even into a resolute mind; and would have totally verwhelmed the feeble. "They all wept sore, and tell oil "'aid's peck, and kissed him; son* wing most of all for the mrds which he spoke, that ihey should see hislUce no more." ;Vhdt were then the sentiments, what was the language, of Ins great and good man ? Hear the words which spoke his ii m and undaunted mind.
4. "Behold, I go bound in the spirit, to Jerusalem, not mowing the things which shall befal me there ; save that the Soly Spirit wiiinesseth in every city, saying, that bonds and ifflictions abide me. But none of these things move me ; nei- her count I my life dear to myself, so that 1 might finish my course with joy, and the ministry which I have received of he Lord Jesus to testify the gospel of the grace of God."
6. 'IVere was uttered the voice, there breathed the spirit )f a brave and a vinuous man. Such a man know7s not what t is to shrink irom dauger, when conscience points out his jatb. In this path he is determined to walk, let the consc- iences be what they may. This was the magnanimous be- raviour of that great apostle, when he had persecution and Jistress full in view.
6. Attend now to the sentiments of the same excellent man, when the time of his last suffering approached ; and re- nark the majesty, and the ease, with which he looked on 3eas u. *i am now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand. 1 have fought the good fight. I have finished my course. I have kept the faith. Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness."
7. How many years of life does such a dying moment over- balance ! Who would not choose, in this manner, to go off the st.tge, with such a song of triumph in his mouth, rather than prolong his existence through a wretched old age, stai- aed with sin and shame ? blair,
SECTION III.
The good mart's comfort in affliction,
I. The religion of Christ not only arms us with fortitude against the approach of evil ; but, supposing evils to fall up- on us with their heaviest pressure, it lightens the toad by many consolations to which others are strangers. While bad men trace, in the calamities with which they are visit- ed, the baud of an offended sovereigu, Christians are taught
100 THE ENGLISH READER. Part I.
to view them as the well-intended chastisements of a merci- ful Father.
2. They hear amidst them, that still voice which a good conscience brings to their ear : "Fear not, for I am with thee : be not dismayed, for I am thy God." They apply to themselves the comfortable promises with which the Gospel abounds. They discover in these the happy issue decreed to their troubles ; and wait with patience till Providence shall have accomplished its great and good designs.
3. In the mean time, Devotion opens to them its blessed and holy sanctuary ; that sanctuary in which the wounded heart is healed, and the weary mind is at rest ; where the cares of the world are forgotten, where its tumults are hush- ed, and its miseries disappear ; where greater objects open to our view than any which the world presents ; where a more serene sky shines, and a sweeter and calmer light beams on the afflicted heart.
4. In those moments of devotion, a pious man, pouring out his wants and sorrows to an Almighty Supporter, feels that he is not left solitary and forsaken in a vale of woe. God is with him ; Uhrist and the Holy Spirit are with him ; and though he should be bereaved of every friend on earth, he can look up in heaven to a Friend that will never desert him.
BLAIR.
SECTION IV.
The close of life.
1. When we contemplate the close of life; the termina« tion of man's design^ and hopes ; the silence that now reigns among those who, a little while ago, were so busy, or so gay j who can avoid being touched with sensations at once awful and tender ? What heart but then warms with the glow oi humanity ? In whose eye does not the tear gather, on revolt ving the fate of passing and short-lived man ?
2. Behold the poor man, who lays down at last the burden of his wearisome life. No more shall he sroan under the load of poverty and toil. J\o more shall he hear the insolenl call of the master, from whom he received his scanty wages Ko more shall he be raised from needful slumber on his bee of straw, nor be hurried away from his homely meal, to urn dergo the repeated labours of the day.
3. While his bumble grave is preparing, and a few poo* and decayed neighbours are carrying him thither, it is gooi (or us to think, that this man too was our brother ; that foi
j'hap. 6. PATHETIC PIECES. 101
im the aged and the destitute wife, and the needy children, otv weep; that, neglected as he was hy the world, he pos- essed, perhaps, hoth a Sound understanding, and a worthy eart ; and is now carried by angels to rest in Abraham's bo- pm.
4. At no great distance from him, the grave is opened to eceive the rich and proud m n. For. as it i* said with em- phasis in the parable, "the rich man also died, and was buri- d." He also died. His riches prevented not his sharing he same fate with the poor man; perhaps, through luxury, hey accelerated his doom. Then, indeed, "the mourners o about t»ftV streets ;" and while, in all the pomp and inag- lificence of wo, his funeral is preparing, his heirs impatient o examine his will, are looking on one another with jealous yes, and already beginning to dispute about the division of is substance.
5. One day, we see carried along, the coffin of the smiling lfant ; the flower just nipped as it began to blossom in the ^rent's view ; and the nex' day we behold the young man r young woman, of blooming t'ovm and premising hopes, liid ii an untimely grave. While the funeral is attended by a nu- merous unconcerned company, -who are discoursing to one nother about the news of ihe day. or the ordia >»ry affairs of ife, let our thoughts rather follow to the house of mourning, nd represeut to theiuselves what is passing there.
6. There we should see a disconsolate fami'y, sitting in si- nnt grief, thinking of the sad breach that i« made in their lit- !e society ; and with tears in their eyes, looking to the cham- er that is now left vacant, and to every memorial that pre- snts itself of their departed friend. By such attention to he woes of others, the selfish hardness of our hearts will be radually softened, and melted down into humanity.
7. Another day, we follow to the grave, one who, in old ^e, and after a long career of life, has in full maturity sunk t last into rest. As we are going along to the mansion of le dead, it is natural for us to think, and to discourse, of ail ic changes which such a person has seen during the course f his life. He has passed, ft is likely, through varieties of irttine. He has experienced prosperity, and adversity. He is seen families and kindreds rise and fall. He has seen eace and war succeeding in their turns ; the face of bis coun- •y undergoing many alterations ; and the very city in which b dwelt, rising in a manner new around him.*
8. After all he has beheld, his eyes are now closed for
102 THE ENGLISH READER. Part I
ever. He was beeomtng a stranger in the midst of a new succession of men A race whojiew bim not, bad arisen t< fill the earth. Thus passes the Wofld away. Throughout a8 ranks and conditions, **one generation passetb, and anothei generation cometh ;'l and this great inn is by turns evacuat ed and replenished, by troops of succeeding pilgrims.
9. O vain and inconstant world I O fleeting and transien life ! When will the sons of men learn to think of th^e a they ought ? When will they learn humanity from the afHic tions of their brethren ; or moderation and wisdom, from thi sense of their own fugitive state ? /f 1 ,<. / , blair.
sbctioxv. zlejOt^Mc
JEccalted society, and the renewal oC virtuous connexions, tw sources of future felicity.
1. Besides the felicity which springs from perfect love $here are two circumstances which particularly enhance \\\ blessedness of that 'multitude who stand before the throne, these are, access to the most exalted society, and renewal ( the most tender connexions. The former is pointed out i the Scripture, by "joining the innumerable company of at gels, and the general assembly and church of the first-born by sitting down with Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, in th kingdom of heaven ;" a promise which opens the sublimes prospects to the human mind.
2. It allows good men to entertain the hope, that, sepan ted from all the dregs of the human mass, from that mixe and polluted crowd in the midst of which they now dwel they shall be permitted to mingle with prophets, patriarch and apostles; with all those great and illustrious spirits, m have sLone in former ages as the servants of God, or the bei efactors of men ; whose deeds we are accustomed to eel brate ; whose steps we now follow at a distance ; and who naiflps we pronounce with veneration.
3. United to this high assembly, the blessed, at the san time, renew those ancient connexions with virtuous frienc which had been dissolved by death. The prospect of this waMfls in the heart, the most pleasing and tender sentime thai perhaps can fill it, in this mortal state. For of all t sorrows which we are here doomed to endure, none is so b ter ;<s that occasioned by the fatal stroke which separates I in appearance lor ever, from those to whom either nature friendship had intimately joined our hearts.
4. Memory, from time to time, renews the anguish J op€
hap. 6. PATIIETIC PIECES, 10S
^ie wound which once seemed to have been closed ; and, by leal )ing joys that are past and gone, touches every string of ainful sensibility. In these agonizing moments, how reliev- ig the thought, that the separation i* oply temporary, not tenia! ; that there is a time to come of re-union with those ith whom our happiest days were spent ; whose joys and prrows once were ours ; whose piety and virtue cheered and neon raged ns ; and from whom, after we shall have landed n the peaceful shore where they dw?H. no revolutions of na- me shall ever be able to part us more ! Such is the society f the blessed above. Of* such are the multitude composed, fuo "stand before the throne.'' blair,
SECTION VI.
The clemency and amiable character of the patriarch Joseph.
1. No human character exhibited in the records of Scrip- ure, is more remarkable and instructive than that of the pa- riarcb Joseph. He is one whom we behold tried in all the icis^itudes of fortune ; from the coudition of a slave, rising tp >e the ruler of the land of Egypt ; and in every station ac- juiring by his virtue and wisdom^ favour with God and man. jrhen overseer of Potiphar's bouse, his fidelity was proved )y strong temptations, which he honourably resisted.
2. When thrown into prison by the artifices of a false wo- nan, his integrity and prudence soon rendered him conspicu- ous, even in that dark mansion. When called into the pre- ence of Pharaoh, the wise and extensive plan which he for- ned for saving the kingdom from the miseries of impending amine, justly raised him to a high station, wherein his abili- ies were eminently displayed in the public service.
3. But in his whole history, there is no circumstance so trikiog and interesting, as his behaviour to hi* brethren who jad sold him into slavery. The moment in which he made limself kuown to them, was the most critical one of his life, ind the most decisive of his character. It is such as rarely )ccnj'fi in the course of human events ; and is calculated to J raw the highest attention of all who are endowed with any Jcgree of senribility^Xe^^-
4. From the whole tenor of the narration, it appears, that Ihough Joseph, upon the arrival of h?s brethren in Egypt, nade himself strauge to them, yet from the beginning he in- tended to discover himself; and studied so io conduct the iiscQvery, as might render the surprise of joy complete, JFor
& ■ *
Iff
104 THE ENGLISH READER* Part
this end, by affected severity, he took measures for bringin ■down into Egypt ail his father's children.
•>&. They were now arrived there ; and Benjamin anion the rest, who was his younger brother by the same mot he: *uid was particularly beloved by Joseph. Him he threat ened to detain ; and seemed willing to allow the rest to d< part. This incident renewed their distress. They ail kne1 their father's extreme anxiety about the safety of Benjamii and with what -difficulty be had yielded to his undertakin ^this journey.
6. Should he be prevented from returning, they dreade that grief would overpower the old man's spirits, and prov fatal to his life. Judah, therefore, who had particularly in ged the necessity of Benjamin's accompanying his brother: and had solemnly pledgtd himself to their father for his saf return, craved, upon this occasion, an audience of the gover nor; and gave him a full account of the circumstances of Ja jcob's family.
7. Nothing can be more interesting and pathetic than thi •discourse of Judah. Little knowing to whom he spoke, h paints in all the colours of simple and natural eloquence, th< distressed situation of the aged patriarch, hastening to th< close of life ; long afflicted for the loss of a favourite son, when he supposed to have been torn in pieces by a beast of prey labouring now under anxious concern about his youngest sou the child of his old age, who alone was left alive of his mo ther, and whom nothing but the calamities of severe famint could have moved a tender father to send from home, and ex pose to the dangers of a foreign land.
8. "If we bring him not back with us, we shall bring dowi the gray hairs of thy servant, our father, with sorrow to thi grave. I pray thee therefore, Set thy servant abide, instead of the young man, a bondman to our lord. For how shall go up to my fattier, and Benjamin not with me ? lest I se4 the evil that shall come on my father."
9. Upon this relation Joseph could.no longer restrain him self. The tender ideas of his father, and his father's house of his ancient home, his country, and his kindred, of the dis 4ress of his family, and his own exaltation, all rushed to< strongly upon his mind to bear any further concealment ~ *'He cried. Cause every man to go out from me : and In wept aloud.'*
10. The tears which he shed were not the tears of grief They were the burst of affection. They were the effusion! of a heart overflowing with all the tender sensibilities of na
Chap. 6. PATHETIC PIECES. 105
lure. Formerly he had been moved in the same manner, when he first saw his brethren before him. "His bowels yearned upon iheni; he sought for a place where to weep. He went into his chamber ; and then washed his face and re- turned to I hem."
1 J, A; that period his generous plans were not completed. But now, when there was no farther occasion for constrain- ing himself, he gave i'vee vent to the strong emotions of his heart. The first minister to the kin£ of E^ypt was not asha- med to show, that he feSt as a man, and a brother. **He wept aloud ; and the Egyptians, and the house of Pharaoh heard him."
12. The first words which his swelling heart allowed bin* to pronounce, are the most suitable to such an affecting situa- tion that were ever uttered : "i am Joseph; doth my fattier yet live ?" What could he, what ought he, in that impas*. sioned moment, to have said more? This is the voice of na- ture hersell, speaking her own language ; and it penetrates the heart : no pomp of expression ; no parade of kindness : but strong affection hastening to utter what it strongly felt.
13 "His brethren could not answer him ; for they were troubled at his presence." Their silence is as expressive of those emotions of repentance and shame, which, on this amazing discovery, filled their breasts, and stopped their ut- terance, as the few words which Joseph speaks, are expres- sive of the generous agitations which struggled for vent with- in him.
14. No painter could seize a more striking moment for dis- playing the characteristical features of the human heart, than what is here presented. Never was there a situation of more, tender and virtuous joy, on the one hand ; nor, on the other* of more overwhelming confusion and conscious guiit. In the simple narration of the sacred historian, it is set before us with greater eneigy and higher effect, than if it had been wrought up with all the colouring of the most admired mod- ern eloquence. blair,
SECTION VII.
Altamont.— ~T&6 following account of an affecting, mourn- ful exit, is related by Dr. Young, who was present at the melancholy scene.
1. The sad evening before the death of the noble youth whose last hours suggested the most solemn and awful reflec-
(I
lOfr THE ENGLISH READER. PaFt'f*
tions, I was with him. No one was present but his physician, and an intimate whom he loved, and whom he had ruined. At my coming in, he said, "You and the physician are come too Jate. I have neither life nor hope, You both aim at mira- cles. You would raise the dead r'
2. Heaven, I said, was merciful— "Or," exclaimed he, "I could hot have been thus guilty. What has it not done to bless, and to save me? I have beeft too strong for Omnipo- tence ! I have plucked down ruin."-^— I said, the blessed ftedeemer-^^'Hold ! hold ! you wound me I That is the rock on which I split : I denied his name !■*
3. Refusing to hear any thing from me, Or take any thii _ from the physician, he lay silent, as far as sudden dart* of paiu would permit, till the clock struck : then with vehemence he exclaimed, "Ob, time ! it is fit thou shouldst thus strike thy
murderer to the heart ! How art thou fled for ever ! A
month — oh, for a single week \ I ask not for years ; though sn age were too little for the much I have to do.*' //On my Saying, we could not do too much ; that heaven was a hies* sed pUce»*-"So much the worse— 'Tis lost ! 'tis lost ! Ilea* ten is to me the severest part of hell !*'
4. Soon after, I proposed prayer. "Pray you that can — 1 toever prayed. I cannot pray — nor need I. Is not Heaven 6n my side already ? It closes with my conscience : its se« merest strokes but second my own."
5. Observing that his friend was much touched at this, even to tears — (and who could forbear? I could not)— with a most affectionate look he said, "Keep those tears for thyself. I have undone thee. Dost thou weep for me ?— -tha? is cruel. What can pain me more V9 Here his friend, too much affec- ted, would have left life
6. "No. stay : thou stilt mayest hope ; therefore hear roe. fiow madly have t talked ! how madly hast thou listened and believed ! but look on my present state, as a full answer ta thee, and myself. This body is all weakness and pain ; but my soul, as if strung up by torment to greater strength and spirit, is full powerful to reason ; full mighty to suffer. And that, which thus triumphs within the jaws of immortality, is, doubtless, immortal : and, as for a Deity, nothing less than an Almighty could iuflict what I feel."
7. I was about to congratulate this passive, involuntary con- fessor, on his asserting the two pmne articles of his creed, extorted by the rack of nature, when he thus, very passion* ately exclaimed : "No, no ! let me speak on. 1 have not
107
6 PATHETIC PIECES.
,„■ ib. ,.,».■»» in.; h?jreJ5iS3 to'ii^Msi-
|ssr JaSM* -" ~- ■ *£""■
lie from thy irown ! ■ e r f ., d hjs terrified im-
15 7fTh!^\rroV7e-re, what is a man of pan,?
what a dismal gloom they set to ^e ^ rteySi ter-tl^ day of their rejo.c.ug -—tor moment u J ? ^^
dazzle ! In » ™ Wwo5d VdTd -Infamy snatches them g. SBC '*£- »14 anaaU of Infamy their m-
uinphs are recorded. Alf<ir¥lrtnf i stIIl bleed in the be*
19 Thv suffering poor Altamont 1 siih uieeu »t
He might have had ^ftJ^^PlSnaaS mi|ht
city of being right. K2
THE ENGLISH READER. part j
CHAPTER VIL DIALOGUES.
/# &T skctiott l
DEMOCRITUS AND HERACLITUS.*
m vices mdMies tis'sgr* —-* £3
teS5%lK k tot,0SSib,e t0 ~ci" -y-lf to a Vaif K^^-*2i* *"** approve of that in a wretched a^ilL "Shf''"* mmd' the JM* »PP««
#a^^fe°ya^ts mretl by «• T"y
losopher. Does it ,^1 ? ,, "' *** tllan the JW kind so fnujin blind L/W 2? SW****' t0 see *W» tue ? ' ° far dePa«ed from the rules of vir*
thyself. °" i,Vest* ^ fl'endS, thy family, nay even
mSZ%J-?Ki&7 nt"- f°ra" ,he si"y PCTS<™ I meet Sr'foWy. § thlnk f ^^"naWeindivL/ingmysel^nh
j r^^x^^^^ -feri
tan. that thou art hot as e.travaganlL fneyare " " " ^
-D«w. I presume that I am not ; since in everv onint m*
sentiments are the Very reverse of theirs 7 P°,nt' "*
?hap. 1. dialogues. 109
| Dent. Thou art at liberty to indulge such sentiments ; and o weep over me too, if thou hast any tears 10 spare. For by part, I cannot refrain from pleasing myself with the ievi-
Iies and ill conduct of the world about me. Are not ali men oolish, or irregular in their lives? Her> Alas! there is but too much reason to believe Lucy ire so : and on this ground, I pity and deplore their o sedi- tion. We agree in this point, that men do not conduit tl : m- belves according to reasonable and just principles ; but l, who do not suffer myself to act as they do, imi-i yet regard the dictates of my understanding and feelings, which compel me to love them ; and that love fills me with compassion for [their mistakes and irregularities. Canst thou condemn me Ibr pitying my own species, my brethren, persons born in the igame condition of life, and destined to the same hopes and privileges ? If thou shouldst enter a hospital, where sick and wounded persons reside, would their wounds and distresses excite thy mirth ? And yet, the evils of the body bear no comparison with those of the mind. Thou wouidst certainly blush at thy barbarity, if thou hadst been so unfeeling as to laugh at or despise a poor miserable being who had lost one of his legs ; and yet thou art so destitute of humanity, as to ridicule those who appear to be deprived of the noble pow- ers of understanding, by the little regard which they pay to its dictates.
Bern. He who has lost a leg is to be pitied, because the Joss is not to be imputed to himself; but bo who rejects the dictates of reason and conscience, voluntarily deprives him- self of their aid. The loss originates in his own folly.
Her. Ah ! so much the more is he to be pitied ! A furious maniac, who should pluck out his own eyes, would deserve more compassion than an ordinary bliiKl man.
Dem. Come, let us accommodate this business. There Is something to be said ou each side of the question. There is every where reason for laughing, and reason for weepm*.-^ The world is ridiculous, and I laugh at it : — it is deplorable* and thou lament est over it. Every person views it in his own way, and according to his own temper. One point is Unquestionable, that mankind are preposterous : — to think light, and to act Well, we must think and act differently from them. To submit to the authority, and follow the example "of the greater part of men, would fender us foolish and mis- erable.
Her. All this is, indeed, true : but then, thou hast no real love *er feeling for thy species* The calamities of man*
1 10 THE ENGLISH READER. Part I
kind excite thy mirth ; and this proves that thou host no re- gard for men, nor any true respect for the virtues which they have unhappily abandoned.
Fenelon, Archbishop of Cambray*
SECTION II.
DIONYSlUS, PYTHIAS, AND DAMON.
Genuine virtue commands respect, even from the bad.
Dionysius. Amazing ! what do I see ? It is Pythias just arrived. It is indeed Pythias. I did not think it possible. He is come to die, and to redeem his friend !
Pythias. Yes, it is Pythias. I left the place of my con- finement, with no other view, than to pay to heaven the vows I had made ; to settle my family concerns according to the rules of justice ; and to bid adieu to my children, that I might die tranquil and satisfied.
Dio. But why dost thou return ? Hast thou no fear of death ? Is it not the character of a mad man, to seek it thus voluntarily ?
Py. I return Jo suffer, though I have not deserved death. Every principle of honour and goodness, forbids me to allow my friend to die for me.
Dio. Dost thou, then, love him better than thyself?
Py. No ; I love him as myself. But I am persuaded that I might to suffer death, rather than my friend; since it was Pythias whom thou hadst decreed to die. It were not just that Damon should suffer, to deliver me from the death which was designed, not for him, but for me only.
Dio. But thou supposest, that it is as unjust to inflict death upon thee, as upon thy friend.
Py. Very true ; we are both perfectly innocent ; and it is equally unjust to make either of us suffer.
Dio. Why dost thou then assert, that it were injustice to put him to death, instead of thee ?
Py. It is unjust, in the same degree, to inflict death ei- ther on Damon or myself: but Pythias were highly culpable to let Damon suffer that death, which the tyrant had prepa- red for Pythias only.
Dio. Dost thou then return hither, on the day appointed, with no other view, than to save the life of a friend, by los- ing thy own ?
Py. I returo, in regard to thee, to suffer au act of injus-
ftp. 7. DIALOGUES. Ill
\e which it is common for tyrants to inflict : and with re- ?ct u> Damon, to perform my fluty, by rescuing him from e danger he incurred by his generosity to me. \Dio. And now. Damon, let me address myself to thee. — iidst thou not really fear, that Pythian would never return, id that thou won Ids t he put to death on his account '?
Da. I was hut too itvelj assured, that Pythias would punc- tally return; and that lie would he more solicitous to keep is piomise, than to preserve his life. Woidd to heaven, that lis relations ami friends had forcibly detained him ! He wouid ten have lived For the comfort and benefit of good men, and rshonld have the satisfaction of dying for him ! ! Dio. What, does life displease thee ?
Da. Yes ; it displeases me when I see and feel the power fa tyrant.
Dio. It is well ; thou shait see him no more. I will or- er thee to be put to death immediately. I Py. Pardon the feelings of a man who sympathises with lis dying; friend. But remember it was Pythi s who was de- moted by thee to destruction, I come to submit to it, that
may redeem my friend. Do not refuse me this consolation n my last hginv
Dio I cannot endure men, who despise death, and set my ;>ower at defiance.
Da. Thou canst not, then, endure virtue.
Dio. No: 1 cannot endure that proud, disdainful virtue, which contemns life ; which dreads no punishment ; and which is insensible to the charms of riches and pl^a«ure.
Da. Thou seest, however, that it is a virtue, which is not insensible to the dictates of honour, justice, and friendship.
Dio. Guards, take Pythias to execution. We shall see whether Damou will continue to de>pise my authority.
Da. Pythias, by returning to submit himself to thy plea- sure, ha^ merited his life, and deserved thy favour; but I
have excited thy indignation, by resigning myself *o thy power, in order to save him : be satisfied, then, with this sa- crifice, and put me to death.
Py* Hold, Dionysius ! Remember, it was Pythias alone who offended thee : Damon could not— —
Dio. Alas! what do 1 see and hear! where am I ! How miserable ; and how worthy to be so ! I have hitherto known nothing of true virtue. I have spent my life m darkness and error. All my power and honours are msuth'cient to produce love, i cannot boast of having acquired a single friend, m the course of a reign of thirty years. And yet these two
112 THE ENGLISH READER. Part
persons, in a private condition, love one another tender!* unreservedly confide in each oilier, are mutually happy, au ready to die for each other's preservation.
Py. How couldst thou, who hast never loved any per<oi expect to have friends ? If thou hadst loved and respite
inen, thou wouldst have secured their love and respect.
Thou bast feared mankind ; and they fear thee : they dete* thee. ■
Dio. Damon, Pythias, condescend to admit me as a thtr friend, in a connexion so perfect. I give vou your lives, an I will load yon with riches.
Da We have no desire to be enriched by thee ; and, i; regard to thy friendship, we cannot accept or enjoy it, til thou become good and just. Without these qualifications thou canst be connected with none but trembling^laveTam base flatterers. To be loved and esteemed by men of fre« and generous minds, thou must be virtuous, affectionate, dis mt< rested, beneficent ; and know how to live in a sort of e quality with those who share and deserve thy friendship.
Fcnelon, Archbishop of Cambray.
SECTION III. * P
LOCKE AND BAYLE.
Christianity defended against the cavils of scepticism.
Bayle. Yes, we both tvere philosophers; but my philoso* phy was the deepest. You dogmatized ; I doubted.
Locke. Do you make doubting a proof of depth in philos- ophy-? It may be a good beginning of it ; but it is a bad end.
Bayle. No : the more profound our researches are into the nature of things, the more uncertainty we shall find;— and the most subtle minds see objections and difficulties in every system, which are overlooked or undiscoverable by or- dinary understandings.
Locke. It would be better then to be no philosopher, and to continue in the vulgar herd of mankind, that one may have the convenience of thinking that one knows something. — I find that the eyes which nature has given me, see many things very clearly, though some are out of their reach, or
discerned but dimly. What opinion ought I to have of a
physician, who should uffer me an eye-water, the use of which would at first So sharpen my sight, as to carry it further thaa
"hap. 7. DIALOGUES. 113
•rdinary vision ; but would in the end put thera out? Your ihilosophy is to the eyes of the mind, what I have supposed he doctor's nostrum to be to those of the body. It actual- y brought your own excellent understanding, which was by lature quick-sighted, and rendered more so by art and sub- ilty of lo^ic peculiar to yourself— it brought, I say, your ve- y acuU understanding to see nothing clearly ; and envelo- >ed all the great truths of reason and religion in mists of loubt.
Bayle. I own it did ; but your comparison is not just. I iid not see well, before I used my philosophic eye-water :~I »nly supposed I saw well : — but 1 was in an error, with all he rest of mankind. The blindness was real, the percep- irtns were imaginary. \ cured myself first of those false im- ginaiions, and then I laudably endeavoured to cure other tien.
Locke, A great cure indeed ! — and do not you think, that w return for the service you did them, they ought to erect ou a statue ?
Bayle- Yes ; it is good for human nature to know its own weakness. VVhen we arrogantly presume on a strength we ave not, we are always in great danger of hurting ourselves, r at least of deserving ridicule and contempt, by vain and lie effort s.
Locke, I agree wiih you, that human nature should know is own weakness; but it should also feel its strength, and ry to improve it. This was my employment as a philoso- her. I endeavoured to discover the real powers of the mind, rt see what it could do, and what it could not; to restrain . from efforts beyond its ability ; but to teach it how to ad- ance as far as the faculties given to it by nature, with the most exertion and most proper culture of them, would flow it to go. In the vast ocean of philosophy, I had the jne and the plummet always in my hands. Many of its troths I found myself unable to fathom; but by caution in finding, and the careful observations I made in the course f my voyage, I found out some truths of <o much use to maiir ind, that they acknowledged me to have been their beoe- ictor.
Bayle. Their ignorance mak^s them think so. Some oth- : philosopher will come hereafter, and show those truths to 3 falsehoods. He will pretend to discover other truths of }iial importance. A later sage will arise perhaps among en, now barbarous and unlearned, whose sagacious discove- es will discredit the opiuions of his admired predecessor.—
114 THE ENGLISH READER. Fart 1
~~In philosophy, as in nature, ail changes its form, and on< thing exists by the destruction of another.
Locke. Opinions taken up without a patient investigation, depending; on terms not accurately defined, and principle! begged without proof, like* theories to explain the phenome- na of nature, built on supposition instead of experiments, must perpetually change and destroy one another. But fune opi nions there are, even in matters not obvious to the commoj sense of mankind, which the mind has received on such ra tional grounds of assent, that they are as immoveable as thi pillars of heaven ; or, to speak philosophically, a* the grea! laws of Nature, by winch, under God, the universe is sustai ned. Can you seriously think that, because the hypothesii of your countryman, Descartes, which was nothing hut an in genious, well managed romance, has been lately exploded the system of Newton, which is built on experiments am geometry, the two most certain methods of discovering truth will ever fail ? or that, because the whims of fanatics and th< divinity of the schoolmen, cannot now be supported, the doc trines of that religion, which I, the declared enemy of all en thusiasm and false reasoning, firmly believed and maintained will ever be shaken ?
Bayle. If you had asked Descartes, while he was in th height of his vogue, whether his system would ever be cod futed by any other philosophers, as that of Aristotle ha been bv his, what answer do you suppose he would have re turned .?
Locke. Come, come, yon yourself know the difference Ik tween the foundation*; on which the credit of those systeir and that of Newton is placed. Your scepticism is more a fected than real. You found it a shorter way to a great re} utation, (the only wish of your heart,) to object, than to d< fend ; to pull down, than to set up. And your talents wei admirable for that kind of work. Then your huddling tog ther in a Critical Dictionary, a pleasant tale, or obscene jes and a grave argument against the Christian religion, a wit confutation of some absurd author, and an artful sophism impeach some respectable truth, was particularly commof ous to all our young smarts and smatterers in free thinkin — But what mischief have you not done to human soeiet} Y'ou have endeavoured, and with some degree of success, shake those foundations, on which the whole moral wor and the great fabric of social happiness, entirely rest. He could you, as a philosopher, in the sober hours of reflect!! answer Tor this to your conscience, eyeu supposing vou h
Dhap. 7. DIALOGUES. 115
Itffaif of! the truth of a system, which gives to virtue its iweetest hopes, to impenitent vic(j its greatest Tears, and to .me penitence its best consolations j which r< strains even the Jeast approaches <o guilt, and yet makes those allowan- ces for the infirmities of our nature, which the Stoic pride denied 'o it, hot which its real imperfection, and the good- aess of its infinitely -benevolent Creator, so evidently re- {me ? /
Bayle. The mind is free ; and it loves to exert i<s free- dom. Any r« straint upon it is a violence done to its nature, and a tyranny, against which it ij^s a right to rehel.
Loclie. The mind, though free, has a governor within it- relf, which may and ought to limit the exercise of its free- dom. That governor is reason.
Bayle. Yes : but reason, like other governors, has a poli- cy more dependent upon uncertain caprice, than upon any axed laws. And if that reason, which rules my mind or pours, has happened to set up a favourite notion, it not only aibmits impl-citly to it, but desires that the same respect thou Id be paid to it by all the rest of mankind. Now i hold that any man may lawfully oppose this desire in another; ind that, if he is wise, he will use his utmost endeavours to sheck it in himself.
Locke. Is there not also a weakness of a contrary nature to this you are now ridiculing ? Do we not often take a plea- sure in showing our own power, and gratifying our own pride, by degrading the notions set tip by other men, aud generally respected ?
Bayle. I believe we do; and by this means it often hap- pens, that, if one man builds and consecrates a temple to fol* iy, another pulls it down.
Locke, Do you think it beneficial to human society, to 9ave all temples pulled down ?
Bayle, I cannot say that I do.
Locke. Yet I find not in your writings any mark of d'u- •inction, to show us which you mean to save.
Bayle. A true philosopher, like an impartial historian, Bust be of no sect.
Locke. Is there no medium between the blind zeal of a sectary, and a total indifference to all religion ?
Bayle. With regatd to morality, I was not indifferent.
Locke. How could you then be indifferent with regard to he sanctions religion gives to morality ? How could you )ublish what tends so directly and apparently to weaken in naukiod the belief of those sanctions ? Was not this sacri- h
116 THE ENGLISH READER. Parti
firing the great interests of virtue to the little motives of va- nity ?
Bayle. A man may act indiscreetly, but he cannot do wrong, by declaring that which, on a full discussion of tha question, he sincerely thinks to be true.
Locke. An enthusiast, who advances doctrines prejudicial to society, or opposes any that are useful to it, has the strength* of opinion, and the heat of a disturbed imagination, to plead in alleviation of his fault. But your cool head and sound judgmeut, can have no such excuse. 1 know very well there are passages in all your works, and those not few, where you talk like a rigid moralist. I have also heard that your cha- racter was irreproachably good. But when, in the most la- boured parts of your writings, you sap the surest foundations of all moral duties; what avails it, that in others, or in the conduct of your life, you appeared to respect them ? How many, who have stronger passions than you had, and are de- sirous to get rid of the curb that restrains them, will lay hold of your scepticism, to set themselves loose from all obliga- tions of virtue ! What a misfortune it is to have made such a use of such talents ! It would have been better for you and for mankind, if you had been one of the dullest of Dutch the- ologians, or the most credulous monk in a Portuguese con- vert. The riches of the mind, like those of fortune, may be employed so perversely, as to become a nuisance and pest, instead of an ornament and support, to society.
Bayle. You are very severe upon me. But do you count it no merit, no service to mankind, to deliver them from the frauds and fetters of priestcraft from the deliriums of fanati- cism, and from the terrors and follies of superstition ? Consi- der how much mischief these have done to the world ! Even in the last age, what massacres, what civil wars, what con- vulsions of government, what confusion in society, did they produce ! Nay, in that we both lived in, though much more enlightened than the former, did I not see them occasion i violent persecution in my own country ? and can you blame me for striking at the root of these evils ?
Locke. The root of these evils, you well know, was falsi religion: but you struck at the true. Heaven and hell an not more different, than the system of faith I defended, am that which produced the horrors of which you speak. Wlr would you so fallaciously confound them together in some o your writings, that it requires much more judgment, and more diligent attention, than ordinary readers have, to sep arate them again, and to make the proper distinctions? This
/* /fiJf: 9* 7R jr. £ if f ^ **J
Chap. 8. public spwffcffES. 117
indeed, is the great art of Uncelebrated free-thinkers. They recommend themselves to warm and ingenious minds, by live- ly strokes of wit, and by arguments really strong, against su- perstition, enthusiasm, and priestcraft. But, at the same time, they insidiously throw the colours of these upon the fair face of true religion ; and dress her out in their garb, with a malignant intention to render her odious or despicable, to those who have not penetration enough to discern the impi- ous fraud. Some of them may have thus deceived themselves as well as others. Yet it is certain, no book that was ever written by the most acute of these gentlemen, is so repugnant *o priestcraft, to spiritual tyranny, to all absurd supersti- tions, to all that can tend to disturb or injure society, as that gospel they so much affect to despise.
Bayle. Mankind are so made, that, when they have been over-heated, they cannot be bro't to a proper temper again, till they have been over-cooled. My scepticism might be neeessary to abate the fever and frenzy of false religion.
Locke. A wise prescription indeed, to bring on a paralyti- ca! state of the mind, (for such a scepticism as yours is a pal- sy, which deprives the mind of all vigour, and deadens its na- tural and vital powers,) iu order to take off a fever which temperance, and the milk of the evangelical doctrines, would probably cure.
Bayle, 1 acknowledge that those medicines have a great power. But few doctors apply them untainted with the mix- ture of some harsher drugs, or some unsafe and ridiculous nos- trums of their own.
Locke. What you now say is too true. God has given us a most excellent physic for the soul, in all its diseases ; but bad and interested physicians, or ignorant and conceited quacks, administer it so ill to the restof mankind, that much *f the benefit of it is unbapp'ly lost. lord lyttleton.
CHAPTER VHF. PUBLIC SPEECHES.
SECTION I.
Cicero against Verres. 1. The time is come, Fathers, when that which has long been wished for, towards allaying the envy your order has
118 THE EtfGLlSH READER. Part F„
been subject t6, and removing; (he imputation* against trials, is effectually put in your power. An opinion has \i g pre* vailed, not only here at home, but likewise in foreign conn* tries, both dangerous to you. and pernicious to the state, — that in prosecu lions, men of wealth are always sate, however clearly convicted.
2. There is now to be brought upon his trial bt fore you, to the confusion, I hope, of the propagators of this slande- rous imputation, one whose life and actions condemn him in the opinion of all impartial persons; but who, according; to his own reckoning and declared dependence upon hrs riches, is already acquitted: — I mean Cains Verres. I demand jus- tice of); 11 Fathers, upon the robber of the public treasury, the oppressor of Asia Minor and Pamphyiia, the invader of the rights and privileges of Romans, the scourge and curse of Sicily.
3. If that sentence is passed on him which his crimes de* serve, your authority. Fathers, will be venerable and sacred in the eyes of the public ; but if his great riches should bias you in his favour, I shall still gain one point, — to make it ap*^ parent to all the worid, that what was wanting in this case, Was not a criminal nor a proseeuior, but justice and adequate punishment.
4. To pass over the shameful irregularities of hi« youth* what does his questorship, the first public employment he held, what does it exhibit, but one continued scene of villa* nies ? Cneius Caibo, plundered of the public money by his own treasurer, a consul stripped and betrayed, an army des- sert ed and reduced to want, a province robbed, the civil and religi us righ's of a people violated.
5. The employment he held in Asia Minor and Pamphyliav wha* did it produce but the ruin of those countries ? in which houses, cities and temples, were robbed by him. What was bis conduct in bis prsstorship here at home ? Let the plunde- red temples, and public works neglected, that be might em- bezzle tfcfe money intended for carrying them on, bear wit ness. Ho* did he discharge the office of a judge ? Let those who soared by his injustice answer. But his praetorship in Sicily crowns all his works of wickedness, and finishes a last- ing monument to his infamy.
6. The mischief done by him in that unhappy country, du- ring the three years of his iniquitous administration, are such, that many years, under the wisest and best of praetors, will not be sufficient to restore things to the condition in which he found them ; for it is notorious, that, during the time of
Chap. 8. PUBLIC SPEECHES. 119
his tyranny, the Sicilians neither enjoyed the protection of their own original laws; of the regulations made for their benefit by the Roman senate, upon their coming under the protection of the commonwealth ; nor of the natural and un- alienable rights of men.
7. His nod has decided all causes in Sicily for these three years. Aud bis decisions have broken all law , all precedent, all right. The sums he has, by arbitrary taxes and unheard- of impositions, extorted from the industrious poor, are not to be computed. The most faithful allies of the commonwealth have been treated as enemies.
8. Roman citizens have, like slaves, been put to death with tortures. The most atrocious criminals, for money, have been exempted from deserved punishments; and men of the most unexceptionable characters, condemned and ba- nished untie rd. The harbours, though sufficiently fortified, and the gates of strong towns, have been opened to pirates and ravagers.
9. The soldiery and sailors, belonging to a province under the protection of the commonwealth, have been starved to death ; whole fleets, to the great detriment of the province, suffered to perish. The ancient monuments of either Sicil-
| ian or Roman greatness, the statues of heroes and princes, | have been carried off; and the temples stripped of their im- ages, m^
10. Having, by his iniquitous sentences, filler the prisons with the most industrious and deserving of the people, he then proceeded to order numbers of Roman citizens to be strangled in the gaols ; so that the exclamation, "I am a cit- izen of Rome !" which has often, in the most distant regions, and among the most barbarous people, been a protection, was of no service to them ; but, on the contrary, brought a spee- dier and more severe punishment upon them.
11. I ask now, Verres, what thou hast to advance against this charge ? Wilt thou pretend to deny it ? Wilt thou pre- tend that any thing false, that even any thing aggravated is alleged against thee ? Had any prince, Or any state, commit- ted the same outrage against the privilege of Roman citizens, should we not think we had sufficient ground for demanding satisfaction ?
12. W7hat punishment ought, then, to be inflicted upon a tyrannical and wicked praetor, who dared, at no greater dis- tance than Sicily, within sight of the Italian coast, to put to the infamous death of crucifixion, that unfortunate and inno- cent citizen, Publius Gavius Cosauus, only for his having as-
L2
120 THE EKdLXSH READER* Part L
serted his privilege of citizenship, and declared his intention of appealing to the justice of his country, against the cruel oppressor who had unjustly confined him in prison at Syra- cuse, whence he had just made bis escape.
13. The unhappy man, arrested as he was going to embark for his native country, is brought before the wicked praetor. *— With eyes darting fury, and a countenance distorted with cruel y, he orders the helpless victim of his rage to be strip- ped, and rods to be brought ; accusing him, but without the least shadow of evidence, o? even of suspicion, of having come to ^itiiy as a spy. %
14. It was in vain that the unhappy man cried out, "I am a^ Roman citizen : I have served under Lucius Pretius, who
is now at Panormus, and will attest my innoceuce." The
bit -.od-thirs y praetoi, deaf to all he could urge in bis own de>- fence, ord red the infamous punishment to be inflicted,
15. Ttbufy Fathers, was an innocent Roman citizen pub- licly mangled with scourging; whilst the only words he ut- tered amidst his cruel sufferings, were, "I am a Roman citi- zen!1' Wi«h these lie hoped to defend himself from vio* lence and infamy. But of so little service was this principle to htm, that, while he was thus asserting his citizenship, the order was given for his execution,— for his execution upon the cross !
16. O liberty \ — O sound, once delightful to every Roman ear ! O sacred privilege of Roman citizenship ! once sacred *-now trampled upon ! But what then ? Is it come to this ? Shall an inferior magistrate, a governor, who holds his whole power of the Roman people, in a Roman province, within sight of Italy, bind, scourge, torture with fire and red hot plates of iron, and at last put to the infamous death of the cross, a Roman citizen ?
17 Shall neither the cries of innocence expiring in agony, nor the tears of pitying spectators, nor the majesty of the Roman commonwealth, nor the fears of the justice of his coun- try, restrain the licentious and Wanton cruelty of a monster, who, in confidence of his riches, strikes at the root of liberty* and sets mankind at defiance ?
18. i conclude with expressing my hopes, that your wis- dom and justice, Fathers, will not, by suffering the atrociouf and unexampled insolence of Caius Verres to escape due pun- ishment, leave room to apprehend the danger of a total sub version of authority, and the introduction of general an&rchjf &nd confusion* cicbeo's qratios§>
/ * ' /?
Chap* 8. PUBLIC speeches. 12!x
SECTION H.
Speech of Adherbal, to the Roman Senate, imploring their protection against Jugurtha.
Fathers :
1. It is known to you that king Micipsa, my father, on his death-bed, left in charge to Jugurtha, his adopted son, conjunctly with my unfortunate brother, Hiempsal, and my- self, the children of his own body, the administration of the f kingdom of Nuinidia, directing us to consider the senate and people of Home as proprietors of it. He charged us to lue our best endeavours to be serviceable to the Roman com- monwealth : assuring us, that your protection would prove a defence agaiust all enemies; and would be instead of armies, fori ificat ions, and treasures.
2. While my brother and I were thinking of nothing but how to regulate ourselves according to the Aggjgjpms of our-f- tleceased father, — Jugurtha, the most infamous of mankind ! breaking through all ties of gratitude and common humani- ty, and trampling on the authority of the Roman common- wealth, procured the murder of my unfortunate brother; and lias driven me from my throne and native country, though 'he knows 1 inherit, from my grandfather Massinissa, and my father Micipsa, the friendship and alliance of the Romans.
3. For a prince to be reduced, by villany, to my distress- ful circumstances, is calamity enough ; but my misfortunes -are heightened by the consideration that 1 find myself obli- ged to solicit your assistance, Fathers, lor the services done .;you by my aucestors, uot for any I have been able to render 3pou in my own person. Jugurtha has put it out of my power %> Reserve any thing at your bands ; and has forced me to be burdensome, before I could be useful to you.
4. And yet, if I had no plea, but my undeserved misery ; a Once powerful prince, the descendant of a race of illustrious
*mocarchs, now, without any fault of my own, destitute of ev- ery support, and reduced to the necessity of begging foreign ♦assistance, against an enemy_who has seized my throne and my kingdom — if my unequal distresses were all 1 had to plead, it would become the greatness of the Roman common wealth to protect the injured, and to check the triumph of daring wickedness over helpless innocence.
5. But, to provoke your resentment to the utmost, Jugur- tha &as driven me from the very dominions, which the senate
4. oLt^t^Cc^TtJ
122 THE ENGLISH READER. Part E
■*£ and people of Rome s^ave to my ancestors ; and, from which, my grandfather, and my father, under your nmbrage'JJe'xpelled Syphax and the Carthaginians. Thus, fathers, your kindness to our family is defeated; and Jugurtha, in injuring me, throws contempt upon you.
6. Oh wretched prince ? Oh erne! reverse of fortune ! Oh father Micipsa ! is this the consequence of thy generosity; that he, whom thy goodness raided to an equality with thy own children, should be the murderer of thy children ? Must then the myal house of Numidia always be a scene of havoc
and blood ? While Carthage remained, we suffered, as was
to he expected, all sorts of hardships from their hostile at- tacks; our enemy near; our only powerful ally, the Roman commonwealth, at a distance.
Ji. When that scourge of Africa was no more, we congra- tulated ourselves on the prospect of established peace.
But, instead of peace, behold the kingdom of Numidia dren- ched with royal blood ! and the only surviving son of its late king, flying from an adopted murderer, and seeking that safe- ty in foreign parts, which be cannot command in his own kingdom.
8. Whither— oh ! whither shall I fly ? If I return to the royal pa'ace of my ancestors, my father's throne is seized by the murderer of my brother. What can I there expect, but that Jugurtha should ha*ten to imbrue in my blood, those hands which are now reeking with ray brother's? If I were to fly for refuge, or for assistance to any other court, from what prince can I hope for protection, if the Roman com- monwealth give me up ? From my own family or friends f have no expectations.
9. My royal father is no more. He is beyond the reach of violence, and out of hearing of the complaints of bis unhappy son. Were my brother alive, our mutual sympathy would: be some alleviation. But he is hurried out of life, in his ear-- ly youth, by the very hand which should have been the last to injure any of the royal family of Numidia.
10. The bloody Jugurtha has butchered all whom he sus- pected to be in my interest. Some have been destroyed by the lingering torments of the cross. Others have been given a prey to wild beasts ; and their anguish made the sport of men more cruel than wild beasts. If there be any yet alive, they are shut up in dungeons, there to drag out a life more intolerable than death itself.
11. Look down, illustrious senators of Rome! from that height of power to which you are raised; on the unexampled
Chap. 8. PUBLIC SPEECHES. 123
distresses of a prince, who is, by the cruelty of a wicked in- truder, become an outcast from all mankind. Let not the, crafty insinuations of him who returns murder for adoption, prejudice your judgment. Do not listen to the wretch who has butchered the son and relations of a king, who gave him power to sit on the same throne with his own sons.
12. I have been informed, that he labours by his emissaries to prevent your determining any thins; against him in his ab- sence ; pretending that I magnify my distress, and might for liim, have staid in peace in my own kingdom. But, if ever the time comes* when the due vengeance from above shall overtake him, he will then dissemble as I do. Then he, who How, hardened in wickedness, triumphs over those whom his vi lence has laid low, will, in his turn, feel distress, and suffer for bis impious ingratitude to my father, and his blood-thirsty cruelty to my brother.
13. Oh murdered, butchered brother! oh dearest to my heart — now gone fov ever from my sight ! But why should I lament his death ? H(e is, indeed, deprived of the blessed light of heaven* of life, and kingdom, at once, by the very person who ought to have been the first to hazard his own fife, in defence of any one of Micipsa's family. But, as things are, my brother is not so much deprived of these comforts, as delivered from terror, from flight, from exile, and the endless train of miseries which render life to me a burden.
14. He lies full low, gored with wounds, and festering in frfc own blood. But he lies in peace. He feels none of the miseries which rend my soul with agony and distraction, while I am set up a spectacle to all mankind, of the uncertainty of human affairs. So far from having it in my power to punish his murderer, I am not master of the means of securing my own life. So far from being in a condition to defend ray king- dom from the violence of the usurper, I am obliged to apply for foreign protection for my own person.
15. Fathers! Senators of Borne! the arbiters of nations! to yon I fly for refuge from the murderous fury of Jugurtha. l^y your affection for your children ; by your love for your country ; by your own virtues ; by the majesty of the Roman commonwealth ; by all that is sacred, and all that is dear to you — deliver a wretched prince from undeserved, unprovok- ed injury ; and save the kingdom of Numidia, which is your own property, from being the prey of violence, usurpation, and cruelty. sallust.
124 THE ENGLISH READER. Part L
SECTION III. The Apostle Paul's noble defence before Festus and Agrijipa.
1. Agripp\ said unto Paul, thou art permitted to speak for thyself Then Paul stretched forth his hand and answered for himself. 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 1 know thee to be expert in all customs and questions which are among the Jews. Wherefore 1 beseech thee to hear me patiently.
2. :\]y; mannenof 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 testify) that after the most straitest sect of our religion, 1 lived a Pharisee.—* And now I stand and am judged for the hope of the promise made by God to our tat tiers ; to which promise, our twelve tribes, continually serving God day and night, hope to come ; and, for this hope's sake, king Agrippa, I am accused by the Jews.
3. Why should it be thought a thing incredible with youf. that God should raise the dead ? 1 verily thought with my- self, that [ ought to do many things contrary to the name of Jesus of Nazareth; and this I did in Jerusalem. Many of thi sain is 1 shut up in prison, having received authority from the chief priests : and when they were put to death, I gave my voice against them.
4. And 1 often punished them in every synagogue, and com- pelled hem to blaspheme ; and being exceedingly mad against them, I persecuted them even unto si range cities. But as I went to Damascus, with authority and commission from the chiei prsest, at mid-day, Oking! I >te* in the way, a light from heaven, above the brightness of the^snn, stone round a- bout me. and them who journeyed with me. ffiL'&t fc#M|
3. And when we were all fallen to the earth, I heard a voice speaking to me and saying, in the Hebrew tongue, Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me ? It is hard for thee to kick against the pricks. And I said, who art thou. Lord ? And be replied, i am Jesus, whom thou persecutest.
6. But. rise, anri si and upon thy feet : for I have appeared to thee for this purpose, to make thee a minister, and a wit- ness, both of these things which thou hast seen, and of those things in which I will appear to thee : delivering thee from the people, and trom the Gentiles, to whom 1 now send thee,
X A<*^
Chap, H. % KTfttio speeches* 125
to open their eyes, and to turn them from darkness to light, and fVorrt the power of Satan to God ; that they may rceeive forgiveness of sins, and inheritance amongst them who are tenet i tied by faith that is in me.
7. Whereupon, O king Agrippa ! I was not disobedient to the heavenly vision ; but showed first to them of Damascus, and at Jerusalem, and through all the coasts of Judea, and then to the Gentries, that they should repent, and turn to God, and do works meet for repentance. For these causes, the Jews caught me iu the temple; and went about to kill me.
8. Having, however, obtained help from God, I continue to this day, witnessing both lo small and gieat, saying no oth- er 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 he dead ; and that he would show light to the people, and to the Gentiles.
9. And as he thus spoke for himself, Festus said, with a loud voice, "Paul, thou art beside thyself; much learning bath made thee mad." But he replied, I am not mad, most froble Festus ; but speak the words of truth and soberness. For the king knoweth these things, before whom I also speak freely. I am persuaded that none of these things are hidden from him ; for this thing was not done in a corner.
10. King Agrippa, believest thou the prophets ? I ffhowr that thou believest. Then Agrippa said to Paul, "Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian/' Aiid Paul replied, **I would to God, that not only thou, but also all that hear me this day, were both almost, and altogether such as 1 am, except these bonds/'* acts xxvi.
4 SECTION IV.
lord Mansfield's speech
In the house ofPeers, 1770, on the bill for preventing the delays of justice, by claiming the Privilege of Parliament.
1. My lords, When I consider the importance of this
bill to your Lordships, ( am not surprised it has taken up so much of your consideration. It is a bill, iudeed, of no eom-
*How happy was this great Apostle, even in the most perilous circumstan- es ! Though under bonds and oppression, his mind was free, and raised above very fear of man. With what dignity and Composure does he defend himself, ^nd the noble caupe he had espoused ; whilst he displays the most companionate nd generous feelings for those, vrho were strangers to the bubliac religion by vlach he was aaioi&ted.
126 THE ENGLISH READER* Fart I.
mon magnitude ; it is no less than to take away from two thirds of the legislative body of this great kingdom, certain privileges and immunities of which they have been long pos* sessed. Perhaps there is no situation the human mind caa be placed in, that is so difficult and so trying, as when it is made a judge in its own cause.
2. There is something implanted in the breast of man so attached to self, so tenacious of privileges ooce obtained, that in such a situation, either to discuss with impartiality, or de- cide with justice, has ever been held the summit of all human virtue. The bill now in question puts your lordships in this very predicament; and I have no doubt the wisdom of your decision will convince the world, that where self interest ao4 justice are in opposite scales, the latter will ever preponde- rate with your lordships.
3. Privileges have been granted to legislators in all age?, and in all countries. The practice is founded in wisdom;; and, indeed, it is peculiarly essential to the constitution of this country, that the members of both houses should be frep in their persons, in case of civil suits : for there may come a time when the safety and welfare of this whole empire, maf depend upon their attendance in parliament.
4. I am far from advising any measure that would in future endanger the state : but the bill before your lordships has,1] am confident, no such tendency ; for it expressly secures the persons of members of either house in all civil suits. Thii being Uie case, i confess, when I see many noble lords, foi who*e judgment I have a very great respect, standing up t( oppose a bill which is calculated merely to facilitate the re U covery of just and legal debts, I am astonished and amazed, I
5. They, I doubt not, oppose the bill upon public princi pies : I would not wish to insinuate, that private interest hai the least weight in their determination. The bill has beei frequently proposed, and as frequently has miscarried: bu it was always lost in the lower house. Little did i think when it had passed the commons, that it possibly could hav met with such an opposition here,
6. Shall it be said that you, my lords, the grand council < the nation, the highest judicial and legislative body of tb reaim, endeavour to evade, by privilege, those very law which you enforce on your fellow subjects? Forbid it, ju tice !— I am sure, were the noble lords as well acquainted i I ain, with but half the difficulties and delays occasioned
lap. 8. PUBLIC SPEECHES. 127
e courts of justice, under pretence of privilege, they would •t, nay, they could not oppose this bill.
7. I have waited with patience to hear what arguments ight be urged against this bill ; but I have waited in vain : e truth is, there is no argument that cau weigh against it. fie justice and expediency of the bill are such as render it If-evident. It is a proposition of that nature, which can ither be weakened by argument, nor entangled with sophis- y. Much, indeed, has been said by some noble lords, on e wisdom of our ancestors, and how differently they thought >m us.
8. They not only decreed, that privilege should prevent I civil suits from proceeding during the sitting of partia- ent. but likewise granted protection to the very servants
members. I shall say nothing of the wisdom of our ances- rs ; it might perhaps appear invidious : that is not neces- ry in the present case\ I shall only say, that the noble ds who flatter themselves with the weight of that reflec- m, should remember, that as circumstances alter, things emselves should alter.
9. Formerly, it was not so fashionable either for masters servants to run in debt, as it is at present. Formerly, we
?re not that great commercial nation we are at present ; r formerly were merchants and manufacturers members of rliament as at present. The case is now very different ; »th merchants and manufacturers are, with great propriety, scted memhers of the lower house Commerce having thus t into the legislative body of the kingdom, privilege must i done away.
10. We all know, that the very soul and essence of trade c regular payments; and sad experience teaches us, that ere are men, who will not make their regular payments thout the compulsive powers of the law. The law then glit to be equally open to all. Any exemption to particu- h men, or particular ranks of men, is, in a tree and commer- tl country, a solecism of the grossest nature
11. But 1 will not trouble your lordships with arguments • that, which is sufficiently evident without any. 1 shall ly say a few words to some noble lords, who foresee much iouvenience, from the persons of the^ervauts being liable be arrested. One noble lord observes, that the coachmau a peer may be arrested, while he is driving his master to 3 house, and that, consequently, he will not be able to at" id his duty in parliament.
, ^/W /,/S3y. ^
123 THE ENGLISH READER. Part
12. If this were actually to happen, there are so many mi thods by which the member might still get to the lions- that I cau hardly think the noble lord is serious in his obje tion. Another uofole peer said, that, by this bill, one migl lose his most valuable and honest servants. This I hold be a contradiction in terms : for he can neither be a valu ble servant, nor an honest man, who gets into debt whi< lie is neither able nor willing to pay, till compelled by 1 law.
13. If my servant, by unforeseen accidents, has got in debt, and I still wish to retain him, I certainly would pay t demand. But upon no principle of liberal legislation what ver, can my servant have a title to set his creditors at de ance, while for forty shillings only, the honest tradesman m be torn from his family and locked up in a gaol. It is mo strous injustice! I flatter myself, however, the determir tion of this day will entirely put an end to all these part proceedings for the future, by passing into a law the bill u< under your lordships' consideration.
14. I come iiow to speak upon what, indeed, I would ha gladly avoided^ bad 1 not been particularly pointed at for t part 1 have tafreu in this bill, it has been said, by a no! lord on my left hand, that 1 likewise am running the race popularity, if the noble lord means by popularity, that ; plause bestowed by after ages, on good and virtuous actio I have long been struggling in that race : to what purpc all-trying time can alone determine.
15. But if the noble lord means that mushroom popul ty, which is raised without merit, and lost without aerii he is much mistaken in his opinion. 1 iiei'y the noble lord point out a single action of my life, h\ which the popular of the times ever had the smallest influence on my deter nations. I thank God I have a more permanent and ste; rule for my conduct,— the dictates of my own breast.
16. Those who have forgone that pleasing adviser, and ven up their mind to be the slave of every popular impu i sincerely pity : I pity them still more, if their vanity It them to mistake the shouts of a mob, for the trumpe fame. Experience might inform them, that many, who ii been saluted with the huzzas of a crowd one day, have re ved their execrations the next ; and many who, by the p< larity of their times, have been held up as Spotless patri bave, nevertheless, appeared upon the historian's page, W' truth has triumphed ever delusion, the assassins of liberty
?bap. 9. promiscuous piece*.
SECTION II.
Letter from Fliny to Geminius.
1. Do we not sometimes observe a sort of people who, though they are themselves under the abject dominion of ev- ery vice, show a kind of malicious resentment against the errors of others ; and are most severe upon.those whom they most resemble? Yet, surely, a lenity of disposition, even ia persons who have the least occasion for clemency themselves, is of all virtues the most becoming.
2. The highest of all characters, in my estimation, is higt who is as ready to pardon the errors of mankind, as if he were every day guil?y of the same himself; and, at the same time, as cautious of committing a fault, as if he never forgave one. It is a rule then which we should, upon all occasions, both private and public, most religiously observe, "to be in- exorable to our own failings, while we treat those of the rest of the world with tenderness, uot excepting even such as for- give none but themselves."
3. 1 shall, perhaps, be asked, who it is that has given oc- casion to these reflections. Know then that a certain per- son lately — but of that when we meet — thouzb, upon second thoughts, not even then; lest, whilst I condemn and expose bis conduct, I shall act counter to that maxim I part ecu larly recommend. Whoever, their fore, and whatever he is, shall remain in silence ; for though there may be some use, per- haps, in setting a mark upon lire man, for the sake of exam- ple, there will be more, however, in sparing him, for the sake if humanity. Farewell. m^w&oth's pliny.
SECTION III. &y
Letter from Pliny to Marcellinus, on the death of an ami- able young woman.
1. I write this under the utmost oppression of sorrow — • be youngest daughter of my Uiend Fnndanus, is dead i Ne- 'er surely was there a more agreeable, and more amiable <oung person ; or one who better deserved to hive enjoyed i long, 8 had almost said, an immortal life ! She had lithe risdom of age, and discretion of a matron, joined with voitth- u! sweetness and vimn modesty.
THE ENGL.ISH READER. Part 1
128
a. With what an engaging fondness did she behave to he father! How kindly and respectfully receive his friends !-[ How affectionately treat ail those who, in their respectiv offices, had the care and education of her ! She employe much of her time in reading, in which she discovered grea strength of judgment : she indulged herself in few diversion? and those with much caution. With what forbearance, wit what patience, with what courage, did she endure her las illness !
3. She complied with al! the directions of her physicians she encouraged her sister, and her father; and, when al! he strength of body was exhausted, supported herself by the sin gle vigour of her mind. That indeed continued, even to he last moments, unbroken by the pain of a lot*g illness, or th terrors of approaching death : and it is a reflection whic makes the loss of her so much the more to be lamented—* loss infinitely severe ! and more severe by the particular con juncture in which it happened !
4. She was contracted to a most worthy youth ; the wed din? day was fixed, and we were all invited. — — How sad change, from the highest joy, to the deepest sorrow ! Ho shall I express the wound that pierced ray heart, when heard Fundanus himself, (as grief is ever finding out cirourn stances to aggravate its affliction,) ordering the money he ha designed to lay out upon clothes and jewels for her marriage to be employed in myrrh and spices for her funeral !
5. He is a man of great learning and good sense, who ba| &$p!ied himself, from his earliest youth, to the noblest an| most elevated studies : but al! the maxims of fortitude whic he has received from books, or advanced himself, he now al solntely rejects; and every other virtue of his heart give j> lace to all a parent's tenderness.
6. We shall excuse, we shall even approve his sorrow when we consider what he has lost. He has lost a daughte who resembled him in his manners, as well as his person ; an exactly copied out ail her father. If his friend Marcellimi shaJ! think proppr to write to him, upon the subject of s reasonable a grief, let me remind him not to use the rou^hc arguments of consolation, and such as seem to carry a sort t reproof with them ; but those of kind and sympathizing hi inanity.
7. Time will render him more open to the dictates of re* sr.n ; for as afresh wound shrinks back from the hand of tfe surgeon, but by degrees submits to, and even requires thfl
ap. 9. promiscuous pieces.. 139
ans of its cure ; so a mind, under the first impressions of uisfortone. shuns and rejects ali arguments of consolation ; t at length, if applied with tenderness, calmly and willing- acquiesces in them. Farewell. melmoth's plin¥*
SECTION IV. V ^7
O'l Discretion.
1. I have often thought, if the minds of men were laid o- fi, we should see but little difference between that of a se man, and that of a fool. There are infinite reyeries, niberle<s extravagancies, and a succession of vanities, which ■ through both The great difference is, that the first ows how tp pick and cull his thoughts for conversation, by )pressing some, and communicating others ; whereas the kt lets them all indifferently fly out in words. This sort discretion, h >wever, has no place in private conversation tween intimate friends.
2. On such occasions, the wisest men very often talk like I weakest; for indeed talking with a friend is nothing else in thinking aloud, Tully has therefore very justly expos- v
a precept, delivered by some ancient writers, that a mam mid live with his enemy in such a manner, as might leave ii room to become his friend ; and with bi« friend, in sucht nanner that, if be became his enemy, it should not be ia i power to hurt him.
3. The first part of this rule, which regards our behavjour ivards an enemy, is indeed very reasonable, as well as ve-
prudential r but the laUer part of it, which regards our haviour towards a friend, savours more of cunning than of icretion ; and would cut a man off from the greatest plea- ses of life, which are tjie freedom of conversation with a som friend.
4. Besides that, when a friend is turned into an enemy. E world is just enough to accuse the perfidiousness of the ?nd, rather than the indiscretion* of the person who confided
him. Discretion does not only show itself in words, but all the circumstances of action ; and is like an under agent Providence, to guide and direct us in the ordinary concerns life.
There are many more shining qualities in the mind of n, hut .there is none so useful as discretion. Its is this, leed, which gives a vahie to al! the rest ; which sets them work in their proper times and places ; and turns then* the advantage of the person who is possessed of them.r-^ N
140 THE ENGLISH READER, Parj
Without it, learning is pedantry, and wit impertinence ; \ tue itself looks like weakness; the best parts only qualifv man to be more sprightly in errors, and active to his oi prejudice.
6. Discretion does not only make a man the master of own parts, but of other men's. The discreet man finds the talents of those he converses with ; and knows how apply them to proper uses. Accordingly, if we look ii particular communities and divisions of men. we may obser that it is the discreet man, not the witty, nor the learned, \ the brave, who guides the conversation, and gives measu to society.
7. A man with great talents, but void of discretion, is 1 Polyphemus in the fable, strong and blind ; endued with irresistible force, which, for want of sight, is of no use to h Though a man has all other perfections, yet if he wants I eretion, he will be of no great cousequence in the world : the contrary, if he has this single talent hi perfection, j but a common share of others, he may do what he please; his particular station of life.
8. At the same time that I think discretion the most i ful talent that a man can be master of, 1 look upon ciiiin to be the accomplishment of little, mean, ungenerous mil Discretion points out the noblest ends to us ; and pursues most proper and laudable methods of attaining them : < Ding has only private, selfish aims ; and sticks at not! which may make them succeed.
9. Discretion has large and extended views; and Hk well-formed eye, commands a whole horizon. Cunning kind of short-sightedness, that discovers the minutest obj "which are near at hand, but is not able to discern things i distance. Discretion, the more it is discovered, gives ag| ter authority to the person who possesses it : cunning, w it is once detected, loses its force, and makes a man inci ble of bringing about even those events which he might I done, bad he passed ouly for a plain man.
10. Discretion is the perfection of reason ; and a g to us in all the duties of life : cunning is a kind of insti that only looks out after our immediate interest and fare. Discretion is only found in men of strong sense
good understandings : cunning is often to be met wit
brutes themselves ; and in persons who are but the fei itj removes from them. In short, cunning is only the mim discretion ; and it may pass upon weak men, iu the s
ip. 9. PROMISCUOUS PIECES. 141
nner as vivacity is often mistaken for wit, and gravity for dom.
1. The cast of mind which is natural to a discreet man, kes him look forward into fulun'y, and consider what I be his condition millions of ages hence, as well as what is at present. He knows that the misery or happiness ich is reserved for him in another world, loses nothing of reality, by being placed at so great a distance from him. e objects do not appear little to him because they are re~ te.
12. He considers, that those pleasures and pains which lie in eternity, approach nearer to him every moment; and
1^ be present with him in their full weight and measure, much as those pains and pleasures which he feels at this y instant. For this reason, he is careful to secure to iself that which is the proper happiness of his nature, and j ultimate design of his being*
13. He carries his thoughts to the end of every action ; and isiders the most distant as well as the most immediate ef- ts of it. He supersedes every little prospect of gain and vantage which offers itself here, if be does not find it con- lent with bis views of an hereafter. In a word, his hopes ! full of immortality ; his schemes are large and glorious ; I his conduct suitable to one who knows his true interest* ! how to pursue it by proper methods. addison.
SECTION V. "-
On the government of our thoughts.
k A multitude of cases occur, in which we are no less countable for what we think, than for what we do. As, t, when the introduction of any train of thought depends 3ii ourselves, and is our voluntary act, by turning our at« itiou towards such objects, awakening such passions, or en- ;ing in such employments, as we know must give a pecu- ' determination to our thoughts. Next, when thoughts, whatever accident they may have been originally suggest- are indulged with deliberation and complacency. 1. Though the mind has been passive in their reception, 1, therefore, free from blame ; yet, if it be active in their itinuance, the guilt becomes its own. They may have ruded at first, like unbidden guests; but if, when entered, ij are made welcome, and kindly entertained, the case is J same as if they had been invited from the beginnings
142 TEE ENGLISH READER. Part 1
3. If we ar'e thus accountable to God for thoughts eithe voluntarily introduced, or deliberately indulged* we are u less so, in the last place, for those which find admittance hit our hearts from" supine negligence, irons total relaxation < attention, froih allowing our imagination to rove tvith et tire license, "like the eyes oi' the fool towards the end of tfc earth. »v
4. Our minds are^ in this case, thrown open to folly an Vanity, 't'hey are fkostitmed to every evil thing which plej ses to take possession. The consequences must all be cha ged to our account ; and in vain we plead excuse from hums infirmity. Hence it appears, that the great object at whic we are to aim in governing our thoughts is, to take the mo effectual measures for preventing the introduction of such j are sinful; and for hastening their expulsion, if they sue have introduced themselves without consent of the will.
5. But when we descend into our breasts, and examir how far we have studied to keep this object in view, who a tell, **how oft he hath offended ?" In no article of relink or morals are men more culpably remiss, than in the unr strained indulgence they give to fancy ; and that too for tl inost part without remorse Since the time that reason b gan to exert her powers, thought, during our waking hour Ea«- been active in every breast, without a moment's suspe sioh or pause.
6i The current of ideas has been always flowing. Tl wheels of thl 'SjfMtiial engine have circulated with perpetu motion. Let me ask, what has been the fruit of this incc sant activity, with the greater part of mankind ? Of the i Jiumerab.e hours that have been employed in thought, be tew are marked with any permanent or useful effect ? Hjj many have either passed away in idle dreams ; or have be abandoned to anxious discontented musings* or unsocial a inalignani passions, or to irregular and criminal desires ?
7. Had I power to lay open that store-house of ihiqtjf which the hearts of too manv conceal ; could I draw out a read to them a list of all the imaginations they have devise and all the passions they have indulged in secret; whai picture of men should I preseht to themselves ! what criit would they appear to have perpetrated in secresy, which their most intimate companions they durst not reveal !
8. Even when men imagine their thoughts to be inuocei ly employed, they too commonly suffer them to run out if extravagant imaginations, and chimerical plan* of what th xyonld wish to attain, or choose to be, if they could frai
?bap. 9. promiscuous pieces. 143
he course of tilings according to their desire. Though such m ploy meats of fancy come not under the same description fith those which are plainly criminal, yet wholly uublainca- !e they seldom are.
9. Besides the waste of time which they occasion, and the lisapplication which they indicate of those intellectual pow- rs that were given to us for much nobler purposes, such ro- lantic speculationflead us always into the neighbourhood of )rbidden regions. They place us on dangerous ground. They re, for the roost part, connected with some one bad passion; ud they always nourish a giddy and frivolous turn of thought.
10. They unfit the mind for applying with vigour lo ratio- al pursuits, or tor acquiescing in sober plans of conduet. — ■ Yoni that ideal world in which' it allows itself to dwell, ill eturns to the commerce of men, unbent and relaxed, sickly [ nd tainted, averse to discharging the duties, and sometimes isqualified even (or relishing the pleasures of ordinary life,
BLAIR*-:
SECTION V*. d&L^
On the evils which flow from unrestrained passions.
1. When man revolted from his Maker, his passions rebel- ?d against himself; and /from being originally the ministers f reason* have become tneT tyrauts of the souTJ Hence, in reatingof this subject, two things may be assumed as pniicj- les : First, that through the present weakness of the under- landing, our passions are often directed towards improper ob- jcts ; and next, that even when their direction is just, and leir objects are innocent, they perpetually tend to run into seess; they always hurry us towards their gratification, vtitii blind and dangerous impetuosity.
2. On these two points then turns the whole government four passions : first, to ascertain the proper objects of ir ursuit ; and next, to restrain them in that pursuit, wiien ley would carry us beyond the bounds of reason. If there
any passion which intrudes itself unseasonably into our mind, hich darkens and troubles our judgment, or habitually dis- HftQgses our temper ; which unfits us for properly disc arg- ig the duties, or disqualifies us for cheerfully enjoying ue wiforts of life, we may certainly conclude it to have gii <-d dangerous ascendant.
3. The great object which we ought to propose to cur- sives is, to acquire a firm and steadfast mind, which the i«^
a
144 THE ENGLISH READER P
fat nation of passion shall not seduce nor its violence shake ^ Which, resting on fixed principles, shalJ, in the midst of con- tending emotions, remain free, aud master of itself; able top listen calmly to the voice of conscience, and prepared to d- bey its dictaies without hesitation.
4. To obtain, if possible, such command of passion, is one of the highest attainments of the rational nature. Arguments to show its importance crowd upon us from every quarter, If there foe any fertile source of mischief to human life, it is* beyond doubt, the misrule of passion. It is this which poi sons the enjoyment of individuals, overturns the order of so ciety, and strews the path of life with so many miseries, a! to render it indeed the vale of tears. f 5. All those great scenes of public calamity, which we be ho J with astonishment and horror, have originated from thifct source of v o:ent passions. These have overspread the eartiii with bloodshed. These have pointed the assassin's dagger B and filled the poisoned bowl. These, in every age, have fur if wished too copious materials for the orator's pathetic declaim mat ion. and for the poet's tragical song. - I
' 6. When from public life we descend to private conduct I though passion operates not there in so wide and destrnctiv a sphere, we shall find its influence to be no less baneful. Meed not mention the black and fierce passions, such as envjli jealousy, and revenge, whose efteMs are obviously noxious I and whose agitations are immediate misery. li
7. But rake any of the licentious and sensual kind. Sur. I pose it to have unlimited scope; trace it throughout i< course; and we shall find that gradually, as it rises, it tain the soundness, and troubles the peace of his mind over whoii it reigns : that, in its progress, it engages him in pursui li which are marked either with danger or with shame; tha if in the end, it wastes his fortune, destroys his health, or deb; It ses his character; and aggravates all the miseries in which has involved him, with the concluding pangs of bitter remors Through all the stages of this fatal course, how many hai heretofore run? What multitudes do we daily behold purs «ng it, With blind and headlong steps ! blair.
il
or
SECTION VII. 5^:
&ft the proper state of our temper »mth respect to one anothi
1. Iir is evident, in the general, that if we consult eitfi
0*Wic freHkre'or private happiness* Christian charily oug
hap, 9. promiscuous pieces. 145
► regulate our disposition in annual intercourse. But as lis great principle admits of several diversified appearances, t us consider some of the chief forms under which it ought i show itself in the usual tenor of life.
2. What, first, presents itself to be recommended, is a1 eaceable temper ; a disposition averse to give offenc and esirous of cultivating harmony, and amicable intercourse in >ciety, iTbis supposes yielding and condescending manners, dwillinguess to conoid with others about trifles, and in con- jsts that are unavoidable, proper moderation of spirit. Such temper is the first principle of self- enjoyment. U is the isis of all order and happiness among mankind.
3. The positive and contentious, the rude and quarrelsome, re the bane of society. They seem destined to blast the mall share of comfort which nature has here allotted to man. >ut they cannot disturb the peace of others, more than they reak their own. The hurricane rages first in their own bo- )m, before it is fet forth upon the world. In the tempests 'hich they raise, they are always tost ; and frequently it is heir lot to perish.
4. A peaceable temper must be supported by a candid one, r a disposition to view the conduct of others With fairness nd impartiality. This stands opposed to a jealous and sus- ►icious temper, which ascribes every action to the worst rao- ive, and throws a black shade over every charact r. If we rou Id be happy in ourselves, or in our connexions with ot fa- irs, let us guard against this malignant spirit.
5. Let us study that charity "which tbinketh no evil ;** bat temper which, without degenerating into credulity, will lispose us to be just ; and which can allow us to observe an irror, without imputiog it as a crime. Thus we shall be tept free from that continual irritation, which imaginary iu- uries Taise in a suspicious breast ; and shall walk among men is our brethren, not as our enemies.
t>. But to be peaceable, and to be candid, is not all that is required of a good man. He must cultivate a kind, generous, tnd sympathizing temper, which feels for distress, wherever t is beheld^* which enters into the ooncerns of his friends vith ardour; and to all with whom he has intercourse, is gen- ie, obligiog, and humane.
I 7. How amiable appears such a disposition, when contras- ted with a malicious or envious temper, which wraps itself |jp in its own narrow interest, looks with an evil eye on the |ft&e§s of others, a&d, wU^ann^^^sa^factionj feeds
A
146 THE ENGLISH READER. Part I
on their disappointments or miseries ! How little does hi know of the true happiness of life, who is a stranger to tha intercourse of good offices and kind affections, which, by pleasing charm, attaches men to one another, and circulate i joy from heart to hea^t.
8. We are not to imagine, that a benevolent temper find
no exercise, unless when opportunities offer of performing at
tions of high generosity, or of extensive utility. These ma
seldom occur. The conditioaof the greater part of mankiiu
in a good measure, precludes them. But, in the ordinar
("found of human affairs, many occasions daily present their
y1 selves, of mitigating the vexations which others suffer; c
) soothing their minds ; of aiding their interest ; of promotin
S their cheerfulness or ease. Such occasions may relate to th
(^smaller incidents of life.
f 9. BuU&Las remember, that of sma|ljncjjfe"ts the sys
tem of human life is chiefly composeB. The attenjidr
which respect these, when suggested by real benignity c
temper, are often more material to the happiness of thos
around us. than actions which carry the appearance of grea
ter dignity and splendour* No wise or good man ought t
account any rnles of behaviour as below his regard T whic
•-^OlLl^^JS^PJL^Sr^ brotherhood of mankind Incomfoi
table uniolh
10* Particularly amidst that familiar intercourse which be
longs to domestic life, all the virtues of temper find an anc
pie range. It is very unfortunate, that within that ■ circk
men too often think themselves at liberty to give unrest rair
ed vent to the caprice of passion and humour. Wherea
there, on the contrary, more than any where else, it concern
them to attend to the government of their heart ; lo_chec
urftat is vinlpiit in their tempers, and to soften what is hars
itMheir manners. ~~ ~~ r *
-^"TTTl'or there the temper is formed* There, the real cha
meter displays itself. The forms of the world disguise me
[when abroad* But within his own family, every man is know
to be what he truly is. In all our intercourse then with otti
)ers, particularly in that which is closest and most intimate
)Slet us cultivate a peaceable, a candid, a gentle, and friend!
* <^temper. This is the temper to which, by repeated injunc
\ (tioas, our holy religion seeks to form us. This was the tem
J /per of Christ. This is the temper of heaven, blair*
bapi 9. Promiscuous pieces. 14?
SECTION VIII.
Excellence of the Holy Scriptures.
1 . Is it bigotry to believe the sublime truths of the Gospel, ith full assurance of faith ? I glory in- such bigotry. I ivould 3t part with it for a thousand worlds. 1 congratulate the tan who is possessed of it ; for, amidst all the vicissitudes id calamities of the present state, that man enjoy san inex* nustible fund of consolation, of which it is not in the power f fortune to deprive him.
2. There is not a book on earth, so favourable to all the ind, and all the sublime affections ; or so unfriendly to ha« •ed and persecution, to tyranny, to injustice, and every sort I malevolence, as the Gospel, tt breathes nothing througho- ut, but mercy., benevolence, and peace.
3.iPoetry is sublime, when it awakeM__mj.he itiJndjyaT reat and good affection. asTplely," or patriotismJ,_This is^ rae oi the nohLesj eJffefcts^oJLthe art. The Psalms are re* mrkable, beyoud all other writings, for their power of in- firing devout emotions. But it is hot in this respect only bat they are sublime. Of the divine nature, they contain tie most magnificent descriptions that the soul of man can omprebend. The hundred and fourth Psalm, in particular, isplays the power and goodness of Providence, in creating; nd preserving the world, and the various tribes of animals in t, with such majestic brevity and beauty, as it is in vain to. >ok for in any human flcinposition.
4. Such of the doctrines of the Gospel as are level to bu- lan capacity, appear to be agreeable to the purest trnth, nd the soundest morality. All the genius and learning of he heathen world ; all the penetration of Pythagoras, Soc- ates, and Aristotle, had never been able to produce such a ystem of moral' duty, and so rational an account of Provid- ence and of man, as are to be found in the New Testament, /ompared indeed with this, all other moral and theological ris^om "loses, dtscountenane'd, and like folly shows."
BEATTIE.
feV* •> »•• iX SECTION IX. ($!*&Gul
Reflections occasioned by a review of the blessings, fyronounce& by Christ on his disciples, in his sermon on the mount.
1. What abundant reason have we to thank God, that his large and instructive discourse of our blessed Redeemer,
148 THE ENGLISH READER. Part I.
is so particularly recorded by the sacred historian. Let ev- ery one that "hath ears to hear," attend to it : for surely no man ever spoke as our Lord did on this occasion. Let us fix our minds in a posture of humble attention, that we may 4re* ceive the law from his mouth.'
2. He opened it with blessings, repeated and most impor- tant blessings. But on whom are they pronounced ? and whom are we taught to think the happiest of mankind ? The meek and the humble ; the penitent and the merciful ; the peaceful and the pure ; those that hunger and thirst after righteousness ; those that labour, and faint not, under perse- cution. Lord! how different are thy maxims from those of the children of this world !
3. They call the proud happy ; and admire the gay, the rich, the powerful, and the victorious. But let a vain world take its gaudy trifles, and dress up the foolish creatures that pursue them. IVlay our souls share in that happiness, which the Son of God came to recommend and to procure ! Mayjl we obtain mercy of the Lord ; may we be owned as his chil- dren ; enjoy his presence, and inherit his kingdom ! With these enjoyments, and these hopes, we will cheerfully wel- come the lowest, or the most painful circumstances.
/ 4. Let us be animated to cultivate those amiable virtues, / which are here recommended to us ; this humility and meek- ness ; this penitent sense of sin ; this ardent desire after right- eousness ; this compassion and purity ; this peacefulness and fortitude of soul; and, in a word, this universal goodness which becomes us, as we sustain the character of "the salt o! the earth," and "the light of the world."
5, Is there not reason to lament, that we answer the char acter no better ? Is there not reason to exclaim with a gooc roan in former times, "Blessed Lord ! either these are not thy words, or we are not Christians !" O, season our heart! more effectually with thy grace ! Pour forth that divine oi on our lamps ! Then shall the flame brighten ; then shall the ancient honours of thy religion be revived ; and multitudes be awakened and animated, by the lustre of it, "to glorify out Father in heaven." doddridge.
M&t^9^) SECTION X. &^*Jfo+4JL
Schemes of life often illusory.
1. Omar, the son of Hassan, had passed seventy-five year in honour and prosperity. The favour of three successiv califs had filled his house with gold and silver ; and wheueve
]hap. 9. promiscuous pieces. 149
te appeared, the benedictions of the people proclaimed his >assage.
2. Terrestrial happiness is of short continuance. The brightness of the flame is wasting its fuel ; the fragrant flow- 1 is passing away in its own odours. The vigour of Omar legan to fail ; the curls of beauty fell from his bead ; strength leparted from his hands, and agility from bis feet. He gave >ack to the calif the keys of trust, and (he seals of secresy ; md sought no other pleasure for the remains of life, than the :on verse of MMM^, and the gratitude of the gwd-^^jWo^
3. The powers of his mind were yet unimpaired. His cham- ber was filled by visitants, eager to catch the dictates of ex- terience, and officious to pay the tribute of admiration. Ca- rd, the son of the viceroy of Egypt, entered every day early ind retired late. He was beautiful and eloquent : Omar ad- nired his wit, and loved his docility.
4. "Tell me, said Caled, thou to whose voice nations have istened, and whose wisdom is known to the extremities of Isia, tell me how I may resemble Omar the prudent. The irts by which thou hast gained power and preserved it, are o thee no longer necessary or useful ; impart to me the se- :ret of thy conduct, and teach me the plan upon which thy visdom has built thy fortune/'
5. * 'Young man, said Omar, it is of little use to form jlatis of life. When I took my first survey of the world, in ny twentieth year, having considered the various conditions >f mankind, in the hour of solitude I said thus to myself, eaniug against a cedar, which spread its branches over my lead :
6. *'Seveuty years are allowed to man ; I have yet fifty emaining. Ten years I will allot to the attainment of know- edge, and ten I will pass in foreign countries': — I shall be earned, and therefore shall be honoured : every city will ihout at my arrival, and every student will solicit my frieod- bip. Twenty years thus passed, will store my mind with mages, which 1 shall be busy, through the rest of my life, in jombining and comparing.
7. "I shall revel in inexhaustible accumulations of intellec- ual riches ; I shall find new pleasures for every moment ; ind shall never more be weary of myself. 1 will not, howe- ver, deviate too far from the beaten track of life ; but will ry what can be found in female delicacy, I will marry a
vife beautiful as the Houries, and wise as Zobeide with
ter I will live twenty years within the suburbs of Bagdat,
hL
UrtM-
150 THE ENGLISH READER. Part I
in every pleasure that wealth can purchase, and fancy can in vent.
8. "I will then retire to a rural dwelling; pass my days ti obscurity and contemplation ; and He silently down on tin bed of death. Through my life it shall be my settled reso lution, that I will never depend upon the smile of princes J that I will never stand exposed to the artifices of courts; will never pant for public honours, nor disturb my quiet wit! the affairs of state. Such was my scheme of life, whkji I im pressed indelibly upon my memory. V*>%m
9. "The first part of my ensuing time^vas to be spent i search of knowledge, and I know not how I was diverted froii my design. I had no visible impediments without, nor an ungovernable passions within. I regarded knowledge- as th highest honour, and the most engaging pleasure ; yet da sto'e upon day, and month glided after month, till I foun that seven years of the first ten had vanished, and left uolli ing behind them.
10. "I now postponed my purpose of travelling; for wh should I go abroad, while so much remained to be learned a bo^e ? I immured myself for four years, and studied the law of the empire. The fame of my skill reached the judges; was found able to speak upon doubtful questions ; and wg commanded f i stand at the footstool of the calif. I was hear with attention; 1 was consulted with confidence ; and th love of praise fastened on my heart.
.11. **$ still wished to see distant countries ; listened wit fapture to the relations of travellers ; and resolved som time to ask my dismission, that I might feast ray soul wit novelty : but mv presence was always necessary ; and th stream of business hurried me along. Sometimes I was afrai lest I should be charged with ingratitude : but I still pn posed to travel, and therefore would not confine myself fc marriage.
12. *4In my fiftieth year, I began to suspect that the tin: of travelling was past; and thought it best to lay bold HI the felicity yet in my power, and indulge myself in domest pleasures. But at fifty no man easily finds a woman beaut if as the Houries, and wise as Zobeide. I inquired and rejec ed, consulted and deliberated, till the sixty-second year mac me ashamed of wishing to marry. I had now nothing Id but retirement ; and for retirement I never found a time, ti disease forced me from public employment-
13, "Such was my scheme! and such jbas been its coj
wp. 9. promiscuous pieces. 151
quence. With an insatia' le thirst for knowledge, I trifled ray the years of improvement : with a restless desire of eing different countries, I have always resided in the same ty: with the highest expectation of connubial felicity, I tve lived unmarried ; and with unalterable resolutions of mtemplative retirement, I am going to die within the walls ' Bagdat." ©R. johnson.
SECTION XI.
The pleasures ofvirtuovs sensibility.
1. The good effects of true sensibility on general virtue id happiness, admit of no dispute. Let us consider its ef- cts on the happiness of him who possesses it, and the vari- is pleasures to which it gives trim access. If he is master
riches or influence, it affords him the means of increasing s own enjoyment, by relieving the wants, or increasing the miforts of others.
2. If he commands not these advantages, yet all the com- rts, which he sees in the possession of the deserving, be* •me in some sort his, by his rejoicing in the good which ley enjoy. Even the face of nature yields a satisfaction to m, which the insensible can never know. The profusion | goodness, which he beholds poured forth on the universe, lates his heart with the thought, that innumerable multi- ides around him are blest and happy.
3. When he sees the labours of men appearing to pros- 3r, and views a country flourishing in wealth and industry, id reviving the decayed face of nature ; or in autumn be- >lds the fields loaded with plenty, and the year crowned ith all its fruits ; he lifts his affections with gratitude to le great Father of all, and rejoices in the general felicity id joy.
4. It may indeed be objected, that the same sensibility tys open the heart to be pierced with many wounds, from le distresses which abound in the world ; exposes us to fie- uent suffering from the participation which it communicates I the sorrow, as well as of the joys of friendship. But let
be considered, that the tender melancholy of sympathy is ccompanied with a sensation, which they who feel it, would ot exchange for the gratifications of the selfish.
5. ^JThen the heart is strongly moved by any of the kind Sections, even when it pours itself forth in virtuous sorrow*
152 THE ENGLISH READER. Part
a secret attractive charm mingles with the painful emotion there is a joy in the midst of grief. Let it be farther cons dered, that the griefs which sensibility introduces, are com terbalanced by pleasures which flow from the same sourc* Sensibility heightens in general the human powers, and connected with acuteness in all our feelings.
6. If it makes us more alive to some painful sensations, i return, it renders the pleasing ones more vivid and aniim ted. The selfish man languishes in the narrow circle of ple« sures. They are confined to what affects his own in teres He is obliged to repeat the same gratifications till they b« come insipid.
7. But the man of virtuous sensibility moves in a wide sphere of felicity. His powers are much more frequently ca led forth into occupations of pleasing activity. Numberlej occasions open to him of indulging his favourite taste, b conveying satisfaction to others. Often it is in hi**powei in one way or other, to sooth the afflicted heart, to carr || some consolation into the house of woe.
8. In the scenes of ordinary life, in the domestic and s< cial intercourse of men, the cordiality of his affections cheei and gladdens him. Every appearance, every description < I innocent happiness, is enjoyed by him. Every native ei [j pression of kindness and affection among others, is felt b (j him, even though he be not the object of it. In a circle < friends enjoying one anotiier, he is as happy as the haj piest.
9. In a word, he lives in a different sort of world from whs the selfish man inhabits. He possesses a new sense that ei ables him to behold objects which the selfish cannot see.- At the same time, his enjoyments are not of that kind wiic remain merely on the surface of the mind. They penetrat the heart. They enlarge and elevate, they refine and ennc ble it. To all the pleasing emotions of affection, they ad the dignified consciousness of virtue.
10. Children of men t men formed by nature to live an to feel as brethren ! how long will you continue to est rang yourselves from one another by competitions and jealousiel when in cordial union ye might be so much more blest ? — How long will ye seek your happiness in selfish gratificaUof alone, neglecting those purer and better sources of joy, whic flow from the affections and the heart ? blair*
bap. 9. % ^ promiscuous pieces. 153
SECTION XII.
On the true honour of man. 1. The proper honour of man arises not from some of lose splendid actions and abilities, which excite high admi- ilion. Courage and prowess, military renown, signal victo- es and conquests, may render the name of a man famous, ithoul rendering his character truly honourable. To many rave men, to many heroes renowned in story, we look up in wondtr. Their exploits are recorded. Their praises •e sung. They stanzas on an eminence above the rest of tar.kiiid.
2. TLeir eminence, nevertheless, may not be of that sort, efore which we bow witfc inward esteem and respect. Some- ling more is wanted for that purpose, than the conquering m, and the intrepid mind. The laurels of the warrior must : all times be dyed in blood, and bedewed with the tears of le widow and the orphan
3. But if they have been stained by rapine and inhuraani- r ; if sordid avarice has marked his character ; or low and oss sensuality has degraded his life ; the great hero sinks tto a little man. What at a distance, or on a superficial iew, we admired, becomes mean, perhaps odious, when we famine it more closely. It is like the colossal statue, whose amense size struck the spectator afar off with astonishment; it when nearly viewed, it appears disproportioned, un- lapely, and rude.
4. Observations of the same kind may be applied to all le Replication derived from civil accomplishments ; from je"trvej;ned politics of the statesman ; or the literary efforts \ genius and erudition. These bestow, and within certain Dunds, ought to bestow, eminence and distinction on men. 'hey discover talents which in thems' Ives are shining ; and hich become highly valuable when employed in advancing le good of mankind.
5. Hence, they frequently give rise to fame. But a dis- fiction is to be made between fame and true honour. The atesman, the orator, or the poet, may be famous ; while et the man himself is far from being honoured. We envy is abilities. We wish to rival them. But we would not loose to be classed with him who possesses them. Instan- &s of this sort are too often found in every record of ancient | modern history.
6. From all this it follows, that in order to discern where tan's true honour lies, we must look, not to any advent!*
154 the enolish reader. [/9 Part
tious circumstances of fortune ; not any single sparkling qua lity ; but to tiie whole of what forms a man ; what entitle him, as such, to rank high among that class of beings to whicl he belongs ; in a word, we must look to the mind and the soul
7. A mind superior to fear, to selfish interest and corrup tion ; a mind governed by the principles of uniform recti tud and in egrhy ; the same in prosperity and adversity ; whic no bribe can seduce, nor terror overawe; neither by plea sure melted into effeminacy, nor by distress sunk into dejec tion : such is the mind which forms the distinction and em; nence of man. «
8. One who, in no situation of life, is either ashamed c afr <d of discharging his duty, and acting his proper part wit firmness and constancy ; true to the God whom he worship; and true to the faith in which he professes to believe ; full <
tji affection to his in*ei,hi-efeof mankind ; faithful to his friend generous to his enemies, warm with compassion to the unfoi lunate ; self-denying to little priv ate interests and pleasure! but zealous for public interest and happiness ; magnanimous without being proud; humble, withou being mean; jus Without being harsh ; simple in his manners* but manly i his feelings ; on whose words we can entirely rely ; whos countenance n^ver deceives us , whose professions of kinc Bess are the effusions of his heart ; one, in fine, whom, ind« pendent of any views of advantage, we would choose for a si perior, could trust in as a friend, and could love as a brothei this is the man whom, in our heart, above all others, we d< we must honour. blair
SECTION XIII.
dfc^
The influence of devotion on the happiness of life.
1. Whatever promotes and strengthens virtue, whatev* calms and regulates the temper, is a source of happiness.- Devo ion produces these effects in a remarkable degree.
ii spires composim- of spirit, mildness, and benignity ; we? kens the painful, and cherishes the pleasing emotions ; am by these means, carries on the life of a pious man in a smoot and placid tenof.
2. Besides exerting this habitual influence on the mini devotion opens a held of enjoyments to which the vicious ai entire strangrrs ; enjoyments the more valuable, as they p< culiarly belong to retirement, when the world leaves us ; an to adversity when it becomes our foe. These are the tw
Chap. 9. promiscuous pieces. i;j5
seasons, for which every wise man would most wish to pro- ride some hidden store of comfort.
3. For let him be placed in the most favourable situation which the human state admits, the world can neither always amuse him, nor always shield him from distress. There will be many hours of vacuity, and many of dejection in his life. If he be a stranger to God, and to devotion, how dreary will the gloom of solitude often prove ! With what oppressive weight will sickness, disappointment, or old age, fal! upon his spirits '
4. But for those pensive periods, the pious man has a re- lief prepared. From the tiresome repetition of the common vaniics of life, or from the painful corrosion of its cares and sorrows, devotion transports him into a new region, and sur- rounds him there with such objects, as are the most fitted to cheer 'he dejection, to calm the tumults, and to heal the wounds of his heart. If the world has been empty and delu- sive, it gladdens him with the prospect of a higher and better order of things, ahout to rise.
5. If men have been ungrateful and base, it displays before him the faithfulness of that Supreme Being, who, though ev- ery other friend fail, will never forsake him. Let us consult our experience, and we shall find, that the two greatest sour- ces of inward joy, are. the exercise of love directed towards a deserving object, aud the exercise of hope terminating on some high and assured happiness. Both these are supplied by devotion ; and therefore we have no reason to be surpri- sed, if, on some occasions, it fills the heart of good men with a satisfaction not to be expressed.
6. The refined pleasures of a pious mind are, in many res- pects, superior to the coarse gratifications of sense. They are pleasures which belong to the highest powers and best affections of the soul ; whereas the gratifications of sense re- side in the lowest region of our nature. To the latter, the soul stoops below its native dignity. The foimer, raise^ it above itself. The latter, leave always a comfortless, often a mortifying, remembrance behind them. The former are re- newed with applausei and delight.
7. The pleasures of sense resemble a foaming torrent, which, after a disorderJy course, speediiy runs out, and leaves an empty and offensive channel. But the pleasures of devotion resemble the equable current of a pure river, which enlivens the fields through which it passes, and diffuses verdare aud fer iiity along its banks.
8. To thee, O Devotion ! we owe the highest improvement
156 VHE ENGLISH READER. Pail I.
of our nature, and much of £he enjoyment of our life. Thou an the support ot^ our vimie, and the rest of our souls, in th<* turbulent world Thou composest the thoughts ; thou calmest the passions ; thou exaltest the heart. Thy commu- nications, and thine only, are imparted to the low, no less than to the high ; to the poor as well as to the rich.
9. In thy presence, worldly distinctions cease ; and under thy influence, worldly sorrows are forgotten. Thou art the baim of the wooded mind. Thy sanctuary is ever open to the miserable ; inaccessible only to the unrighteous and im- pure. Thou beginnest on eanh the temper of heaven. la thee, the host of angels and blessed spirits eternally rejoice*
BLAIR,
SECTION XIV. $'U^-
The planetary and terrestrial worlds comparatively considered*
1. To us who dwell on its surface, the earth 1s by far the tnost extensive orb that our eyes can any where behold : it is al>o clothed with verdure, distinguished by trees, and ador- ned with a variety of beautiful decorations; whereas, to a specfator placed on one of the planets, it wears a Uniform as* $>ect ; looks all luminous, and no larger than a spot. To be- ings who dwell at still greater distances, it entirely disappears That which we caH alternately the morning and evening star, (as in One part of the orbit she rides foremost in the proces- sion of night, in the other ushers iu and anticipates the dawn) is a planetary orid.
2. This planet and the four others that so wonderfully vary their mystic dance, are in themselves dark bodies, and shine only by reflection ; have fields, and seas, and skies of then? own ; are furnished with all accommodations for animal sub- sistence, and are supposed to be the abodes of iniellectiiar life rail which, together with our earthly habitation, are de- pendent on that grand dispenser of divine munificence, the sun ; receive their light from the distribution of his rays, and derive their comfort from his benign agency.
3. The sun, which seems to perform its daily stages thro' the sky, is in this respect fixed and immoveable : it is the
j great axle of heaven, about which the globe we inhabit, and! «ther more spacious orbs, wheel their stated courses. The sun, though seemingly smaller than the dial it illuminates, is abundantly larger than this whole earth, on which SO many lofty mountains rise, and such vast oceans roll,
Chap. 9. promiscuous pieces. 1.57
4. A line extending from side to side through the centre of that resplendent orb, would measure more than eight hun- dred thousand miles ; a girdle formed to go round its cir- cumference, would require a length of millions. Were its solid contents to be estimated, the account would overwhelm our understanding, and be almost beyond the power of lan- guage to express. Are we startled at these reports of philo-i sophy ?
5. Are we ready to cry out m a transport of surprise* "How mighty is the Being who kindled so prodigious a fire, andfekeero alive, from age to age, so enormous a mass of flame !" Let^us attend our philosophical guides, and we shall be brought acquainted with speculations more enlarged and more inflaming.
6. This sun, with all its attendaut planets, is but a very lit t»e part of the *rand machine of the universe : every star, though in appearance no bigger than the diamond that glit- ters upon a lady's ring, is really a vast globe, like the sun in size and glory ; no less spacious no less luminous than the radiant source of day. Sa that every star is not barely a world, but the centre of a magnificent system ; has a retinue jfcf worlds irradiated by its beams, and revolving round its at- tractive influence, all of which are lost to our sight in unmea- curable wilds of ether.
7. That the stars appear like so many diminutive, & scarce- ly distinguishable points, is owing to teeir immense and in- conceivable distance. Immense and inconceivable indeed it is, since a ball, shot from the loaded cannon, and flying with unabated rapidity, must travel, at this impetuous rale, almost seven hundred thousand years, before it could reach the nea* test of these twinkling luminaries.
8. While beholding this vast expanse, I learn my own ex- treme meanness ; i would also discover the abject littleuess <pf all terrestrial things. What is the earth, with all her os- tentatious scenes, compared with this astonishing grand fur- fiiture of the skies ? What, but a dim speck? hardly percei- vable in the map of the universe ?
9. It is observed by a very judicious writer, that if the sun himself, which enlightens this part of U»e creation, were extinguished, and all the host of planetary worlds, which move about tiSBm, were annihilated, they would not be mis- sed by an eye that can take in the whole compass of nature, any more than a grain of sand upon the sea- shore. The bulk of which they consist, and the space which they occu- py, are so exceedingly little in comparison of the whole* that
i i
158 THE ENGLISH READER.
their loss would scarcely leave a blank in the immensity oi God's works.
10. If then, not our globe only, but this whole system, be so very diminutive, what is a kingdom or a Country ? What are a few lordships, or the so much admired patrimonies oi those who are styled wealthy ? When I measure them witt my own little pittance, they swell into proud ami bloated di- meusions ; but when I take the universe for my standard, how* scan i y is their size! how contemptible their figure ! They shrink into pompous nothiugs. addison.
SECTION XV.
JfrJ****^
On the power of custom, and the uses to which it may be appli* ed.
1. There is not a common saying, which has a better turns of sense in it, than what we often hear in the mouths of the J vulgar, that "custom is a second nature." It is indeed ablet to form *he man anew; and give him inclinations and capaci« ties altogether different from those he was born with.
2. A person who is addicted to play or gaming, though hee took but little delight in it at first, by degrees contracts sgi strong an inclination towards it, and glides himself up so en- tirely to it, that it seems the only end of his being. The love of a retired or busy life will grow upon a man insensibly, as he is conversant in the one or the other, till he is uUerlyfc unqualified for relishing that to which he has been for somev time disused.
3. Nay, a man may smoke, or drink, or take snuff, till hdf is unable to pass away his time without it; not to menuooa how our delight in any particular study, art, or science, rise? and improves, in proportion to the application which we be stow upon it. Thus, what at first was an exercise, becomefk at length an entertainment. Onr employments are change^ into diversions. The mind grows fond of those actions »i i< j accustomed to; and is drawn with reluctaucy from those b paths in which it has been used to walk.
4. If we attentively consider this property of human na- ture, it may instruct us in very fine moralities. In the first f place, I would have no man discouraged with that kind o life, or series of action, in which the choic-Qjpf others, or ht)n own necessities, may have engaged him. It may perhaps bctj very disagreeable to him, at first ; but use' and application, will certainly reader it not only less painful, but pleasing anc satisfactory*
hap. 9. promiscuous pieces. 159
5. In the second place. I would recommend to every one, he admirable precept, which Pithasorus js said to have given o his disciples, and which that philosopher must have drawn rom the. observation 1 have enlarged upon : "Pitch upon bat course of life which is the most excellent, and custom ill render it the mosi delightful,"
6. Men, whose circumstances will permit them to choose heir own way of life, are inexcusable if they do not pursue ij^UwJiich. their judgment tells them is the most laudable. — "he voice of Reason is more to be regarded, than the bent of ny present inclination ; since, by the rule above mentioned, iclination will at length come over to reason, though we can ever force reason to comply with inclination.
7. In the third place, this observation may teach the most ensual and irreligious man, to overlook those hardships and ifficulties. which are apt to discourage him from the prosecu- ion of a virtuous life. "The gods, said Hesiod, have placed ibour before virtue : the way to her is at first rough and dif- cult, but grows more smooth and easy the farther we ad~ ance ii- it." The man who proceeds in it with steadiness nd resolution, will, in a little time, find that "her ways arc rays of pleasantness, and that all her paths are peace."
8. To enforce this consideration, we may further observe, hat the practice of religion will not only be attended with bat pleasure which naturally accompanies those actions to rhicb we are habituated, but with those supernumerary joys f heart, that rise from the consciousness of such a pleasure ; rom the satisfaction of acting up to the dictates of reason ; nd from the prospect of a happy immortality.
9. In the fourth place, we may learn from this observation rbicb we have made on the mind of man, to take particular are,^ when we are once settled in a regular course of life '^frequently indulge ourselves in even the most '^ iversions and entertainments ; since the mind ma
!y fall off from the relish of virtuous actions, and f xchange that pleasure which it takes in the perfo s duty, for delights of a much inferior and an i feit ure.
10. The last use which I shall make of th roperty of human nature, of being delighted ions to which it is accustomed, is? to show ecessary it is for us to gain habits of virtue vou!d enjoy the pleasures of the next. The all heaven, will not be capable of affect i rhich are not thus qualified for it; — we rous*
160 pE ENGLISH READER. Pari
gain a relish for truth and virtue, if we would be able to la that knowledge and perfection, which are to make us hap in the next.
11. The seeds of those spiritual joys and raptures, whi are to ri*e up and flourish in the soul to ail eternity, must planted in it during this its present state of probation, short, heaven is not to be looked upon only as the reward t as the natural effect of a religious life. aooison
SECTION XVI.
The pleasures resulting from a proper use of our facultie
1. Happy that man, who, unembarrassed by vulgar car master of himself, his time, and fortune, spends his time making himself wiser, and his fortune, in making others (? therefore himself,) happier : who, as the will and underst; ding are the two ennobling faculties of the soul, thiuks hi sell not complete, till his understanding is beautified witli valuable furniture of knowledge, as well as his will enriclj with every virtue : who has furnished himself with all the vantages to relish solitude and enliven conversation : w when serious, is not sullen ; and when cheerful, not indiscrc ly gay : whose ambition is, not to be admired for a falsv gh of greatness, but to be beloved for the gentle and sober 1 1 tre of his wisdom and goodness.
2. The greatest minister of state has not more business! do, in a public capacity, than he, and indeed every other n may find in the retired and still scenes of life. Even in private walks, every thing that is visible convinces him i there is present a Being iuvisible. Aided by natural philo
he reads plain legible traces of the Divinity in ev«l
* meets:; he sees the Deity in every tree, as wejh
d in the burning bush, though not in so glaring i
and when he sees him, be adores him with the
grateful heart. seed
SECTION XVII.
p\
Description of Candour. dour is altogether different from that gua mguage, and that studied openness of b e so frequently meet with among men of I ig, very of; en, is the aspect, and smooth S nose who inwardly are the most ready to th I
hap. 9. promiscuous pieces. 161
vil of others. That candour which is a Christian virtue, onsets not in fairness of speech, but iu fairness of heart.
2. It may want the blandishments of external courtesy, hut upplif s its place with a hum me and generous liberality of entiment. Its manners are unaffected, and its professions ordial. Exempt, on one hand, from the dark jealousy of a jspicious mind, it is no less removed, on the other, from that asy credulity which is imposed on by every specious pre- ence. It is perfectly consistent with extensive knowledge f the world, and with due attention to our own safety.
S^In that various intercourse, which we are obliged to car- yon with persons of very different character, suspicion, to a ertain degree, is a necessary guard. It is only when it ex- eeds the bounds of prudent caution, that it degenerates into ice. There is a proper mean between undistinguished cre- ulity, aud universal jealousy, which a sound understanding iscerns, and which the man of candour studies to preserve.
4. He makes allowance for the mixture of evil with good, phich is *o be found in every human character. He expects one to be faultless ; and he is unwilling to believe that there 5 any without some t»aiNiMflp%|,qualitifs. In the midst of oauy defects, he can disco vera virtue. Under the influence f personal resentment, he can be just to the merit of an en- «ny.
6. He never lends an open ear to those defamatory reports nd dark suggestions, which, among the tribes of the censori- us, circulate with *o much rapidity, and meet with so ready cceptance. He is not hasty to judge ; and he requires full vidence before he will condemn. *4s long as an action can e ascribed to different motives, he holds it as uo mark of sa- acity to impute it always to the worst.
6. Where there is just ground for doubt, he keeps his judg- ment undecided; and, during the period of suspense, leans to he most charitable construction which an action can bear. — Pben he must condemn, he condemns with regret ; and with- ut those aggravations which the severity of others adds to le crime. He listens calmly to the apology of the offender, iid readily admits every extenuating circumstance which «- tiity can suggest.
7. How much soever be may blame the principles of any ;ct or party, he never confounds, under one general cmi- •re, all who belong to that party or sect. He charges them >t with such consequences of their tenets, as they refuse id disavow. From one wrong opinion, lie does not infer
162 THE ENGLISH READER. Part 1
the subversion of all sound principles ; nor from one ba» action, conclude that all regard to conscience is overthrown 8. When he "beholds the mote in bis brother's eye," hi remembers "the beam in his own." He commiserates hu man frailty ; and judges of others according to the principle by which he should think it reasonable that they should jndg of him. In a word he views men and actions in the clea sunshine of charity and good nature ; and not in that dar and sullen shade which jealousy and party spirit throw ov€ all characters. > blair*
SECTION XVIII,
<&&*-
On the imperfection of that happiness which rests solely or worldly pleasures.
1. The vanity of human pleasures, is a topic which migl be embellished with the pomp of much description. But shall studiously avoid exaggeration, and only point out a thre* fold vanity of humau life, which every impartial observer cai not but admit ; disappointment in pursuit, dissatisfaction enjoyment, uncertainty in j^session.
2. First. disappointmenMmkr^iiltf.' When we look arom on the world, we every where behold a busy multitude, I tent on the prosecution of various designs, which their wan or desires have suggested. We behold them employing ry method which ingenuity can devise ; some the patient of industry, some the boldness of enterprise, others the de terity of stratagem, in order to compass their ends.
3. Of this incessant stir and activity, what is the fruit ? comparison of the crowd who have toiled in vain, how sin; is the number of the successful ? Or rather, where is the in: who will declare, that in every point he has completed plan, and attained his utmost wish ?
4. No extent of human abilities has been able to discov a paih which, in any line of life, leads unerringly to succe "The race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to t strong, nor riches to men of understanding." We may foi our plans with the most profound sagacity, and with the mc vigilant caution may guard against dangers on every side. But some unforeseen occurrence comes across, which baff our wisdom, and lays our labour in the dust.
5. Were such disappointments confined to those who ; r pire at engrossing the higher departments of life, the misfi fia tune would be less. The humiliation of the mighty, and t
fall of ambition from its towering height, little concern t
lap. 9. promiscuous pieces. 163
Ik of mankind. These are object* on which, as on distant >teors, they gaze from afar, without drawing personal in- duct ion from events so much above them.
6. But, alas ! when we descend into the regions of private 3, we find disappointment and blasted hope equally preva- it there. Neither the moderation of our views, nor the »tice of our pretensions, can ensure success. But "time d chance happen to all." Against the stream of events, th the worthy and the undeserving are obliged to struggle ; d both are frequently overborne alike by the current.
7. Besides disappointment in pursuit, dissatisfaction in en- fment is a farther vanity, to which the human state is sub- ct. This is the severest of all mortifications ; after having en successful in the pursuit, to be baffled in the enjoyment iclf. Yet this is found to be an evil still more general than
e former. Some may be so fortunate as to attain what \ ey have pursued ; but none are rendered completely hap- j by what they have attained.
8. Disappointed hope is misery ; and yet successful hope only imperfect bliss. Look through all the ranks of man- ad ; examine the condition of those who appear most pros- tous ; and yon will find that they are never jusi what they isire to be. If retired, they languish for action ; if busy, tey complain of fatigue. If in middle life, they are impa- enf for distinction ; if in high stations, they sigh after free mi and ease.
9. Something is still wanting to that plenitude of satisfac« an, whieh they expected to acquire. Together with every ish that is gratified, a new demand arises. One void opeus
the heart, as another is filled. On wishes, wishes grow ; id to the end, it is rather the expectation ot what they have it, than the enjoyment of what they have, which occupies id interests the most successful.
,10. This dissatisfaction in the midst of human pleasure, [■rings partly from the nature of our enjoyments themselves, id partly from circum lances which corrupt them. No world- I enjoyments are adequate to the high desires and powers of l immortal spirit. Fancy paints them at a distance with >tendid colours ; but possession unveils the fallacy.
11. The eagerness of passion bestows upon them, at first, brisk and lively re!i«h. But it is their fate always to pall It familiarity, and sometimes to pass from satiety into dis- ist. Happy would the poor man think himself, if he eould liter on all the gjeasures of the rich ; and happy for a short jme lie might be : but before he had long contemplated and
184 THE ENGLISH READER. Part
admired his state, his possessions would seem to lessen, ai Jhis cares would grow.
12 Add to the unsatisfying nature of our pleasures, tl attending circumstauces which never fail to corrupt them.- For, sucb as they are, they are at no time possessed unmixe< To human lips it is not given to taste the cup of pure jo; When external circumstances show fairest to the world, t! envied man groans in private under his own burden.
13. Some vexation disquiets, some passion corrodes hin some distress, either fel or feared, gnaws, like a worm, ti root of his felicity. When there is nothing from witho to disturb the prosperous, a secret poison operates wiihi For worldly happiness ever tends to destroy itself, by cc rupfing the heart. It fosters the loose and the violent pa 8 ions; It engenders noxious habits; and taints the mil
&> withlalse delicacy, which makes it feel a thousand ur.re evils. 0U
14. But put the case in the most favourable light. L; aside from human pleasures both disappointment in pursu and deceitfulness in enjoyment ; suppose them to be fully i tainable, and completely satisfactory; still there remains be considered the vanity of uncertain possession and short ration. Were there in worldly things any fixed point of sec rity which we could gain, the mind would then have soi basis on which to rest. <
15. But our condition is such, that every thing wav
and totters around us. "Boast not thyself of to-morro
for thou knowest not what a flay may bring forth." much if, during its course, thou nearest not of somew!| to disquiet or alarm thee. For life never proceeds lr in a uniform train. It is continually varied by unexpect events.
16. The seeds of alteration are every where sown ; and sunshine of prosperity commonly accelerates their growth If our enjoyments are numerous, we lie more open on di rent sides to be wounded. If we have possessed them lo we have greater cause to dread an approaching change, slow degrees prosperity rises ; but rapid is the progresi evil. It requires no preparation to bring it forward
17. The edifice which it costs much time and labour erect, one inauspicious event, one sudden blow, can le with the dust. Even supposing the accidents of life to le< us uutouched, human bliss must still be transitory ; for o changes of himself. No course of enjoyment can delight
ro< >w#
hap. 9. promiscuous pieces. 165
tig. What amused our youth, loses its charm in maturer je. As years advance, ou»* powers are blunted, and our plea- dable feelings decline.
18. The silent lapse of time is ever carrying somewhat om us. till at length the period comes, when all must be vept away. The prospect of this termination of our la- ws and pursuits, is sufficient to mark our state with vani- n "Our days are a hand's breadth, and our age is as no- ring." Within that little space is all our enterprize boun- *d. We crowd it with toils and cares, with contention id strife. We project great designs, entertain high hopes, nl then leave our plans unfinished, and sink into oblivion.
19. This much let it suffice to have said concerning the mtty of the world. That too much has not been said, roust jpear to every one who considers how generally mankind an to the opposite side ; and how often, by undue attach- tent to the present state, they both feed the most sinful assions, and "pierce themselves througb with many sor- >ws.'* BLAIR.
SECTION XIX. u:? imm~—
What are the real and solid enjoyments of human life.
1. It must be admitted, that unmixed and complete hap- iness is unknown on earth. No regulation^ conduct can (together prevent passions from disturbing our peace, and lisfortunes from wounding our heart.
2. But after this concession is made, will it follow, that icre is no object on earth which deserves our pursuit, or lat all enjoyment becomes contemptible which is not per- >ct ? Let us survey our state with an impartial eye, and e just to the various gifts of heaven. How vain soever this fe, considered in itself, may be, the comforts and hopes of eligion are sufficient to give solidity to the enjoyments of lie righteous.
3. In the exercise of good affections, and the testimony of n approving conscience ; in the sense of peace and reconcil- ttion with God, through the great Redeemer of mankind ; in he firm confidence of being conducted through ail the trials f life, by Infinite Wisdom and Goodness ; and in the joyful rospect of arriving, in the end, at immortal felicity ; they ossess a happiness which, descending from a purer and more erfect region than this world, partakes not of its vanity.
*
166 THE ENGLISH READER. Part
4. Besides the enjoyments peculiar to religion, there a ©ther pleasures of our present state, which, though of an i ferior order, must not be overlooked in the estimate of h man life. It is necessary to call attention to these, in ord to check that repining and unthankful spirit to which man always too prone.
5. Some degree of importance must be allowed to thecoi forts of health, to the innocent gratifications of sense, and the entertainment afforded us by all the beautiful scenes nature ; some to the pursuits and harmless amusements of | cial life ; and more to the internal enjoyments of thought a reflection, and to the pleasures of affectionate intercom with those whom we love.
6. These comforts are often held in too low estimatif merely because they are ordinary and common ; although th is he circumstance which ought, in reason? to enhance th< value. They lie open, iu some degree, to all ; extend thi every rank of life ; and fill up agreeably many of those spac in our present existence, which are not occupied with higfc objects, or with serious cares.
7^ From this representation it appears that, notwithsts ding the vanity of the world, a considerable degree of co fort is attainable in the present state. Let the recollecti t>f this serve to reconcile us to our condition, and to repr< the arrogance of complaints and murmurs.-4-^Wbat art th< O son of man ! who, having sprung but yesterday out of t du«t, darest t%p^lift up thy voice against thy Maker, and arraign his providence, because all things are not ordered j cording to thy wish ?
8. What title hast thou to find fault with the order of t universe, whose lot is so much beyond what thy virtue merit gave thee ground to claim ! U it nothing to thee bave been introduced into this magnificent world ; to ha been admitted as a spectator of the divine wisdom and worl and to bave had access to all the comforts which nature, w a bountiful hand has poured forth around thee ? Are all 1 hours forgotten which thou bast passed in ease, in coinplac< cy, or joy ?
9. Is it a small favour in thy eyes, that the band of Div Mercy has been stretched forth to aid thee; and, if thou ject not its proffered assistance, is ready to conduct thee
a happier state of existence ? When thou comparest t
condition with thy desert, blush, and be ashamed of thy co plaints. Be silent, be grateful, and adore. Receive w tbackfuluess the blessings which are allowed thee. Rev<
irk'
Shap. 9. promiscuous pieces. 167 s\
\h,\ government which at present refuses thee more. Rest in this conclusion, that though there are evils in the world, its Creator is wise and good, and has been bountiful to thee.
BLAIR.
SECTION XX. <^^<&Ll^
Scale of beings.
1. Though there is a great deal of pleasure in contempla- ting; the material world ; by which I mean, that system of bodies, into which nature ha* so curiously wrought the mass of dead matter, with the several relations that those bodies bear to one another; there is still, methinks, something more wonderful and surprising, in contemplations ou the world of life ; by which I intend, all those animals with wbicb every part of the universe is furnished. The material world is only the shell of the universe : the world of life are its in- habitants.
2. If we consider those parts of the material world, which lie the nearest to u% and are therefore subject to our obser- "" tion and inquiries, it is, amazing to consider the infinity of
imals with which they are stocked. Every part of matter
peopled ; every green leaf swarms with inhabitants. There
lis scarcely a single humour in the body of a man, or of any
other animal, in which our glasses do not discover myriads of
living creatures.
3. We find, even in the most solid bodies, as in marble it- self, innumerable cells and cavities, which are crowded with imperceptible inhabitants, too little for the naked eye to dis- cover. On the other Band, if we look into the more bulky parts of nature, we see the seas, lakes, and rivers, teeming with numberless kinds of living creatures. We find every mountain and marsh, wilderness and wood, plentifully stock- ed with birds and beasts ; and every part of matter affording proper necessaries and conveniences, for the livelihood of the multitudes which inhabit it.
4. The author of "The Plurality of Worlds," draws a very good argument from this consideration, for the peopling of every planet ; as indeed it seems very probable, from the analogy of reason, that if no part of matter, with which we are acquainted, lies waste and useless, those great bodies, which are at such a distance from us, are not desert and un- peopled ; but rather, that they are furnished with beings a- dapted to their respective situations.
5. Existence is a blessing to those beings onk which ace
*t& THE ENGLISH READER. Part
'endowed with perception, and is, in;a manner, thrown awa upon dead matter, any farther than as it is subservient to be ings which are conscious of their existence. Accordingly w (if id, from the bodies which lie under our observation, tha matter is only made as the basis and support of animals ; an thaftilaere is no more of the one than what is necessary fc the existence of the other.
6. Infinite Goodness is of so communicative a nature, the It seems to delight in conferring existence upon every dc gree of perceptive being. As this is a speculation, which have often pursued with great pleasure tq myself, I shall er large farther upon it, by considering that part of the scale c beings, which comes within our knowledge*
7. There are some bring creatures, which are raised bu just above dead matter. To mention only that species ( shellfish, which is formed in the fashion of a cone; tha grows to the surface of several rocks; and immediately die on being severed from the place where I' grew. There ar many other creatures but one remove from these, which hav no other sense than that of feeling and taste. Others hav still an additional one of hearing; others of smell ; and oft ers, of sight.
8. It is wonderful to observe, by what a gradual progre? the world of life advances, through a prodigious variety i species, before a creature is formed, that is complete in a its senses : and even among these, there is such a different d< gree of perfection, in the sense which one animal enjoys b« yond what appears in another, tbat though the sense in difft Tent animals is distinguished by the same common denouiin; tion, it seems almost of a different nature.
"9. If, after this, we look into the several inward perfeetioi of cunning and sagacity, or what we generally call insttne we find them rising, after the same manner, imperceptibl one above another ; and receiving additional improvement according to the species hi which tfrey aT<3 implanted. Th progress in nature is so very gradual, that the most perfet of an inferior species, comes very near to the most imperfe< of that which is immediately above it.
10. The exuberant and overflowing goodness of the 9 preme Being, whose mercy extends to all his works, is plai ly seen, as I have before hinted, in his having made so vei little matter, at least what falls within our knowledge, th; does not swarm with life. Nor is his goodness less seen the diversity* than in the multitude of living creatures. Hi he made Ink one speeds of animals, *K>ne of the rest wou
ap. 9. t»ROMlRCUOUS PIECES. 163
ve enjoyed the happiness of existence : he has therefore icified mi his creatiou, every degree of life, every capacity beins;.
11. The whole chasm of nature, from a plant to a man, is ed up with divers kinds of creatures, rising one after ano- er, by an ascent so gentle and easy, that the little transi- ts and deviations from one species to another, are almost ensible. This intermediate space is so well husbanded d managed, that there is scarcely a d jyrfe of perception, lich does not appear in some oue part of the world of life. Is the goodness, or the wisdom of the Divine Being, more mi tested in this his proceeding ?
12. There is a consequence besides those I have already motioned, which seems very naturally deductible from the ■egoing considerations. If the scale of being rises by so jnlar a progress, so high as man, we may, by parity of rea- », suppose, that it still proceeds giadually through those ings which are of a superior nature to him; since there is
infinitely greater space and room for different' degrees of rfection, between the Supreme Being and man, than be- een man and the most despicable insect.
13. In this great system of being, there is no creature so nderful in its nature, and which so much deserves our par- ular attention, as man ; who fills up the middle space be- een the animal and the intellectual nature, the visible and 3 invisible world ; and who is that link in the chain of be- ;, which forms the connexion between both, bo that he
0. in one respect, is associated with angels and archangels, :1 may look upon a Being of infinite perfection as his Fa- ?r, and the highest order of spirits as his brethren, may, in ather respect, say to "corruption, thou art ray father, and the worm, thou art my mother and my sister." *
ADDISON.
SECTION XXL JJdtS***
Trust in the care ff Provideme recommended.
1. Man, considered in himself, is a very helpless, and a ry wretched being. He is subject every monofent to the latest calamities and misfortunes. He is beset with dan- rs on ail sides ; and may become unhappy by numberless malties, which he could -not foresee, nor have prevented il he foreseen them.
2. it is our comfort, while we are obnoxious to so many cidents, that we are under the care of one who directs lUngeack s, and has iu his bauds the management of every
<!70 THE ENGLISH READER. Pari!
thing that is capable of annoying or offending us ; who knrj the assistance we si and in need of, aud is always ready to 1 stow it on those who ask it of him."
3. The natural homage, which such a creature owes tc infinitely wise and good a Being, is a firm reliance on him the blessings and conveniences of life; and an habitual >r in him, for a deliverance out of all such dangers and dlifk ties as may befal us. v
4. The man who always lives in this disposition of mi ha^ not the same dark and melancholy views of human nati as he who considers himself abstractedly from this relatior the Supreme Being. At the same time that be reflects uj Lis own weakness and imperfection, be comforts himself w the con emplation of those divine attributes, which are < ployed for his safety, and his welfare.
5 He finds his want of foresight made up, by the om ciei.ce of I im who is his support. He is not sensible of own want of strength, when he knows that his helper is mighty In short, the person who has a firm trust in the pre me Being, is powerful in his power. \vhe by his wisdi liappy by his happiness. He reaps the benefit of every vine attribute; and loses his own insufficiency hf the full of infinite perfection.
6. To make our lives more easy to us, we are comman to put our trust in him, who is thus able to relieve and com J^tbe Divine Goodness having made such a reliaw dutyrhol withstanding we should have been miserable, ha been forbidden us. Among several motives, which raigh' made use of to recommend this duty to us, I shall only t notice of those that follow.
7. The first and strongest is, that. we are promised, he not fail those that put their trust in him. But without < sidering the supernal oral blessing, which accompanies duty, ^ve may observe, that it has a natural tendency tc owiV pew'ardV or, in other words, that this fiiin trust and < iidence in the great Disposer of all things, contribute \ much to the getting clear of any affliction, or to the bea of it manfully.
8. A person who believes he has his succour at hand, that he acts in the sight of his friend, often exerts hiu beyond his abilities; and does wonders, that are not tc matched by one who is not animated with such a confide of success. Trust in the assistance of an Almighty B naturally produces patience, hope, cheerfulness, and all o dispositions of mind, which alleviate those calamities tba nre not able to remove, „ J~f~nr~*/Zi
■
tap. 9, promiscuous pieces. 171
9. The practice of this virtue administers great comfort to e mind of man, in times of poverty audafftcuo i ; but uiost all, in the hour of death. When the soul M hovering, hi £ e last moments of its separation; when it i^ just enuring another state of existence, to converse wi*b scenes, and bjects, and compniiions, that are .altogether n eir ; what can pport her under such tremblings of thought, such fear, such xiety, such apprehensions, but the casting off of all her cares on HijM, who first gave her being ; who has conducted her ft rough one stage of it ; ancLwil! be always present, to guide / d comfort her in her progress through eternity ? ^ iJjM)
adwson.
SECTION XXIL
^AdUA^
Piety and gratitude enliven prosperity.
1. Piety, and gratitude to God, contribute, in a high d«» ;e, to enliven prosperity. Gratitude is a pleasing emotion, le sense of being distinguished by the kindness of another, uldens the heart, warms it with reciprocal affection, and res to any possession which is agreeable iu itself, a double lisb, from its being the gift of a friend.
2. Favours conferred by men, I acknowledge, may prove rdensome. For human virtue is never pefrect ; and snme- nes unreasonable expectation on the one side, sometimes a ntifying sense of dependence on the other, corrode in se* et the pleasures of benefits, and convert the obligations of endship iuto grounds of jealousy.
3. But nothing of this kind can affect the intercourse of ititude with Heaven. Its favours are wholly disinterest-
; and with a gratitude the most cordial and unsuspicious, good man looks up to that Almighty Benefactor, who aims
no end but the happiness of those whom he blesses, ami 10 desires no return from them, but a devout and thankful iart.
4. While others can trace their prosperity to no higher urce than a concurrence of worldly causes : and, often of ean or trifling incidents, which occasionally favoured their isigns ; with what superior satisfaction does the servant of id remark the hand of that gracious power which hath rA~ d him up ; which hath happily conducted him through the irious steps of life, and crowned him with the most favoura* e distinction beyond his equals ?
9. Let us further consider, that not only gratitude for the ist, but a cheering sense of divine favour at the present, en-
172 THE ENGLISH READER. Part
ters into the pious emotion. They are only the virtum who in their prosperous days bear this voice addressed \ them, "Go t^y way, eat thy bread with joy, and drink t wiue with a cheerful heart ; — for God now aecepteth t ■works." He who is the author of their prosperity, git them a title Jo enjoy, with complacency, hU own gift. v£*.< fc. While bad men snatch the pleasures of the world as" stealth, without countenance from the great Proprietor
•■* tile world, the righteous sit openly down to the feast of iill under the smile of approving heaven. No guilty fears dai|
^%flhfir joys. The blessing of God rests upon all they posse?! ifr* protection surrounds them ; and hence, "in the habit iims of the righteous, is found the voice of rejoiciug and s| VaMon?'* ^ |
7. A lustre unknown to others, invests, in their sight, 1| whole face of nature. Their piety reflects a sunshine fr heaven upon the prosperity of the world ; unites in one po of view, the smiling aspect, both of the powers above, and the objects below. Not only have they as full a relish others, for the innocent pleasures.of lite, but, moreover, these they hold communion with their divine benefactor.
8. In all that is good or fair, they trace his hand Fr the beauties of nature, from the improvements of art, fr the enjoymentiPof social life, they raise their affection to I source of all the happiness which surrounds them; and t widen the sphere of their pleasures, by adding intellect and spiritual, to earthly joys.
9. For illustration of what I have said on this head, mark that cheerful enjoyment of a prosperous state, wh king David had when he wrote the twenty-third psalm ; i compare the highest pleasures of the riotous sinner with happy and satisfied spirit which breathes throughout t psalm. In the midst of the splendour of royalty, with w amiable simplicity of gratitude does he look up to the L <as "his Shepherd ;" happier in ascribing all his success to vine favour, than to the policy of his councils, or to the fo of his arms !
10 How many instances of divine goodness arose bef him in pleasing remembrance, when, with such relish, speaks of the "green pastures and still waters, beside wh God had led him ; of bis cup which he had made to overdo and of the table which he had prepared for him in the pi cnce of his enemies !" With what perfect tranquillity d he look forward to the time of his passing through valley of the shadow of death," uuappalled by that spect
p. 9. • PROMISCUOUS PIECES. 173
;>se most distant appearance blasts the prosperity of sin-
1. He fears no evil, as long as "the rod and the staff" of | Divine Shepherd are with him; and through all the nn- U'U periods of this and of future existence, commits hiin- r to his guidance with secure and triumphant hope : "Sine* goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life ; 1 1 shall dwell in the house of the Lord for ever."
2. What a purified, sentimental enjoyment of prosperity here exhibited ! How different from that gross rHisn of rldly pleasures, which belongs to those who behold only
terrestrial side of things; who raise their views to no her objects than the succession of human contingencies* I the weak efforts of human ability ; who have no protector-* the heavens, to enliven their prosperity, or to warm then/* rts with gratitude and trust/ / blair,
*** *** SECTION XXIIT. K
i'
irtue, when deeply rooted* is not subjected the influence of
fortune. . The city of Sidon having surrendered to Alexander he ered Hephestion to bestow the crown °njftm whom the onians should think most worthy of that hcflpr. Hephes- i being at that time resident with two young men of dis- stion, offered them the kingdom; but they refused it, tef- i; mra*that itwfls contrary to the laws of their country to nit any one to that honour, who was not of the royal family,
!. He then having expressed his admiration of their dig- ested spirit, desired them to name one of the royal raeet 3 might remember that he had received the crown through ir hands. Overlooking many who would have been ambi- js of this high honour, they made choice of Abdolonymus, Dse singular merit had rendered him conspicuous, even in vale of obscurity.
!. Though remotely related to the royal family, a series of fortunes had reduced him to the necessity of cultivating a den, for a small stipend, in the suburbs of the city. While dolonymus was busily employed in weeding his garden, the i friends of Hephestion, bearing in their hands the ensigns royalty, approached him and saluted him king. I. They informed him that Alexander had appointed him that office ; and required him immediately to exchange rustic garb, and utensils of husbandry, for the re«al robe
174 THE ENGLISH READER. • Pari
and sceptre. At the same time they admonished him, wl he should be seated on the throne, and have a nation in power, not to forget the bumble condition from which bad been raised.
5. All this, at the first, appeared to Abdolonymous as illusion of the fancy, or an insult offered to his poverty. I requested thrrn not to trouble him farther with their imp tinent jests ; and to find some other way of amusing the selves, which might leave him in the peaceable enjoymenl Jiis obscure habitation. At length, however, they eonvin biar that they were serious in their proposal ; and prevai upon him to accept the regal office, and accompany them the palace.
^ 6. No sooner was he in possession of the government, tl 'pride and envy created bitn enemies , who whispered th murmurs in every place, till at last they reached the eai Alea&qder* He commanded the new elected princ^ to sent for ; and inquired of him, with what tem'perof7niiM had borne his poverty.
7. "Would to heaven, replied Abdolonymous, that I be able to bear my crown with equal moderation : for wt I possessed In fe, i wanted nothing; these hands snppl me with wha^wer 1 desired. " From this answer, Ah xan formed so hifl&n idea of his wisdom, that lie confirmed (fi choice wliicl^ffad been made ; and annexed a neighboui province to the government of Sidon. quintus curtu
SECTION XXIV. *
The speech of Fabrimis, a Roman ambassador, to king P$ hus, who at cmpteato bribe him to his interests, by the o of a great sum of money,
1. With regard to my poverty, the king has, indeed, b justly informed. My whole estate consists in a house of mean appearance, and a little spot of ground ; from whi by my own labor, I draw my support. But, if by any me tbou hast been persuaded to think that this poverty rem me of less consequence in my own country, or in any deg unhappy, thou art greatly deceived.
2. 1 have no reason to complain of fortune ; — she supp me with all that nature requires; and if I am without perfluir ies, I am also free from the desire of tbem. \S these, I confess 1 should be more able to succour the ne< sitous, the only advantage for which the wealthy are to envied ;«— — but small as my possessions are, I can stilt c
tap. 9. PROMISCUOUS PIECES. 175
ibute something (o the support of the state, and the assis- nce of my friends.
3. With respect to honours, my country places me, poor as im, upon a level with the richest : for Rome knows no qua- ications for great employments, hut virtue and ability. She points me to officiate in the most august ceremonies of re- ion ; she entrusts me with the command of her armies ; she ntides to my care the most important negociations. My venv does not lessen the weighLof my counsels in the sen- , *. The Roman people honour1 me for that very poverty, ^ iich kins Pyrrhus considers as a disgrace.
4. They know the many opportunities I have had to en- h myself, without censure; they are convinced of mv dis- eresteri zeal lor their prosperity : and if I have any "thing eomp!ain*0f. in the return they make me, it is only the
?ess.pt fheir applause. What value, then, can 1 put upon ' gold and silver ? What king can add any thing to my for- le / Always attentive to discharge the duties" incumbent >n me, J have a mind t\ee from self-reproach ; and I have honest fame. * •>
SECTION XXV.
Character of James I, king of England. . No prince, so little enterprising and so inoffensive, was r so much exposed to. the opposite extremes of calumny
flattery, ot satire and panegyric. And the factions which an in his time, being still continued, have made bis char- 5f be as much disputed to this day, as is commonly that of ices who are our cotemporaries.
. Many virtues, however, it must be owned, he was pos- ed of ; but pot one of Uiem pure, or free from the conta- i ot the neighbouring vices. His generosity bordered on us.on, his learning on pedantry, his pacific disposition on llamm.ty, fan wisdom on cunning, his friendship on light y and boyish fondness. While he imagined that he was j maintaining his own authority, he may perhaps be sus- ted in some ot his actions, and still more of his preten- * wi iaVu eneroacned on the liberties of his people.
While he endeavoured, by an exact neutrality, to ac- e the good will of his neighbours, he was able to preserve
ab e, but fitter to discourse on general maxims, than to met any intricate business. His intentions were just, but more adapted to the con-
• . V4 ■
|76 THE ENGLISH READER. Part
duct of private life; than to the government of kingdoms.- Aukward in his person, and ungainly in his manners, he w; ill qualified to command respect : partial and undiscermng his affections, he was little fitted to acquire general love. ( a feeble temper more than of a frugal judgment ; exposed our ridicule from his vanity, but exempt from our hatred t his freedom from pride and arrogance. ,--'.. i
5. And, upon the whole, it may be pronounced ot his ch racter, that all his qualities were sullied with weakness, ■ embellished with humanity Political courage he was ct jtiinly devoid of; and from thence chiefly is derived the stro prejudice, which prevails against his personal bravery: an i ference, however, which must be owned, from general exj rience, to be extremely fallacious. hume.
SECTION XXVI. ^Ht,
Charles V. emperor of Germany, resigns his dominions, j retires from the world.
1. This great emperor, in the plenitude of his power, i in po^siorroftrfll the honours which can flatter the heart man, took the extraordinary resolution to resign his kingdoi and 10 withdraw entirely from any concern in business or affairs of this world, in order that he might spend the mamder of his days in retirement and solitude.
2. Though it requires neither deep reflection, nor extra binary discernment, to discover that the state of royalt not exempt from cares and disappointments ; though mos those who are exalted to a throne, find solicitude, and satu and disgust, to be their perpetual attendants, in that em pre-erahience ; vet to descend voluntarily from the supn to a subordinate station, and to relinquish the possessio power in order to obtain the enjoyment of happiness, se to bean effort too great for the human mind.
3. Several instances, indeed, occur in history, of mona who have quitted a throne, and have ended their days h tirement. But they were either weak princes, who took resolution rashlv, and repented of it as soon as it was tat or unfortunate princes, from whose hands some strong i had wrested their sceptre, and compelled them to des< Yi\*h reluctance into a private station.
4. Dioclesian is, perhaps, the only prince, capable of 1 in* the reins of government, who ever resigned them deliberate choice ; and who continued, during many y to enjoy the tranquillity of retirement, without fetching
p. 9. PROMISCUOUS PIECES. 177
[tent sigh, or citing back one look of desire, towards the er of dignity which he had abandoned. , No wonder, then, that Charles's resignation should nil Europe with astonishment; and give rise, both among contemporaries, and among the historians of that period, various conjectures concerning the motives which cleter- ed a prince, whose ruling passion had been uniformly Me ; of power, at the a*e of fifty-six, when objects of amni- i operate with full force on the m.ud^and are pursued I the greatest ardour, to take a resolution so singular and xpected. ... '. .
. The emperor, in pursuance of his determination, having jmbled the states of the Low Countries at Brussels, seat- tiiraself, for the last time, in the chair of state : on one side rmch was placed his son, and on the other, his sister the en of Hungary, regent of the Netherlands, with a splendid inue of the grandees of Spain and princes of the empire iding behind him. J .
. The president of the council of Flanders, by his com- ud, explained, in a few words, his intention in calling this raordinary meeting of the states. He then read the lit* imeut of resignation, by which Charles surrendered to his Philip all bis territories, jurisdiction, and authority in the w Countries ; absolving his subjects there from their oath allegiance to him, which he required them to transfer to ilip, his lawful heir ; and to serve him with the same loyal- and zeal that they had manifested, duriug so long a course years, in support of his government.
*. Charles then rose from his seat, and leaning on the Milder of the prince of Orange, because he was unable to nd without support, he addressed himself to the audience; i, from a paper which he held in his hand, in order to assist memory, he recounted, with dignity, but without osttnta- u, all the great things which he bad undertaken and per- med, since the commencement of his administration.
9. He observed, that from the seventeenth year of his age, had dedicated all his thoughts and attention to public ob- its, reserving no portion of his time for the indulgence ot s ease, and very little for the enjoyment of private pleasure; at either in a pacific or hostile manner, he had visited Ger- iny nine times, Spain six times, France four times, Italy ven times, the Low Countries ten times, England twice, firica a* often, and had made eleven voyages by sea.
10. That while his health permitted him to discharge his ity, and the vigour of bis constitution was equal, ia aoy de~
173 THE ENGLISH READER. Par
gree, to the arduous office of governing dominions so exl sive, he had never shunned labour, nor repined under fatig that now, when his health was broken, and his vigour exh; ted by the rage of an incurable distemper, his growing ii mi ties admonished him to retire.
11. Nor was he so fond of reigning, as to retain the si tre in an impotent hand, which was no longer able to prol his subjects, or to render them happy : that instead c sovereign worn out with diseases, and scarcely half alive, gave them one in the prime of life, accustomed already govern, and who added to the vigour of youth all the att tion and sagacity of maturer years.
12. That if, during the course of a long administration, had committed any material error in government, or if, der the pressure of so many and great affairs, and amidst attention which he bad been obliged to give to them, be either neglected or injured any of his subjects, he now imj red their forgiveness.
13. That for his part, be should ever retain a grateful se of their fidelity and attachment, and would carry the rem< brance of it along with him tp the place of his retreat, as sweetest consolation, as well as the best reward for all services ; and in his last prayers to Almighty God, wc pour forth his ardent wishes for their welfare.
14. Then turning towards Philip, who.fell on his knees kissed his father's hand, — "If, said be, I had \et't you by death, this rich inheritance, to which 1 have made such h additions, some regard would have been justly due to memory on that account ; but now, when I voluntarily sign to you what 1 migbt still have retained, I may well pect the warmest expression of thanks on your part.
15. "With these, however, I dispense; and shall consi your concern for the welfare of' your subjects, and your I of them, as the best and most acceptable testimony of y gralinde to me. It is in your power by a wise and virtu administration, to justify the extraordinary proof wbi< give this day of my paternal affection, and to demonsti that you are worthy of the confidence which I repose in j
16. "Preserve an inviolable regard for religion ; main! the Catholic faith in ail its purity ; let the laws of yonr cc try be sacred in your eyes ; encroach not on the rights privileges of your people; and if the time shall ever co when you shall wish to enjoy the tranquillity of private i may you have a son endowed with such qualities, that ;
iap. 9. promiscuous pieces. 179
in resign your sceptre to him, with as much satisfaction as give mine up to you."
17. As soou as Charles had finished this long address to his bjects, and to their now sovereign, he sunk into the chair, [hausted and ready lo faint with the fatigue of so extraordi- iry an effort. During his discourse, the whole audience elted into tears ; some from admiration of his inaguanimi- ; others softened by the expressions of tenderness towards s son, and of love to his people; and all were affected with e deepest sorrow, at losing a sovereign, who had distin- ished the Netherlands, his native country, with particular arks of his regard and attachment.
SECTION XXVII.
The same subject continued,
1. A few weeks after the resignation of the Netherlands, jarles, in an assembly no less splendid and with a ceremo- li equally pompous, resigned to lijls son the crowns of Spain, th all the territories depending on them, both in the old c) in the new world. Of all these vast possessions, he re- rved nothing for himself, but an annual pension of an h lin- ed thousand crowns, to defray the charges of his family, d to afford him a small sum for acts of beneficence and cha-
y-
2. Nothing now remained to detain him from that retreat I which he languished. Every thing having been prepared me time for his voyage, he set out for Zuitburgb, in Zea- id, where the fleet had orders to rendezvous.
3. In his way thither, he passed through Ghent ; and after )pping there a few days, to indulge that tender and pleas- \ melancholy, which arises in the mind of every man in the dine of life, on visiting the place of his nativity, and view- ; the scens and objects familiar to him in his early youth,
pursued his journey, accompanied by his son Philip, bis Jghtej the arch-duchess, his sisters the dowager queens of ance and Hungary, Maximilian his son-in-law, and a nume- is retinue of the Flemish nobility.
1. Before he went on board, he dismissed them with marks his attention ^regard ; and taking leave of Philip with all } tenderness of a father who embraced his son for the last ie, he set sail under a convoy of a large fleet of Spanish, imish, and English ships.
). His voyage was prosperous, and agreeable ; and he ar- ed at Laredo, in Biscay, on the eleventh day after he lei Q2
- / ! £ S
180 THE ENGLISH READER. Part
Z< aland. As soon as. he landed^fre' fell ~pi*©s4«rate on t gt^duud ; and cons-kterrng hims<-i»©w* a&^$&&Xhe*w#& he kissed the ear% asiri ^,;l(^ ;'«^ I r^»^f^#^J||| " %b *>r • s *tfftf5 , i n d^gMfi^ nlfw. re tuiwjtirtlte e, t l^rcomua IB^thei; of mankitftd.4' / r***&f ^fff5jij*j{''-
6. From Laredo he proceeded to Valladolid. There took a last and tender leave of his two sisters ; whom would not permit to accompany him to his solitude, thou they entreated it with tears ; not only that they might hs the consolation of contributing, by their attendance and ca to mitigate or to sooth his sufferings, but that they mis reap instruction and benefit, by joining with him in those ous exerc|s^jUo>which he had consecrated the remainder his day"S:jP^ *
7. From Valladolid, he continued his journey to Plazenc in Estremadura. He had passed through that city a gr< many years before ; and having been struck at that ti vi\\\ the delightful situation of the monastery of St. Just belonging to the order of St, JerOme, not many miles dist; from that place, he had then observed to some of hi* att dan's, that this was a spot to which Dioclesian might hi retired with pleasure.
8. The impression had remained so strong on his mi that he pitched upon it as the place of his retreat. It \ seated in a vale of no great extent, watered by a small bro and surrounded by rising grounds covered with lofty trees From the nature of the soil, as well as the temperature of climate, it was esteemed the most healthful and delicious yation in Spain.
9. Some months before his resignation he had sent an chitect thither, to add a new apartment to the monastery, his accommodation ; but he gave strict orders that the st of the building should be such as suited his present stati rather than his former dignity It consisted only of six roc four of them in the form of friars' ceils, with naked walls ; other two, each twenty f et square, were hung with br; cloth, and furnished in the most simple manner.
10. They were all on a level with the ground ; with at on one side into a garden, of which Charles himself had ven the plan, and had filled it with various, plants, which proposed to cultivate with his own bands. On the of side, they communicated with the chapel of the monast* in which he was to perform his devotions.
11. Into this humble retreat, hardly sufficient for the c fortable accommodation of a private gentleman, did Chs
lap. 9. .promiscuous pieces. 181
ter with twelve domestics only. He buried there in soli- ile and silence, bis grandeur, his ambition, together with all ose vast projects which, during half a century, had alarm-
and agitated Europe ; tilling every kingdom in it, by turns, th the terror of his ams, and the dread of being subjected
his power. ....
12.- In this retirement, Charles formed such a plan of life I himself, as would have suited the condition of a private arson of a moderate fortune. His table was neat but plain; s domestics few; his intercourse with them familiar ; all the imbersome and ceremonious forms of attendance on his per- n were entirely abolished, as destructive of that social ease id trauquillity, which he courted, id order to sooth the re- aiuder of his days.
13. As ihe mildness of the climate, together vith his de- rerance from the burdens and cares of government, procur- I him, at first, a considerable remission from the acute pains ith which he had been long tormented, he enjoyed, perhaps, ore complete satisfaction in this humble solitude, than all s grandeur had ever yielded him.
14. The ambitions thoughts and projects which had so l« . £ lgrossed and dlftfpile'ted him, were quite etfaeed from Ins ind. Far from taking any part in the political transactions ' the princes of Europe, he restrained his curiosity even from jy inquiry concerning them ; and he seemed to view the bu- ' scene which he had abandoned with all the contempt and (difference arising from his thorough experience of its vaui- r, as well as from the pleasing reflection of having disentan- ed himself from its cares. . * dr. Robertson*
« ../'
#
a^^^i^ ^
«-p
PART II. PIECES IN POETRY.
CHAPTER I. /#!
SELECT SENTENCES*^ ND PARAGRAPHS*
SECTION I.
SHORT AND EASY SENTENCES. ' ^
Education. 9Tjs education forms the common mind ; Just as the twig is bent, the tree's inclin'd. da£ t Candour. - a -
V»* With pleasure let us own our ■%$gm3&t$& past ; aAntl make each day a critic on the last. J Reflection, (
* ' A soul without reflection, (ike a pile
Without inhabitant, to ruin runs. '"a Secret virtue.
*/- The private path, the secret acts of man, If noble, far the noblest of {heir lives. C ^Necessary knowledge easily attained.
Our needful knowledge, like our needful food? IJnhedgM, lies open in life's common field ; And bids all welcome to the vital i%dst. * Disappointment
V Disappointment lurks in many a prize, ± As bees in flowers ; and stings ns will) success.
• - Fir turns elevation, f " The mind that woifld be happy, must bagreat ; Great in its wishes ; great in its surveys. Extended views a narrow mind extend.
Natural and fanciful life. Who lives to nature, rarely can be poor : #n
Who lives to faucy, never can be rich.
^^{ Iff W ^ *v 1
TstqU. ythe first chapter, the Compiler hasexh'bi.ted a considerable varn A I'otUcaftoflstructiou, for the young reader'sftireuaratory exercise.
'haP- *• SELECT '
Or**
in faith and hope But all mankind'
What nothing The soul's cal is virtue's p
Distmstfn It still
But *
r
■■mm* Parl11
-e vernal room, be tear that breaks, •s. manly cheeks.
OF DIFFERENT
<N
..'
ip. 2. NARRATIVE PIECES.
The idiot wonder they expr- £» d. Was praise and transport t- >tns breast. B. At length qnite vain, he needs would show His master what bis art could do ; And bade bis slaves his chariot lead To Academns' sacred shade. The trembling grove contess'd ^ «"g>« ' The wood-nymphs started at the sight , The rouses drop the learned lyre, And to their inmost shades retire. T Howe'er the youth, with forward air, ■5 C%* sage, and mounts the car. T \l"h0m> sounds, the coursers spring, The cn'a.e.ot marks the rolling ring ; And gatb'ring crowds, with eager eyes, And shouts, pursue him as he flies. 4. Triumphant to the goal return d, With nobler thirst his bosoro.burn d , And now along ^e indented plain The self-same track he marks again. Pursues with care the nice design, Nor ever deviates from *he Jroe. v
Amazement seiz'd the circling crowd , t ^ The youths with emulation glow a , ^
Ey'n bearded sages bail'd the boy, And all but Plato gaz'd with joy. ^
5. For he, deep-judging sage, beheld ^
With paiu the triumphs of the held . X
And when the charioteer drew _ nigh , And, flush'd with hope, had caughtjbis eye, 'Alas! unhappy youth,' he ern J. •Expect no praise from roe,' (and sigh d .), 6. 'With indignation I survey •Such skill and judgment thrown away . 'The time profusely squander'd there, s^ 'On vulgar arts beneath thy care,
13^ *: w£dlei"r*toy'd, atjess expense, -
'ffiS thee h3feur, virtue, sense,* » * Xd rai?d thee from a coachman's late
ho govern men and guide «"^^ag^.
SECTION V. ;' qi* Discourse between Adam and Eve ret vrmg tores* 1, Now came still .evening on, and tw light gray Had in her sober'liv'ry all things clad ,
--■-
THE ENGLISH READER. paft
Th!w af1C0.IDPanie^ for beast and bird, urw 7 i&t.he,r Srassr W 'ches, rhese to their nests ft
**£?i$T •'•*!! "I" the Wakeful "^tingafe? ^^ She all the night long her am'rous descant sune f^^ Si fence was pleas'd. Now glow'd the firma ment """""" With llyl„g Sapphires : Hesperus, ffi M Ut The starry host, rode brightest, till the moon Rising „, clouded majesty, at length. Apparent queen unveil'd her peerless light. 3 Wh !rihe d.ark ber si,ver «"»ntle threw
W nit ZU\Tti- Eve : "Fair Sir hour M nd^'nnt ' ,bm?s 1,<w re,ir'd to res" Mind us of like repose ; since God hath I Labour and rest, as day and night, to le1M Successive; and the timely dewof sleeT f
rIL ^f °tber cre»tures all day Ion*
Man h1% ?™ T-?'°J'd' aDd ,es< need7rest f Man hath his daily work of body or of mind ^pointed, which declares his dijniry, ^
While netheSard°f,HeaVen on a» W^ays; W hile other animals unaetive ran-re And of their doings God takes no^ccount. To-morrow, ere fresh morning streak the east Wm first approach of light, SWe must be risen. And at our pleasant labour ; to reform Yen flow'ry arbours, yonder alleys green
T„»tWalkat n°0n' witb branchefovSwn That Inock 0Br scant rf gg.
£ s6e bTcl'nT I""" 1** ** -^growth. TnaT.iete'SSOn„asltt r l™^ §"'nS Ask riddanc 'Tw'eSS SgSSfS. Meanwhile as nature wills, night bfd us rest' »
^au.lr'a'n.fr6' ^ ^ ««»"wd: my author and disposer, what tboa bidst
After S0ft sil d ^ ^ ^earth
^•/U ^MA ^> ^ 4£<*JZU CI £L-6
*S ■. a. ■ - - — —
r I
aP« 2. NARRATIVE PIECES, ]99
> \ Of grateful evening mild ; then silent night, With this her solemn bird, aiT**his fair moon, And these the gems of heaven, her starry train:
«rl?!,ne.,ther breath of morn» wh™ she ascends With charm of earliest birds ; nor risin* sun On this delightful land ; nor herb, fruiCflower, ^Ulist mng with dew ; nor fragrance after showers ; Wor grateful evening mild ; nor silent night With this her solemn bird ; nor walk by noon, Or glitt'rmg star light,— without thee is sweet, tfut wherefore all night long shine these ? for whom I his glorious sight, when sleep hath shut all eyes?" .A? W 0ur Seneraf ancestor replied : "Daughter of God and man, accomplish'd Eve, I hese have their course to finish round the earth By morrow evening; aud from land to land, Jn order, though to nations yet unborn, Minisfring light prepared, they set and rise ; I,est total darkness should by night regain Her old possession, and extinguish life In nature and all things ; which these soft fires IVot only enlighten, but with kindly heat Of various influence, foment and warm, Temper or nourish ; or in part shed down J heir stellar virtues on all kinds that grow- On earth, made hereby apter to receive Perfection from the sun's more potent ray. 7. I hese then, though unbeheld in deep of night, Shiue not in vain; nor think, tho* men were none, 1 hat heav n would want spectators, God want praise; Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep. All these with ceaseless praise his works behold, -Both day and night. How often from the steep Of echoing hill or thicket have we heard ^e estial voices to the midnight air, fcole,l0r responsive each to other's note, Ringing their great Creator ? Oft in bands,
Withh 7 .eep Watcb» or n*hi]y Ending walk fir ii KaVeD,y touch ^instrumental sounds, in lull harmonic number joiu'd, their songs
8 Thnft w- Q'gu1' ?Dd m our tDO"^ts t0 neaven."
S^k'W iD nand aIone they pas^d
Un to their blissful bower.
~ -——There arriv'd, both stood,
200 THE ENGLISH READER. Part
Both tnrn'd ; and under open sky ador'd -— "AJ
The God that made fcffMf sky, air, earth, arid heav'n, "
Which they beheld, the moon's resplendent globe,
And starry pole. "Thou also mad'st the night,
Maker Omnipotent, and thou the day,
Which we, in our appointed work empioy'd,
Have finisb'd, happy in our mutual help, k
And mutual love, the crown of all our bliss
Ordain'd by thee ; and this delicious place,
For us too large, where thy abundance wants
Partakers, and uncropt falls to the ground.
But thou hast promised from us two, a race
To fill the earth, who shall with us ex*ol
Thy goodness infinite, both when we wake,
And when we seek, as now, thy gift of sleep." milton.
SECTION VI.
Religion and death,
1. Lo ! a form divinely bright Descends and bursts upon my sight ; A seraph of illustrious birth ! (Religion was her name on earth :) Supremely sweet her radiant face, And blooming with celestial grace! Three shining cherubs form'd her train, Wav'd their light wings, and reacb'd the plain ; Faith, with sublime and piercing eye, And pinions flutt'ring for the sky ; Here Hope, that smiling angel, stands, And golden anchors grace her hands ; There Charity, in robes of white, Fairest and fav'rite maid of light.
2. The seraph spoke : " 'Tis reason's part 7\) govern and to guide the heart ; To lull the wayward soul to rest, WJien hopes and fears distract the breast. Reason may calm this doubtful strife, And steer wf bark through various life : But when the storms of death are nigh, And midnight darkness veils the sky, Shall reason then direct thy sail, Disperse the clouds, or sink the gale ? Stranger, this skill alone is mine, Skill that transcends his scanty line."
>
f>*
NARRATIVE PIECES, 201
3. "Revere thyself— thou'rt near alli'd To angels on thy better side.
How various e'er their ranks or kinds, Angels are but unbodied minds : When the partition walls decay. Men emerge angels from their clay. Yes, when the frailer body dies, The soul asserts her kindred skies. But minds, tho' sprung H£ heavenly race, Must first be tutor'd for the place : The joys above are understood, And relish'd, only by the good. Who shall assume this guardian care ; Who shall secure their birth-righ» there? Souls are my charge — to me 'tis given To train them for their native heaven.'5
4. **Know then — who bow the early knee, And give the willing heart to me ; WriiO wisely, when temptation waits, Elude her frauds, and spurn her baits ; Who dare to own my injur'd cause, Though fools deride my sacred laws ; Or scorn to deviate to the wrong, Though persecution lifts her thong; Though all the sons of hell conspire To raise the stake and light the fire : Know, that for such superior souls, There lies a bliss beyond the poles ; Where spirits shine with purer ray, And brighten to meridian day ;
Where love, where boundless friendship rules; (No friends that change, no love that cools ;) Where rising floods of knowledge roll, And pour, and pour upon the soul !" "But where's the passage to the skies ? The road thro' death's black valley lies. Nay, do not shudder at my tale ; Tho' dark the shades yet safe the vale. This path the best of men have trod : d decline the road to God ? a glorious boon to die ! favour can't be priz'd too high." €. While thus she spoke, my looks express'*! The raptures kindling in my breast; My soul a fix'd attention gave ;
^ This path
S^V And who'
^j^ >^Oh! 'tis j
^A> This favoi
202 THE ENGLISH READER. Parti
When the stem monarch of the grave,
With haughty strides approached : amaz'd
I stood, and trembled as 1 gaz'd. /
The seraph calm'd each anxious fear,
And kindly wip'd the falling tear;
Then hasteu'd with expanded wing
(To meet the pale terrific king. 7. E:it now what milder scenes arise ! | Tghe tyrant drops his* hostile guise ; /
He seems a youth divinely fair ;
In graceful riuglets waves his hair ;
His wings their whh'ning plumes display.
His burnish'd plumes' reflect the day ;
Light flows his shining azure vest,
And all the angel stands confess'd.
I view'd the change with sweet surprise ;
And oh ! 1 panted for the skies;
Thank'd heav'irtiiat e'er I drew my breath,
And triumphed in the tho'ts of death, cotton.
CHAP. III.
DIDACTIC PIECES.
SECTION I.
The vanity of wealth. % No more thus brooding o'er yon heap, With av'riee painful vigils keep ; Still unenjoy'd the present store, Still endless sighs are breath'd for more. Oh ! quit the shadow, catch the prize, Which not all India's treasure buys ! To purchase heaven has gold the power ? Can gold remove the mortal hour ? In life can love be bought with gold ? Are friendship's pleasures to be sold ? No — all that's worth a wish, a thought, Fair virtue gives unbrib'd, qnbought. Cease then on trash thy hopes to bind ; Let nobler views engage thy mind, i johnson
SECTION II.
Nothing formed in vain. 1. Let no presuming impious railer tax Creative wisdom ; as if aught was formM
Chap. 3. didactic pieces. 203 )
In vain, or not for admirable ends. Shall little haughty ignorance pronounce His works unwise, of which the smallest part Exceeds the narrow vision of her mind ? As if, upon a full proportioned <lome. On swelling columns heav d the pride of art ! A critic fly, whose feeble ray scarce spreads An inch around, with blind presumption bold, Should dare to tax the structure of the whole. 2. And lives the man, whose universa /eye
Has swept at once th* unbounded scheme of things ;
Mark'd their dependence so, and firm accord^
As with uufalt'ring accent to conclude,
That this availeth nought ? Has any seen
The mighty chain of beings, less'ning down
From infinite perfection to the brink
Of dreary nothing, desolate abyss !
From which astonish'd thought, recoiling, turns ?
Till then alone let zealous praise ascend,
And hymns of holy wonder, to that Power,
Whose wisdom shines as lovely iu our minds,
As on our smiling eyes his servant sun. Thomson, fi
SECTION III.
On pride.
1. Of all the causes which conspire to blind Man's erring judgment, and misguide the mind, What the weak head with strongest bias rules, Is pride, the never failing vice of fools. Whatever nature has in worth denied,
She gives in large recruits of needful pride I For, as in bodies, thus in souls, we find What wants in blood and spirits, swelPd with winch Pride, where wit fails, steps in to our defence, And fills up all the mighty void of sense.
2. If once right reason drives that cloud away, Truth breaks upon us with resistless day. Trust not yourself; but, your defects to know, Make use of every friend — and every foe. A little learning is a dangerous thing ; Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring : «s^ There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain;
. And drinking largely sobers us again.
204 THE ENGLISH READER. Part II
3. Fir'd at first sightfajjwhat the muse imparts, y\^(jC In fearless youth we tempt the heights of arts, ~— While, from the bouuded level of our miud, Short views we take, nor see the lengths behind ; But more advanced, behold, with strange surprise, New distant scenes of endless science rise I So pleas'd at first the tow'ring Alps we try, Mount o'er the vales and seem to tread the sky ; Th' eternal snows appear already past, And the first clouds and mountains seem the last : But those attain'd, we tremble to survey The growing labours of the lengthen'd way ; Th' increasing prospect tires our wand'ring eyes; Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise, pope,
SECTION IV.
Cruelty to brutes censured.
1. I would not enter on my list of friends, (Tho' grac'd with polish'd manners and fine sense, Yet wanting sensibility,) the man Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. An inadvertent step may crush the snail, That crawls at evening in the public path ; But he that has humanity, tbrewarn'd, Will tread aside, and let the reptile live.
2. The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight, And charg'd perhaps with venom, that intrudes A visitor unwelcome into scenes Sacred to neatness and repose, th' alcove, The chamber, or refectory, may die. A necessary act incurs no blame. Not so, when held within their proper bouuds, Aud guiltless of offence they range the air, Or take their pastime in the spacious field. There they are privileg'd. And he that hunts Or harms them there, is guilty of a wroug, Disturbs th' economy of nature's realm, Who, when she form'd, design'd them an abode*
3. The sum is this : if man's convenience, health, Or safety interfere, his rights and claims Are paramount, and must extinguish theirs. Else they are all — the meanest things that are, As free to live and to enjoy that life, As God was free to form them at the first, Who, in his sovereign wisdom, made them alio
Chap. 3. DIDACTIC PIECES. 20$
4. Ye, therefore, who love mercy, leach your sons To love it too. The spring time of our years Is soon dishonoured and defiTd, in most,
By budding ills, that ask a prudent hand
To check them. But, alas ! none sooner shoots.
If unjestraiu'd, into luxuriant growth,
Than cruelty, most dev'lish of them all.
5. Mercy to him that shows it, is the rule And righteous limitation of its act,
By which heav'n moves in pard'ning guilty mans And he that shows none, being ripe in years, And conscious of the outrage he commits, Shall seek it, and not find it in his turn, cowpeeu
SECTION V.
A paraphrase on the latter part of the sixth chapter of St. Matthew.
1. When my breast labours with oppressive care, And o'er my cheek descends the tailing tear ; While all my warring passions are at strife, Oh I let me listen to the words of life ! Raptures deep felt his doctrine did impart,
And thus be rais'd from earth tbe drooping heart i
2. "Think not, when all your scanty stores afford, Is spread at once upon the sparing board ; Think not, when worn the homely robe appears, While on the roof the howling tempest bears ; What farther shall this feeble life sustain,
And what shall clothe these shiv'ring bmbs again,
3. Say, does not life its nourishment exceed ? And the fair body its investing weed ? Behold t and look away your low despair r See the light tenants of the barren air; To them, nor stores, nor granaries belong; Nought, but the woodland, and the pleasing song : Yet, your kind heavenly Father bends his eye On the least wing that flits along the sky.
4. To him they sin* when spring; renews the plain ;' To him they cry in winter's pinching r^ign ; Nor is their music, nor their plaint in vain : He hears the g;ay, and the dfcires&ful call,
And with unsparing bounty fills them all.
5. "Observe the rising lily's snowy grace; Observe the various vegetable race i
ft 206 THE ENGLISH READER. Part 1
They neither toil nor spin, but careless grow ; Yet see how warm they blush ! how bright they glow ! What regal vestments can with them compare ! What king so shining, or what queen so fair ! 6. "If ceaseless, thus, the fowls of heaven he feeds ; If o'er the fields such lucid robes he spreads ; W7ill he not care for you, ye faithless, say ? Is be unwise ? or, are ye less than they ?" Thomson.
SECTION VI.
The death of a good man a strong incentive to virtue*
1. The chamber where the good man meets his fate, Is privileg'd beyond the common walk Of virtuous life, quite in the verge of heaven. Fly, ye profane i if not, draw near with awe, Receive the blessing, and adore the chance, That threw in thisBetbesda your disease i If unrestor'd by tfiis, despair your cure,
2 For here, resistless demonstration dwells; A death-bed's a detector of the heart. Here, tir'd dissimulation drops her mask, Thro' life's grimace, that mistress of the scene ! He rf real, and apparent, are the same. You see the man ; you see his hold on heaven, If sound his virtue, as Fhilander's sound.
3. Heaven waits not the last moment ; owns her friends On this side death ; and points them out to men ; A lecture, silent, but of sovereign power! %
To vice, confusion ; and to virtue, peace. Whatever farce the boastful hero plays, Virtue alone has majesty in death ; And greater still, the more the tyrant frowns. youa
SECTION VII.
Reflections on a future state, from a review of winter,
1. 'Tis done ! dread winter spreads his latest glooms, And reigns tremendous o'er the conquer'd year. How dead the vegetable kingdom lies ! How dumb the tuneful ! Horror wide extends His desolate domain. Behold, fond man ! See here thy pictur'd life ; pass some few years, Thy flow'ring spring, thy summer's ardent strength, Thy sober autumn fading into age.
hap. 3. DIDACTIC pieces. 207
And pale concluding winter comes at last, And shuts the scene.
2. Ah ! whither now are fled Those dreams of greatness ? thosi unsolid hopes Of happiness ? those longings after fame? Those restless cares ? those busy bustling days ? Those gay-spent, festive nights ? those veering ttao'ts* Lost between good and ill, that shared thy life ?
3. All now are vanish'd ! Virtue sole survives, Immortal, never failing friend of man,
His guide to happiness on high. And see ! 'Tis come, the glorious morn ! the second birth • & Of heav'n and earth ! awakening nature hears 4 The new-creating word ; and starts to life, Mn ev'ry heighten'd form, from pain and death For ever free. The great eternal scheme, Involving all, and in a perfect whole \ Uniting as the prospect wider spreads, To reason's eye refin'd clears up apace. /
4. Ye vainly wise ! ye blind presumptuous! now, Confounded in the dust, adore that Power And Wisdom, oft arraigned.' see now the cause Why unassuming worth in secret iiv'd.
And died neglected : why the good man's sflare ^j
in life was gall, and bitterness of soul :
Why the lone widow and her orphans pin'd
In starving solitude ; while luxury,
In palaces lay straining her Sow thought,
To form unreal wants : why heaven-born truth,
And moderation fair, wore the red marks
Of superstition's scourge ; why lieens'd pain.
That cruel spoiler, that embosom'd foe,
Imbitter'd all our bliss.
5. Ye good distress'd I Ye noble few ! who here uubending stand Beneath life's pressure, yet bear up awhile, And what your bounded view, which only saw A little part, deem'd evil, is no more :
' The storms of win fry time will quickly pass, And one unbounded spring encircle all. Thomson.
SECTION VIII.
Adam's advice to Eve to avoid temptation* I. O woman, best are all things as the will Of God ordain'd them : bis creating hand
208 ^THE ENGLISH READER. Part
Nothing imperfect or deficient left Of all J bat he created, much less man, Or aught that might his happy state secure, Secure from outward force. Within himself The danger lies, yet lies within his power : Against his will he can receive no harm.
2. But God left free the will : for what obeys Reason, is free, and reason he made right ; But bid her well beware, and still erect, Lest by some fair appearing good surpris'd, She dictate false, and misinform the will To do what God expressly hath forbid. Not then mistrust, but tender love, enjoins That I should mind thee of/T and mind thou me.
3. Firm we subsist, yet possible to swerve, Since reason not impossibly may meet Some specious object by the foe suboru'dr And fall into deception unaware, Not keeping strictest watch as she was warn'd. Seek not temptation then, which to avoid Were better, and most likely if from me Thou sever not ; trial will come unsought.
^4. Wouldst thou approve thy constancy ? approve / First Ife^ojbedienee ; th' other who can know, \ "f/Mf Not seeing thee attempted, who attest ? I /j But if thou think, trial unsought may find ',' Us both securer than thus warn'd thou seem'st^ Go : for thy stay, not free, absents thee more s Go in thy native innocence ; rely On what thou hast of virtue, summon all ; For God tow'rds thee hath done his part ; do thine.'*
aiilton.
SECTION IX.
On Procrastination.
1. Be wise to-day ; 'tis madness to defer : Next day the fatal precedent will plead ; Thus on, till wisdom is push'd out of life. Procrastination is the thief of time. Year after year it steals, till all are fled ; And to the mercies of a moment leaves The vast concerns of an eternal scene.
2. Of man's miraculous mistakes, this bears The palm, "that all men are about to live :*
M
jn. 3. DIDACTIC PIECES. 20^
Forever on the brink of being born.
All pay themselves the compliment to think,
They one cfcy shall not drivel ; and their pride
On this reversion takes up ready praise ;
At least, their own ; their future selves applauds ;
How excellent that lite they ne'er will lead !
Time lodg'd in their own hands is folly's vejls;^^ttf,
That lodg'd in fate's, to wisdom they consign ; ~ - ~-
The thing they can't but purpose, they postpone.
'Tis not m folly, not to scorn a fool ;
And scarce in human wisdom to do more.
3. All promise is poor dilatory man ; Aud that thro' every stage. When young, indeed, In full content, we sometimes nobly rest, Ununxious for ourselves ; and only wish, As duteous sons, our fathers were more wise. At thirty, man suspects himself a fool ; Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan ; At fifty, chides his infamous delay ; Pushes his prudent purpose to resolve ; In all the magnanimity of thought. Resolves, and re-resolves, then dies the same.
4. And why ? because he thinks himself immortal. All men think all men mortal but themselves; Themselves, when some alarming shock of fate Strikes thro' their wounded hearts the sudden dread : But their hearts wounded, like the wounaed air, Soon close ; where, past the shaft, no trace is found. As from the wing no scar the sky retains ; The parted wave uo furrow from the keel ; So dies in human hearts the thought of death. Ev'n with the tender tear which nature sheds O'er those we love, we drop it in their grave, young,
SECTION X.
That philosophy which stops at secondary causes, reproved. 1. Pappy the man who sees a God employ 'd In all the good and ill that chequer life ! Resolving all events, with their effects And manifold results, into the will And arbitration wise of the Supreme. • Did not his eye rule all things, and intend The least of our concerns ; (since from the least The greatest oft originate ;) could chance Find place in his dominion, or dispose
*™ *HE ENGLISH READER. Pj
One lawless particle to thwart his plan ; Then God might be surpris'd, and unforeseen Contmgence might alarm bim, and disturb The smooth and equal course of his affairs.
2. This truth, philosophy, though eagle-eyed In nature's tendencies, oft o'erlooks ; Aȣ having found his instrument, forgets Or disregards, or, more presumptuous still, Denies The power that wields it. God proclaims Mis hot displeasure against foolish men
That live an atheist life ; involves the heaven In tempests; quits his grasp upon the winds. Ami gives them all their fury ; bids a plague Kindle a. fiery boil upou the skin, And putrify the breath of blooming health ;
3. He calls for famine, and the meagre fiend Blows mildew from between his shrivel'd lips. And taints the golden ear ,* be springs ihis mine, And desolates a nation at a blast ;
Forth steps the spruce philosopher, and tells Of homogeueal and discordant springs And principles ; of causes, how they work By necessary laws their sure effects, Of action and redaction. 4« He has found
The source of the diseases nature feels ; And bids the world take heart and banish fear. Tbou fool ! will thy discov'ry of the cause Suspi :-nd the effect, or heal it ? Has not God Still wrought by means since first he made the world ? And did he not of old employ his means To drown it ? What is his creation less Than a capacious reservoir of means, Form'd for his use, and ready at his will ? Go, dress thine eyes with eye-salve : ask of him, Or a«k of whomsoever he has taught ; And learn, tho' late, the genuine cause of all.
COWPER,
SECTION xr.
Indignant sentiments on national prejudices and hatred,
- and on slavery. 1. Oh, for a lodge in some vast wilderness,
Some boundless contiguity of -hade,
Where rumour of oppressioo and deceit,
DIDACTIC PIECES.
211
Of unsuccessful or successful war,
Might never reach rae more ! My ear is pain'd,
My «oul is sick with every day's report
Of wrong and outrage with which earth is* fill'd.
There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart ;
It does not feel for man. The nai'ral bond
Of brotherhood is sever'd, as the flax
That falls asunder at the touch of fire.
2. He finds his fellow guilty of a skin
Not colon r'd like his own ; and having power T' enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause Dooms and devotes him as his lawful prey. Lands intersected by a narrow frith. Abhor each other. Mountains interpOs'd, Make enemies of nations, who had else, Lik< kindred drops, been mingled into one.
3. Thus man devotes his brother, and destroys ; And worse than all, and most to be deplor'd, As human nature's broadest, foulest blot, Chains him, and tasks him, and exacts his sweat With stripes, that mercy, with a bleeding heart, Weeps when she sees inflicted on a beast,
4. Then what is man ! And what man seeing this, And having human feelings, does not blush And hang his head, to think himself a man?
I would not have a slave to till my ground, To carry me, to fan me while I sTeejp, And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth That sinews bought and sold have ev^r earn'd.
5. No: dear as freedom is, and in iny heart's Just estimation priz'd above al! price;
I had much rather be myself the slave, And wear the bonds, than fasten them on him. We have no slaves at home — then why abroad ? And th»y themselves once ferried o'er the wave That parts us, are emancipate and loos'd.
6» Slaves cannot breathe in England : if their Inngs Receive our air, that moment they are free ; They touch our country, and their shackle* fall._
/%: That's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud And salons of the blessing. Spread it then, And let it circu latent hrough every vein Of all your empire ; that where Britain's power Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too. cowper. T
^
„<5 '. f V $
*212 1»HE ENGLISH READE&, Fa,
CHAPTER IV.
DECRIPTIVE PIECES.
SECTION I.
The morning in summer,
1. The meek-eyed morn appears, mother of dews. At first faint gleaming in the dappled east ; Till far o'er ether spreads the wid'ning glow ; And from before the lustre of her face
White brea.k the clouds away. With quicken'd step Brown night retires : young day pours in apace, And opens all the lawny prospect wide.
2. Thedrippir0 rock, the mountain's misty top, Swell on the sight, and brighten with the dawn. Blue, thro' the dusk, the smoking currents shine , And from the bladed field the fearful hare Limps aukward : while along the forest-glade The wild deer trip, and often turning, gaze
At early passenger. Music awakes The native voice of undissembled joy ; And thick around the woodland hymns arise.
3. Rous'd by the cock, the soon-clad shepherd leaves His mossy cottage, where with peace he dwells ; And from the crowded fold, in order drives
His flock to taste the verdure of the morn. Falsely luxurious, will not man awake ; And, springing from the bed of sloth, enjoy The cool, the fragrant, and the silent hour * To meditation due and sacred song ?* /
B For is there aught in sleep can charm the wise JJ
4. To lie in dead oblivion, losing half The fleeting moments of too short a life ; Total extinction of th' enlighten'd soul ! Or else to feverish vanity alive, W7ilder'd, and tossing thro' distemper'd dreams 1 WTho would, in such a gloomy state, remain Longer than nature craves ; when every muse And every blooming pleasure waits without,
To bless the wildly devious morning walk ? Thomson
SECTION II.
Rural sounds, as well as rural sights, delightful. 1. Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds Exhilarate the spirit, and restore
ap. 4. DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 2K
The tone of languid nature. Mighty winds, That «peep the skirt of some far-spreading wood Of ancient growth, make music, not unlike The dash of ocean on his winding shore, And lull the spirit while they fill the mind, Unuumber'd branches waving in the blast, And all their leaves fast fluttering all at once. s
2. Nor less composure waits upon the roar Of distant floods ; or on the softer voice Of nei^hl^iiing fountain ; or of rills that slip Thro' The oleftlrock, and, chiming as they fall Upon loose pebbles, lose themselves at length In matted grass, that, with a livelier green* Betrays the secret of their silent course.
| Nature inanimate employs sweet sounds > • ~» J?ut aflimatenTiafure sweeter stilly To sotfth and satisfy the human ear*
3. Ten thousand warblers cheer the day, and one The live-long night. Nor these alone, whose notes Nice-finger'd art, must emulate in vain ;
But cawing rooks, and kites that swim sublime, In still repeated circles, screaming loud, The jay, the pye, and ev'n the boding owl That bails the rising moon, have charms for me. Sounds, inharmonious in themselves, and harsh, Yet heard in scenes where peace for ever reigns, fj And only tbete^. please highly for their sake. ^?>wper.
SECTION III. '
The Rose.
1. The rose had been wash'd, lately wash'd in a shower. Which Mary to Anna convey'd ;
The plentiful moisture eneumber'd the flower, And weighed down its beautiful head.
2. The cup was all fill'd and the leaves were all wet, And seem'd, to a fanciful view,
To weep for the buds it had left with regret* On the flourishing bush where it grew.
3. I hastily seiz'd it, unfit as it was For a nosegay, so dripping and drown'd;
And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas ! I snapp'd it — it fell to the ground. 4< And such, I exclaim'd, is the pitiless part Some act by the JeHcate mind,
/7An -Mag-
214 THE ENGLISH READER. Part
Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart, Already to sorrow resigned. 5. 1 his elegant rose, had I shaken it less, # Might have hloom'd with its owner awhile : And the tear that is wip'd with a little ad Jress, May be folio w'd perhaps by a smile. cowper.
SECTION IV.
Care of birds for their young, ^^
1. As thus the patient dam assiduousfcits,I«*W Not to be tempted from her tendei^task, Or by sharp hunger, or by smooth delight, Tho' the whole )oo*en'd spring around Jier blows,. Her sympathizing partner takes his stand High on the opponent bank, and "W^fT SU1SS D /a Th^ tedious time away ; or else supplies (g^Ct^^^r Her place a moment, while she sudden flits /] To pick the scanty meal.
2. "TV appointed time With pious toil fulfill'ri, the callow young, Wai m d and expanded into perfect life, Their brittle bondage break, and come to light, A helpless family, demanding food
With constant clamour. O what passions then, What melting sentiments of kindly care, Ou the new parents seize ! ..
3. Away they fly * Affectionate, and undesiring bear
The most'ddicious morsel to their young ;
Which equally distributed, again
The sf arch begins, Ev'n so a gentle pair,
By fortune sunk, but form'd of generous mould,
And charm'd with cares beyond the vulgar breast,
In some lone cot amid the distant woods,
Su tain'd alone by providential Heaven,
Oft as they, weeping, eye their infant train,
Check their own appetites, and give them all.
r ; THOMSON.
SECTION V.
Liberty and slavery contrasted. Part of a letter written
from Italy by AMison. l.How has kind Heaven adnru'd this happy land, And scattered blessings with a wasteful hand !
p. 4. DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. r 215
But what avail her unexhausted stores, Her blooming mountains, and her sunny shores. With all the gifts that hetven and earth impart, The smiles of nature, and the charms of art, While proud oppression in her Tallies reigns,
** And tyranny usurps her happy plains! , \
The poor inhabitant beholds in vain ^The redd'ning orange, arid the swelling grain;:
£'' Joyless he sees the growing oils and wines,
W And in the myrtle's fragrant shade repines. j
L 2. O Liberty ! thou power supremely bright, \
ft Profuse of bliss* and pregnant with delight! Perpetual pleasures in tby presence reign,
p And smiling plenty leads tby wanton train. Eas'd of her load, subjection grows more light ;
•' And poverty looks cheerful in thy sight.
1 Thou mak'st the gloomy face of nature gay ;
Giv'st beauty to the sun, and pleasure to the daya
; 3. On foreign mountains, may the sun refine The grape's soft juice, and mellow it to wine ; With citron groves adorn a distant soil, And the fat olives swell with flood of oil: - We envy not the warmer clime, that lies In ten degrees of more indulgent skies ; Nor at the coarseness of our heaven repine,
I Tho' o'er our heads the frozen Pleiads shine : 'Tis liberty that crowns Britannia's isle, And makes her barren rocks, and her bleak mountains smile,
SECTION VI.
. CHARITY. A paraphrase on the 13th chapter of the first Epistle to.
the Corinthians.
1. Did sweeter sounds adorn my flowing tongue, Than ever man prononnc'd or angel sung ;
I Had I all knowledge human and divine, That thought can reach, or science can define i «^ And had I power to give that knowledge birth, ML<
In all the speeches .of the babbling earth ; Did Shadrach's zeal my glowing breast inspire* To weary tortures, and rejoice in fire ; Or had I faith like that which Israel saw, When Moses gave them miracles and law ; Yet, gracious charity, indulgent guest, Were not thy power exerted in my breast ." T2
216 THE ENGLISH READER.
Those speeches would send up unheeded prayer ; That scorn of life would be but wild despair; A cymbal's sound were better than ray voice ; My faith were form ; my^loquence were noise.
2. Charity, decent, modest, easy, kind, Softens the high, and rears the abject mind ; Knows with just reins, and gentle hand, to guide Betwixt vile shame, and arbitrary pride. Not soon provok'd, she easily forgives ; ^^^ An^ much she suffers, as she much believes. ^ Soft peace she brings wherever she arrives ; \ She builds our quiet, as she forms our lives ; \j3r Lays the rough paths of peevish nature even ; And opens in each heart a little heaven.
3. Each o* her gift, which God on man bestows, Its proper bounds, and due restriction knows; To one fix'd purpose dedicates its power ; And finishing its act, exists no more. Thus, in obedience to what Heaven decrees, Knowledge shall fail, and prophecy shall cease; But lasting charity's more ample sway, Nor hound by time, nor subject to decay, In happy triumph shall for ever Jive; And endless good diffuse, and endless praise receive
4. As through the artist's intervening glass, Our eye observes the distant planets pass; A little we discover ; but allow, 'That more remains unseen, than art can show ; So whilst our mind its knowledge would improve, (Its feeble eye intent on things above,) High as we may, we lift our reason up, By faith directed, and confirm'd by hope ; Yet are we able only to survey Dawnings of beams and promises of day : "Heaven's t\i\l*m iv#tae.n$e mocks our dazzled sight , Too great its swiftness, and too strong its light, 5. Btit soon the mediate clouds- shall be dispeil'd ; /^ A/The sun shalLbe face to face beheld. /JfVnin all his rtfbeV wiih all his glory on, \,
. Seated sublime on his meridian throne.
*'Wti Then constant faith, and holy hope shall die, One lost in certainty, and one in joy ; Whilst thou more happy power, fair charity, Triumphant sister, greatest of the three, Thy office, and thy nature still the same,
jh1 "x
}hap. A DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 217
|^? Lasting thy lamp, and unconsum'd tby flame, \J Shalt still survive —
Shalt stand before the host of heaven contest, J\\ F°r ever blessing, and fdf ever blest. prior.
$> SECTION VII.
Picture of a good man.
1. Some angel guide my pencil, while I draw, What nothing el^elhan augel can exceed, A man on earth devoted to the skies ; Like ships at sea, while in, above the world. ^,1
With aspect "mild, and elevated eye, ^n*^
Behold him seated on a mount serene, ii22? ^
Above the fogs of sense, and passion's storm : Jp**^ All the black cares, and tumults of this life, ^ ^ttt Like harmless thunders, breaking at his feet^_J? «^ J Excite his pity, not impair his peace. -^^*
2. Earth's genuine sons, the sceptred, and the slave, A mingled mob ! a wand' ring herd ! he sees, JffO Bewilder'd in the vale ; in all unlike ! i^%
* His full reverse in all ! What higher praise ? ~^» What stronger demonstration of the right ? £gr »* The present all th&ir care ; the future his : v When public welfare calls, or private want, \s They give to fame : his bounty he conceals.
Theiifvirtues varnish nature; his exalt, gj Mankind's esteem they court ; and he his own. $j)y». Theirs the wild chase of false felicities ; A $ His, the compos'd possession of the true. Alike throughout is his consistent piece, All of one colour, and an even thread ; While party-colour'd shades of happiness, W7ith hideous gaps between, patch up for them A madman's robe ; each puff of fortune blows Their tatters by, and shows their nakedness. 4. He sees with other eyes than theirs : where^they A Behold a sun, he spies a Deity ; \ Vy. What makes them only smile, makes him adore. \ U Wrhere they see mountains, he but atoms sees ;
rv i An empire in his balance, weighs a grain. H^ They things terrestrial worship as divine : I Vt His hopes, immortal, blow them by, as dust \ That dims his sight and shortens his survey, \ .v Which longs, in infinite, to lose all bound,
^o^-luf
218 THE ENGLISH READER. Part V.
i>. Titles and honours (if they prove his fate) He Jays aside to find his dignity ; No dignity they find in aught besides. They triumph in externals, (which conceal Man's real glory,) proud of an eclipse : Himself too much he prizes to be proud ; And nothing thinks so great in man, as man* Too dear he holds his iat'rest, to neglect Another's welfare or his right invade ; Their int'rest, like a lion, lives on prey.
6. They kindle at the shadow of a wrong ; , Wrougs he sustains with temper, looks on heaven,
|stqx stoops to think his injurer his foe : flight ,but what wounds his virtue, wounds his peace 4 A eover'd heart their character defends ; A cover'd heart desies him half his praise.
7. With nakedness his innocence agrees ; jgf While their broad foliage testifies their fall ! ^ Their no joys end, where his full feast begins : His joys create, theirs murder, future bliss. To triumph in existence, his alone ; /* And his alone triumpantly to think ^ His true existence is not yet begun. , His glorious course was, yesterday, complete :
Death then was welcome; yet life still is sweet, young SECTION VIII.
The pleasures of retirement.
1. Oh, knew he but his happiness, of men The happiest he ! who, far from public rage, Deep in the vale, with a choice few retir'd, Drinks the pure pleasures of the rural life. What tho' the dome be»wantiug, whose proud gate,/ Each morning, vomits out the sneaking crowd Of flatterers false, and in their turn abus'd ? Vile intercourse ! What tho' the glitt'ring robe. Of every hue reflected light can give, Or floated loose, or stiff with mazy gold, The pride and gaze of fools, oppress him not ?
2. What tho', from utmost land and sea purvey 'd, For him each rarer tributary life Bleeds not, and his insatiate table heaps W7ith luxury and death ? What tho' his bowl Flames not with costly juice ; nor sunk in beds Oft of gay care, he tosses out the night, Or melts the thoughtless hours in idle state ?
\1 i
\
hap. 4. DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. 219
What tho' he knows not those fantastic joys, That still amuse the wanton, still deceive ; A face of pleasure, but a heart of pain ? Their hollow moments undclighted all ?
^. Sure peace is his ; a solid life, estranged To disappointment, and fallacious hope.
I 3. Rich in content, in nature's bounty rich,
In herbs and fruits ; whatever greeus the spring, When heaven descends in showers ; or bends the bough When summer reddens, and when autumn beams ; Or in the wintVy glebe whatever lies Conceal'd, and fattens wjth the richest sap : These are not wanting ; nor the milky drove,
Luxuriant, spread o'er all the lowing vale ;
Nor bleating mountains; uor the chide of streams,
1 And hum of bees, inviting sleep sincere.
Into the guiltless breast, beneath the shade, j Or thrown at large amid the fragrant hay ; Nor aught beside* of prospect, grove, or song, Dim grottos, gleaming lakes, and fountains clear. }
4. Here too dwells simple truth ; plain innocence ;
u *• Here roo nweiis simple trutn ; plain innocc r.^ Unsullied beauty ; sound unbroken youth, . 5 Patient of labour, with a little pleas'd ; - Health ever blooming ; unambitious toil ; / Calm contemplation, and poetic ease, Thomson,
v SECTION IX.
vj The pleasure and benefit of an improved and well-directed 2/ imagination
P 1. Oh ! blest of heaven, "fahtfho* the languid songs ^ Of luxury, the syren ! not the bribes mf* Of sordid wealth, nor all the gaudy spoils p* Of pageant honour, can seduce to leave * Those ever blooming sweets, which, from the stoxq
ft Of nature, fair imagination culls,
To charm the enlivened soul ! What tho' not all |K Of mortal offspring can attain the height Of envied life ; though only \'ew possess Patrician treasures,^ o all her children just, With riebertreasures, and an ampler state, Endows at large whatever happy man Will deign to use them. 2. His the city's pomp,
The rural honours his. WhateVr adorns The princely dome, tbe column, and the arch, ,
220 THE ENGLISH READER. Part I
The breathing marble and the sculptur'd gold, Beyond the proud possessor's narrow claim, His tuneful breast enjoys. For him, the spring Distils her dews, and from the silken genti Its lucid leaves unfolds : for him, the hand Of autum tinges every fertile branch With blooming gold, and blushes like the morn. Each passing hour sheds tribute from her wings ; And still new beauties meet his lonely walk, And loves unfelt attract him*
3. Not a breeze Flies o'er the meadow ; not a cloud imbibes The setting sun's effulgence ; not a strain From all the tenants of the warbling shade Ascends ; but whence his bosom can partake Fresh pleasure, unreprov'd. Nor thence partakes Fresh pleasure only : for th' attentive mind, By this harmonious action on her powers, Becomes herself harmonious : wont so oft In outward things to meditate the charm Of sacred order, soon she seeks at home, To find a kindred order ; to exert Within herself this elegance of love, This fair inspir'd delight : her tempered powers
i Refine at length, and every passion wears *> A chaster, milder, more attractive mien.
4. But if to ampler prospects, if to gaze On nature's form, where, negligent of alf These lesser graces, she assumes the port Of that Eternal Majesty that weigh'd The world's foundations, if to these the mind Exalts her daring eye ; then mightier far Will be the change and nobler. Would the forms 4 Of servile customs cramp her gen'rous powers? Would sordid policies, the barb'rons growth Of ignorance and rapine, bow her down To tame pursuits, to iudolence and fear ?
59 Lo ! she appeals to nature, to the winds
And rolling waves, the sun's unwearied course, The elements and seasons : all declare For what th' eternal Maker has ordain'd The powers of man ? we feel within ourselves His energy divine : he tells the heart, He meant, he made us to behold and love What be beholds and loves, the gen'ral orb
jap, 5. PATHETtC PIECES. 221
I (Of life and being : to be great like Him, beneficent and active. Thus the men Whom nature's works instruct, with God himself Hold converse ; grow familiar, day by day, With his conceptions ; act upon his plan ; And form to his, the relish of their souls*. akenside.
CHAPTER V.
pathetic pieces.
SECTION I.
The Hermit. At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, .
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove, When nought but the torrent is beard on the hill,
And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove : 'Twas thus by the cave of a mountain afar,
While his harp rung symphonious, a hermit began ; No more with himself or with nature at war,
He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man. . "Ah ! why all abandoned to darkness and woe ;
Why, lone Philomela, that languishin^alll? For spring shall return, and a lover bestow,
And sorrow no longer thy bosom inthral. But, if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay,
Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn ;• O sooth him whose pleasures like thine pass away :
Full quickly they pass— -but they never return. "Now gliding remote, on the verge of the sky,
The moon, half extinguisb'd, her crescent displays : But lately I mark'd, when majestic ou high
She shone, aud the planets were lost in her blaze. Roll on, thou fair orb, and with gladness pursu
The path that conducts thee to spler '■ But man's faded glory what change
Ah, fool ! to exult in a glory 5 " 'Tis night, and the landscape '
I mourn, but, ye woodlands For morn is approaching, yoi
Perfum'd with fresh frag*' Nor yet for tho ravage of
Kind nature the embr But when shall spring v
O when shall day dav
X
222 THE ENGLISH READER.' Par
5. •' -Twas thus by the glare of false science betray'd,
That leads, to bewilder , and dazzles, to blind ; My thoughts, wout to roam, from shade onward to shad
Destruction before me, and sorrow behind. O pity, great Father of light, then I cried,
Thy creature, who fain would not wandfer from thee Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride :
From doubt and from darkness, thou only canst free.
6. And darkness and doubt are uow flying away :
No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn :^ So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray,
The bright and the balmy effulgence of moro. See truth, love, and mercy, in triumph descending,
And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom ! On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses are blend ii:
And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb."
^ BEAT E
SECTION II.
The beggar** petition,
1. Pity the sorrows of a poor old man,
Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door Whose day aittdwui^Jed t^the shortest span ; Oh ! givt rJTief, and heaven will bless your st .Ve.
2. These tatter'd clothes my poverty bespeak ;
These hoary locks proclaim my lengthened years : And many a furrow injjy grief-worn cheek, Has been the channeT'to a flood of tears.
3. Yon noise erected on tfie rising ground, ^
With tempting aspect drew me from my road ; For plenty there a residence has found, And grandeur a magnificent abode. , ••
4. Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor !
Here as I crav'd a morsel of their bread, 1 menial drove me from the door, <r in a humbler shed. «• hospitable dome ;
\ and piercing is the cold ! e friendly tomb; rably old. of my grief, M your breast, 1 the kind relief, e represt. should we repine ? f the state you see ;
bap. 5. PATHETigSf ieoes. % 223
And your condition miiy be soon like mine, The child of sorrow and of mtyery. %
3. A little farm was my paterna,! lot j
Then like the lark I uprightly hail'd the morn ; But ah ! oppression forc'd me from my co?, My cattle died, and bh2;Med was my corn.
9. My daughter, once the comfort of my age,
Lur'd by a villain from her native home.
Is cast abaudon'd ou the world's wide stage,
And dooin'd in scanty poverty to roam.
10. My tender wife, sweet soother of my care !
Struck with sad angu'sh at the stern decree, \
Fell, lingering fell, a victim to despair ;
And left the world to wretchedness and me.
11. Pity the sorrows of a poor old man,
Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door ; Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span ;
Oh ! give relief, and Heaven will bless your store.^
SECTION III.
Unhappy close of life. ** 1. How shocking must thy summons be, O death ! . ^o him that is at ease in his possessions ! tvho, counting on long years of pleasure here, Is quite unfurnish'd for the world to come ! In that dread moments how the frantic soul Raves round the walls of her clay tenement ; Runs to each avenue, and shrieks for help ; But shrieks in vain S How wishfully she looks On all she's leaving, now no longer hers ! 2. A little longer ; yet a little longer ;
O might she stay to wash away her stains ; And n't her for her passage ! Mournful sight ! Her very eyes weep blood ; and every groan She heaves is big with horror. But the ibef Like a staunch murd'rer, steady to his purpose, Pursues her close, through every lane of life ; Nor misses once the track ; but presses on, Till, forc'd at last to the tremendous verge, v At once she sinks to everlasting ruin ! v , a. blair
SECTION IV.
Elegy to Pity. Hail, lovely power ! whose bosom heaves the sigh, When fancy painta the scene of deep distress ;
^lA~>
224 THE ENGLISH READER* P
Whose tears spontaneous crystallize the eyey % When rigid fate denies the power to bless.
2. Not all the sweels Arabia's gales convey
From flovv'ry meads, can with that sigh comparer Not dew-drops glitt'ring in the morn rng ray- Seem near so beauteous as that falling telfll
3. Devoid of fear, the fawns around thee play ; /
\ Emblem of peace, the dove before t^e flies ; No blood-stain'd traces ffia|k the blameless way, Beneath thy feet no helpless insect dies.
4. Come, lovely nymph, and range the mead with uie,
To spring the partridge from the guileful the; From secret snares the struggling bird to free ; And stop the hand uprais'd to give the blow.
5. And when the air with heat meridian glows,
And nature droops beneath the eonqu'ring glean35 Let us, slow wand'ring where the current flows, Save sinking flies that float along the stream. j6. Or turn to nobler, greater tasks thy care, $ To me thy sympathetic gifts impart ; Teach me in friendship's griefs to bear a share, And justly boast the gen'rous, feeling heart.
7. Teach me to sooth the helpless orphan's grief;
With timely aid the widow's woes assuage ; To misery's moving cries to yield relief; And be the snre resource of drooping age*
8. So when the genial spring of life shall fade,
And sinking nature own the dread decay, Some soul congenial then may lend its aid, And gild the close of life's eventful day*
SECTION V.
Verses, supposed to be written by Alexander Selkirk, duri, his solitary abode in the island of Juan Fernandez.
1. 1 am monarch oral! I survey,
My right there is none to dispute : From the centre ail round to the sea.
Tarn lord of the fowl and the brute. Oh, solitude t where are the charms.
That sages have seen in thy face ? Better dwell in the midst of alarm#,
Than reign in this horrible place. 2, 1 am out of humanity's reach,
1 must finish my journey alone *
■pj^
'♦V :
^ pathet;c*piecies. 225
Never hear the sweet music of speech,
J start at the sound of* my own. The beasrs that roam over the plain,
J\Jy form with ..inditference se«# ' They are m unacquainted with man,
Their tameness is shocking to me.
3. Society, friendship, and love,
Di Vine lathes tow'd upon man, Oh had 1 the wings of a dove,
How soon would I taste you again i My sorrows 1 then might assuage
In the ways of religion and truth ; Might learn from the wisdom of age,
And be cheer'd by the sallies of youth*
4. Religion ! what treasure untold
Resides in that heavenly word ! More precious than silver or gold,
Or all that this earth can afford. But the sound of the church-going bell
These vallies and rocks never heard ; Ne'er sigh'd at the sound of a knell,
Or smil'd when a Sabbath appear'd.
5. Ye w inds that have made me your sport,
Convey to this desolate shore, Some cordial eudering report
Of a land I shall visit no more. My friends, do they now and then send
A wish or a thought after me ? Oh, tell me I yet have a friend,
Tho' a friend I am never to see.
6. How fleet is a glance of the mind !
Compared with the speed of its flight. The tempest itself legs behind,
And the swift- winged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land,
In a moment I seem to be there ; But, alas ! recollection at hand
hoou hurries me back to despair.
7. But the sea-fowl is gone to her uest,
The btast is laid down in bis lair ; Even here is a season of rest,
And I to my cabin repair. There is mercy in every place ;
And mercy — encouraging thought I
22$ THE ENGLISH READER. Part II
Gives even affliction a grace, And reconciles man to his lot.
cowper.
SECTION VI.
Gratitude.
1. When all thy mercies, O my God !
My rising soul surveys, Transported with the view, I'm lost In wonder, love, and praise.
2. O how shall words, wsth equal warmth,
The gratitude declare, That glows within my ravisb'd heart? But thou canst read it there.
3. Thy providence my life sustain'^,
And all my Wants redrest,
When in the silent womb I lay,
And hung; upon the breast.
4. To all my weak complaints and cries,
Thy mercy lent an ear. Ere vet my feeble tho'ts had learnt To form i hemselves in prayer.
5. Utmumber'd comforts to my soul
Thy Jeuder care bestow'd* Before my iufant heart conceived From whence rhose comforts flo;v'd.
6. When, in the slipp'ry paths of youtb,
With heedless steps. I ran, Thine arm, unseen, convey 'd me safe, And led me up to man.
7. Thro' hidden dangers, toils, and deaths.
It gently clear'd my way ; And Uiro' the pleasing snares of vice,
More to b" fear'd than they. 3. When worn with sickness, oft hast thou
With health reuew'd my face : And, when in sins and sorrow sunk,
Keviv'd my soul with grace.
9. Thy bounteous hand, with vvo< Idly bliss,
Has made my cup run o'er ; 1 And. in <> kind and faithful friend, II r-.s doubled all my store.
10. Ten thousand thousand precious gifts
My daily thanks employ;
Chap. 5. PATHETIC PIECES. 227y
Nor is the least a cheerful heart That tastes those gifts with joy.
11. Through every period of my life,
Thy goodness I'll pursue ; And, after death, in distant worlds, The glorious theme renew.
12. When nature fails, and day and night
Divide thy works no more, My ever-grateful heart, O Lord, Thy mercy shall adore.
13. Through all eternity, to thee , A joyful song I'll raise ;
~y?t.tt "Fe^oh ! eternity's too short
To utter all thy praise. addison*
SECTION VII.
A man perishing in the snow ; from whence reflections are raised on th& miseries of life.
1. As thus the snows arise ; and foul and fierce, AN winter drives along the darkened air ;
In his own loose revolving field, the swain Disaster'd stands ; sees other hills ascend^ Of unknown joyless brow ; and other scenes, Of horrid prospect, shag the trackless plain ; Nor finds the river, nor the forest, hid Beneath the formless wild ; but wanders od, From hill to dale, still more and more astray ; Impatient flouncing through the drifted heaps, Stung with the thoughts of home; the tho'ts of home Rush on his nerves, and call their vigour forth In many a vain attempt.
2. How sinks his soul ! What black despair, what horror fills his heart ! When, for the dusky spot, which fancy feign'd His tufted cottage rising through the snow, He meets the roughuess of the middle waste, Far from the track and blest abode of man ; While round him night resistless clases fast, And every tempest, howling o'er bis head,
• Renders the savage wilderness more wild.
3. Then throng the busy shapes into his mind. Of cover'd pits, unfathomabiy deep, A dire descent, beyond the power of frost ! Of faithless bogs ; of precipices huge, Smooth'd up with snow j and what is land, unknown;
V2
28 THE ENGLISH READER. Part II*.
What water, of the still unfrozen spring, In the loose marsh or solitary lake, Where ihe fresh fountain from the bottom boils. 4. These check his fearful steps ; and clown he siuks Beneath ihe shelter of the shapeless drift, Thinking o'er all the bitterness of death, Mix'd with the tender anguish nature shoots Through the wrung bosom of the dying man, His wife, his children, and his friends unseen.
/ In vain i\)V him th' officious wife prepares
M/U& ^ne nn&feir blazing, and the vestment warm ;
/ 5. In vain his little children, peeping out,
Into the mingled storm, demand their sire, ^fj «5J Willi tears of artless innocence. Alas! ™
IV1 or wife, nor children, more shall he behold, Nor friend£}nor sacred home On every nerve The deadly winter seizes ; shuts up sense ; And, o'er his inmost vitals creeping cold, Lays him along the snows a stiffen' d corse, Stretch'd out «nd bleeching in the northern blast.
6. Ah ! littlf think the gay licentious proud, Whom pleasure, power, and affluence surround ; They who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirth, And wanton, often cruel riot, waste ;
Ah, little think they, while they dance along,
How many feel, this very moment, death,
And all the sad variety of pain !
How many sink in the devouring flood,
Or more devouring flame ! How many bleed,
By shameful variance betwixt man and mau t
7. Ho many pine in want and dungeon glooms, Shut from the common air, and common use Of their own limbs ! How many drink the cup Of baleful grief, or eat the bitter bread
Of misery ! Sore pierc'd by wint'ry winds, How many shrink into the sordid hut Of cheerless poverty ! How many shake With all the fiercer tortures of the mind, Unbounded passion, madness, guilt, remorse !
8. How many, rack'd with honest passions, droop In deep, retir'd distress ! How many stand Around the death-bed of their dearest friends, And point the par? iug anguish ! Tho't^'ond man Of these, and all the thousand nameless ills, That one incessant struggle render life,
One scene of toil, of suff'ring, and of fate,
Chap. 5. BATHETIC PIECES. ^ 229
Vice in his High career would stand appal I'd, And heedless rambling impulse learn to think ; The conse/bus heart of charity would warm, And her nide wish benevolence dilate ; The social tear would rise, the social sigh ; And into clear perfection, gradual bliss, Refining still, the social passions work. Thomson.
SECTION VIII.
A morning Hymn,
1. These are thy glorious works, Parent of good, Almighty, thine this universal frame, Thus wond'rous fair, thyself how wond'rous then! Unspeakable, who sitt'st above these heavens, To us invisible, or dimly seen In these thy lower works; yet these declare Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine.
2. Speak ye who best can tell, ye sons of light, Angels ; for ye behold him, and with songs And choral symphonies, day without night, Chftte his throne rejoicing; ye, in heaven,
'Ou eariftt join all ye creatures to extol i.i ^ ilim last, Him midst, and without end.
t stars, last in the train of night, If betted thou belong not to the dawn, Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere, While day arises, that sweet hour of prime. Thou sun, of this great world, both eye and soul, Acknowledge him thy greater, sound his praise In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st, ■
And when high noon hast gain'd, & when thou fall'st:
4. Moon, that now meet'st the orient sun, now fly'st, With the fix '/I stars, fix'd in their orb that flies ; And ye five other wand' sing fires that move In mystic dance, not without song, resound His praise, who out of darkness eall'd up light. Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth Of nature's womb, that in quaternion run Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix And nourish all things ; let your ceaseless change Vary to our great Maker still new praise. JL
5. Ye mists and exhalations that now rise From hill or steamiug lake, dusky or gray, Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gokk
I ** """"'^Ou earift. ioii P* 3Wairest^sts
230 THE ENGLISH READER. Part 1
In honour of the world's great Author rise I
Whether to deck with clouds tb' uncobur'd sky,
Or wet the thirsty earth with tailing showers,
Rising or falling still advance his praise. €. His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow,
Breathe soft or loud ; and wave your tops, ye pines.
With every plant in sign of worship wave.
Fountains, and ye that warble as ye flow
Melodious murmurs, warbling tune bis praise.
Join voices, all ye living souls; ye birds
That singing, up to heaven's gate ascend,
Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise. 7. Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk
The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep ;
Witness if I be silent, morn or even,
To hi>! or valley, fountain, or fresh shade
Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise0
Hail, universal Lord ! be bounteous stil!
To give us only good ; and if the night
Has gather'd aught of evil, or .conceal'd,
Pisperse it, as now light dispels the dark!
chap. vr. C-f*>*m ***%
PROMISCUOUS PIECES.
SECTION I
Ode to Content.
•1. O thou, the nymph with placid eye £ O seldom found, yet ever nigh I Receive my temp'rate vow : Not all the storms that shake the pole* Can e'er disturb thy halcyon soul, And fcmoofch, unalter'd brow.
2. O come, in simplest vest array'd, With all thy sober cheer display'd,
To bless my longing sight ; Thy mien composed, thy even pace, Thy meek regard, thy matron grace* /?
And chaste subdu'd delight. /
3. No more ^hy varying passions beat, vH O gently gtiide my pilgrim feet u
To find thy hermit cell ; '
Where iu some pure, and equal sky, Beneath thy soft indulgent eye, The modest virtues dwell. 4* Simplicity, in attic vest^
fctOMISCUOUS PIECES. 231
*And innocence, with candid breast,
And/lear undaunted eye ; And h/pc, who points to distant years, * Fair fr'ning thro' the vale of tears
A/ista to the sky. S.Tbe •£ health, thro' whose calm bosom glide Tiy* temperate joys in even tide,
/That rarely ebb or flow ; And patience there, thy sister meek, \
presents her mild, unvarying cheek, To meet the offer'd blow. *
6 Her influence taught tfie Phrygian sage
A tyrant master's wanton rage, / With settled smiles, to meet : Jnur'd to toil and bitter bread, He bow'd his meek submitting head, And kiss'd thy sainted feet.
7. But thou, O nymph, retir'd and coy ! In what brown hamlet dost thou joy
To tell thy tender tale ? The lowliest children of the ground, Moss-rose and violet blossom round,
And lily of the vale.
8. O'say what soft propitious hour,
I best may choose to hail thy power,
And court tby gentle sway ? When autumn, friendly to tfce muse, Shall thy own modest tints ditfuse,
And shed tby milder day ?
9. WThen eve, her df wy star beneath, Thy balmy spirit loves to breathe,
And every storm is laid ? If such an hour was e'er thy choice, Oft let me hear thy soothing voice,
Low whisp'ring thro' the shade.
BARBAULB.
SECTION If.
The Shepherd and the Philosopher. 1. Remote from cities liv'd a swain, Unvex'd with all the cares of gain ; His bead was silver'd o'er with age ; And long experience made him sage : Iu summer's heat, and winter's cold, He fed his flocks and penn'd the fold: His hours in cheerful labour flew,
232- -i. .,,, top.] THE ENGLISH READlR. Part. II
Nor ei»vy nor ambition knew « j. + His wisdom and his hone?t fame
Thro' all the Country rais'd tus^pne. % A deep philosopher, fwhose rules ^ ~* Of moral life were drawn from schotj^ The shepherd^ homely cottage sougit,», HR And thus explored his reach of thdfcgtt i
♦'Whence is thy learning? hath thy^oil ■" O'er books eonsum'd the midnight oil ': Hast thou old Greece aud Rome survey'i? And the vast sense of Plato weigh'd ? Hath Socrates thy soul'rehVo^v^ * Awl hast thou fathom'd Tully's mind t Or, like the wise Uiysses^hrown, By various fates, on realms unknown, Hast thou through many cities stray'd, Their customs, laws, and manners weigh'd ?*
3. The shepherd modestly replied, "I ne'er the paths of learning tried; Nor have I roam'd in foreign parts, To read mankind, their laws and arts ; For man is practised in disguise, He cheats the most discerning eyes. Who by that search shall wiser grow ? By that, ourselves we never know. T\\p little knowledge I have gain'd, Was all from simple nature drain'd ; Hence my life's maxims took their rise* Hence grew my settled hate of vice.
4. The daily labouifef the bee - + fa* «&* Awake my soul to industry. Who can observe the careful ant, i And not provide for future want ? $ My dog (the trustiest of his kind) With gratitude inflames my mind : j I mark his true, his faithful way, And in my service copy Tray. j In constancy and nuptial love, I learn my duty from the dove. § The ben, who from the chilly air, With pious wing, protects her care, And every fowl that flies at large, 3 Instructs me in a> parent's charge, >
5. "From nature too I take my rule, .; To shun contempt and ridicule* ^ j
ap. 6.
FROMtSCUOflS HtiCES.
2*3
I never, with impor/ant air,
In conversation overbear.
Can grave and for/hal pass for Wise,
When men the sdemn owl despise?
My tongue withm my lips 1 rein ;
For who talks flinch must talk in vain.
We from the wordy torrent fly :
Who listens to the chalt'riug pye?
Nor would F, with felonious flight,
By stealth invade my neighbour's right:
6. Rapacious animals we hate ;
Kites, h?wks, and wolves deserve their fate Do not we just abhorrence find Against the toad and serpent kind ? But envy, calumny, and spite, Bear stronger venom in their bite. Thus every object of creation Can furnish hints to contemplation ; And, from the most minute and mean* A virtuous mind can morals glean."
7. "Thy fame is just," the sage replies; "Thy virtue proves thee truly wise. Pride often guides the author's pen J Books as affected are as men : But he who studies nature's laws, From certain truth his maxims draws % And those, without our schools, suffice To make men mora!, good, and wise."
6AY,
SECTION III.
The road to happiness open to all men.
1. Oh happiness ! our being's end and aim !
Good, pleasure, ease, content ! whate'er liy name ; That something still which prompts th' * tenia I sigh. For which we bear to live, or dare to die : Which still so uear us, yet beyond us lies, O'erlook'd, seen double, by the fool and wise ; Plant of celestial seed ! if dropt below, Say„ in what mortal soil thou deign'st to grow ?
2. Fair op'ning to some court's propitious shine, Or deep with diamonds in the flaming mine ? Twin'd with the wreaths Parnassian laurels yield, Or reap'd in iron harvests of the field ?
Wrhere grows ? where grows it not ? If vain our toil, W7e ought to blame the culture, not the soil,
234 THE ENGLISH READER. Part I
Fix'd tv no 6pot is happiness sincere ;
'Tis »o where to be found, or every where ;
9Tk never to be bought, but always free ;
And, fled from monarchs, St. Jofan! dwells with thee.
3. Ask of the learn'd the way. The learn'd are blind : This bids to serve, and that to shun mankind : Some place the bliss in action, some in ease ; Those call it pleasure, and contentment these :
/ Some, sunk to beasts, find pleasure end iu pain :
Some, sweil'd to gods, confess ev'n virtue vain; Or indolent, to each extreme they fall, To trust in every thing, or doubt of all.
4. Who thus define it, say they more or less Than this, that happiness is happiness ? Take nature's path, and mad opinions leave; All states can reach it, and ail heads conceive : Obvious her goods, in no extreme they dwell ; There needs but thinking right, and meaning well; And mourn our various portions as we please, Equal is common sense, and common ease. Remember, man, "the universal cause "Acts not by partial, but by gen' ral laws ;" And makes what happiness we justly call, Subsist, not in the good of one, but all. pope«
SECTION IV.
The goodness of Providence*
1. The Lord my pasture shall prepare, And feed me with a shepherd's care : His presence shall my wants supply, And guard me with a watchful eye ; My noon-day walks he shall attend, And all my midnight hours defend.
2. When in the sultry glebe 1 faint, Or on the thirsty mountains pant ; To fertile vales, and dewy meads, My weary wand'ring steps he leads ; Where peaceful rivers, soft and slow? Amid the verdant landscape flow.
3. Tho' in the paths of death I tread, With gloomy horrors overspread,
-f* , My steadfast heart shall fear no ill,
For thou, O Lord, art with me still ; Thy friendly crook shall give me aid, And guide uae thro' the dreadful shade
I 6. PROMISCUOUS PIECES. 235
4. Though in a bare and pigged way, Through devious lone^ wilds I stray, Thy bounty shall my/pains beguile ; The harren wilderness shall smile, With sudden green/ and herbage crown'd, And streams shall murmur all around.
I ADDISON.
SECTION V.
The Creator'? works attest his greatness*
1. The spacious firmament on high, With all the blue etherial sky,
And spangled heavens, a shining frame,
Their great original proclaim :
Th' unwearied sun, from day to day,
Does hi*' Creator's power display,
And p/iblishes to every land,
The irork of an Almighty band.
2. Soom as the evening shades prevail, The moon takes up the wond'rous tale, A/id, nightly, to the list'ning earth, r Eepeats the story of her birth : Whilst all the stars that rouud her bum, And all the planets in their turn, Confirm the tidings as they roll,
And spread the truth from pole to pole.
3. What though in solemn silence, all Move rouud the dark terrestrial ball; What tho* nor real voice nor sound Amid their radiant orbs be found I
In reason's ear they all rejoice, And utter forth a glorious voice, For ever singing as they shine, '•The hand that made us is divine."
ADDISON.
SECTION VI.
An address to the Deity.
1. 0|thou ! whose balance does the mountains weigh ; Whose will the wild tumultuous seas obey ; Whose breath can turn those wat'ry worlds to flame* That flame to tempest, and that tempest tame; Earth's meanest son, all trembling, prostrate falls, And on the h6undn%fc of thy goodness calls.
2. Oh ! give the windfall past offence to sweep, To scatter wide, or bury in the deep.
X ^ ._ n
u
236 THE ENGLISH READER
Thy power, my weakness, may I ever see, And wholly dedicate my soul to thee. Reign o'er my 'will ; my passions ebb and nW At thy command, nor human motive know I If anger boil, let anger be my praise, And sin the graceful indignation raise. My love be warm to succour th« distress'd ; And lift the burden from the soul oppress'd.
3. O mav my understanding ever read
This glorious volume which thy Wislom made ! May sea and land, and earth aiid heaven be join'd* To bring to' eternal Author to my mind ! When oceans roar, or awful thunders roll. May tho'ts of thy dread vengeance shake my soul 1 When earth's in bloom, or planets proudJy shine, Adore, my heart, the Majesty divine!
4. Grant I may ever at the morning ray, Open with prayer the consecrated day ; Tune thy great praise, and bid my soul arisen And with the mounting sun ascend the skies } As that advances let my zeal improve,
Aud glow with ardour of consummate love ; Nor cease at eve, but with the setting sun My endless worship shall be still begun.
5. And oh ! permit the gloom of solemn nighf , To sacred thought may forcibly invite. When >"his world's shut, and awful planets rise, Call on our minds, and raise them to the skies ; Compose our souls with a less dazzling sight, And show all nature in a milder light ;
How every hoist'rous thought in calm subsides ! How the smooth' d spirit into goodness glides !
6. Oh how divine ! to tread the milky way, To the bright palace of the Lord of Day ; His court admire, or for his favour sue.
Or leagues of friendship with his saints renew Pleas'd to look down and See the world asleep $ While 1 long vigils to its Founder keep !
7. Canst thou not shake the centre ? O control, Subdue by force, the rebel in my soul ; Thou who canst still the raging of the flood, Restrain the various tumults of my blood ; Teach me, with equal firmiiws, to sustain Ailurins pleasure, and assaulting pain.
8. O may I pant for thee in each desire ! And with strong faith foment the holy tire t
6# PROMISCUOUS PIECES. *°$
Stretch out my son! in hope, and grasp the prize,
Which in eternity's deep bosom lies !
At the great day of recompense behold,
Devoid of (ear, the fatal book unfold !
Then wafted upward to the blissful seat,
From ace to age my grateful song repeat ;
]Vlv Light, my Life, my God, my Saviour see,
And rival angels in the praise of thee ! young,
SECTION VII.
The pursuit of happiness often ill directed,
1. The midnight moon serenely smiles
O'er nature's soft repose; No low'rins cloud obscures the sky, Nor ruffling tempest blows.
2. Now every passion sinks to rest,
The throbbing heart lies still ; And varying schemes of life no more - Distract the labouring will.
3. In silence hush'd to reason's voice,
Attends each mental power : Come, dear Emilia, and enjoy Reflection's fav'rite hour.
4. Come ; while the peaceful scene invites,
Let's search this ample round ; Where shall the lovely fleeting form Of happiness be found ?
5. Does it amidst the frolic mirth
Of gay assemblies* dwell ; Or hide beneath the solemn gloom, That shades the hermit's cell ?
6. How oft the laughing brow of joy
A sick'ning heart conceals 1 And. thro' the cloister's deep recess^
Invading sorrow steals. >
% In vain, thro' beauty, fortune, wit, The fugitive we trace ; It dwells not in the faithless smile That brightens Clodia's face.
8. Perhaps the joy to these deni'd,
The heart in friendship finds ; Ah I dear delusion, gay conceit, pf visionary minds !
9. Howe'er our varying notions rove*
' Yet all agree in one, , J:
238 THE ENGLISH READER.
To place its being in some state, At distance from our own.
10. O blind to each indulgent aim,
Of power supremely wise, W ho fancy happiness in aught „ TrThe Dand °* heaven denies !
11. Vain is alike the joy we seek,
And vain that we possess, ' unless harmonious reason tunes The passions into peace.
12. To tempered wishes, just desires,
is happiness confin'd ; And deaf to folly's caH, attends 1 he music of the mind. carter.
SECTION VlfL
_ ' Thejire-side.
1. Dear Cbloe, while the busy crowd,
i Z*i?\ the wea,%* and the proud,
In folly's maze advance j Though singularity aud pride Be calPd our choice, we'll step aside,
iX or join the giddy dance.
2. From the gay world, we'll oft retire lo our own family and fire,
Where Jove our hours emplovs : No noisy neighbour enters here, No intermeddling stranger near,
w- u haPPiness we prize, Within our breast this jewel lies; And they are fools who roam : The world has nothing to bestow :
T <?«?? Se,V6S our J°*vs mustfloir, And that dear hut our home.
4\?/ reSt was Noah's do™ bereft, When with impatient wing she left
1 hat safe retreat, the ark ; giving her vain 'excursions o'er, The disappointed bird once more
kxplor'd the sacred bark.
wf fr,S Spurn HE*®* SenlIe Powers, VVe, who improve his golden hours, «v sweet experience know,
Pa;
jp, 6, PROMISCUOUS PIECES. 239
That marriage, rightly understood, Gives to the tender and the good A paradise below.
6. Our babes shall richest comfort bring! If tutor'd right, they'll prove a spring
Whence pleasures ever rise : We'll form their minds with studious care, To all that's manly, good, and fair,
And traiu them for the skies.
7. W7hile they our wisest hours engage, They'll joy our youth, support our age,
And crown our hoary hairs : They'll grow iu virtue every day, And thus our fondest loves repay,
And recompense our cares.
8. No borrow'd joys ! they're all our own; While to the world we live unknown,
Or by the world forgot : Monarchs ! we envy not your state ; We look with pity on the great,
And bless our humble lot.
9. Our portion is not large, indeed : But then how little do we ueed !
For nature's calls are few : ~ In this the art of living lies, To waut no more than may suffice,
And make that little do.
10. We'll therefore relish with content, Whate'er kind Providence has sent*
Nor aim beyond our power : For if our stock be very small, 'Tis prudence to enjoy it all,
Nor lose the present hour.
11. To be resign'd when ills betide* Patient when favours are deni'd,
And pleas'd with favours given t Dear Chloe, this is wisdom's part ; This is that incense of the heart,
Whose fragrance smells to heaven.
12. We'll ask no long protracted treat, Since winter-life is seldom sweet;
But when our feast is o'er, Grateful from table we'll arise, Nor grudge our sons, with envious eyes,
The relics of our store. X8 ■
240
THE ENGLISH READER.
13. Thus hand in hand, through life we'll 2:0 * Its chequer'd paths of joy and woe, '
V\ ith cautious steps we'll tread ; Quit its vain scenes without a tear, Without a trouble or a fear, 1 1 w£nd min'Sle w»th the dead.
Sb,lJe conscience, like a faithful friend, oiiall through the gloomy vale attend,
And cheer our dying breath ; Shall, when all other comforts cease, Like a kind angel, whisper peace,
And smooth the bed of death. cotton.
SECTION IX.
PrwidMevirrfiMedmtkeprescfUrtaUofman. ?nl7ufP0,D a" creatures "ides the book of fate, All but the page prescribed, their present state From brutes what men, from men what spirits know ; Or who could suffer being here below * T he lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day, Had he thy reason would he skip and play ? '
Jn M- V0,.the, ISS>.he CmpS lhe fl°*erv food, 9 n S hand just rais'd to shed his blood. <*• Oh, blindness to the future ! kindly given,
That each may fill the circle markd by Heaven ;
Who sees with equal eye, as God of all,
A hero perish, or a sparrow fall ;
Atoms or systems into ruin hiirl'd
And now a bubble burst, and now'a world.
Wait the great teacher death ; and God adore. What future buss he gives not thee to know, Hut gives that hope to be thy blessing now Hope springs eternal in the human breast : ' Man never is, but always to be blest, i he soul uneasy, and cbnfiVd from home, . Kests and expatiates in a life to come.
0 ° J,ie P°°c ,lldian' vvfaose "ntntor'd mind fcees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind : His soul proud science never taught to stray •*ar as the Solar Walk, or Milky Way ; Yet simple nature to his hope has given, Behind the cloud-topt hill, a humbler heaven : borne safer wodd, in depth of woods embraced,
Par
,
6. PROMISCUOUS PIECES. 241
Some happier islaud in the watery waste ; Where slaves once more their native laud behold, No fiends torment, no Christians thirst for gold.
5. To be content's his natural desire ;
Pie asks no angel's wins;, no seraph's fire ; But thinks, admitted to that equal sky, His faithful dog shall bear him company.
Go, wiser thou ! and in thy scale of sense, Weigh thy opinion against Providence ; Call imperfection what thou fanciest such ; Say here he gives too little, there too much.
6. In pride, in reas'ning pride, our error lies; All quit their sphere, and rush into the skies. Pride still is aiming at the blest abodes ; Men would be angels, angels would be gods. Aspiring to be gods, if angels fell, Aspiring to be angels men rebel : An^who but wishes to invert the laws
Of order, sins against th' eternal cause. pope>
SECTION X.
Selfishness reproved. 1. Has God, thou fool ! work'd solely for thy good,
Thy joy, thy pastime, thy attire, thy food ?
Who for thy table feeds the wanton fawn,
For him as kindly spreads the flow'ry lawn.
Is it for thee the lark ascends and sings ?
Joy tunes his voice, joy elevates his wings.
Is it for thee the linnet pours his throat ?
Loves of his own, and raptures swell the note, 2 The bounding steed you pompously bestride,
Shares with his lord the pleasure and the pride- Is thine alone the seed that strews the plain ?
The birds of heaven shall vindicate their grain.
Tnine the full harvest of the golden year ?
Part pays, and justly, the deserving steer.
The hog, that ploughs not, nor obeys thy call,
Lives on the labours of this lord of all. 3. Know, nature's children all divide her care ;
The fur that warms a monarch, warin'd a bear.
While man exclaims, 'See all things for my use !"
"See man for mine !" replies a pamper'd goose.
And just as short of reason he must fall.
Who thinks a!! made for one, not one for all*
9™ THE ENGLISH READER. Pa
4, Grant that the powerful still the weak control ; Be man the wit and tyrant of the whole : Nature that tyrant checks ; he only knows, And helps another creature's wants and woes. Say, will the falcon, stooping from above, Smit with her varying plumage, spare the dove ? Admires the jay, the insect's gilded wings ? Or hears the hawk when Philomela sings ?
d. Mao cares for all : to birds he gives bis woods* To beasts bis pastures, and to fish his floods ; * For some his interest prompts him to provide, For more his pleasure yet for more his pride. All feed on one vain patron, and eiy>y TV extensive blessing of his luxury.
6. That very life his learned hunger craves, He saves from famine, from the savage saves ; Nay, feasts the animal he dooms his feast ; M And, till he ends the being, makej^t blest : $ Which sees no more the "stroke, nor feels the paio, Than favoured man by touch ethereal slain. The creature had bis feast of life before ; Thpu too must perish, when thy feast is o'er ! pap^,
SECTION XL
Human frailty. 1. Weak and irresolute is man :
The purpose of to-day, >^nLv
Woven with pains into bis plan, ^
To-morrow rends away. ^ ^
2. The bow well bent, and smart the spring.
Vice seems already slain ; But passion rudely snaps the string, ;\;
And it revives again.
3. Some foe to his upright intent , *
Finds out his weaker part ; pK
Virtue engages his assent, But pleasure wins his heart.
4. 'Tis here the folly of the wise,
Through ail his art we view ; And while hjs tongue the charge denies* His conscience owns it true.
5. B'fiind on a voyage of awful length, B
And dangers little known,
A stranger to superior strength*
Mao vainly trusts bis own*
>
PROMISCUOUS PIECES. 243
6. But oars alone cau ne'er prevail To reach the distant coast ; The breath of heaven must swell the sail, Or all the toil is lost. cowper,
SECTION XII.
Ode tn) Peace.
1. Come, peace of mind, delightful guest, Return, and make thy downy nest
Once more in this sad heart ; Nor riches f, nor power pursue, Nor hold forbidden joys in view ;
We therefore need not part.
2. Where wilt thou dwell, if not with me, From av'rice and ambition free,
And pleasure's fatal wiles ? For whom, alas ! dost thou prepare The sweeps that I was wont to share,
The banquet of thy smiles ?
3. The great, the gay, shall they partake The heaveu that thou alone canst make T
And wilt thou quit the stream, Thai murmurs thro' the dewy mead, The grove and the sequestered shade,
To be a guest with them ?
4. For thee I panted, thee I priz'd, For thee I gladly sacrific'd
What e'er 1 lov'd before ; And shall I see thee start away, And helpless, hopeless, hear thee say,
'Farewell — we meet no more? P
SKCTION XIII.
Ode to Adversity.
1. Daughter of Heaven, relentless power, Thou tamer of the human breast, Whose iron scourge, and tort 'ring hour, The bad affright, afflict the best ! Bound in thy adamantine chain,
The proud are taught to taste of pain, And purple tyrants vainly groan With pangs unfelt before, un pitied and alone-
2. When first tby sire to send on earth Virtue, his darling child, desigu'd, To thee he gave the heavenly birth,
?44 0 THE ENGLISH READEE. Pal
And bade to form her infant mind. Stern rugged nurse ! thy rigid lore With patience many a year she bore : What sorrow was, thou had'st her know ; And from her own, she learnt to melt atj)thers' wo.,
3. Scared at thy frown terrific, fly Self-pleasing folly's ;l|e brood, ( Wild laughter, noise, and thoughtless joy. And leave us leisure to be good. Light they disperse ; ancj with them go The summer-friend, the flatt'ring foe. By vain prosperity receiv'd,
To her they vow their truth, and are again believ'd.
4. Wisdom, in sable garb array '-d, Jroraers'd in rapt'rous thought profound, And melancholy, silent maid,
W7ith leaden eye that loves the ground, Still on thy solemn steps attend ; Warm charity, the gen'ral friend, With justice to herself severe, And pity, dropping soft the sadly pleasing tear*
5. Oh ! gently on thy suppliant's head, Dreadhpower, lay thy chastening hand I Not in thy gorgon terrors clad,
Nor circled with the vengeful band, As by the impious thou art seen, With thund'ring voice, and threatening mien* W7itn screaming horror's fun'ral cry, Despair, and fell disease, and ghastly poverty*
6. Thy form benign, propitious, wear, Thy itfilder influence impart ; Thy philosophic train be there, To soften, not to wound my heart. The gen'rous spark extinct revive : Teach me to love, and to forgive : Exact, my own defects to scan ;
What others are to feel ; and kuow myself a man.
GRAxt
SECTION XIV.
The creation required to praise its Author, 1. Begin, my soul, th' exalted lay ! Let each enrapiur'd thought obey, And praise th' Almighty name; Lo ! heaven and earth, and seas and skies,
., 6. Promiscuous pieces. / -45
In one melodious concert rise, To swell th' inspiring theme. &; Ye fields of light, celestial plains, Where gay transport ina; beauty reigns, Ye scenes divinely fair ! Your Maker's wood' roils power proclaim, Tell how he form'd your shining fiarae, And breath'd the fluid air.
3. Ye angels, catch the thrilling sound ! While ail In' adoring thrones around
His boundless mercy sing : Let ev'ry listening saint above Wake all the tuneful soul of love,
And touch the sweetest string.
4. Join, ye loud spheres, the vocal choir; y*l) Thtfrdazzling orb of liquid fire,
J; The mighty chorus aid :
Soon as gray evening gilds the plain, Thou moon, protract the melting strain, And praise him id the shade.
5. Thou heaven of heavens, his vast abode : Ye clouds, proclaim Jour forming God,
Who call'd yon worlds from night : 44Ye shades, dispel !" th' Eternal said ; At once th' involving darkness fled,
And nature sprung to light. 1 6. Whate'er a blooming world contains, That wings the air, that skims the plains,
United praise bestow : Ye dragons, sound his awful name To heaven aloud ; and roar acclaim*
Ye swelling deeps below. 7. Let every element rejoice ; Ye thunders, burst with awful voiceJ
To him who bids you roll : His praise in softer notes declare, Each whisp'ring breeze of yielding air.
And breathe it to the soul. H. To him, ye graceful cedars, bow;' Ye tow'ring mountains, bending low,
Your great Creator own ; Tell, when affrighted nature shook, wm How Sinai kindled at his look.
And trembled at bis frown.
/;
yr
214 THE ENGLISH READER. Part
Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart,
Already to sorrow resigned. 5. This elegant rose, had I shaken it less, #
Might have hloom'd with its owner awhile : And the tear that is wip'd with a little ad Jress,
.May be follow'd perhaps by a smile. cowper.
SECTION IV.
Care of birds for their young, ^~
1. As thus the patient dam assiduousfcits,I«^R Not to be tempted from her tendcr^task, Or by sharp hunger, or by smooth delight, Tho' the whole loo-en'd spring around her blows, Her sympathizing partner takes his stand High on the opponent bank, and Gflgqjp^s sings ft ffj 'She tedious time away ; or else supplies ^jt,oJ^^y Her place a moment, while she sudden flits fl To pick the scanty meal.
2. Tb' appointed time With pious toil fulfill'd, the callow young, Warm d and expanded iuto perfect life, Their brittle bondage break, and come to light, A helpless family, demanding food
With constant clamour. O what passions then, What melting sentiments of kindly care, On the new parents seize ! „
3. Away they fly * Affectionate, and undesiring bear
The most xJei^cious morsel to their young ;
Which equally distributed, again
The search begins, Ev'n so a gentle pair,
By fortune sunk, but f'orm'd of gen'rotis mould,
And cliarm'd with cares beyond the vulgar breast,
In some lone cot amid the distant woods,
Su tain'd alone by providential Heaven,
.Oft as they, weeping, eye their infant train,
Check their own appetites, and give them all.
r ] THOMSON.
SECTION V.
Liberty and slavery contrasted. Part of a letter written
from Italy by Addison. l.How has kind Heaven adoru'd this happy land, And scattered blessings with a wasteful hand !
ip. 4. DESCRIPTIVE PIECES. r 215
But what avail her unexhausted stores, Her blooming mountains, and her sunny shores* With all the girts that hefcven and earth impart, The smiles of nature, and the charms of art, While proud oppression in her vallies reigns, And tyranny usurps her happy plains ! / )
The poor inhabitant beholds in vain ^ The redd'ning orange, arid the swelling grain p or Joyless he sees the growing oils and wines, m And in the myrtle's fragrant shade repines. j
I 2. O Liberty ! thou power supremely bright, <
I Profuse of bliss, and pregnant with delight !
Perpetual pleasures in toy presence reign, ¥ And smiling plenty leads thy wanton train.
Eas'd of her load, subjection grows more light ; • And poverty looks cheerful in thy sight. I Thou mak'st the gloomy face of nature gay ; I Giv'st beauty to the sun, and pleasure to the daya : 3. On foreign mountains, may the sun refine The grape's soft juice, and mellow it to wine ; With citron groves adorn a distant soil, And the fat olives swell with flood of oil: - We envy not the warmer clime, that lies In ten degrees of more indulgent skies ; Nor at the coarseness of our heaven repine, Tho' o'er our heads the frozen Pleiads shine : 'Tis liberty that crowns Britannia's isle, And makes her barren rocks, and her bleak mountains smile,
SECTION VI.
. CHARITY. A paraphrase on the 13th chapter of the first Epistle to.
the Corinthians.
1. Did sweeter sounds adorn my flowing tongue, Than ever man pronounc'd or angel sung ; Had I all knowledge human and divine, That thought can reach, or science can define ; v^
And had ( power to give that knowledge birth, !^L<-
In all the speeches .of the babbling earth ; Did Shadrach's zeal my glowing breast inspire^ To weary tortures, and rejoice in fire ; Or had ! faith like that which Israel saw, When Moses gave them miracles and law ; Yet, gracious charity, indulgent guest, Were not thy power exerted in my breast s T2
245 \ THE ENGLISH READER.
9. Ye flocks that haunt the humble vale, Ye insects flntt'ring on the gale,
In mutual concourse rise; Crop the gay rose's vermil bloom, And waft its spoils, a sweet perfume,
In incense to the skies.
10, Wake, all the mounting tribes, and sing ; Ye plumy warblers of the spring,
Harmonious anthems raise r
To him who sbap'd your finer mould, Jflr-bxfctlpp'd your glitt'ring wings with gold,
And 'tnii'd your voice to praise.
11. Let man, by nobler passions sway'd, The feeling heart, the judging head,
Iu heavenly praise employ; Spread his tremendous name around^ Till heaven's broad arch rings back the sound, " The general burst of joy.
12, Ye, whom the charms of grandeur please, Nurs'd on the downy lap of ease,
Fall prostrate at his throne : Ye [#i{gces, rulers, all adore ; Praise him, ye kings, who makes your power
An image of his own.
13. Ye fair, by nature form'd to move,
O praise th' eternal source of love,
Witfi youth's enliv'ning fire : Let a$e take up the tuneful lay, Sigh his bless'd name — then soar away, And ask an angel's lyre. ogilvie*
SECTION XV.
The universal prayer.
1. Father of all ! in ev'ry age,
In ev'ry clime, ador'd, By saint, by savage, and by sage, Jehovah, Jove, or Lord !
2. Thou great first cause, least understood,
Who all my sense confiri'd To know but this, that Thou art good,
And that myself am blind ; J
3. Yet gave me, in this dark estate, r
To sev. the good from ill ; And, binding nature fast in late, Left free the human will.
CONTENTS. IX
CHAPTER VIII.
Council with friendly Indians. — Reported investment of Fort Meigs. — Second siege of Fort Meigs.— Attack on Fort Ste- phenson.— Croghan's letter. — Statement of the general, staffj and field officers, about the attack on Fort Stephenson. — Ohio Militia at Grand Camp. — Preparations for crossing the lake. — Perry's victory. — Army reaches Maiden. — Proctor pursued.— Council at Sandwich, — Shelby, Cass, and Perry's letters. 8 1
CHAPTER IX.
Jattle of the Thames.— Documents' as to the same. — General Harrison sails for Buffalo. — Marches to Fort George. — Or- dered to his District. — Descends lake Ontario to Sackett's Harbor. — Passes to Cincinnati, via. New York, Philadelphia, and Washington. — Interference with his command by Gen- eral Armstrong. — Perry's letter. — M'Arthur's letter. — John- son's letter. — Croghan's letter. — Harrison's letter of resigna- tion to the President. — Governor Shelby's letter to the Pres- ident ~ ~ 98
CHAPTER X.
'ommissioner to treat with the Indians. — Elected to Congress in 1816, — Investigation of his conduct in that body. — Effort in favor of the pension laws. — Speech in regard to Kosci- usko.— .Speech on General Jackson's conduct in the Seminole war. — Favors the independence of the South American Re- / publics. — A gold medal, and the thanks of Congress award- / fed him. — Elected to the Legislature of Ohio. — Unfounded / ■charge of having voted to sell white men imprisoned for debt. — Elected to the Senate of the United States. — Refutes Randolph's charge of federalism. — Minister to Colombia. — «
Letter to Bolivar. — Recalled by General Jackson - 114
1*
/
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XL
Colonel Johnson's speech in Congress. — General Harrison*! Cheviot address. — His address in 1832. in regard to Slavery — Vincennes speech about Abolition. — His speech at trw 47th anniversary celebration of the settlement oi Ohio. — His torical discourse on the aborigines of the Ohio. -- 13(
CHAPTER XII.
General Harrison's first nomination for the presidency.— Hi letter to Sherrod Williams. — His opinions upon Duellin^-- His letter to Harmer Denny, on the principles upon .whicl the government should be administered. — Second nominatioi for the presidency, December, 1 839. 14
CHAPTER XIII.
General Harrison's civil and military qualifications considered — -Parallel between him and Washington. — His integrity an disinterestedness, illustrated by several anecdotes. — His socii and literary character. — His enjoyment of a green old age i body and mind. 15
fiuwetteo St/:
'>£$ sa/J
Tool
SKETCHES OF GENERAL HARRISON.
CHAPTER L
His birth. — Parentage. — Education. — Entrance into the army. — Services under St. Clair and Wayne. — Battle of the Man- mte. — In command of Fort Washington (now Cincinnati.)— His marriage. — Resignation of his commission in the army.
William Henry Harrison was born on the 9th day of February, 1773, at Berkley, on James River, in the county of Charles City, in the state of Virginia,^ He is descended lineally from the general Harrison, wfto was a distinguished actor in the civil wars of England, and was a prominent officer in the armies of the common- wealth.
Benjamin Harrison, the father of the subject of this memoir, was a delegate from Virginia, in the continental congress, in 1774-5-6. As early as the 14th November, 1764, he was one of the committee to prepare a remon- strance against the odious stamp act, at that time contempla- ted by the British cabinet, and from this period he was associated with Lee, Henri/, Nicholas and others, in energet- ic efforts, which were directed towards a vindication of the rights of the people against thp encroachments of the crown.
In the congress of 1775 the office of speaker was vaca- ted by Peyton Randolph, and in the choice of a succes- sor, congress was divided between Benjamin Harrison and John Hancock In this early period of the struggle for liberty, Mr. Harrison being a delegate from the " Old Dominion," in the south, gave an illustrious evidence of his patriotism by yielding his pretensions in favor of the great patriot from the B?y State of the north ; ar.d Mr, Hancock, hesitating for a moment to take the chair, Mr*
11
12 SKETCHES OF
Harrison, with practical good humor, " seized the modest candidate in his athletic arms, and placed him in the presidential chair;" then turning to the members, he ex- claimed, " We will show mother Britain how little
WE CARE FOR HER, BV MAKING A MASSACHUSETTS MAN OUR PRESIDENT, WHOM SHE HAS EXCLUDED FROM PARDON BY A PUBLIC PROCLAMATION."
Mr. Harrison was a member of the committee of that year, whose report formed the basis of our present militia system. He was associated with the immortal Wash- ington, in a committee which arranged a plan for the fu- ture support of the army. He was chairman of the com- mittee whose agency brought to our standard the gallant La Fayette, and was afterwards appointed a member of the Board of War. On the 10th of June, 1776, he called up the resolutions by which the colonies were declared independent, and which authorized a Declaration of Independence to be prepared ; and he reported that in- strument en the ever memorable 4th of July, 1776. A curious anecdote is on record, which furnishes a graphic description of the temper and intrepidity of the patriots of that day. Elbridge Gerry, a delegate from Massachu- setts, as slender as Mr. Harrison was portly, stood be- side Harrison whilst signing the Declaration. Harrison turned round to him with a smile as he raised his hand from the paper and said, " when the hanging scene comes to be exhibited, I shall have all the advantage over you. It will be over with me in a minute, but you will be kicking in the air half an hour after I am gone."
Mr. Harrison continued in congress until 1777, when he retired, and having been elected to the House of Del- egates of Virginia, was chosen speaker, the duties of which he performed until 1782, when, on the resignation of general Nelson, he was elected governor of Virginia, and was re-elected as long as the constitution would per- mit. He died whilst a member of the legislature, in 1791.*
William Henry Harrison was educated at Hampden
* See Sanderson's " Lives of the Signers of the Declaration of Independence.
GENERAL HARRISON. 13
Sydney college, and then repaired to Philadelphia to pursue the study of medicine under the instruction of the distinguished Dr. Benjamin Rush, and under the guar- dianship of Robert Morris, the great financier of the rev- olution, both of whom were signers of the Declaration of Independence. The youth, who had laid the foundations at college for a taste in the literature and history of the ancient classics, was thus afforded an opportunity of drinking deep at these fountains of the genius and spirit of the revolution. He had derived from his patriotic father, the lessons of republican liberty, and in the school of Mush, of Morris, and of Washington, he imbibed a love of country, which led him to encounter difficulty and dan- ger in her defence. About this period the disasters of the north-western army, under the accomplished Harrnar, excited a deep sympathy in the public mind, and the youthful Harrison, partaking largely of the generous im- pulses of the day, resolved to abandon the studies in which he was engaged, and to participate in the perils as well as the sacrifices which were incident to this great border warfare. His guardian and his friends opposed his wish to enter upon this hazardous duty; but he ap- plied in person to general Knox, secretary of war, and to the immortal Washington, who granted him a com- mission of ensign in the first regiment of United States artillery, and in November, 3791, when but nineteen years of age, he marched on foot to Pittsburgh, and by descending the Ohio, joined his regiment, then stationed at Fort Washington.
Shortly before the disastrous defeat of the veteran St. Clair, ensign Harrison formed the resolution to devote his energies to the military service of his country, at a period when his judgment and feelings must have been guided by a high s-ense of patriotism, and a disinterested love of fame. The theatre of the war was in the remote wilderness, and the character of the enemy such, that lau- Tels were to be won only by great suffering and exposure in situations destitute of the comforts or even the ne- cessaries of civilized life. A great national disaster had occurred in 1790, under the gallant Harmar, who was seconded by the heroic conduct of colonel Hardin, him- B
14 SKETCHES OF
self a sacrifice to the treachery of the Indian character Congress authorized at its next session, the raisino- of two thousand men, under the denomination of levies, and general St. Clair, governor of the north-western territory, was appointed commander-in-chief.
On the 4th of November, 1791, he was met and like wise defeated, with great loss, by a formidable body of Indians, on the waters of Big Miami river.
This defeat of St. Clair, though congress subsequently acquitted him of all blame, produced a deep impression on the public mind, and, connected with the previous dis- asters of the war, rendered the service unpopular, drained the public treasury, and brought the country into a crisis which developed the energies of Washington's great in- tellect. The war had assumed a national importance, inducing the president to select for the chief of the army, a soldier of prudence, of experience and of energy. The choice was balanced for a time between Clark and Wayne, both distinguished leaders in the war of the rev- olution, though on a different theatre — the former acting under the immediate eye of the father of his country, earning for himself the reputation of intrepidity, with fer- tility of expedient; the latter having won the distinctive title of the Hannibal of the West, The command was eventually assigned to Wayne, who acquired a new wreath of glory for himself, and added to- the proofs of the sagacity of Washington.
Ensign Harrison joined his regiment at Fort Washing- ton just in time to witness the return of the fragments of that gallant band, which, marching out in the proud anti- cipations of victory, was destined to a sad reverse under the veteran St. Clair. Under these discouraging circum- stances, and with the near approach of winter, ensign. Harrison commenced his public service in the command of an escort, having charge of a train of pack horses des- tined for Fort Hamilton. It was a duty involving peril and fatigue, by night and by day, and requiring the ex- ercise of sagacity and self-denial. His performance of the arduous task elicited the commendations of general St. Clair, and exhibited an interesting instance of a char- acter in which the ardor of youth was combined with the
GENERAL HARRISON. 15
maturity of age. In 1792 he was promoted to the rank of lieutenant, and in 1793 joined the legion under gen- eral Wayne, and was not long afterwards selected by him as one of his aids-de-camp — illustrating, in an eminent degree, the confidence of tnat tried soldier, since lieuten- ant Harrison was only twenty-one years of age. H© continued to act as aid to general Wayne during the whole of the ensuing campaign, receiving, as he merited, re- peated instances of high encomium from his commander. The first occurred upon the occasion of a detachment having been sent on the 23d of December, 1793, to take possession of the field of battle of the 4th of November, 1791, and to fortify the position. To the new post was given the name of Fort Recovery. The following gene- ral order was issued on the return of the troops from that interesting duty :
"The commander-in-chief returns his most grateful thanks to major Henry Burbeck, and to every officer, non-commissioned officer, and private, belonging to the detachment under his command, for their soldiery and exemplary good conduct during their late arduous tour of duty, and the cheerfulness with which they surmount- ed every difficulty, at this inclement season, in repos- sessing general St. Clair's field of battle, and erecting [thereon Fort Recovery ■, a work impregnable by savage force; as also for piously and carefully collecting and interring the bones, and paying the last respect and mil- itary honors to the remains of the heroes who fell on the 4th of November, 1791, by three times three discharges from the same artillery that was lost on that fatal day, but now recovered by this detachment of the legion.
"The commander-in-chief also requests major Mills, captains De Butts and Butler, lieutenant Harrison, and Dr. Scott, to accept his best thanks for their voluntary aid and services on this occasion."
The other instance of commendation of the gal- lantry of lieutenant Harrison is to be found in the report made by general Wayne to the war department, in rela- tion to the celebrated battle of the Maumee, which we shall presently introduce to the notice of the reader. The youth, the early habits of study, and the delicate
16 SKETCHES OF
frame of Mr. Harrison, not less than the perils and pri- vations incident to the border warfare, would have intim- idated a spirit less heroic than his, in entering upon the arduous service in the north-west. As illustrative of the aspect of affairs, and of his first appearance in the army, an old soldier of St. Clair, who was present, has re- marked : — " I would as s-oon hare thought of putting my wife in the service as this boy ; but I have been out with him, and I find those smooth cheeks are on a wise heaa\, and that slight frame is almost as tough as my own weather-beaten carcass."
General Charles Scott, a veteran of the revolution, who enjoyed the special confidence of Washington, arrived in July from Kentucky with his command of mounted vol- unteers, and on the 8th of August, general Wayne took up a position at Grand Glaize, seventy miles in advance of Greenville. A strong work was erected at the junc- tion of the Auglaize and Maumee rivers, and general Wayne again opened a communication with the Indians before striking the final blow. " I have thought pro- per," he said, " to offer the enemy a last overture of peace ; and as they have every thing that is dear and in- teresting at stake, I have reason to expect they will listen to the proposition mentioned in the enclosed copy of an address dispatched yesterday by a special flag, under circumstances that will insure his safe return, and which may eventually spare the effusion of much human blood." " But should war be their choice, that blood be upon their own heads. America shall no longer be insulted with impunity. To an all powerful and just God, I therefore commit myself and gallant army."
The enemy rejected the offer of peace, and the cele- brated Little Turtle, who advised its adoption in a coun- cil on the night before the battle, spoke as follows : "We have beaten the enemy twice under separate command- ers. We cannot expect the same good fortune to attend us always. The Americans are now led by a chief who never sleeps : the night and the day are alike to him. And during all the time he has been marching upon our villages, notwithstanding the watchfulness of our young men, we ha ire never been able to surprise him. Think
GENERAL HARRISON'. 17
well of it. There is something whispers me it would be prudent to listen to his offers of peace."
We refer the reader to the official report of general Wayne of 27th August, 1794, for a perspicuous account of the celebrated battle of Maumee, and deem it sufficient for our present purpose to give an extract relating to the conduct of his aid-de-camp, lieutenant Harrison.
"The bravery and conduct of every officer belonging to the army, from the generals down to the ensigus, merit my highest approbation. There were, however, some whose rank and situation placed their conduct in a very conspicuous point of view, and which I observed with pleasure and the most lively gratitude: among whom I beg leave to mention brigadier general Wilkinson, and colonel Hamtramck, the commandants of the right and left wings of the legion, whose brave example inspired the troops ; and to these I must add. the names of my faithful and gallant aids-de-camp, captains De Butts and T. Lewis, and lieutenant Harrison, who, with the adju- tant general, major Mills, rendered the most essential service by communicating my orders in every direction, and by their zonduct and bravery exciting the troops to press for victory."
The praise of which lieutenant, now general, Harrison was the subject in the dispatch from the illustrious Wayne, was of a character to soothe him for the trials and the perils he had encountered, and to stimulate him to increased diligence in the discharge of the high and responsible duties confided to him when placed after- wards in the command of Fort Washington. This com- mendation received additional weight from the remarks made in the presence of a venerable gentleman, now liv- ing, by general Wilkinson and colonel Shaumburg, who said that " Harrison was in the foremost front of the hottest battle — his person was exposed from the com- mencement to the close of the action. Wherever duty jailed, he hastened, regardless of danger, and by his ef- brts and example contributed as much to secure the for- une of the day, as any other officer subordinate to the 50mmander-in-chief."
The victory at Maumee was achieved by the discipline >f Wayne's army, and the introduction by that sagacious b 2
18 SKETCHES OF
leader, of a new feature in military tactics, as applie< to Indian warfare, which was the result of a plan di gested by Washington, Knox, and Wayne. The north Western savage chooses his own time and his own posi tion, and he retreats from it at his own pleasure. To b< overcome, he must be outflanked or kept on the wing, a; he was by Wayne, by a constant charge of the bayonet To provide against the contingency of the enemy assail ing his flanks, Wayne had adopted the plan of forming his troops at open order, so as to extend his flanks an( move with celerity in the woods. These principles wen acted upon in the subsequent war conducted by genera Harrison, and may be now regarded as the approve( mode of fighting the north-western Indians.
A permanent peace with the Indians was the frui of this great victory. The negociations commenced h January and terminated in August, 1795. Soon afte the close of this campaign, captain Harrison was er trusted by Wayne with the command of Fort Wast ington, where he was directed to advise the general o all movements connected with the invasion of Louisiana then projected, and to prevent the forwarding of an military stores by the French agents. As a further ev dence of the confidence of Wayne, he specially entruste captain Harrison with his commands and intentions as 1 the supply of the troops intended to occupy the pos theretofore held by the British on the northern frontie Whilst in the command of Fort Washington, (now Cii cinnati,) captain Harrison married the daughter of Joh Cleves Symmes, the founder of the Miami settlement An anecdote is given in relation to the marriage, illu trative of the independent character of captain Harriso On the proposal to Mr. Symmes for his consent, Harj son was asked what were his resources for maintainir a wife'? Placing his hand upon his sword, he replie " this, sir, is my means of support." The chivalry ai undaunted confidence of the young soldier at once obtai ed the approbation of Mr. Symmes. Captain Harris- continued in the command of Fort Washington un 1797, when, upon the death of general WTayne, ho signed his commission in the army.
GENERAL HARRISON. 19
CHAPTER II.
Retires to a Farm — Appointed Secretary of the North-west- ern Territory. — Elected a delegate in Congress — Procures a Law sub-dividing the Public Lands. — Division of the North- western Territory. — Military Land Warrants. — Political sen- timents.— Charge of Federalism.
The war being ended, captain Harrison, like the Father of his country, retired to the peaceful pursuits of agri- culture; and on his farm, near Cincinnati, soon acquired that taste for the cultivation of the soil, which through a long life, has prompted him, when not engaged in the public service, to return to the plough. Having turned lis sword into the pruning hook, he identified himself with the people in whose defence he had been drawn to :he banks of the Ohio. He was not suffered, however, ong to enjoy the repose of his log-cabin. Early in 1798, Winthrop Sargent, secretary of the north-western .erritory, having been appointed governor of the south- western territory, president Adams selected Mr. Harrison ;o fill the office thus vacated. The appointment made rim ex-officio lieutenant governor, and in the absence of rovernor St. Clair from the territory, he discharged the executive duties in a manner that won the approbation )f the people. In the month of October, 1799, wThen, inder the ordinance of 1787, the territory was admitted o the second grade of government, the legislative coun- cil elected him a delegate to congress.
In January, 1800, Sir. Harrison took his seat in that >ody, then in session in Philadelphia. His first effort vas to effect a change in the mode of selling the public ands, which had hitherto been offered in large tracts — a iystem well suited to the rich speculator, but adverse to he interest of the poor man, however industrious or en- erprising. The subject was one of vital interest not mly to the territory, but the whole country. The injusr- ice of this aristocratic mode of selling the public do- nain, had engaged the attention of Mr. Harrison, prior
20 SKETCHES OF
to his election ; and having maturely considered the sub- ject he lost no time in calling- the attention of congress toit.
From a circular of Mr. Harrison, to the people of the territory, under date of Philadelphia, 14th May, 1800, we make the following quotation, showing the result of his efforts on this important subject:
" Amongst the variety of objects which engaged my attention, as peculiarly interesting to our territory, none appeared to me of so much importance as the adoption of a system for the sale of the public lands, which would give more favorable terms to that class of purchasers "who are likely to become actual settlers, than was offered by the existing laws upon that subject; conformably to this idea, I procured the passage of a resolution at an early period for the appointment of a committee to take the matter into consideration. And shortly after I re- ported a bill containing terms for the purchaser, as favora- ble as could have been expected. This bill was adopted by the house of representatives without any material alteration ; but, in the senate amendments were introduc- ed, obliging the purchaser to pay interest on that part of the money for which a credit was given from the date of the purchase, and directing that one-half the land (in- stead of the whole, as was provided by the bill from the house of representatives,) should be sold in half sections of three hundred and twenty acres, and the other half in whole sections of six hundred and forty acres. All my exertions, aided by some of the ablest members of the lower house, at a conference for that purpose, were not sufficient to induce the senate to recede from their amend- ments ; but, upon the whole, there is cause of congratu- lation to my fellow-citizens that terms, as favorable as the bill still contains, have been procured. This law promises to be the foundation of a great increase of pop- ulation and wealth to our country ; for although the min- imum price of the land is still fixed at two dollars per acre, the time for making payments has been so extended as to put it in the power of every industrious man to comply with them, it being* only necessary to pay one- fourth part of the money in hand, and the balance at the end of two, three and four years ; besides this, the odious
GENERAL HARRISON. 21
circumstance of forfeiture, which was made the penalty of failing in the payments under the old law, is entirely abolished, and the purchaser is allowed one year after the last payment is due to collect the money; if the land is not then paid for, it is sold, and, after the pub- lic have been reimbursed, the balance of the money is returned to the purchaser. Four land-offices are direct- ed to be opened — one at Cincinnati, one at Chilicothe, one at Marietta, and one at Steubenville, for the sale of the lands in the neighborhood of those places. In a communication of this kind, it is impossible to detail all the provisions of the law. I have, however, sent a copy of it to the printers at Cincinnati, with a request that they would publish it several wTeeks.""
In contemplating the present condition of the states and territories north-west of the Ohio, too much praise cannot be awarded to the author of this law. Had the system of selling the public lands, in large tracts, been continued, it is certain, that the population and wealth, of this immense region would not have been half what Ihey now are. The poor but sturdy and independent farmers, whose axe has felled the forest, and whose plough has upturned the soil, would have been precluded from becoming freeholders within this immense region, which, by the sweat of their brows, is now made to 4k bud and blossom as the rose." Mr Harrison's land bill met with violent opposition in congress, especially in the senate. But being himself thoroughly conversant with the evils of the existing law, and the manifest justice of the proposed one having secured its author the support of some able and efficient members, it was finally passed, although shorn of a part of its salutary provisions. In the subsequent legislation of congress, regulating the sales of the public lands, all the features, it is believed, of the original report and bill upon this subject, have been incorporated : and in tracing this most beneficent mode of disposing of the public domain, it would be an act of injustice to withhold from Mr. Harrison the proud appellation of being the father of the land system, and the poor man's friend.
During the same session of congress, Mr. Harrison
22 SKETCHES OF
obtained an extension of the time of payment, for the pre-emptioners in the northern part of the Miami pur- chase, which enabled them to secure their farms. In this matter there was some collision of interest between the settlers and the original proprietor, John Cleves Symmes, the father-in-law of Mr. Harrison. He was consequently placed in a delicate and responsible situa- tion. But his conduct was marked by that integrity of purpose, which has ever been one of the striking charac- teristics of his life. He zealously sustained the rights of the meritorious purchasers. At the same session, he also effected an important change in the plan of locating military land warrants; and among other acts of a local character, procured the passage of a law, in conformity with numerous petitions from different parts of the dis- trict he represented, providing for the division of the north-western territory into two separate governments — the western being called the " Indiana Territory," the eastern the " Territory of the United States North-west of the Ohio."
After the adjournment of congress, Mr. Harrison pro- ceeded to Virginia, on a visit to his family and friends, from whom he had now been separated more than seven years.
Prior to his entering into civil office, Mr. Harrison had identified himself with the great republican party of the country, and was the consistent advocate of popular rights. It has been charged upon him, that he was a federalist and a supporter of the " alien and sedition law," in the time of the elder Adams. This unfounded allegation, has probably arisen from the fact of his be- ing appointed to office by president Adams. It is well known, however, that Mr. Harrison warmly opposed his election to the presidency; but this consideration did not deter the president from the faithful discharge of his duty. He knew the high qualifications of Mr. Harrison for civic office, and although a political opponent, did not hesitate to call him into public life. At that period in the history of our country, it is well known, men were not, as at the present day, proscribed for opinion's sake. Washington and Adams, in their appointments to office, acted on the principle, afterwards beautifully announced
GENERAL HARRISON. 23
by Jefferson, in his inaugural address, — "is he honest? is he capable? is be faithful to the constitution?"
But this charge of federalism, has been forever put to rest, by the very highest authority. The honorable Ja- cob Burnet, than whom no one knew more intimately the political sentiments of Mr. Harrison, says, "it has been asserted entirely at random, 'that he was a federalist of the old black cockade order, in the time of the elder Ad- ams.' A more unfounded falsehood was never invented, M}r personal acquaintance with him commenced in 1796, under the administration of Washington. The intimacy between us was great, and our intercourse was constant; and from that time till he left Cincinnati, T was in the habit of arguing and disputing with him on political sub- jects. I was a federalist — honestly so, from principle, and adhered to the party till it dissolved, and its elements mingled with other parties formed on different principles. I can therefore speak on this point with absolute cer- tainty, and I affirm most solemnly, that under the admin- istration of Washington, and the administration of the elder Adams, William Henry Harrison was a firm, con- sistent, unyielding republican, of the Jefferson school. He advocated the election of Mr. Jefferson, and warmly maintained his claims against Mr. Adams."*
CHAPTER III.
Harrison appointed Governor of Indiana Territory. — Commis- sioner to treat with the Indian Tribes. — His Message to the Legislative Council. — Addresses of the Council to him. — Cor- respondence with President Jefferson and the War Depart- ment.-—Indian Treaties. — Re-appointed Governor by Jeffer- son, and again by Madison. — Recommends the building of a fleet on lake Erie.
It has been seen that the north-western territory was divided by congress, in the spring of 1800. Soon after
* Public speech in Cincinnati.
24 SKETCHES OF
the passage of that law, president Adams appointed Mr. Harrison governor of the western division, known as the Indiana territory, which then embraced the region of country now included within the boundaries of the states of Indiana and Illinois, and the territory of Wisconsin. In 1803, upon the admission of Ohio into the union, the re- gion of* country which now forms the state of Michigan was added to the Indiana territory ; and during the subse- quent year, governor Harrison was made, ex-officio, gover- nor of upper Louisiana.
The population of the Indiana territory, at the period when Mr. Harrison was appointed governor, did not ex- ceed five thousand, and was principally confined to three settlements, — the first on Clark's grant, near the falls of the Ohio; the second at Vincennes ; the third on the Mississippi river, extending from Cahokia to Kaskaskia. The wide regions to the north and north-west of these three points, were either occupied by the Indians, or constituted their hunting grounds. Notwithstanding the treaty of Greenville, a spirit of restless hostility towards the United States, prevailed among the Indian tribes, which was constantly fomented by British agents, who visited their villages, and did not hesitate to misrepresent the policy of the American government; and, by pres- ents of merchandize and spirituous liquors, to stimulate the Indians to annoy the white settlements, and resist their further extension to the north-west. Such were the limits of the Indiana territory, and such the temper of the aborigines residing within it, when governor Harri- son entered upon his duties.
The powers conferred upon the governor of Indiana were extensive and multifarious. The people had no voice in the management of their affairs. The duty of or- ganizing all the civil institutions belonged to the gover- nor. With the advice of the judges, he was empowered by congress to adopt and publish the necessary civil and criminal laws. He was charged with the appointment of magistrates and other civil officers, and of the militia officers, below the rank of general. The duty of divid- ing the territory into counties and townships was also assigned to the executive, and being, cx-officio, superin*
GENERAL HARRISON. 25
tendent of Indian affairs, lie was compelled to keep up a laborious and extensive correspondence with the general government. Another power, equally responsible, and of a more delicate character, was confided to governor Harrison — that of deciding upon the validity of certain equitable grants of land, held by individuals. There was no check or limitation upon these confirmations. Each case was submitted, without notice, directly to the governor, and his decision and signature, vested a title as safe and unalterable as a patent from the United States. A, still further and most extraordinary power, was added to those already enumerated. On the 3d of February, 1803, the president sent a message to the senate of the United States, in the following words :
" 1 nominate William Henry Harrison, of Indiana, to be a commissioner to enter into any treaty or treaties which may be necessary, with any Indian tribes north-west of the Ohio, and within the territory of the United States, on the subject of boundary or lands.
" Thomas Jefferson."
The message containing this nomination, was read on the 4th, and on the 8th received the unanimous sanction 3f the senate. This appointment, without a parallel in the history of our country, exhibits in a striking manner, the unlimited confidence reposed in governor Harrison, by Mr. Jefferson and his counsellors, the senate of the United States.
It is obvious that an able and faithful discharge of such varied and responsible duties, as were devolved upon the governor of Indiana, required a rare combination of mor- al and intellectual powers. That he should have been four times appointed to this office, -first by Adams, twice by Jefferson, and finally by Madison, — may be taken as conclusive evidence, that governor Harrison possessed the wisdom, discretion, ard integrity, neces- sary for the performance of such high duties. But there are other evidences of the fact. In 1809, eight years after governor Harrison had first entered upon that sta- tion, the legislative council and house of representatives of the territory, addressed a resolution to the president and senate of the United States, in which they say : 9 C
26 SKETCHES OF
"They cannot forbear from recommending to, and re- questing of the president and senate, most earnestly, in their names, and in the names of their constituents, the re-appointment of their present governor, William Henry Harrison: — because they are sensible he possesses the good wishes and affection of a great majority of his fel- low-citizens ; because they believe him sincerely attach- ed to the union, the prosperity of the United States, and the administration of its government; because they be- lieve him, in a superior degree, capable of promoting the interest of our territory, from long experience, and laborious attention to our general concerns — from his influence over the Indians, and his wise and disinter- ested management of that department — and because they have confidence in his virtues, talents, and republican- ism."
About the same time, a meeting of the officers of the militia for the county of Knox, was held in Vincennes, approving of governor Harrison's official conduct.
In July, 1805, the citizens of St. Louis, when their connexion with the governor of Indiana was about to cease, made an address to him, in which they commend the "assiduity, attention and disinterested punctuality," which he had manifested in the temporary administration of the government of Louisiana.
The conduct of governor Harrison, in administering the affairs of the Indiana territory, was repeatedly ap- proved by the legislative council and house of represen- tatives. In 1805, the former, in reply to the message of| the governor, say:
"The confidence which our fellow-citizens have uni- formly had in your administration, has been such that they have hitherto had no reason to be jealous of the un- limited power which you possess over our legislative proceedings. We, however, cannot help regretting tha •euoh powers have been lodged in the hands of anj one, especially when it is recollected to what dangerous lengths the exercise of those powers may be extended.''
The house of representatives, in their reply, make the following remarks :
•" Accept, sir, the thanks of the house of represent*
GENERAL HARRISON. 27
tives for the speech you made to both houses of the leg- islature on the opening of the present session. In it we discern the solicitude for the future happiness and pros- perity of the territory, which has been uniformly evinced by your past administration."
It is unnecessary to occupy more space in citing testi- mony in favor of the conduct of governor Harrison, while presiding over the territory. In the administration of its affairs, he laid the foundation of a popularity, which after the lapse of thirty years, overspreads the population of the states of Indiana and Illinois, now amounting to more than a million of souls. The course of governor Harri- son won for him more than the respect and confidence of the people — it secured their warm and affectionate re- gard. The moderation, good sense and disinterested- ness, with which he exercised the almost unlimited pow- ers conferred upon him, could not fail to produce these results. His appointments were always made with a reference to the public good and the wishes of the peo- ple. Neither private friendship nor personal animosity was suffered to influence him, in the discharge of his official duty.
In the management of the Indian affairs of the terri- tory, governor Harrison had unlimited authority to draw on the government for money. Perhaps no individual has ever disbursed so large an amount of the public trea- sure, as governor Harrison, and had so little difficulty in adjusting his accounts with the war department. This arose from the simple mode in which he kept his ac- counts. He refused to keep any amount of the public money on hand. When called on to make payments, he drew for the amount, on the department, and forthwith transmitted a copy of the draft, and a receipt for the pay- ment, to Washington in the same letter. By this sim- ple mode, the department was saved the risk and expense of sending mone*y to the west, and the subsequent settle- ment of long and complicated accounts.
The messages of governor Harrison to the legislature of the territory, during the twelve years of his adminis- tration, are replete with sound, practical and statesman- like views; but our limits do not admit of the introdu^
28 SKETCHES OF
tion of these documents, so creditable to the head and heart of their author.
Those who are familiar with the character of the north- western tribes, stimulated about this time by British in- fluence, and roused to action by the cunning of the Pro- phet and the genius of Tecumthe, will readily appreciate the difficulties to be encountered by governor Harrison, in preserving peace on the frontiers, and effecting those treaties of cession, which added an immense body of val- uable land to the public domain of his country. He had no military force under his command to awre the Indians or avenge their aggressions upon the settlements. It was the moral influence of his character, founded on the justice of his course towards them, which enabled him to bring about those great rseults which have given so much lustre to the civil administration of governor Har- rison, in Indiana. It is a remarkable fact, that during this period, he effected not less than thirteen treaties with these tribes, by which the United States acquired the peaceable possession of sixty millions of acres of land. These treaties were all made by governor Harrison as sole commissioner, and it is creditable to the wisdom and moderation of their author, that the provisions of every one of them received the sanction of the president and senate of the United States.
The reputation of governor Harrison as a civilian and statesman, may be safely rested upon his administration of the affairs of Indiana. His messages to the legisla- tive council and house of representatives, during a period of twelve years — his various communications to the In- dian tribes — his voluminous correspondence with the sec- retary at war, and with the president of the United States, are all eloquent and imperishable records of the extent and accuracy of his knowledge — the force and graceful- ness of his pen — the clearness and maturity of his judg- ment. The powers conferred upon him by the govern- ment of the United States, were varied and extraordi- nary— being- legislative, executive, judicial and military, to which may be added that of making treaties with the Indians They were powers, greater than the constitu- tion confers upon the president of the United States, and
GENERAL HARRISON. 29
required in the proper exercise of them, a combination of rare and varied talents. Governor Harrison so acquit- ted himself, in this responsible station, as to leave no stain upon his integrity, and no necessity for eulogy upon the wisdom of his measures.
Sooii after Mr. Madison became president, he directed the secretary at war to procure from governor Harrison, his opinion upon the best mode of protecting the north- western frontier from invasion. In a letter, under date of Vincennes, 5th July, 1809, the governor replies at length upon the subject, in which he defines the position and temper of the Indian tribes, and in a minute and lucid manner, examines the military topography of the country along the lakes, and the Mississippi river, and designates the points where forts should be erected and g-arrisons established. From this very able document, we take the following paragraph, for the purpose of showing at how early a period, the military eye of gov- ernor Harrison saw the necessity of the United States obtaining the naval ascendancy on lake Erie.
" When I was at Detroit in 1803, the British had, and I believe still have, six or seven armed vessels, carrying from eight to twenty-two guns, on lake Erie. With a part of this force, and with the assistance of the Indians, Mackinac would be easily reduced ; as, from its insular situation, reinforcements or supplies could not reach it, if the enemy should possess the superiority of naval force on the upper lakes; to prevent this, it will be necessary either to build a number of vessels equal to theirs, or, by fortifying the river of Detroit, confine them to lake Erie. A situation proper for this was the object of my enquiry: and Hog island, two miles above Detroit, was pointed out as the most eligible; there is, also, another favorable situation for commanding the navigation, on the strait below lake St. Clair and lake Huron."
It was not until the lapse of three years after the date of this letter, that the government acted upon the sug- gestion of governor Harrison in regard to a fleet upon lake Erie. Had it been attended to when made, it is obvious, that the commencement of the war with Great Britain would not have resulted in that profuse loss of c 2
30 SKETCHES OF
blood and treasure, which marked the first campaigns on the north-western frontiers.
CHAPTER IV.
Interview between governor Harrison and Tecumthe. — Battle
of Tippecanoe. — Various documents concerning the same
from individuals — -the Legislatures of Indiana and Kentucky ;
, from President Madison, and the historians M'Afee, Dawson,
and Hail.
Between the years 1806 and 1811, governor Harri- son's duties as superintendent of Indian affairs, were de- licate and responsible. During this period, the British agents were powerfully aided in their efforts to excite the Indians to hostility against the United States, by two remarkable individuals, Tecumthe and his brother Olli- wachica, better known as the Prophet. The genius of the one, and the prophetical character of the other, drew around them a band of desperate followers, who finally established themselves at Tippecanoe. The treaty made at Fort Wayne in 1809, by govenor Harrison, gave of- fence to Tecumthe, it being in violation of the great principle of his confederacy, that the Indian lands were the common property of all the tribes, and could not be sold without the consent of all. In August, 1810, he invited Tecumthe to visit Vincennes, to have the difficul- ty adjusted. The chief, attended by four hundred war- riors, armed with war-clubs and tomahawks, presented themselves at the appointed time. It was at this coun- rr that Tecumthe declared the governor's statements raise, and sprung to his arms, his example being follow- ed byforty of his warriors, who were present at the con- ference. The firmness of the governor, and the final ter- mination of this extraordinary interview, must be famil- iar to the reader. It was at the close of this council, when, upon govenor Harrison's telling him that he would
GENERAL HARRISON. 31
refer the question between them, to the president, that Tecumthe replied, " Well, as the great chief is to deter- mine the matter, I hope the Great Spirit will put sense enough into his head, to induce him to direct you to give up this land. It is true he is so far off, he will not be injured by the war: he may sit still in his town, and drink his wine, whilst you and I will have to fight it out." The governor, in conclusion, told Tecumthe that he had one proposal to make, and that was, in the event of a war, to put a stop to that cruel and disgraceful mode of warfare which the Indians were accustomed to wage against women and children, and upon their prisoners. To this proposition, resulting from governor Harrison's benevolent forecast, he cheerfully assented, and it is due to the memory of Tecumthe to add, that he faithfully kept his promise.
Tecumthe left Vincennes boldly avowing his determi- natipn to persevere in his effort to combine the tribes, on the principle already alluded to ; and in the next year, he visited the southern Indians for this purpose, leaving the Prophet in charge of the party at Tippecanoe, but w7ith instructions to avoid an open rupture with the Uni- ted States during his absence. In the summer of 1811, the danger to the frontier became so imminent that the president placed some troops under the command of go- vernor Harrison, to be used offensively, however, in such a contingency only, as in his judgment, he might deem indispensably necessary. Governor Harrison consulted with governors Howard and Edwards of Missouri and Illinois, who advised the breaking up of the Prophet's town, or at all events the prevention of the further assem- blage of Indians at that point. The governor's force consisted of regulars and militia, a small part of the lat- ter being from Kentucky, with whom came Daviess,* Croghan, O'Fallon, Shipp, Meade, Edwards, and Saun-
* In a letter to the governor, Daviess said : tl I make free to tell you that I have imagined there were two men in the west who had military talents, and you, sir, were the first of the two. It is thus an opportunity of service much valued by me. I go as a volunteer, leaving you, sir, to dispose of me as you choose."
32 SKETCHES OF
ders, gallant young volunteers, who not only distinguish- ed themselves in the action which ensued, but performed a brilliant part in the subsequent war with Great Britain. The governor was also joined by Owen and Wells, both celebrated in the early history of Kentucky.
Passing over the intermediate details, the governor, on the evening of the 6th of November, with a force of nine hundred men, was within a mile and a half of the Pro- phet's town, where he halted the army, to make a final effort to prevent the necessity of an attack. This effort proved unavailing. The army then marched towards the village. This led to a conference with the Indians, who announced their pacific intentions, and agreed that the terms of peace should be settled on the following day. A halt was ordered, and majors Waller Taylor and Marston Clark, and colonel William Piatt, were directed to examine and select a suitable spot for an encampment. The two former reported that they had found a place, combining all that could be desired, on the bank of a small stream, nearly surrounded by an open prairie, on the north of the town. On this spot, late in the evening of the 6th, the army was encamped. The details of the severe and brilliant action which took place on the fol- lowing morning, are familiar to the reading public. We have not space to give them. The Indians made a fierce and gallant attack, but were as gallantly met, and finally compelled to retreat.
The officers and soldiers acted with great bravery, and were specially noticed in the official letter of the com- mander-in-chief. The number of men killed, including those who died of their wounds, was upwards of fifty ; the wounded were more than double that number. The loss of the Indians, in killed, was about the same with that of the whites. They left thirty-eight dead on the field of battle. Some were buried in the town, and oth- ers, it is supposed, died of their wounds subsequently. The force of governor Harrison on the day of action, amounted to about nine hundred. The traders estimated the Indian force at from eight hundred to one thousand men. Captain Wells, the Indian agent, assured a gen- tlemen of Ohio, now living, that several of the Indians
GENERAL HARRISON. 33
engaged in the battle, who visited Fort Wayne after the action, stated their number to have been near twelve hun- dred, and that the proportion of wounded was unusually great. It is an act of justice to the commander-in-chief to add, that a ball passed through his cravat, bruising his neck, and another struck his saddle and then hit his thigh. The horse on which he rode was severely woun- ded in the head.
No battle ever fought in the United States, has been more extensively examined or severely criticised than the battle of Tippecanoe. Soon after its occurrence, the enemies of governor Harrison severely censured his con- duct, and charged upon him that he permitted the Indians to select his camping ground, and was taken by surprise on the morning of the attack. These charges, although generally discredited, and made by irresponsible persons, called out the testimony of the officers and men engaged in the action, and thus placed all the facts before the public. In regard to the first of these charges, general Waller Taylor, of Indiana, under date of 15th of July, 1823, says : " The Indians did not dictate to the gover- nor the position to encamp the army, the night before the battle of Tippecanoe. After the army reached the In- dian town, in the afternoon, perhaps about sun-set, the governor ordered major Clark and myself to proceed to the left, and endeavor to find a suitable place for encamp- ment; wre did so, and discovered the place upon which the battle was fought the next morning ; upon our return to the army, we reported to the governor our opinion about the place, which we stated to be favorable for an encampment."* This statement is corroborated by col- onel William Piatt, late of Cincinnati, who was also in the action. Major Charles Larrabee, a brave officer, who was also present, says, under date of 13th October, 1823 : " Three officers, well able to judge, went out in search of a place, and they reported the one taken up. The situa- tion was such, that if the army had been called upon to make choice of a place to fight the Indians, I venture to say, nine-tenths would have made that their selection." j-
* Dawson. f lb. 2*
34 SKETCHES OF
In the year following, general Hopkins, of Kentucky, a revolutionary officer, while on an expedition against the Peoria towns in Indiana, visited the battle ground of Tippecanoe, and expressed the opinion that the spot on which general Harrison encamped, was the best in the neighborhood of the Prophet's town. In this opinion the officers of this expedition concurred; and such, we are authorized to say, has been the fact with many mili- tary men, who have since visited the scene of action.
In reply to the second charge, Joel Cook, Josiah Snel- ling, R. C. Barton, O. G. Burton, Nathaniel F. Adams, Charles Fuller, A. Hawkins, George Gooding, H. Burch- stead, Josiah D. Foster, and Hosea Bloodgood, all of them officers of the fourth regiment, United States in- fantry, and in the battle of Tippecanoe, say, under their own proper hands: "We deem it our duty to state, as incontestable facts, that the commander-in-chief through- out the campaign, and in the hour of battle, proved him- self the soldier and the general — that on the night of the action, by his order, we slept on our arms, and rose on our posts ; that notwithstanding the darkness of the night, and the most consummate savage cunning of the enemy in eluding our sentries, and rapidity in rushing through the guards, we were not found unprepared : that few of the men were able to enter our camp, and those few doomed never to return; that in pursuance of his orders, which were adapted to every emergency, the enemy were defeated with a slaughter almost unparallel- ed among savages. Indeed, one sentiment of confidence, respect, and affection towards the commander-in-chief, pervaded the whole line of the army, any attempt to de- stroy which, we shall consider as an insult to our under- standings, and an injury to our feelings." *
Major Larrabee, under date of Fort Knox, January 8th, 1812, says, " at the commencement of the action, my company were at rest in their tents, with their clothes and accoutrements on, their guns lying by their sides, loaded, and bayonets fixed, and were by my order para- ded in line of battle, ready to meet the enemy within
* Dawson.
GENERAL HARRISON. 35
forty seconds from the commencement of the action, all of which was performed one or two minutes before a man of the company was wounded."*
The officers and non-commissioned officers and pri- vates of the militia corps (Hargrave's excepted) of Knox county, in Indiana, who served in this campaign, held a meeting in Vincennes, 7th December, 1811, and passed the following resolutions, unanimously:
44 That it is a notorious fact, known to the whole army, that all the changes of position made by the troops du- ring the action of the 7th ultimo, and by which the vic- tory was secured, were made by the direction of the com- mander-in-chief, and generally executed under his imme- diate superintendence.
44 That it was owing to the skill and valor of the com- mander-in-chief, that the victory of Tippecanoe was ob- tained.
44 That we have the most perfect confidence in the com- mander-in-chief, and shall always feel a cheerfulness in serving under him, whenever the exigencies of the coun- try may require it."f
General Thomas Scott, of Indiana, under date of Vin- cennes, July 25, 1823, says:
44 1 have thought, and still think, that few generals would have faced danger at so many points as general Har- rison did in the action of Tippecanoe. Wherever the ac- tion was warmest, was general Harrison to be found, and heard encouragingand cheeringthe officers and soldiers.":):
Mr. Adam Walker, of Keene, New Hampshire, a printer by profession, who was in the action, says, in his published journal:
44 General Harrison received a shot through the rim of his hat. In the heat of the action his voice was fre- quently heard, and easily distinguished, giving his or- ders in the same calm, cool and collected manner, with which we had been used to receive them on drill or pa- rade. The confidence of the troops in the general was unlimited."
General John O'Fallon, now residing in St. Louis, a nephew of general George Rogers Clark, and a gallant
* Dawson. f lb. $ lb.
36 SKETCHES OF
officer of the late war, having distinguished himself at the siege of Fort Meigs and the battle of the Thames, in a late speech, at a public meeting in that city, in speak- ing of general Harrison, says :
" At the age of nineteen, I first became acquainted with the distinguished patriot in whose behalf we have assembled, and having been by his side through nearly the whole of the late war, I can bear testimony to his cool, undaunted and collected courage, as well as to his skill, as an able, efficient and active officer. After the battle of Tippecanoe, which has thrown so much glory over our country's arms, it was universally admitted that general Harrison was the only officer that could have saved the army from defeat and massacre"
In dismissing this part of oar subject, it is proper to say, that at the commencement of the attack, the com- mander-in-chief had risen, and was seated by the fire in conversation with Wells, Taylor, Owen and Hurst, the three latter his aids-d-e-camp, and the former command ing the mounted riflemen. These individuals had been awakened by their commander, before four o'clock, and preparations were making, at the moment of the attack, for the troops generally to turn out. Additional testi- mony, of a high and unimpeachable character, might, if necessary, be adduced to repel the charge of governor Harrison's having been taken by surprise.
Another charge circulated against the commander-in- chief, is, that he put the gallant Daviess on his white horse, in consequence of which that officer lost his life. In reply to this unfounded allegation, it is only necessary to say, that Major Daviess was killed whilst bravely charging on foot, and that he was not on general Harri- son's horse, nor any other horse during the engagement. This charge has been varied so as to make Owen, instead of Daviess, the individual who was killed on general Harrison's white horse. This is equally untrue. Owen was killed upon his own white horse, and was not, at any time, during the action, on either of general Harrison's horses. The facts in this case have been stated, dis- tinctly, by the commander-in-chief, in a letter to Dr. Scott of Frankfort, Kentucky.
GENERAL HARRISON. 37
"I had in tne campaign, for my own riding-, a gray mare and a sorrel horse. They were both line riding nags, but the mare was uncommonly spirited and active. I generally rode them alternately, day and day about. On the day we got to the town, I was on the mare, and as it was our invariable rule to have the horses saddled and bridled through the night, the saddle was kept upon her, and, like other horses belonging to my family, she was tied to a picket driven into the ground, in the rear of my marquee, and between that and the baggage wagon. In the night the mare pulled up the picket and got loose. The dragoon sentinel awakening my servant George, the latter caught the mare, and tied her to the wagon wrheel on the back side. When the alarm took place I called for the mare. George, being aroused from his sleep, and confoundedly frightened, forgot that he had removed her to the other side of the wagon, and was unable to find her. In the meantime, major Taylor's servant had brought up his horse. The major observed that I had bet- ter mount him, and he would get another and follow me. I did so. Poor Owen accompanied me, mounted upon a remarkably white horse. Before we got to the angle, which was first attacked, Owen was killed. I at that time supposed that it was a ball which had passed over the heads of the infantry that had killed him ; but I am persuaded that he was killed by one of the two Indians who got within the lines, and that it was extremely probable that they mistook him for me. Taylor joined me in a few minutes after, mounted on my gray mare. I immediately directed him to go and get another. He returned to my quarters, and preferring my sorrel horse to another of his own that was there, mounted him, and wre thus continued on each other's horses, till near the close of the action. Being then with both my aids-de-camp, Taylor and Hurst, in the rear of the right flank line, the fire of several Indians near to the line was directed at us. One of their balls killed the horse that Taylor was riding, and another passed through the sleeve of his coat, a third wounded the horse I was riding in the head, and a fourth was very near terminating my earthly career."
In December, 1811, the legislative council, and house D
38 SKETCHES OF
of representatives of the Indiana territory, presented an address to governor Harrison, in reference to the battle of Tippecanoe, in which they bear testimony to his " su- perior capacity," " integrity," and " other qualities which adorn the mind in a superlative degree."
In December, 1811, the Hon. John J. Crittenden mov- ed the following resolution in the legislature of Ken- tucky, which, after being fully discussed, was carried with only two or three dissenting votes.
"Resolved, that in the late campaign against the In- dians on the Wabash, governor William Henry Harrison has, in the opinion of this legislature, behaved like a hero, a patriot and a general ; and that for his cool, delib- erate, skillful, and gallant conduct in the late battle of Tippecanoe, he well deserves the warmest thanks of the nation." This resolution was approved by governoi Scott.
President Madison, on the 18th of December, 1811, in a message to Congress, says, in regard to this battle:
" While it is deeply lamented that so many valuable lives have been lost in the action which took place on the 7th ultimo, congress will see with satisfaction the daunt- less spirit and fortitude displayed by every description of the troops engaged, as well as the collected firmness which distinguished their commander on an occasion re- quiring the utmost exertion of valor and discipline."
M'Afee in his History of the Late War, says : "After much altercation, by which the battle of Tippecanoe was fought over again, and fully investigated, in all the pub- lic circles of the western country, the public opinion pre- ponderated greatly in favor of the governor. All the ma- terial accusations of his enemies were disproved ; and after all the testimony had been heard, the common opin- ion seemed to be, that the army had been conducted with prudence, and that the battle had been fought as well as it could have been by any general, considering the time and manner of the attack."
Dawson, in his Life of Harrison, says : " The battle of, Tippecanoe had a different character from any one that had ever before been fought with the Indians. A victory Jiad never heen obtained over them where the force on
GENERAL HARRISON. 39
both sides was nearly equal, and in no battle that had ever before been fought with them, were there so many killed in proportion to the number engaged." The same writer adds : "That mutual confidence which ought al- ways to subsist between the commander of an army and the troops commanded, perhaps never had been in a high- er degree manifested, than at the battle of Tippecanoe. Wherever his presence was required during the action, there was the governor to be found. The plan he had laid down previous to the battle, was so well understood by his men, that, notwithstanding the enemy was not really expected that night, within less than two minutes after the first fire was heard, every man was at his post."
Judge Hall, himself an officer in the late war with Great Britain, in speaking of the battle of Tippecanoe, says : "As far as any commander is entitled to credit, independent of his army, he (general Harrison,) merits and has received it. He shared every danger and fatigue to which his army was exposed. In the battle he was in more peril than any other individual ; for he was per- sonally known to every Indian, and exposed himself fear- lessly, on horseback, at all points of the attack, during the whole engagement. Every important movement was made by his express order."
Finally, we take leave of this subject, in the language of the same eloquent writer: "The field of Tippecanoe has become classic ground ; the American traveler pau- ses there to contemplate a scene which has become hal- lowed by victory ; the people of Indiana contemplate with pride the battle-ground on which their militia won imperishable honor, and their infant state became enrolled in the ranks of patriotism."*
* Hall's Memoir of Harrison,
40 SKETCHES OF
CHAPTER V.
Governor Harrison visits Kentucky. — Appointed Major General in the Militia of that state. — Brigadier in the United States army. — Commander-in-chief of the North-western army.—* Relieves Fort Wayne. — Leads an expedition against the Wa- bash Indians. — Appoints Winchester to the command of the left wing of the army. — Refutation of the charge that he had intrigued for Winchester's command. — Reconciles the troops to serve under Winchester. — Plan of campaign.
During the early part of the year 1812, the Indians, instigated by British influence, continued their depreda- tions on the north-western frontiers, notwithstanding their signal defeat at Tippecanoe. This Jed the gov- ernors of Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, and Kentucky, to en- gage in the work of placing their respective states and territories in a posture of defence, or in raising volun- teers for border operations. On the 18th of June, a new aspect was given to the affairs of the west, by the dec- laration of war, made by the United States against Great Britain. This measure, while it was hailed with patri- otic enthusiasm, throughout the west, brought with it many fearful apprehensions of danger and bloodshed, in consequence of the defenceless condition of the north- western frontier. It is honorable to the patriotism and military talents of governor Harrison, that in this hour of peril, the people of the west looked up to him, as the soldier who was to protect their homes and repel inva- sion.
The secretary at war had directed governor Harrison to take command of all the troops of the Indiana and Il- linois territories, to carry o\n the war against the Indians in that quarter ; and had also authorized him to call on the governor of Kentucky, for any portion of the quota of five thousand five hundred men of that state, not in service. Under this authority, and on the invitation of governor Scott, he visited Kentucky, in the month of August, to confer in regard to these troops ; and was re- ceived with distinguished honors by the people and the
GENERAL HARRISON. 41
public authorities. Previous to this time, about eigbteen hundred volunteers, part of the quota of five thousand five hundred men, under the command of general John Payne, had been ordered to rendezvous at Georgetown, preparatory to marching to reinforce general HulL There was a pervading public sentiment, that governor Harrison should head these troops ; but the authority with which he was invested by the president, did not en- title him to command any corps not intended for opera- tions in the western territories. Governor Harrison not being a citizen of Kentucky, the executive of that state had technical difficulties to surmount in giving him the appointment, although wished by the army at Detroit, and sanctioned by the public feeling throughout the state. He accordingly called a council of such members of congress, and officers of the state and general govern- ments, as could be hastily acsembled. Among them were ex-governors Shelby and Greenup, Henry Clay, Fudge Todd, of the supreme court of the United States, Fudge Innis, of the federal court, general Samuel Hop- kins, and colonel R. M. Johnson, who unanimously ad- vised governor Scott to give Harrison a brevet commis- sion of major-general in the Kentucky militia; and authorize him to take the command of the detachment inder Payne, then marching to Detroit. The appoint- ment was accordingly made on the 25th of August.
At this time, brigadier-general James Winchester, of the army of the United States, was recruiting at Lexing- ton, Having written to the secretary at war, that he inten- led to assume the command of the troops under Payne, tie set off and overtook the detachment at Cincinnati. Upon general Harrison's arrival at that place, on the morning of the 27th, he informed general Winchester ot the authority he had received to take command of the Kentucky troops, but invited him to continue with the army. General Winchester, however, returned to Lex- ington. On the 28th, general Harrison wrote to the sec- retary at war, announcing the appointment he had receiv- ed from the governor of Kentucky; and, in a lucid and able manner, suggested a plan of operations for the de- fence of the north-west. On the 30th, he left Cincinnati, d2
42 SKETCHES OP
and joined his troops on the following day, forty miles north of that place. On the 2nd of September, near Piqua, he was overtaken by an eKpress, from the war de- department, informing him that he had been appointed a brigadier-general in the United States army, and assigned the command of the troops in Indiana and Illinois, — the acceptance of which appointment he held under advise- ment. On the 3rd, he reached Piqua, when he learned that Fort Wayne was invested by the Indians. Before reaching Piqua, he was informed that general Winches- ter had been directed by the secretary at war, to command in person, the detachment ordered to reinforce general Hull. This order had been given before the department had been informed of the commission which the governor of Kentucky had conferred upon general Harrison. He immediately wrote to general Winchester, to come to Piqua, and assume the command of the detachment. On the 4th of September, hearing that a body of British and Indians had left Maiden, to assist in reducing Fort Wayne, he determined not to wait for Winchester, but to move to the relief of that place, which was reached on the morning of the 12th. The Indians fled upon the ap- proach of the army, without having effected the reduc- tion of the fort.
General Winchester not having arrived, General Har- rison determined to employ the troops in destroying the Indian towns on the Wabash and Elk Hart. Colonel Wells led a body of troops to the latter place, and the general, in person, headed those destined to the former. At both places, the Indian settlements were broken up, and large quantities of corn destroyed. After the return of the troops to Fort Wayne, general Winchester arri- ved and took command of that portion of the army which had been assigned to him by the war department, com- posed of the regiments of Allen, Lewis and Scott, of the Kentucky troops, Garrard's troop of cavalry of the same state, and a part of the 17th U. S. regiment of infantry, under Wells. The command of the residue of the Ken- tucky troops, embracing Simrall's regiment of cavalry, and the regiments of infantry under Jennings, Poague and Barbee, was retained by general Harrison, they hav-
GENERAL HARRISON 43
ing been placed under him, as governor of Indiana, by the secretary at war. This change of commanders, was very unacceptable to the first named detachment, the troops having become enthusiastically attached to gen- eral Harrison. From the general order, issued by him, at Fort Wayne, on the 19th, upon turning over the com- mand to Winchester, the following paragraph is taken.
" If any thing could soften the regret which the gen- eral feels at parting with troops which have so entirely- won his confidence and affection, it is the circumstance of his committing them to the charge of one of the he- roes of our glorious revolution ; a man distinguished as well for the service he has rendered the country, as for the possession of every qualification which constitutes the gentleman."
It required, indeed, all the influence of general Harri- son and the officers of the detachment, to reconcile the men to this change of commanders.
On the 24th, a letter was received from the war de- partment, by general Harrison, in reply to his communi- cations from Cincinnati, in which the secretary assured him, that in taking the command of the north-western frontier, he had " anticipated the wishes of the presi- dent." A few days afterwards, he received another dis- patch from the department, dated on the 17th of Septem- ber, announcing that the president had appointed him to the command of the whole western department of the army. Connected with this appointment, was the fol- lowing order: " Having provided for the protection of the western frontier, you will retake Detroit, and with a view to the conquest of Upper Canada, you will pene- trate the country as far as the force under your command will justify." In a letter to governor Shelby of the same date, the secretary says : " to meet existing contin- gencies, after consulting the lawful authority vested in the president, it has been determined to vest the command ' of all forces on the western and north-western frontier, in an officer whose military character and knowledge of the country appeared to he combined with the public con- fidence. General Harrison has accordingly been appoint- ed to the chief command, with authority to employ offi-
44 SKETCHES OF
cers, and to draw from the public stores, and every other practicable source, all the means of effectuating the ob- ject of his command."
This was in reply to a letter, in which the patriotic governor had suggested to the president the expediency of his appointing a board of war, similar to that appoint- ed by Washington, in 1791, to direct the military opera- tions in this region. It shows the unlimited confidence Teposed by president Madison, in general Harrison. The command assigned to him under such flattering circum- stances, involved duties of the most responsible kind, and required talents of the highest order.
General M'Afee, an officer in the late war, in referring to this appointment, says : "The services which he was required to perform, were, in the opinion of old, experi- enced and able officers, the most extensive and arduous, that had ever been required from any military commander in America. The endless number of posts and scattered settlements which he was obliged to maintain and pro- tect, against numerous and scattered bands of Indians, while he was contending with difficulties almost insur mountable, in the main expedition against Maiden, were sufficient to employ all the time, and talents, and resour- ces of the greatest military genius at the head of a well appointed army."
When general Harrison was directed to repair to the frontier of Ohio, the secretary at war authorized him to designate an officer to take command of the troops inten- ded to operate in the direction of the W abash and Illi- nois rivers. On the 22nd of September, under date from St. Mary's, the general appointed major-general Hopkins, of Kentucky, to this command. At the same time, col- onel Russel himself, one of the heroes of King's Moun- tain, was leading an expedition of mounted rangers, against the Indians of the Peoria towns, in Illinois.
The commander-in-chief, under date of Piqua, 27th of September, announced to the war department, his ar- rangements for the campaign in the following terms : — " The final arrangement for the march of the army to- wards Detroit is as follows : The right column, compos- ed of the Pennsylvania and Virginia troops, are directed
GENERAL HARRISON. 45
to rendezvous at Wooster, a town upon the head waters of Mohecan, John's creek, thirty-five miles north of Mount Vernon, and forty-five miles west of Canton, and proceed from thence by Upper Sandusky, to the rapids of the Miami. The middle column, consisting of twelve hundred Ohio militia, will march from Urbana, where they now are, taking general Hull's track to the Rapids ; and the left column, composed of a detachment of reg- ulars, under colonel Wells, and six Kentucky regiments will proceed from Fort Defiance down the Miami, to the Rapids. The mounted force, under an officer whom I shall select for that purpose, will take the route mention- ed in my former letter, from Fort Wayne up the St. Joseph's, and across the waters of the river Raisin. Upon reflection, I am induced to abandon the scheme of attacking Detroit ; for should it be successful, as the in- fantry will not be in readiness to support them, it must necessarily be abandoned, and the inhabitants be more exposed to the depredations of the Indians than they now are. A more useful employment will be, to sweep the western side of the strait and lake, of the Indians who are scattered from Brownstown to the Rapids, rioting upon the plunder of the farms which have been abandoned."
From Fort Wayne, general Winchester proceeded down the Miami of the lake to Defiance, but was impe- ded in his march by a large body of Indians, and some British troops, with artillery. Of the advance of this force towards Fort Wayne, general Harrison was inform- ed on the same day, by two expresses, one from governor Meigs, enclosing a letter from Cleveland, and the other from general Winchester. General Harrison, on the evening of the same day, started to Defiance with two regiments of infantry, and the whole of the mounted men, and reached that place on the 2nd of October ; but the enemy had passed that point, some days before. In the march to Defiance, the troops suffered greatly : the weather was cold and inclement, and the want of tents was severely felt. The general shared the same priva tions as his troops, and by his fortitude and cheerfulness^ served to encourage his men. While at Defiance, new reached the armv, that general Harrison had been ap
46 SKETCHES OF
pointed to the command of the whole north-western de- partment,— a fact which gave great satisfaction to the troops, and contributed to reconcile them to the arduous service in which they were engaged. When making this appointment, the department had given to general Winchester, the option of remaining with Harrison, or of joining the army on the Niagara frontier. General Harrison, in announcing his appointment to general Win- | Chester, says : " Need I add, that it will give me the most j heartfelt pleasure, if you could determine to remain with us." On the 3rd of October, at camp Defiance, under a general order, in yielding up the command of his detach- ment, general Winchester said :
" I have the honor of announcing to this army the ar- rival of general Harrison, who is duly authorized by the executive of the federal government, to take the com- mand of the north-western army.
"This officer, enjoying the implicit confidence of the states, from whose citizens this army is and will be col- lected, and possessing himself, great military skill and reputation, the general is confident in the belief that his presence in this army, in the character of its chief, will be hailed with universal approbation."
General Winchester, preferring the service in the north- west, to that on the Niagara frontier, general Harrison immediately invested him with the command of the left wing of the army, the advance portion of which was then at Fort Defiance.
An accusation has been preferred against general Har- rison, by Winchester and his friends, that he had in- trigued with the war department to obtain the command, with which he was now invested. This charge is found- ed on the fact that the officers of the regiments of Poague, Jennings, and Barbee, had requested the president to ap- point general Harrison to the supreme command in the west. It is to be borne in mind, that Winchester had no right to command these regiments — they had been dis- tinctly assigned to Harrison by the proper authority, Winchester had no command but of the single detach- ment sent from Kentucky for the relief of Hull. How then could the memorial of Harrison's own officers, in
GENERAL HARRISON. 47
favor of his being made commander-in-chief, interfere with the rights of general Winchester, when he never had been invested with, nor promised that station 1 The memorial did not ask that Winchester should be sus- pended in the command of his particular detachment, but simply that Harrison should be placed in a new position. This charge has been fully met, however, by the written statements of general Waller Taylor, late of Indiana, the Rev. Samuel Shannon, captain John Arnold, the Rev. James Sugget, and general Thomas Bodley, of Ken- tucky; all of whom were present with the army at the period of this alledged intrigue. Their statements, made in 1817, '18 and '19, are published at length in Daw- son's Life of Harrison. They prove substantially and fully, that when general Winchester arrived at Fort Wayne to take command of the detachment assigned him by the secretary at war, that great disapprobation was expressed by the officers and men, at the circum- stance ; that the dissatisfaction was so great as to amount almost to open mutiny — that Harrison, by his general orders and his personal appeals to the officers and troops, did much to reconcile them to the change, and, in short, that but for his influence and most active exertions, the men would have refused to serve under general Win- chester.
It is due to the reputation of general Winchester, to add, that the principal objection of the volunteers to serv- ing under him, arose from the fact of his being an officer in the regular army. They had no personal objection to him. Indeed, it was not so much a dislike to general Winchester, which created the difficulty, as a desire to serve under one who had so recently gained the brilliant victory of Tippecanoe, and was familiar with Indian warfare.
From Defiance, general Harrison returned to St. Ma- ry's, and from thence passed through Piqua and Urbana to Franklinton, which was the line of march for the right wing of the army. His object in returning to this place was to hasten the supplies of provisions, clothing and ammunition, and make other arrangements for the ad- vance of the troops. WThile at St. Mary's, on his way
48 SKETCHES OF
to Franklinton, he was informed that Fort Wayne was again invested. He forthwith dispatched colonel Allen Trimble, with five hundred mounted riflemen, to the re- lief of the place. At Franklinton, he received a dispatch from the worthy officer commanding this expedition, in- forming him of its partial failure, in consequence of the defection of one half of his troops, who abandoned him upon reaching Fort Wayne. He proceeded, however, with the remainder, and destroyed two Indian villages. About the same time, intelligence reached the com mander-in-chief, of the failure of the expedition undei general Hopkins, against the Indian villages on the Illi- nois river. Another expedition, prosecuting at the same time, and in the same region, under governor Edwaids and colonel Russel, surprised the Kickapoo town of Pe- oria, at the head of Peoria lake, and either killed or dis- persed the inhabitants. In connection with these opera- tions, the brilliant defence of Fort Harrison, under the command of the gallant captain, Zachary Taylor, may be named. It covered that young officer with glory, and led to his being honored with the brevet commission of major, in the United States army.
CHAPTER VI.
Movements of the army. — Tupper's expedition to the Rapids. — Campbell's expedition to Mississiniway. — General Harrison recommends a fleet on lake Erie. — Plan of operations for the campaign. — Again urges on the Secretary at War the neces- sity of a fleet on lake Erie. — Winchester's movement to the Rapids. — His movement to the river Raisin, and defeat on the 22nd of January. — The question examined, on whom rests the blame of that defeat. — Opinion of Wood — M'Afee's opinions. — Address of the Kentucky and Ohio officers.
We now recur to movements more immediately under the direction of the commander-in-chief. " The troops
GENERAL HARRISON. 49
advancing on the line of operations, which passed from Delaware, hy Upper to Lower Sandusky, composed of the brigades from Virginia and Pennsylvania, and that li Perkins' from Ohio, were designated in general orders, Mid commonly known as the right wing of the army; I\ippers brigade from Ohio, moving on Hull's road, for- med the centre division; and the Kentuckians, under Winchester, were styled the left wing."
Early in November, general Tupper of the Ohio rmili- lia, with a detachment of six hundred and fifty men, marched to the rapids of the Miami of the lake, for the purpose of attacking a force of several hundred Indians, md some British troops, who were at that point gather- gtg corn. Before starting, he advised general Winchester )f the intended movement. He reached the foot of the Rapids, and made an effort to cross the river in the night, hr the purpose of meeting the enemy next morning. Failing in this, he dispatched an express to general Win- chester, on the 14th, stating his situation, and asking for i reinforcement.
After further ineffectual attempts to cross the river, and ;o decoy the enemy across, he returned to his encamp- ment. M'Afee, in his history of the war, thus notices the Drogress and result of the expedition : "W^hen Tupper's second express reached general Winchester's camp, he found that a detachment of four hundred men had been sent out under the command of colonel Lewis, to march, ;o his support; they proceeded, on the morning of the L5th, down the left bank of the river, and in the course )f the night ensign Charles S. Todd was sent with a few men by colonel Lewis to apprise Tupper of his approach, ;o concert the time and manner of forming a junction of the two corps. Todd found Tupper's camp evacuated, ind the bodies of two men, who had been killed and. scalped. Todd returning with this information to colo- nel Lewis, that officer retreated with his command to Winchester's camp. If this expedition did not produce all the good which might have resulted from it, it was fo Epreat service in one particular. The detachment of Bri- tish and Indians, consisting of about four hundred of the latter, and seventy-five of the former, fell back upon the 3 E
50 SKETCHES OF
river Raisin, and gave up the idea of removing the corn from the abandoned farms at the Rapids, which was the object of their being at that place."
About the period of this enterprise, the commander-in- chief resolved to send an expedition against the Indian towms on the Mississiniway river, one of the branches of the Wabash. This measure was rendered the more necessary from the failure of the expedition under gen- eral Hopkins, already mentioned. The detachment was placed under lieutenant colonel Campbell, of the 19th United States regiment. It was composed of six hundred mounted men. They left Franklinton on the 25th of November, passed Greenville on the 14th of December, and reached the first village on the Missis- siniway, on the 18th, wrhich was attacked, and eight men killed, and forty-two prisoners taken. Two other towns were visited and destroyed, the inhabitants having fled. Before day on the following morning, the Indians at- tacked colonel Campbell's camp. A severe action of an hour ensued, when the Indians were finally charged with great spirit and dispersed. They left fifteen dead on the ground, others were thrown into the river or carried off. Colonel Campbell had eight killed, and forty-eight wounded. When the detachment reached Greenville, on their return, one-half of it was unfit for duty, being ei ther wounded, frost-bitten, or sick. General Harrison issued a general order, after the expedition was termina- ted, from which we quote the concluding paragraph. It must be universally admired, not less for the beauty of the sentiment, than the eloquence with wThich it is ex- pressed :
" But the character of this gallant detachment, exhib- iting as it did, perseverance, fortitude and bravery, would,' however, be incomplete, if in the midst of victory theyj had forgotten the feelings of humanity. It is with the! sincerest pleasure, that the general has heard that the' most punctual obedience was paid to his orders, in not only saving all the women and children, but in sparing all the warriors who ceased to resist; and, that when vigorously attacked by the enemy, the claims of mercy prevailed over every sense of their own danger, and the
GENERAL HARRISON. 51
heroic band respected the lives of their prisoners. Let an account of murdered innocence be opened in the re- cords of Heaven, against our enemies alone. The Amer- ican soldier will follow the example of his government, and the sword of the one, will not be raised against the fallen and the helpless, nor the gold of the other paid for the scalps of a massacred enemy."
f The troops composing the left wing of the army, hav- ing finished the erection of Fort Winchester, were direc- ted by the commander-in-chief, early in December, to march to the Rapids, so soon as provisions for a few weeks had been accumulated. On the 12th of this month, general Harrison, in a letter to the war depart- ment, says : " If there were not some important political reason, urging the recovery of the Michigan territory, md the capture of Maiden, as soon as these objects can possibly be effected ; and that to accomplish them a few sveeks sooner, expense was to be disregarded, I should not hesitate to say, that if a small proportion of the sums, which will be expended in the quarter-master's lepartment, in the active prosecution of the campaign, luring the winter, was devoted to the obtaining the com- nand of lake Erie, the wishes of the government in ;heir utmost extent, could be accomplished without diffi- culty, in the months of April and May. Maiden, De- :roit and Macinaw, would fall in rapid succession." rhe necessity of securing the naval ascendency of lake Erie, had been forcibly pointed out to the government, )y general Harrison, as early as the year 1809.
On the 20th, the commander-in-chief established his lead quarters at Upper Sandusky. Whilst here, he re- vived a communication from colonel Campbell, inform- nghim of the result of the Mississiniway expedition. tie forthwith started for Chillicothe, to consult with governor Meigs about another expedition against the In- iians of that quarter. At Franklinton he received a let- ;er from the new secretary at war, Mr. Monroe, in which he s informed that the president, having great confidence in ;he solidity of his opinion, leaves the object of the cam- paign entirely to the decision of general Harrison, and promises the support of the government to any measures
52 SKETCHES OF
he may think proper to adopt. In a letter from Frank] linton, dated the 4th of January, 1813, the general sayJ to the department: " My plan of operations has been] and now is, to occupy the Miami Rapids, and to deposil there as much provisions as possible; to move frorr thence with a choice detachment of the army, and wit! as much provision, artillery and ammunition, as the mean* of transportation will allow — make a demonstration to- wards Detrrit, and by a sudden passage of the strai upon the ice, an actual investiture of Maiden." On the 8th, in another letter, the general says : " Should our of fensive operations be suspended until spring, it is mj decided opinion, that the most effectual and cheapest plar will be to obtain the command of the lake. This bein£ once effected, every difficulty wTill be removed. An armj of four thousand men, landed on the north side of the lake, below Maiden, will soon reduce that place — retake Detroit, and, with the aid of the fleet, proceed down the lake to co-operate with the army from Niagara." A few days after the date of this letter, the general returned tc Upper Sandusky, where troops and supplies for the army were rapidly accumulating.
We again return to the left wing of the army. M'Af fee, in his " History of the Late War," says :
" General Harrison had expected, on his first arrival at Upper Sandusky, about the 18th of December, to be met there by an express from general Winchester, with information of his advance to the Rapids, in conformity with the advice which had previously been given him. As no such information had arrived, he soon afterwards dispatched ensign C. S. Todd, division judge advocate of the Kentucky troops, to Winchester's camp, on the Miami below Defiance. Todd was accompanied by two gentlemen of the Michigan territory, and three Wyandott Indians. He proceeded directly across the country, and performed the journey with a degree of secrecy and dis- patch highly honorable to his skill and enterprise, hav ing completely eluded all the scouts of the enemy. He was instructed to communicate to general Winchester the following directions and plans from the commander- in-chief: " that as soon as he had accumulated provisions
GENERAL HARRISON. 53
for twenty days, he was authorized to advance to the Rapids, where he was to commence the building of huts, fo induce the enemy to believe that he was going into •winter quarters ; that he was to construct sleds for the main expedition against Maiden, but to impress it on the minds of his men that they were for transporting provi- sions from the interior; that the different lines of the army would be concentrated at that place, and a choice •.detachment from the whole would then be marched rap- idly on Maiden ; that in the meantime he was to occupy the Rapids, for the purpose of securing the provisions and stores forwarded from the other wings of the army."
On the 22nd, a moderate supply of provisions and cloth- ing were received by general Winchester. On the 30th, the march for the Rapids was commenced, and, at the same time, Mr. Leslie Combs, a volunteer in the army, was sent to inform the commander-in-chief of the move- ment ; but owing to a severe snow-storm, he did not reach him, at Upper Sandusky, until the 11th of January.
While on his march to the Rapids, a dispatch was received by Winchester, from general Harrison, recom- mending him to abandon the movement to the Rapids, and fall back to Fort Jennings. This was owing to the in- formation brought by colonel Campbell, from Mississin- iway, in regard to the Indians; but the recommendation was not followed. On the 10th of January, the detach- ment under Winchester reached the Rapids. On the 11th, a dispatch was sent to inform the commander-in- chief of the arrival of the troops at that point; but the 'communication was transmitted by the persons who were taking the worn-out pack horses to Fort McArthur, a (place as distant from the Rapids as Upper Sandusky 'and from which it must then pass through a swampy wil- 'derness of forty miles, to the head quarters of the gene- ral, and was finally received by him at the Rapids, the joint from whence it started.
* On the 12th, general Winchester forwarded another letter by the same kind of conveyance, to the command- er-in-chief, at Sandusky, saying, that no Teliance could be placed on retaining any of the Kentucky troops, after the expiration of their term of service, in February. This
E2
84 SKETCHES OF
communication was sent to Lower Sandusky, with thia endorsement on the hack, "general Tupper will please to forward this letter by express. J. Winchester." It did not reach the commander-in-chief until the morning ' of the 16th, and was the first information which he had received of Winchester's arrival at the Rapids, although general Harrison had directed him to forward intelli- gence of that event as early as possible, that he might send on the remaining stores and troops.
On the evening of the 13th, two Frenchmen arrived from the river Raisin, with information that the Indians had threatened to attack their town, and asking assist- ance from general Winchester. On the 14th and 16th, other messengers arrived in camp, making similar ap- peals. Great ardor now prevailed among the troops to inarch to Raisin, and a majority of officers concurring, general Winchester agreed to the movement. Raisin is thirty-six miles from the Rapids, and eighteen from Mai- den. On the morning of the 17th, colonel Lewis, with a detachment of men, moved down to Presque Isle, a dis- tance of twenty miles. Here he ascertained that four hundred Indians were at the Raisin, and that Elliott was expected from Maiden, with a detachment to attack the camp at the Rapids. This information was sent back to Winchester, who forwarded it in a dispatch to the com- mander-in-chief, with information of the movement he was making to Frenchtown. The dispatch was sent by way of Lower Sandusky, and was met at this place bjf general Harrison, on the morning of the 19th.
On the 18th, Lewis reached Frenchtown, on the Rai sin, met the enemy at that place, attacked and defeated them, with considerable loss. On the night of the 18th, a messenger was sent to Winchester with news of the result. The intelligence made the troops under him anx- ious to move on to Frenchtown. On the 20th, at night, Winchester, with all the troops that could be spared from the Rapids, reached Frenchtown, and encamped in ail open lot of ground, on the right of Lewis' detachment, which was defended by some garden pickets. Colonel Wells commanded the reinforcement. To him, general Winchester named, but did not direct a breast-work, fwf.
GENERAL HARRISON. 55
the defence of his camp. The general himself estab- lished his head-quarters in a house on the opposite side of the river, more than a half a mile from his troops. On the 21st, a spot was selected for the whole army to camp in good order, with a determination to fortify on the next day. Certain information was received through the day, that the British were preparing to make an at- tack, and that it would be made with dispatch. Colo- nel Wells obtained leave, in the evening, to return to the Rapids, which place he reached that night, and found general Harrison, who had arrived the day before, and had made every exertion in his power to hasten on a re- inforcement. It should here be stated, that when general Harrison, on the 11th, was advised by Mr. Combs' dis- patch, of general Winchester's movement towards the Raisin, he ordered on some droves of hogs, and held the artillery in readiness to march as soon as he should be advised of the arrival of the detachment at the Rapids. On the 16th, the commander-in-chief was first informed of Winchester's arrival at the Rapids, and that he medita- ted a movement against the enemy, and had sent to Per- kins, at Lower Sandusky, for a battalion of men. Gene- ral Harrison immediately gave orders for the artillery to advance by the way of Portage river, with a guard of three hundred men under major Orr. Escorts of provi- sions were ordered on the same route; but owing to the badness of the roads, slow progress was made. At the same time an express was sent to the Rapids for infor- mation, which was to return and meet the commander-in- chief at Lower Sandusky, which place he reached on the following night. On the 18th, a battalion, under major Cotgreave, was started from the Rapids. General Harri- son determined to follow, that he might have a personal consultation with Winchester. At four o'clock, on the morning of the 19th, he received a letter from Winches- ter, announcing Lewis' advance to the Raisin, and the objects of the expedition. He immediately ordered the remaining regiment of Perkins' brigade to march to the Rapids, and proceeded there himself. On his way he met. an express, with intelligence of Lewis' battle on the 18th. On the morning of the 20th, he reached the Rap-
56 SKETCHES OF
ids, and found that Winchester had marched the evening before for the river Raisin, having left Payne in his camp with three hundred men. Major Cotgreave was so impe- ded by bad roads and ice, that on the night of the 21st, he was yet fifteen miles from Raisin. When general! Harrison reached the Rapids, on the 20th, he sent cap- tain Hart express to Frenchtown, that Winchester might be informed of the movements in the rear, and with in- structions to the general "to maintain the position at the river Raisin at any rate." On the 21st, a dispatch was received from general Winchester, in which he stated, that if his force was increased to one thousand or twelve hundred, he could maintain the ground he had gained. On the evening of that day, Perkins' brigade reached the Rapids, and the remaining Kentuckians, under Payne, were ordered to march to Winchester, which they did next morning. The corps under Cotgreave and Payne, would have made the army under Winchester considera- bly stronger than the amount deemed by him sufficient to hold his position. At 12 o'clock, A. M. of the 22nd, news of the attack on Winchester reached the Rapids. General Hawison immediately ordered the regiment of Perkins' brigade to march with all possible expedition, and proceeded himself after the detachment under Payne, which he soon overtook. In a short time some men were met, who announced the total defeat of Winchester's forces, and that the British and Indians were pursuing them to the Rapids. This report induced the general to hasten on with still greater rapidity. In a short time, other fugitives were met, who stated that the defeat was total, and that resistance on the part of our troops had ceased early in the day. A council of the general and field officers was then held, who decided that it was im- prudent and unnecessary to proceed any further. Some parties of active and enterprising men were sent forward to assist and bring in those who might have escaped. The rest of the detachment returned to the Rapids.
The tragical events which occurred at Frenchtown, on the 22nd and 23rd, would require, in their detail, more space than can be assigned them in this work. They filled the West with mourning, and have been again and
GENERAL HARRISON. 57
again recounted, in every part of our land. Winchester had with him in all, nine hundred men. The British and Indians, hy whom he was defeated, amounted to near three thousand. The loss of Winchester was two hun- dred and ninety in killed, massacred and missing. Only thirty-three escaped to the Rapids. The British took five- hundred and forty-seven prisoners, and the Indians forty- five. The loss of the British in killed and wounded is supposed to have been between three and four hundred.
So great a disaster, as the defeat at the river Raisin, created much excitement throughout the country. The question arises, upon whom the blame of this defeat should rest ] We propose to say a few words upon this subject. In doing so, we disclaim, in advance, all unkind feeling towards the name and fame of general Winchester, who was a brave soldier of the revolution, and is now " gath- ered to his fathers," — two circumstances sufficient to dis- arm criticism, and allay censure. Our only object is to show that the blame of this calamity cannot, with any justice whatever, be laid upon the commander-in-chief.
General Harrison has been censured for the advance of Winchester to the river Raisin; and, for not reinforcing him when there.
The instructions sent by general Harrison to Winches- ter, which were delivered to him on the 24th of Decem- ber, at his camp, a few miles below Fort Defiance, by en- sign Todd, were, that he should move to the Rapids, when twenty days' provisions had been accumulated — that when he reached that place, he was to build huts, as if going into winter quarters, and then to construct sleds, for the main but secret expedition of the cam- paign, an attack upon Maiden, contemplated by the com- mander-in-chief, after the other lines of the army had concentrated at the Rapids. While on his way to the Rapids, general Winchester received another dispatch from general Harrison, recommending him, in conse- quence of information received from colonel Campbell, of a large body of Indians on the Wabash, under Te- cumthe, to abandon the movement to the Rapids, and fall back, with the greater part of his force, to Fort Jen- Dings. This recommendation was disregarded. So far 3*
58 SKETCHES OF
from any authority being given him to make a movement from the Rapids, against the enemy, such a movement was in direct violation of the whole plan of the campaign, as communicated to him. Of course, general Winches- ter could have had no assurances of support, when ma- king a movement not contemplated by the commander-in- sjhief, and in violation of his orders.
After general Harrison was informed that Winchester had arrived at the Rapids, which information did not reach him until the night of the 16th of January, and that he meditated some movement against the enemy, he did all in his power to hasten forward the necessary rein- forcements. He was then at Upper Sandusky, sixty-five miles from the Rapids, and one hundred from Raisin, the point to which Winchester's meditated attack was di- rected. The space between the two former points, was a swampy wilderness, the ground partly frozen, and al- most impassable for troops or artillery. The preceding narrative has shown the promptness and energy with which general Harrison pushed forward the reinforce- ments. His personal exertions to reach the scene of ac- tion, were very great. He started from Lower Sandusky in a sleigh, with general Perkins, and a servant, to over- take the battalion under Cotgreave. "As the sleigh went very slow, from the roughness of the road, he took the horse of his servant and pushed on alone. Night came upon him in the midst of the swamp, which was so imperfectly frozen, that the horse sunk to his belly at every step. He had no resource but to dismount and lead his horse, jumping, himself, from one sod to another, which was solid enough to support him. When almost exhausted, he met one of Cotgreave's men coming back to look for his bayonet. The general told him, he would not only pardon him for the loss, but supply him wTith another, if he wTould assist him to get his horse through the swamp. By his aid the general was enabled to reach the camp of the battalion."*
The gallant colonel Wood, than whom, on a question of this kind, there is no higher authority, says : " What
* M'Afee.
GENERAL HARRISON. 59
hnman means, in the control of general Harrison, could prevent the anticipated disaster, and save that corps, which was already looked upon as lost, as doomed to in- evitable destruction 1 Certainly none — because neither orders to halt, nor troops to succor him, could be received in time, or at least that was the expectation. He was already in motion, and general Harrison still at Upper Sandusky, seventy miles in his rear. The weather was inclement — the snow was deep — and a large portion of the black swamp was yet open. What could a Turenne ot an Eugene have done, under a pressure of embarrass- ing circumstances, more than Harrison did?"
After the action of the 18th, there were powerful rea- sons why general Winchester should not abandon his position. " The protection of the French inhabitants was now an imperative duty. The advance to their town had been made at their solicitation; and when the battle had commenced, many of them joined the American forces, and fought with great gallantry; and afterwards they attacked and killed the straggling Indians, wherever they met them. Their houses were open to our men, and they offered to give up the whole of the provisions, which yet remained to them, upon condition that they should not again be abandoned to the fury of the savages, or subjected for what they had done, to be immured in the prisons of Maiden. The amount of provisions to be se- cured was believed to be very considerable. The duty of protecting the faithful inhabitants, however, had been so strongly impressed by their conduct, on the minds of general Winchester and his men, that an order to retreat would not, perhaps, have been very promptly obeyed."
General M'Affce, another meritorious officer of the late war, in referring to this disastrous action, says :
"From the whole of the facts, which are now before the reader, he will be able to judge for himself, with res- pect to the causes of the disaster. The advance to the liver Raisin was a very important movement; it was made from the best and most urgent motives ; but it is questionable whether it was not too hazardous and pre- mature. It was a rule with general Harrison, and un- doubtedly a very good one, never, in Indian warfare, to
60 SKETCHES OF
send out a detachment, unless indispensably necessary, and then to make it sufficiently strong to contend with the whole force of the enemy. The rule was peculiarly applicable in this instance. Frenchtown was within eighteen miles of Maiden, the head quarters of the ene- my, while it was more than double that distance from the Rapids, and about one hundred miles, on an average, from the other corps of the American army. The idea of reinforcing an advanced corps at that place, to sup- port it against any speedy movement of the enemy, was hence altogether chimerical. It should have been strong enough in the first instance, or with the reinforcements to be immediately sent after it from the Rapids, to main- tain its ground, against the whole disposable force of the enemy, for a week at least. And this was probably the case. The greatest error, judging from the information we possess, after the affair is over, does not appear to have been so much the advance of the detachment, as the neglect to fortify the camp. The force actually on the ground, if well posted and well defended by fortifica- tions, and amply supplied with ammunition, could cer- tainly have resisted such an attack as was made, until reinforcements had arrived. On the 21st, general Win- chester thus addressed general Harrison: 'All accounts from Brownstown and Maiden agree in stating, that the, enemy is preparing to retake this place ; if he effects his purpose, he will pay dear for it. A few pieces of artil- lery, however, wrould add to our strength, and give con- fidence to our friends in this place.' Though possessed of this information, and lying so near the enemy, that they could march at any time in the evening, and attack him before day next morning, yet he suffered his men to go to rest that night in an open camp, in which they had lain a whole day since his arrival at that place,"
Colonel Wood says, again :
"Unsuspicious, and elated with this flash of success,! the troops were permitted to select, each for himself, such quarters on the west side of the river, as might please him best; whilst the general, not liking to be a- mongst a parcel of noisy, dirty freemen, took his quarters! on the east side! not the least regard being paid to de*|
GENERAL HARRISON. 61
fence, order, regularity, or system in the posting of the different corps." After speaking of the battle anJ mas- sacre, he proceeds : " thus was there a corps of one thou- sand men, the elite of the army, totally sacrificed, in the most wanton manner possible ; and that too, without the slightest benefit to their country or posterity. With only one third or one fourth of the force destined for that ser- vice; destitute of artillery, of engineers, of men who had ever seen or heard the least of an enemy, and with but a very inadequate supply of ammunition; how he ever could have entertained the most distant hope of success, or what right he had to presume to claim it, is to me one ) Df the strangest things in the world. An adept in the art of war is alone authorized to deviate from the ordi- nary and established rules, by which that art for a great length of time has been usefully and successfully ap- plied.
" Winchester was destitute of every means of support- ing his corps long at the river Raisin, was in the very jaws of the enemy, and beyond the reach of succor* He who fights with such flimsy pretensions to victory, will always be beaten, and eternally ought to be."
On the 13th of February, the field and platoon officers 3f all the Kentucky regiments, from which the detach- ment sent to the river Raisin, was formed, held a meet- ing and made the following address to general Harrison* It is dated at the Miami Rapids, and signed by R. M. Gano, M. D. Hardin, Patrick Gray, Thomas Morris, George Pugh, Joseph Redding, Thomas Story, James W. Gillaspie, James King, Joel Garnett, Peter Dudley, rhomas Brooks, R. C. Holder, Thomas Gest, S. W. McGowan, William Caldwell, Daniel Bowen, and Alex- ander Welch. They were near the scene of action, had every means of knowing the facts in the case, and were mourning over their friends, killed or massacred at the Raisin, when this address was made to the commander- in-chief:
44 Although various causes have reduced the regiments
to which we respectively belong to a very small number,
we had flattered ourselves, when we marched from our
late encampment, on Portage river, to this place, that
F
62 SKETCHES OF
you would have been enabled immediately to have led us on, and to have given us an opportunity, under your immediate eye, to have avenged the injury sustained by our friends and our country, on the river Raisin, in the last month; to have regained the ground lost, and to have seen and aided you in repairing the loss sustained. Had circumstances justified you in proceeding, we could not have doubted the result under your auspices, and we should haare remained with you, regardless of the time we had served, or the fatigues we had undergone, and uninfluenced by any pecuniary considerations. But, as events not within your control, s§em to forbid immediate active operations, the time we have remained in the wil- derness, as the advance of the* north-western army, re- quires our return to civilized life and to our homes. When permitted to return, we shall, after a service of six months under you, carry back to our fridnds and our country, a confirmation of those high opinions of your military worth, which were formed upon a first acquaint- ance.
" Should circumstances again call us to the field, we ^should be highly gratified at being placed under your im- mediate command. In the meantime, permit us to as- sure you, that we entertain for you, individually, the highest sentiments of personal respect and esteem."
In the month of February, the two brigades of Ohio militia, under Tupper and Perkins, were discharged. The general and field officers, on the 20th, at camp Mi- ami Rapids, made an address to general Harrison. We quote the concluding paragraph :
** Great was the undertaking, and numerous the obsta- cles which opposed your progress ; a wilderness of near- ly one hundred and fifty miles was to be traversed, which, with its swramps and morasses, presented difficulties far greater than the Alps. Great as were these obstacles,' relying on the willingness of your troops to endure any hardships, to reach the enemy, you rightly judged that they might be surmounted. A few weeks past, every circumstance united to promise you an immediate accom- plishment of your designs. Large supplies of provi- sions, and numerous munitions of war were so far ad-
GENERAL HARRISON. 63
▼anced as to be within your control ; your troops, with an unbounded reliance on your judgment and skill, were eager to be led up to the enemy, and waited but your or- der to march ; your exertions had been great, and every thing promised the suffering soldier a speedy reward for his toils. At this important moment the unfortunate movement of general Winchester to the river Raisin, with its unhappy consequences, (a movement we believe without your orders or concurrence) broke the successful chain of operations, and presented new and unlooked-for difficulties before you.
" On retiring from service, sir, we are happy in assu- ring you of our fullest confidence, and that of our res- pective commands, in the measures you have taken ; they have been cautious, skillful, and guarded, such as would at this time have carried our arms to the walls of Mai- den, had not the unhappy occurrences at the river Raisin checked your progress, and for a short time thwarted your plans of operation. That you may soon teach the enemy the distinction between an honorable and savage warfare, by planting our standard in the heart of their country, and regain the honor and territory we have lost, and, as a just tribute to valor, toils and suffering, receive the grateful thanks of a generous and free people, is among the first, the warmest wishes of our hearts."
This address is signed by Edward W. Tupper, Simon Perkins, Charles Miller, John Andrews, William Rayen, Robert Safford, N. Beasley, James Galloway, Solomon Bentley, George Darrow, W. W. Cotgreave, and Jacob Frederick.
The conclusions to which every candid mind must come, after a careful perusal of the preceding narrative, and the high testimony by wrhich it is accompanied, are the following: 1. That general Winchester's movement to the river Raisin was in violation of the orders of gen- eral Harrison and the plan of the campaign. 2. That when informed of the movement, general Harrison, did all in his power to reinforce the detachment under Win- Chester. 3. That after the movement had been made, and the battle of the 18th had occurred, it was inexpe- dient to abandon the place. 4. That if general Winches-
64 SKETCHES OF
ter had taken the necessary steps to fortify his camp, and arrange his troops, the defeat of the 22nd of January would not, in all human probability, have taken place.
It is due to the reputation of general Winchester, to add, that in this unfortunate and unauthorized movement I to the river Raisin, he was sustained, generally, by the officers and men of his corps. They were a gallant band, panting for an opportunity, before their return to Kentucky, to meet their country's enemy: this feeling, with the still nobler one of protecting the women and children of Frenchtown, from the tomahawk and scalp ing knife, contributed to overcome the moral firmness of general Winchester, and led him to a disobedience of or- ders : the same extenuation, however, cannot be pleaded for his conduct, in neglecting the most ordinary precau* tions for the safety of his camp, when within striking distance of a powerful and ferocious enemy, of whos© meditated attack he had certain intelligence.
CHAPTER VII.
Movements of the North-western army, after the defeat at the riv- er Raisin. — Establishment of Camp Meigs. — Kentucky and Ohio Militia discharged. — Termination of the first campaign. — Preparations for the next. — Colonel Morrison's opinion. — Siege of Fort Meigs. — Arrival of Kentucky troops under General Clay. — Dudley's defeat. — Brilliant sorties, 5th May. — Proctor's demand of a surrender. — His abandonment of the siege. — Gallant conduct of General Harrison.
On the night of the 22nd of January, a council was called at the Rapids, by general Harrison, to determine whether it was probable the enemy would attack the camp at that place, and whether the force then in camp, consisting of nine hundred men, and a single piece of artillery, would be able to make an effectual resistance ? The force of the enemy in the battle, was stated to bo
GENERAL HARRISON. 65
rom two to three thousand, with six pieces of artillery, >rincipally howitzers. It was decided unanimously, to etire a short distance on the road, upon which the artil- ery and reinforcements were approaching. This move- ment was deemed to be prudent, from the fact that Win- hester, with a larger force, had been defeated by the ame enemy ; and it was to be presumed that they would dvance against the position at the Rapids, or do what was [lore to he deprecated, send th-e Indians to intercept those ntrusted in the rear, with the artillery and provisions, ^he position which had been occupied, and partially for- ified, at the Rapids, by general Winchester, was not ca- iable of defence, and was situated on the wrong side of he river. Any rise in the river, or the breaking up o^ he ice, would have cut off general Harrison from his upplies of men and provisions; and although in such n event, his own reinforcements could not reach him, he Indians, at points above and below, could cross the iver, and assail his rear. The council having determin- d upon the propriety of a retrograde movement, every military principle demanded that the provisions which ould not he removed, should be destroyed, so as to pre- ent their falling into the hands of the enemy.
General Harrison, having retired to Portage river,
trongly fortified his camp, to wait for the artillery and a
etachment of troops under general Leftwich. An unfor-
unate rain had arrested their progress twenty-five miles
eyond this point, and general Leftwich did not arrive un-
il the 30th of January, with his brigade, a regiment of
^nnsylvania troops, and the greater part of the artillery.
d this period, the benevolence of general Harrison's char-
cter was manifested in his sending Dr. McKeehan, of
re Ohio militia, with a flag to Maiden, to ascertain the
ondition of the wounded, and to carry them a sum of
loney in gold, to procure accommodations; but the flag
as not respected, and he was robbed of his money.
On the first of February, general Harrison advanced
ith his whole force, amounting to seventeen hundred
en, and encamped at the foot of the Rapids, on the
)uth-east side, at the place wmich was called Camp
[eigs. He still cherished the hope that the season
f2
66 SKETCHES OF
might so far favor his efforts as to enable him to ex- ecute the long contemplated expedition against Maiden; and for this purpose ordered up all the troops in the rear, except some companies left to maintain the forts on the Auglaize and the St. Mary's. By the 15th of February. he intended to advance, disperse the Indians, destroy the shipping, and establish a post near Brownstown, until the season would permit the advance of the artillery. This was ordinarily the period when the most intense frosts Tendered the lakes and swamps perfectly firm ; but the weather continued so rainy, that the roads were broker up and traveling rendered unsafe. The period for whicl the Kentucky and Ohio troops had engaged to serve, was about to expire, and the roads and swamps were render ed almost impassable, even with a single horse. Th< balance of the troops, nor the necessary supplies, had no arrived at the Rapids. The general was, therefore, com pelled reluctantly to abandon, for this season, any furthe advance towards Maiden; thus terminating a campaigi attended with great expense to the government, and se vere hardships to the general and his men. But great a; were the difficulties of prosecuting a winter campaign in that swampy region, the industry of the general am the firmness of the men, would have surmounted them but for the unfortunate movement to the river Raisin, am its disastrous results. The delay occasioned to the de parture of the artillery and troops from the right wing by general Winchester forwarding notice to head qua) ters, of his arrival at the Rapids, by the driver of th pack horses, led to the unfortunate defeat of Raisin ; an with it, the defeat of the campaign. The critical perio when the swamps were frozen over, was not seized fc sending up the artillery and troops, and this was nc done, because general Harrison did not receive intell gence in due time, of the approach of Winchester.
In taking leave of the events connected with th first campaign, and before entering upon the incidenlj of the second, we may be permitted to add a few n flections. Looking at the result, it is to be reorettecj that a winter campaign was attempted. It was corr menced at the precise season of the year, when the prt
GENERAL HARRISON. 67
clent caution of Washing-ton and Wayne arrested the progress of the army, in 1793 ; but the orders and views of the war department were such, as to leave no doubt Df the solicitude of the government to recover Detroit, and capture Maiden, in the course of the winter. Under these impressions, general Harrison made the most ener- getic efforts to be prepared with men, and supplies, and artillery, to avail himself of the critical period when the frosts should pave the roads and the lake. That this propitious moment would have arrived early in February, t)ut for the disaster at Raisin, we have the testimony of 3olonel Morrison, a revolutionary officer, and quarter-mas- ter general, who, in reply to enquiries on the subject, -by xeneral Harrison, says :# "The plans and arrangements indispensable to an advance on the enemy, were so far ;onsummated, at the period of general Winchester's de- feat, as to authorize a general movement. I have a per- fect recollection of your calling on me as quarter-master, i short time previous to that disaster, to know whether I possessed the means, and would promise to supply the army with provisions, on their march upon the enemy. Qn receiving an affirmative answer, you hastened to the lead of the centre line, and marched for the Rapids, where [ understood you expected to meet general Winchester, and where a deposit of provisions, &c, was commenced when the defeat took place." By the plan of the cam- paign, and the desultory expeditions projected against the Indian villages, the settlements were protected, and the enemy kept in the dark as to ulterior operations. General Harrison covered the frontiers more effectually, and advanced more rapidly to the grand result, than did general Wayne, whose convoys were assailed, and who consumed nearly twro years in the necessary preparations for the main campaign. On this subject colonel Morri- son is equally explicit :f "The positions selected for protecting the frontier settlements, were universally ad- mitted to be judicious; and as a proof that they were so, it is remarkable, that during the autumn and winter of 1812— '13, in a frontier of great extent, there was scarcely
* Dawson, 451. fib.
68 SKETCHES OF
an instance of the inhabitants being molested by the enemy. The general arrangements for concentrating the troops at the Rapids of the Miami, as soon as stores and provisions could be procured to justify an advance, were such, in my opinion, as evinced a correct knowledge of the country and character of the enemy, and great mili- tary talents on the part of general Harrison."
After the termination of the campaign, the efforts of general Harrison were directed to the fortifying of the position at the foot of the Rapids — to the arrangement of the remaining troops, and the accumulation of provisions at Camp Meigs, for the next campaign. It was neces- sary, however, to wait until the rise of the Auglaize and St, Mary's, for water conveyance, but some progress was made from Sandusky on the ice of the lake. Troops were posted on the Auglaize and St. Mary's — on Hull's road, at Upper and Lower Sandusky ; but the principal force was concentrated at Camp Meio-s, the fortification of which was entrusted to captain Wood, of the engi- neers. This was the best position for the protection of the frontiers, and its maintenance was indispensable as a depot for the artillery, military stores, and provisions, which could not now be removed. In the latter part of February, general Harrison prepared an expedition, under captain Langham, for the purpose of proceeding upon the ice of the lake, to destroy the enemy's ves» sels at Maiden. The detachment reached Bass island, where, unfortunately, it was ascertained that the lako next to the Canada shore, was entirely open ; the detach" ment consequently returned.
" In the month of February, a change had been made in the war department, general John Armstrong having been appointed to the important office of secretary of that department. This secretary having received the letter of general Harrison of the 11th of February, an- nouncing the suspension of offensive operations, in his reply of the 5th of March, declares his conviction of the necessity of that course, and proceeds in that and subse- quent letters to mark out the course which was intended to be pursued for the following campaign. The opinions heretofore given by general Harrison in relation to the
GENERAL HARRISON. 09
mode of conducting the war against Upper Canada, were adopted. Captain Perry, of the navy, was already at Presque Isle, preparing the timber for the construction of those vessels with which he afterwards obtained such imperishable renown. In the letter of the secretary above referred to, general Harrison was informed that the fleet would be ready for service by the middle of May. The land forces, which were to form his com- mand, were also designated ; they were to consist of the 17th and 19th regiments, of which at that time but a small part had been raised ; the 24th regiment, which was then on its march from Tennessee to join the north- western army, and three regiments of twelve month's men to be raised in Kentucky and Ohio. The post of Cleveland was fixed on as the proper place for building the beats which were intended to convey the troops to the opposite shore of Canada. It was the opinion of the secretary that the recruits which would be engag- ed for the new regiments could serve to protect the posts until offensive operations should commence. The em- ployment of militia was not to be resorted to but after it was ascertained that the regular troops could not be pro- cured. It will be observed, that the plan of the ensu- ing campaign was precisely the one which had been re- commended by general Harrison in the letters heretofore quoted in this work. But the arrangements for the in- termediate time were not at all suited to his wishes. Re- ferring to the list of forces to be raised, the History of the War says : With these nominal forces was the gen- eral required to maintain the north-western posts, with the provisions and military stores now accumulated in them ; and to protect the frontiers against the Indians, and make demonstrations against Maiden. Fortunately, general Harrison, before he received these instructions, had called for reinforcements of militia from both Ken- tucky and Ohio ; but the whole number expected, would not be sufficient to garrison the different posts completely. " In answer to these instructions, the general remon- strated against abandoning the use of the militia, and leaving the frontiers in such a defenceless situation. He represented the numerous Indian tribes, residing contig**
70 SKETCHES OF
nous to our out posts, who were either hostile, or would soon become so, when not overawed by an American army. As soon as the lake became navigable, the ene- my from Maiden could also make a descent with the ut- most facility on Fort Meigs, the important deposit of the artillery and military stores, from which they could not be removed through the swamps, and to which it was necessary to carry on the high waters in the spring, the immense supplies deposited on the Auglaize and St. Mary's. The works at the Rapids had been constructed for a force of two thousand men ; for the general had thought it necessary to maintain a force at that place, which would be able to contend in the field with all the disposable force of the enemy, in order to prevent him from getting into its rear, and destroying the weaker posts which more immediately protected the frontiers. The government, was assured, that the regular force on which they relied, could not be raised in time, even for the inten- ded expedition ; and that as large supplies were not prepared at points where they could be transported by water, the surest plan would be to march a large militia force, which not being delayed and dispirited for the want of supplies, would behave well, and effectually accom- plish the objects of the campaign. The probability that the force on which the government relied, would be too small to effect its object, was represented as a great ob- stacle in the way of the recruiting service, which at best was found to be very tedious.
" In the following extract from a letter of general Har- rison to governor Shelby, the general expressed himself more explicitly on this subject. ' My sentiments upon the subject of the force necessary for the prosecution of the war, *re precisely similar to yours. It will increase your surprise and regret, when I inform you that last night's mail brought me a letter from the secretary of war, in which I am restricted to the employment of the regular troops raised in this state to reinforce the post at the Rapids. There are scattered through this state, about one hundred and forty recruits of the 19th regiment, and with these I am to supply the place of the twro brigades from Pennsylvania and Virginia, whose term of service
GENERAL HARRISON. 71
will now be daily expiring. By a letter from governor Meigs, I am informed, that the secretary of war disap- proved the call fur militia, which 1 had made on this state and Kentucky, and was on the point of countermanding the orders. I will just mention one fact, which will show the consequences of such a countermand. There are upon the Auglaize and St. Mary's rivers eight forts, which contain within their walls property to the amount of half a million of dollars from actual cost, and worth now to the United States four times that sum. The whole force which would have charge of all these forts and property, would have amounted to less than twenty invalid soldiers.' "*
Colonels McArthur and Cass were appointed briga- dier generals to command the troops destined to form the north-western army, and governor Howard was appoint- ed a brigadier to be assigned to the command of the In- diana, Illinois, and Missouri territories. The expedition under captain Langham having satisfied general Harri- son that the enemy would not attack Fort Meigs until the opening of the lake, in the spring, he placed general Leftwich, of the Virginia brigade, in command of Fort Meigs, and proceeded to the interior to promote the re- cruiting service, to visit his family, then suffering under severe disease, and to hasten the movements of the mili- tia from Kentucky, detached to supply the place of the Virginia and Pennsylvania troops, whose period of ser- vice was about t© expire. As he had anticipated, he re- ceived intelligence on the 30th of March, that the lake would soon be open — at the same time he learned that the militia would leave at the expiration of their service, and that the enemy had captured two of our men near the fort. He sent expresses to urge on the militia from Ken- tucky. Major Johnson, with three companies of the Ken- tucky militia, having arrived, they were mounted on pack- horses, and proceeded with all possible expedition. The squadron of colonel Ball was, also, ordered to repair to Fort Meigs, where the men could act as infantry. The general hastened to Fort Amanda, on the Auglaize, and
* Dawson and M'Affee.
?2 SKETCHES OF
being" joined at that place by colonel Miller with the regulars from Chillicothe, embarked with them and one hundred and fifty Ohio militia, under colonel Mills. In the event of the fort being besieged, it was his intention to attack the British batteries in the same way in which he afterwards directed it to be done by colonel Dudley. The general was received in the fort with great joy on the 12th of April, and found that the Virginia general and troops had o-one, but that two hundred and thirty of the Pennsylvania line had volunteered to remain until the ar- rival of the expected reinforcements. As soon as major Ball and major Johnson arrived, the Pennsylvania troops were honorably discharged. After the departure of gen- erals Leftwich and Crooks, the command had devolved on major Stoddard, of the United States artillery, whose force consisted of the remaining Pennsylvanians, a bat- talion of twelve month's volunteers under major Alexan- der, a company of artillerists, and small fragments of the 17th and 19th regiments of infantry, amounting in all to five hundred men.
Early in April intelligence had been received at the fort, of the designs of the enemy. General Proctor was embodying the Canadian militia, and Tecum the had join- ed him with six hundred warriors from the Wabash. As soon as the enemy was discovered approaching in force, on the 28ih of April, general Harrison dispatched captain William Oliver, the field commissary of the army, to communicate with general Clay, commanding the Ken- tucky reinforcements, who were presumed to be ap- proaching by the Auglaize. This duty required the agent to possess an intimate knowledge of the country, and an intrepidity and firmness peculiar to Indian warfare. These qualities were conspicuous in captain Oliver, and the selection was creditable to the discernment of gene- ral Harrison.
Captain Oliver was accompanied by one Indian and one while man, and performed the duty assigned to him with signal success. He found general Clay at Fort Winchester, to whom he communicated the fact of the investment of Fort Meigs, and the urgent importance of forwarding the reinforcement with all practical dispatch*
GENERAL HARRISON. 78
As soon as captain Oliver had left the fort, it was in- vested by the enemy. On the next morning-, the general issued a general order, from which the following is an extract:
" Can the citizens of a free country, who have takea arms to defend its rights, think of submitting to an army composed of mercenary soldiers, reluctant Canadians goaded to the field by the bayonet, and of wretched, na- ked savages'? Can the breast of an American soldier, when he casts his eyes to the opposite shore, the scene of his country's triumphs over the same foe, be influ- enced by any other feelings than the hope of glory ? Is not this army composed of the same materials with that which fought and conquered under the immortal Wayne* Yes, fellow-soldiers, your general sees your countenan- ces beam with the same fire, that he witnessed on that glorious occasion; and although it would be the height of presumption to compare himself to that hero, he boasts of being that hero's pupil. To your posts then, fellow- citizens, and remember that the eyes of your country are upon you."*
The enemy erected their batteries on the north-weftt Bide of the river, and encamped with their main body at Old Fort Miami, two miles below. The Indians were thrown across the river and invested the fort on that side. The erection of the necessary defences in Fort Meigs, was confided to captain Wood, of the engineers : captain Gratiot of that corps being too unwell for constant duty. Whilst the British were preparing their batteries, the In- dians annoyed the garrison by climbing the trees, several hundred yards distant from the fort, and were enabled to do some mischief. Speaking on this subject, captain, afterwards colonel, Wood, humorously observes: " their ethereal annoyance, however, proved a great stimulus to the militia; for although they did their duty writh alac- rity and promptitude, yet their motions were much accel- erated by it — and let who will make the experiment, it will be invariably found, that the movements of militia will be quickened by a brisk fire of musketry about their
* M'Aflee, 259. 4 G
74 SKETCHES OF
ears."* Colonel Wood adds : " on the morning of the 1st of May, it was discovered that the British batteries were completed ; and about ten o'clock they appeared to be loading, and adjusting their guns on certain objects in the camp. By this time our troops had completed a grand traverse, about twelve feet high, upon a base of twenty feet, three hundred yards long, on the most ele- vated ground through the middle of the camp, calculated to ward off the shot of the enemy's batteries. Orders were given for all the tents in front to be instantly re- moved into its rear, which was effected in a few minutes, and that beautiful prospect of cannonading and bom- barding our lines, which but a moment before had exci- te|d the skill and energy of the British engineer, was now entirely fled, and in its place nothing was to be seen but ar|» immense shield of earth, which entirely obscured the whole army. Not a tent nor a single person was to be s^en. Those canvass houses, which had concealed the growth of the traverse from the view of the enemy, were now protected and hid in their turn. The prospect of smoking us out, wTas now at best- but very faint. But as neither general Proctor nor his officers were yet convin- ced of the folly and futility of their laborious prepara- tions, their batteries were opened, and five days were spent in arduous cannonading and bombarding to bring them to this salutary conviction. A tremendous cannon- ade was kept up all the rest of the day, and shells were thrown till eleven o'clock at night. Very little damage, however, was done in the camp; one or two were killed and three or four wonnded — among the latter was major Amos Stoddard of the 1st regiment of artillery — a revo- lutionary character, and an officer of much merit. He was wounded slightly with a piece of shell, and about ten days afterwards died with the lock-jaw.
" The fire of the enemy was returned from the fort with our eighteen pounders with some effect, thouoh but spa-, ringly — for the stock of eighteen pound shot was hut small, there being but three hundred and sixty of that size in the fort when the siege commenced, and about
* M'Affee, 261.
GENERAL HARRISON. 75
the same number for the twelve pounders. A proper supply of this article had not been sent with the artillery from Pittsburgh. The battery of the enemy supplied us with twelve pound shot ; but they had no eighteens, all their large guns being twenty-fours. On the second day they opened their fire again with great fury, and contin- ued it all day, but without any better effect. With a plenty of ammunition, we should have been able to have blown John Bull almost from the Miami. It was ex- tremely diverting to see with what pleasure and delight the Indians would yell, whenever in their opinion con- siderable damage was done in the camp by the burst- ing of a shell. Their hanging about the camp, and oc- casionally coming pretty near, kept our lines almost constantly in a blaze of fire ; for nothing can please a Kentuckian better than to get a shot at an Indian — and he must be indulged."*
The enemy had transferred some of his guns to the south side of the river, and opened batteries upon the right flank of the camp. Every journal which was kept of the events in that memorable siege, speaks of the en- ergy, skill, and coolness which marked the conduct of the commanding general. The first cannon ball fired by the enemy, struck the general's tent. Captain McCul- lough, of the Ohio troops, was killed whilst, conversing "with him, and upon another occasion, he was struck on the hip by a spent ball, which is always known to pro- duce the greatest pain. Measures were taken to prevent a surprise, and specific instructions given to the com- manding officers to meet that contingency. General Har- rison awaited with the most anxious solicitude to receive intelligence of the approach of general Clay, with a re- inforcement of twelve hundred men. Late on the night of the 4th, captain Oliver and major D. Trimble, with a few men, arrived in a skiff, having left general Clay above the Rapids, who had instructed them to inform the gen- eral that he would arrive by 4 o'clock in the morning. The arrival of this strong reinforcement was embraced by general Harrison, as the occasion for carrying into ef-
* M'Affee, 263.
76 SKETCHES OF
feet the sorties previously planned, and which have Ten- dered the defence of Fort Meigs so memorable in the history of the war.
Captain Hamilton, of the Ohio militia, was immedi- ately dispatched to general Clay, to direct him to detach eight hundred men on the left bank of the river, about a mile above the fort. This detachment, with Hamilton as its guide, was then to be marched "to the British bat- teries, carry them, spike the cannon, cut down the car- riages, and then return to their boats and cross over to the fort." The residue of the brigade was to be landed on the right bank of the river, and conducted by the sub- altern, who went with Hamilton to the fort. It was the design of the general to cause sorties to be made against the enemy on the south-east side of the river, simultane- ously with that by the detachment from general Clay, under colonel Dudley, on the opposite shore. For this purpose, a detachment was prepared and placed under the direction of colonel Miller, of the 19th United States infantry, to consist of two hundred and fifty of the 17th and 19th regiments, one hundred twelve month's volun- teers, and captain Sebree's company of Kentucky militia. These troops were drawn up in a ravine, under the east curtain of the fort, out of reach of. the enemy's fire, to await further orders. In the meantime, general Clay had been detained by the difficulty of passing the Rapids in the night. Captain Hamilton reached him at eight o'clock, and colonel Dudley was detached with eight hundred men to attack the batteries on the north side of the river. General Clay, with Boswell's regiment, suc- ceeded, after some skirmishing with the Indians, in ef- fecting his entrance into the fort. These troops, with Nearing's company of regulars, and the battalion of vol- unteers under major Alexander, were employed immedi- ately in driving off a large body of Indians, who had ap- proached within one hundred and fifty yards of the fort. This duty was executed with gallantry, under the imme- diate eye and direction of the commanding general, who, from his position, discovered a body of British troops passing from the batteries to the east of the fort, to tho aid of their allies, thus exposing the rear of the detach-
GENERAL HARRISON. 77
ment. An order for immediate retreat was sent by his aid, John J. Johnson, but his horse being killed under him before its delivery, the intelligence was conveyed by another aid, major Graham.
Just as this affair terminated, the troops in the fort were cheered by the shouts of the Kentuckians in charg- ing the batteries on the opposite shore. At this point every plan was successfully carried into effect, and no- thing prevented the detachments from returning under the bank to their boats and crossing over to the fort, but that the men unfortunately suffered themselves to be drawn into the woods by the fire of scattering Indians, until a reinforcement of British troops from the old fort, gained their rear, and killed or captured nearly all of them. About fifty were slain, five hundred and fifty captured, and one hundred and fifty escaped to their boats, and crossed in safety to the fort. After the fall of colonel Dudley, the command devolved on major Shelby. As soon as it was seen that the attack by Dudley had indu- ced the enemy to send reinforcements from the east side, the general directed the detachment under colonel Mil- ler, to advance from the ravine. The British batteries at this point were protected by a company of British grenadiers ; another of light infantry, two hundred strong ; these were flanked by two hundred Canadian militia, and by one thousand Indians under Tecuinthe. The detach- ment advanced with loaded but trailed arms, and in a few moments the batteries, two officers and fifty regular troops were taken ; and when we regard the disparity of force, the advantageous position of the enemy, and the dreadful execution in so few minutes, it is but justice to this gallant corps, to speak of it as having acquired equal honor with that of any other detachment during the war. In the progress of the severe battle fought by this de- tachment, captain Sebree's company sustained them- selves against four times their number, until relieved by the gallantry of a company of regulars, under lieutenant Gwynne.* The return of this detachment to the fort, terminated the battles of the day, and immediately gene-
* Major David Gwynne. G2
78 SKETCHES OF
ral Proctor sent major Chambers with a flag of truce, and upon his introduction to general Harrison, the fol- lowing conversation took place:
" Major Chambers. — General Proctor has directed me to demand the surrender of this post. He wishes to spare the effusion of blood.
" General Harrison, — The demand, under present cir- cumstances, is a most extraordinary one. As general Proctor did not send me a summons to surrender on his first arrival, I had supposed that he believed me deter- mined to do my duty. His present message indicates in opinion of me that I am at a loss to account for.
" Major Chambers, — General Proctor could never think )f saying any thing to wound your feelings, sir. The character of general Harrison, as an officer, is well known. General Proctor's force is very respectable, and there is with him a larger body of Indians than has ever before been embodied.
" General Harrison, — I believe I have a very correct idea of general Proctor's force : it is not such as to cre- ate the least apprehension for the result of the contest, whatever shape he may be pleased hereafter to give to it. Assure the general, however, that he will never have this post surrendered to him upon any terms. Should it fall into his hands, it will be in a manner calculated to do him more honor, and to give him larger claims upon the gratitude of his government, than any capitulation could possibly do."
The total amount of our killed and wounded on th® south-east side was two hundred and seventy, of whom eighty-one were killed — sixty-four of these being slain in the sorties, and one hundred and twenty-four wounded; the remainder, eighty-one, killed and wounded within the fortified camp.
"In the general order which was published on the 9thf the commander mentions with the highest approbation the conduct of the troops in general, and gives them his thanks, as he does the following officers by name, viz: Wood and Gratiot, of the engineers; captains Cushing and Hall, of the artillery; colonel Miller and major Todd, of the 19th infantry; major Ball, of the United States
GENERAL HARRISON. 79
dragoons;* colonel Mills, and majors Lodwick and Rit- zer, of the Ohio militia; major Johnson of the Kentucky- militia; captains Croghan, Bradford, Langham, Elliott, and Nearing; lieutenants Campbell, Gwynne, Kercheval, Lee, and Rees ; ensigns Ship, Hawkins, Harrison, Mit- piel, and Stockton, of the United States infantry; to jrioadier general Clay, colonel Boswell, and major Fletcher, and the captains Dudley, Simmons, and Met- calf, of Clay's brigade. Adjutant Brown, Mr. Peters, conductor of artillery, and to serjeants Timberlake, Hen- lerson, James, and Meld rum, and Mr. Lion, principal irtificer; to the Petersburgh and Pittsburgh volunteers, captain Sebree and his company of Kentucky militia; also to major Hukill, acting inspector general ; lieutenant O'Fallon, acting deputy adjutant general, and to his aids- de-camp, major Graham and John J. Johnson, Esq.
" Upon the subject of colonel Dudley's misfortune, the author of the History of the War in the West, thus ex- presses himself: " the defeat of colonel Dudley very na- turally became the subject of much speculation in Ken- tucky; and a considerable diversity of opinion existed, respecting the causes of the disaster and the actors con- cerned in it. The subject, however, appears very plain. Those who were in the defeat, commonly attributed it, very justly, to their own imprudence and zeal, which were not properly controlled, and directed by the orders and example of their leader. There was nothing diffi- cult or hazardous in the enterprise — the whole misfor- tune resulted from the imprudent manner of its execu- tion. The batteries were easily taken, and the retreat was perfectly secure ; but the detachment wanted a head to direct and restrain its Kentucky impetuosity to its proper object."
The following judicious observations are made in
* By inadvertence, a very gallant portion of Ball's squadron was not noticed in this general order. It should have included captain Garrard, lieutenants Badey, Hickman, and McClana- han, and cornet Thornton, commanding a troop of twelve month's volunteers, from Bourbon county, Kentucky. This corps merited and received, on other occasions, the thanks of the commanding general.
80 SKETCHES OF
M'Affee's History : " it was fortunate for the American cause, that the enterprise of general Proctor against Fort Meigs was delayed so long-. Had he been ready to sail as soon as the lake became navigable, and so timed his movements as to arrive at the fort during the first week in April, immediately after the last militia of the winter campaign were discharged, and before general Harrison arrived with reinforcements, he must have succeeded) against that post. The garrison was then left very j weak, being considerably less than five hundred effec- tives. The works, too, were then very incomplete, and entirely too large for that number, as the fortified camp included seven or eight acres of ground. The place was still with propriety denominated camp Meigs, more fre- quently than it was styled a fort. Its capture wTould have been a most serious loss, as it contained nearly all the artillery and military stores of the north-western army, beside a large amount of provisions. General Harrison repeatedly in the winter, pressed on the atten- tion of the government, the necessity of preparing a force to take the place of the miiitia then in service; but in- stead of doing this, we have seen that the new secretary, at the critical moment when the last of those troops w?ere disbanded, restricted general Harrison to the use of reg- ulars, which were still to be levied in a country, where it is almost impossible to raise a regiment of regulars through the whole year. Without the aid of the Ohio and Kentucky militia, which the general called into ser- vice without the authority, and contrary to the views of the war department, it is highly probable that the impor- tant post at the Rapids would have been lost."
In the message of the president of the United States, to congress, at their subsequent session, he says, " the issue of the late siege at Fort Meigs, leaves us nothing to regret but a single act of inconsiderate valor."
GENERAL HARRISON. 81
CHAPTER VIII.
Council with friendly Indians. — Reported investment of Fort Meigs. — Second siege of Fort Meigs. — Attack on Fort Ste- phenson.— Croghan's letter. — Statement of the general, staff, and field officers, about the attack on Fort Stephenson. — Ohio Militia at Grand Camp. — Preparations for crossing the lake. — Perry's victory. — Army reaches Maiden. — Proctor pursued. — Council at Sandwich. — Shelby, Cass, and Perry's letters.
While at Franklinton, in June, general Harrison held a council with the chiefs of the friendly Indians, of the Delaware, Shawanese, Wyandot, and Seneca tribes, in which he stated to them that the time had arrived for all those who were willing to engage in the war, "to take a decided stand for or against the United States," — that the 'president wished no false friends — that the proposal of Proctor to exchange the Kentucky militia for the tribes in our friendship, indicated that he had received some hint of their willingness to take up the tomahawk against us ; and that to give the United States a proof of their good disposition, they must remove with their families into the interior, or the warriors must ac* company him in the ensuing campaign, and fight for the United States. To the latter condition the chiefs and warriors unanimously agreed ; and said they had long been anxious for an invitation to fight for the Amer- icans. Tarhe, the oldest Indian in the western country, who represented all the tribes, professed in their name the most indissoluble friendship for the United States. General Harrison then told them he would let them knowr when they would be wanted in the service; "but you must conform to our mode of warfare. You are not to kill defenceless prisoners, old men, women or children." He added, that by their conduct he would be able to tell, whether the British could restrain the Indians from such horrible cruelty. For if the Indians fighting with him, would forbear such conduct, it would prove, that the 4 *
82 SKETCHES OP
British could also restrain theirs if they wished to do it. He humorously told them he had been informed that general Proctor had promised to deliver him into the hands of Tecumthe, if he succeeded against Fcrt Meigs, to be treated as that warrior might think proper.* — " Now if I can succeed in taking Proctor, you shall have him for your prisoner, provided you will agree to treat him as a squaw, and only put petticoats upon him ; for he must be a coward wiio would kill a defenceless pris- oner." |
In the month of June, while at Franklinton, general Harrison was informed that Fort Meigs was again invest- ed. Although he doubted the intention of the enemy to attack that place, at this time, he promptly started a re- inforcement to its relief, and on the 28th reached there in person. It proved to be a false alarm, and the general returned to Lower Sandusky, on the 1st of July, and on the following day, set off for Cleveland, on business con- nected with the public stores, and the building of boats for transporting the army across the lake. On the 23rd, a body of eight hundred Indians were seen to pass Fort Meigs, for the purpose, it was supposed, of attacking Fort Winchester. Two days afterwards, the British and Indians appeared in great numbers, before Fort Meigs, then commanded by general Clay. In the meantime, captain Oliver, accompanied by captain McCune, was sent to apprise the commander-in-chief of the fact ; and reached him at Lower Sandusky, with certain informa-
* We find the following note in Dawson, on this subject : — < <l There is no doubt that when Proctor made the arrangement for the attack on Fort Meigs with Tecumthe, the latter insisted, and the former agreed, that general Harrison, and all who fought at Tippecanoe, should be given up to the Indians to be burned. Major Ball of the dragoons ascertained this fact from the priso- ners, deserters, and Indians, all of whom agreed to its truth."
On the supposition that this statement be true, it proves that Tecumthe meditated the violation of the agreement he made with general Harrison, at Vincennes, in 1810, that in the event of a war, prisoners, and women and children, should be pro- tected. On no other occasion is he known to have departed from the spirit of his engagement. f M'Afee.
GENERAL HARRISON. 83
tion that the united force of the enemy, principally In- dians, was not less than five thousand — a greater number than had ever before assembled on any occasion during the war. General Harrison, with remarkable accuracy of judgment, as the result proved, came to the conclu- sion, that this investment of Fort Meigs was a feint, made by the enemy, to call his attention to that place, while Lower Sandusky or Cleveland, was really the point on which the next attack would be made. He im- mediately removed his head quarters to Seneca, nine miles above Lower Sandusky. From this place he could fall back and protect Upper Sandusky, or pass by a se- cret route, to the relief of Fort Meigs — two points to be defended, — Lower Sandusky being comparatively of lit- tle importance. Major Croghan was left at Lower San- dusky, with one hundred and sixty regulars, for the de- fence of Fort Stephenson. There were about six hun- dred troops at Seneca — a force too small to advance upon Fort Meigs. Captain McCune was sent back to general Clay, with the information, that as early as the comman- der-in-chief could collect a sufficient number of troops, he would relieve the fort. The day after the return of the express, the enemy raised the siege. As had been anticipated by general Harrison, the British sailed round into Sandusky bay, while the Indians marched across the swamps of Portage river, to aid in the projected attack on Lower Sandusky.
As early as the 21st of April, of this year, general Harrison, in a letter to the secretary of war, in speaking of the ulterior operations of the campaign, remarked : "I shall cause the movements of the enemy to be narrowly ■watched; but in the event of their landing at Lower Sandusky, that post cannot be saved. I will direct it in such an event, to be evacuated. The stores there are not of much consequence, excepting about five hundred stand of arms, which I will cause to be removed as soon as the roads are practicable, — at present it is impossible." These arms were subsequently removed. Just before the express from Fort Meigs reached general Harrison, 1m, in company with major Croghan and other officers, bad examined Fort Stephenson, and concluded that it
84 SKETCHES OF
could not be defended against heavy artillery ; and, if the British should approach it by water, — which would raise a presumption, that they had brought their heavy artil- lery— the fort must be abandoned and burnt, provided a retreat could be effected with safety. In the orders left with major Croghan, it was stated : " Should the British troops approach you in force with cannon, and you can discover them in time to effect a retreat, you will do so immediately, destroying all the public stores.* You must be aware, that the attempt to retreat in the face of an Indian force, would be vain. Against such an enemy your garrison would be safe, howTever great the number." On the 29th, general Harrison was informed that the siege of Fort Meigs had been abandoned. The scouts sent out by him, reported that from the indications, they believed an attack was meditated by the Indians, then lying in numbers on the south side of Fort Meigs, upon Upper Sandusky. Upon this information, a council of war was called, composed of McArthur, Cass, Ball, Paul, "Wood, Hukill, Holmes and Graham, who were unani- mously of opinion, that as Fort Stephenson was untena- ble against heavy artillery, and as it was relatively an unimportant post, that the garrison should not be rein- forced, but withdrawn, and the place destroyed. The following order was forthwith sent to major Croghan :— "Sir: Immediately on receiving this letter, you will abandon Fort Stephenson, set fire to it, and repair with your command this night to head quarters. Cross the river, an.d come up on the other side. If you should find or deem it impracticable to make good your march to this place, take the road to Huron, and pursue it with the ut- most circumspection and dispatch." The bearer of this dispatch losing his way, it did not reach major Croghan until eleven o'clock of the next day. The major was then of opinion that he could not retreat with safety, as the Indians were around the fort, in considerable num- bers. A majority of his officers concurred in the opinion that to retreat was unsafe, and that the post could be
* The amount of stores at this place was inconsiderable; every thing valuable had been previously removed.
GENERAL HARRISON. 85
maintained until at least further instructions were receiv- ed from head quarters. The major, therefore, promptly returned the following answer: "Sir: I have just re- ceived yours of yesterday, ten o'clock, P. M., ordering me to destroy this place, and make good my retreat, which was received too late to be carried into execution. We have determined to maintain this place, and, by heavens, we can." The strong language of this note was used on the supposition that it might fall into the hands of the enemy. It reached the general on the same day, who, not fully understanding the motives under which it was written, sent colonel Wells next morning, escorted by colonel Ball, and a detachment of dragoons, with the following order :
July 30th, 1813.
"Sir: — The general has just received your letter of this date, informing him that you had thought proper to disobey the order issued from this office, and delivered to you this morning. It appears that the information which dictated the order was incorrect; and as you did not receive it in the night, as was expected, it might have been proper that you should have reported the circum- stance and your situation, before you proceeded to its ex- ecution. This might have been passed over; but I am directed to say to yrni, that an officer who presumes to aver, that he has made his resolution, and that he will act in direct opposition to the orders of his general, can no longer be entrusted with a separate command. Colonel Wells is sent to relieve you. You will deliver the command to him, and repair with colonel Ball's squadron to this place. By command, &c.
"A. H. Holmes, Jlss't. Adjutant General."
In passing down, the dragoons met with a party of fourteen Indians, and killed twelve of them. When major Croghan reached head quarters, he explained to the general his motives in writing the note, which were deemed satisfactory. In the meantime, the scouts had reported to general Harrison that the Indians had not gone in the direction of Upper Sandusky. Upon receiv-
H
86 SKETCHES OF
ing this information, major Croghan was directed to re- sume his post, with written instructions of the same import as had been previously given.
On the evening of the 31st of July, some scouts sent out by general Harrison, discovered the British within twenty miles of Fort Stephenson, approaching the placo by water. It was after twelve o'clock, however, on the next day, August 1st, before these scouts, in returning to Seneca, by Lower Sandusky, communicatad this in- formation to major Croghan, and in a few hours after- wards the fort was actually invested by the British and Indians. A flag was now sent from the enemy demand- ing a surrender. The messenger was informed that the commandant and garrison were determined to defend it to the last extremity. The attack was promptly com- menced, and gallantly sustained. The result was glo- rious to the American arms, and covered the gallant Cro- ghan and his officers and men, with honor. Only one man was killed, and but seven wounded, belonging to the garrison. The loss of the enemy was not less than one hundred and fifty in killed and wounded.
General Harrison, when informed of the attack on Fort Stephenson, paused before moving to its relief. He was hourly expecting considerable reinforcements from the interior, but had not with him at Seneca, a disposable force of more than eight hundred men, the fifth of whom were cavalry, who, in the thick woods extending the greater part of the way, between that place and Lower Sandusky, would have been of little use. The remain- der of these eight hundred men were raw recruits. To have marched upon an enemy, several thousand strong, with such a force, would, in all human probability, have resulted in its total destruction. Again, in moving to Fort Stephenson, he must necessarily leave the camp at Seneca with one hundred and fifty sick soldiers in it, ex- posed to the Indian tomahawk; while Upper Sandusky, at which were ten thousand barrels of flour, besides other supplies of public stores, indispensable for the main ob- jects of the compaian, was equally liable to be attacked and destroyed by Tecumthe, who, with two thousand
GENERAL HARRISON. 87
warriors, was then lying in the swamp, between that point and Fort Meigs, ready to strike upon either Seneca or Upper Sandusky, in the event of general Harrison's moving to Fort Stephenson. Under these circumstances, he was bound by every military principle, to retain that position in which he could, with the most certainty, ac- complish the best results. He therefore determined to wait, for a time, at least, the progress of events, hoping that reinforcements would arrive before the fort could be reduced. On the night of the 2nd, he was informed that the enemy was retreating, and early next morning, having in the night been reinforced by three hundred Ohio mi- litia, he set out for the fort attended by the dragoons, and directing the remainder of the disposable force to follow under generals Cass and McArthur. Upon reaching the fort, the general was told by a wounded sergeant of the British troops, that Tecumthe was in the swamp, south of Fort Meigs, ready to strike at Upper Sandusky, on the first opportunity. This information, corroborative of what he had before heard, induced the commander-in- chief to direct general McArthur, who had not yet reach ed the fort, to return to Seneca with all possible dispatch.
In his official report of this affair, general Harrison said : " Jt will not be among the least of general Proc- tor's mortifications to find that he has been baffled by a youth, who has just passed his twenty-first year. He is, however, a hero worthy of his gallant uncle, George R. Clark." The president immediately conferred the brevet rank of lieutenant-colonel, on major Croghan.
Shortly afterwards an attack was made in some public prints upon the conduct of general Harrison, in regard to the defence of Fort Stephenson. Major Croghan promptly replied to it, by forwarding to a newspaper in Cincinnati, a communication, under date of Lower San- dusky, August 27th, 1812, in which he gives the reason already stated, for disobeying general Harrison's order to destroy the fort, and retreat to Seneca, and says :
44 1 have with much regret seen in some of the public prints, such misrepresentations respecting my refusal to evacuate this post, as are calculated not only to injure me in the estimation of military men, but also to excite
88 SKETCHES OF
unfavorable impressions as to the propriety of general Harrison's conduct relative to this affair.
44 His character as a military man is too well establish- ed to need my approbation or support. But his public services entitle him at least to common justice. This af- fair does not furnish cause of reproach. If public opin- ion has been lately misled respecting his late conduct, it will require but a moment's cool, dispassionate reflec- tion, to convince them of its propriety. The measures recently adopted by him, so far from deserving censure, are the clearest proofs of his keen penetration, and able generalship."
The letter concludes with the following paragraphs, alike honorable to the soldier and the gentleman :
44 It would be insincere to say that I am not flattered by the many handsome things which have been said about the defence which was made by the troops under my command ; but I desire no plaudits which are bestow- ed upon me, at the expense of general Harrison.
44 1 have at all times enjoyed his confidence so far as my rank in the army entitled me to it. And on proper occasions received his marked attention. I have felt the warmest attachment for him as a man, and my confidence in him as an able commander remains unshaken. I feel every assurance that he will at all times do me ample justice; and nothing could give me more pain than to see his enemies seize upon this occasion to deal out their unfriendly feelings and acrimonious dislike— and as long as he continues (as in my humble opinion he has hith- erto done) to make the wisest arrangements and most ju- dicious disposition, which the forces under his command will justify, I shall not hesitate to unite with the army in bestowing upon him that confidence which he so richly merits, and which has on no occasion been withheld."
About the same time, the following article was pub- lished in one of the public prints of Cincinnati :
44 Lower Seneca Town, August 29th, 1813. 44 The undersigned, being the general, field, and staff, officers, with that portion of the north-western army under the immediate command of general Harrison, have
GENERAL HARRISON. 89
observed with regret and surprise, that charges, as improper in the form, as in the substance, have been made against the conduct of general Harrison during the recent investment of Lower Sandusky. At another time, and under ordinary circumstances, we should deem it improper and unmilitary thus publicly to give any opinion respecting the movements of the army. But public confidence in the commanding general is essen- tial to the success of the campaign, and causelessly to withdraw or to withhold that confidence, is more than individu&J injustice; it becomes a serious injury to the service. A part of the force, of which the American army consists, will derive its greatest strength and efficacy from a confidence in the commanding general, and from those moral causes which accompany and give energy to public opinion. A very erroneous idea re- specting the number of the troops then at the disposal of the general, has doubtless been the primary cause of those unfortunate and unfounded impressions. A sense of duty forbids us from giving a detailed view of our strength at that time. In that respect, we have for- tunately experienced a very favorable change. But we refer the public to the general's official report to the secretary of war, of major Croghan's successful defence of LowTer Sandusky. In that will be found a statement of our whole disposable force; and he who believes that with such a force, and under the circumstances which then occurred, general Harrison ought to have advanced upon the enemy, must be left to correct his opinion in the school of experience.
" On a review of the course then adopted, we are decidedly of the opinion, that it was such as was dic« tated by military wisdom, and by a due regard to our own circumstances and to the situation of the enemy. The reasons for this opinion it is evidently improper now to give, but we hold ourselves ready at a future period, and when other circumstances shall have inter- vened, to satisfy every man of its correctness who is anxious to investigate and willing to receive the truth. And with a ready acquiescence, beyond the mere claims of military duty, we are prepared to obey a general, h2
90 SKETCHES OP
whose measures meet our most deliberate approbation, and merit that of his country.
Lewis Cass, Brig. Gen. U. S. A.
Samuel Wells, Col. 17 R. U. S. I.
Thos. D. Owings, Col. 28 R. U. S. I.
George Paul, Col. 17 R. U, S. I.
J. C. Bartlett, Col. Q. M. G.
James V. Ball, Lieut. Col.
Robert Morrison, Lieut. Col.
George Todd, Maj. 19 R. U. S. I.
William Trigg, Maj. 28 R. U. S. I.
James Smiley, Maj. 28 R. U. S. I.
Rd. Graham, Maj. 17 R. U. S. I.
Geo. Croghan, Maj. 17 R. U. S. I.
L. Hukill, Maj. & Ass. Insp. Gen.
E. D. Wood, Maj. Engineers."
These two documents, spontaneously given, and from the highest possible authority, must, with all honorable minds, relieve the commander-in-chief from the censure •which partizan illiberality, attempted to cast upon him, in this affair. It is plucking no leaf from the laurels which the gallantry of the youthful Croghan entwined around his brows, in the defence of Fort Stephenson, to claim for his commander, the credit of having acted, on this occasion, with prudence, fidelity, and profound mili- tary skill.
As soon as this invasion of the territory of Ohio was known, governor Meigs called upon the militia of the state to repel the enemy. The appeal was promptly and nobly responded to, but the abandonment of the siege of Fort Meigs, and the gallant defence of Fort Stephenson, rendered their services unnecessary. When the militia were disbanded, without an opportunity of meeting the foe, or being employed in the main expedition against Canada, there was much discontent among them. To allay this feeling, general Harrison met them at Upper Sandusky ; and, through the governor, made known the reasons for their being disbanded. These were, mainly, that to retain in ramp all the Ohio troops, then embo- died, was impossible, as the embarkation on the lake
GENERAL HARRISON. 91
could not be effected under fifteen or eighteen days, and so large a force, even for a short time, would consume the provisions provided for the support of the campaign. The delay in moving upon Canada arose from a cause which general Harrison could not then publicly explain, lest it should reach the enemy. Under the plan of the campaign, he was not to cross the lake until he had the full co-operation of commodore Perry's fleet. The pe- riod when this could be obtained was uncertain. Under such circumstances, the retention of so large a body of militia, in camp, would have defeated the plan of the campaign. At the same time, the commander-in-chief bore his testimony to the fact, that the exertions made by governor Meigs to assemble the militia, and the prompti- tude with which the call had been met, was truly astonish- ing, and reflected the highest credit on the state. Some of the disbanded- officers, however, met together, notwith- standing this explanation, and in a moment of popular discontent, passed resolutions to the effect, that they were greatly disappointed in not being kept in service, and that there was something mysterious in the conduct of general Harrison. The cool reflection of these offi- cers, and a subsequent knowledge of the whole plan of the campaign, have long since caused them to regret their course on this occasion; and, to admit with a frankness honorable to their character, that they had done great in- justice to the commander-in-chief.
Active preparations for the expedition against Upper Canada were now making. The call by general Harri- son, on the governor of Kentucky, for volunteers, was promptly responded to, by the venerable Snelby, who, in a patriotic appeal to the people of that state, appointed the 31st of August for the rendezvous of the troops at Newport. Public attention was now directed with great intenseness, to the rival fleets on lake Erie. About the 2nd of August, the vessels under commodore Perry were finally equipped. On the 5th, general Harrison visited the fleet, and furnished the commander with a company of soldiers, to act as marines, who were afterwards ac- knowledged to have performed a valuable service. Col- onel Johnson, with his mounted regiment, was recalled
92 SKETCHES OF
from Kentucky, to the frontiers. Every exertion was* made along the whole line from Cleveland to Fort Meigs* to hasten on the stores, while governor Shelby was stea- dily advancing with a strong body of mounted men towards the scene of action. In the midst of these ac- tive preparations, in which the energy of the commander- in-chief was everywhere perceptible, he received on the 12th of September, at Seneca, a note in which common dore Perry says : i
M We have met the enemy and they are ours — two ships, two brigs, one schooner, and a sloop."
This important and glorious news spread, with the rapidity of an electric shock, throughout the whole line of the army, and as it reached the various detachments, pressing on to the shore of the lake, it quickened their speed, and awakened a burning desire to achieve a victory equally brilliant over the enemy under Proctor* On the 20th, the embarkation commenced from the mouth of Portage river. On the 26th, the army reached the Middle Sister, — having touched at Put-in-bay, where a general order of debarkation, of march and of battle, was issued by the commander-in-chief, which, for lucid mi- nuteness and military acumen, has been pronounced by competent judges, to be unsurpassed in its kind. On the morning of the 27th, the final embarkation of the army commenced, in sixteen vessels and upwards of eighty boats. The sun shone in all his autumnal beauty, and a gentle breeze hastened onward the ships to that shore, on which it was anticipated the banner of our country would have to be planted, amid the thunder of British arms, and the yells of ferocious Indians. While moving over the bosom of the lake, — every eye en- chanted with the magnificence of the scene, and every heart panting for the coming opportunity of avenging their country's wrongs, — the beloved commander-in-chief caused the following address to be delivered to his army :
"The general entreats his brave troops to remember, that they are the sons of sires whose fame is immortal ; that they are to fight for the rights of their insulted cown- try, while their opponents combat for the unjust preten- sions of a master. Kentuckians ! remember the river
GENERAL HARRISON. 93
Raisin ; but remember it onhjy whilst victory is suspend- ed. The revenge of a soldier cannot be gratified upon a fallen enemy."
When this stirring appeal was read, on each ves- sel, and in each boat, the shouts of "Harrison and victory," rose, successively, from an army of freemen, and went booming over the rippling waters. The land- ing was effected at four o'clock, with a celerity and an order, as remarkable as the spectacle was beautiful and grand ; and, about sundown, the army entered Mai- den in triumph, heralded by the national air of M yankee doodle." The enemy had fled — the town was nearly de- serted, and the fort a pile of smouldering ruins On the 29th, the army reached Sandwich, in pursuit of the re- treating foe.
At this place, a council was held, on the question of a choice of routes, over which to pursue Proctor. The one up the Thames was finally selected. Personal ani- mosity towards the commander-in-chief, subsequently gave rise to the charge, that in this council, he was op- posed to the pursuit of the enemy, and was reluctantly forced into it, by the venerable hero of King's Mountain,—* who commanded, in person, the Kentucky troops on this memorable expedition. That the reader may see the fal- sity of this allegation, we here break the thread of our narrative, to introduce the following letters, which con- tain the most ample refutation of a charge as unfounded as it is malicious :
Frankfort, April 21, 1816.
"Dear General: — Your letter of the 15th instant has been duly received, in which you stated that a charge has been made against you, 4 that you were forced to pursue Proct'or from my remonstrances,' and that I had said to you upon that occasion, ' that it was immaterial what direction you took, that I was resolved to pursue the enemy up the Thames ;' and you request me to give you a statement of facts in relation to the council of war held at Sandwich.
44 1 will, in the first place, freely declare that no such language ever passed from me to you, and that I enter*
94 SKETCHES OF
tained throughout the campaign, too high an opinion of your military talents, to doubt for a moment your capacity to conduct the army to the best advantage. It is well recollected, that the army arrived at Sandwich in the afternoon of the 29th of September, and that the next day was extremely wet. ,1 was at your quarters in the evening of that day; we had a conversation relative to the pursuit of the enemy, and you requested me to see you early the next morning. I waited on you just after daybreak — found you up, apparently waiting for me ; you led me into a small private room, and on the way ob- served, ' We must not be heard.' You were as anxious to pursue Proctor as I was, but might not have been en- tirely satisfied as to the route. You observed that there were twro ways by which he might be overtaken: one was down the lake by water, to some post or point, of the name of which I am now not positive ; thence to march across by land twelve miles to the road leading up the Thames, and intercept him. The other way by land, up the strait, and up the Thames. I felt satisfied, by a pursuit on land, that he could be overhauled, and ex- pressed that opinion, with the reasons on which it was founded, and we readily agreed in sentiment; but you observed, as there were two routes by which 'he might be overtaken, to determine the one most proper was a measure of great responsibility, that you would take the opinion of the general officers as to the most practicable one, and you requested me to collect them in one hour at your quarters. I assembled them accordingly, to whom you stated your determination to pursue Proctor, and your object in calling them together; and after explain- ing the two routes by ^hich he might be overtaken, you observed, • that the governor thinks, and so do I, that the pursuit by land up the Thames, will be most effectual." The general officers were in favor of a pursuit by land ; and in the course of that day, colonel Johnson, with his mounted regiment, was able to cross over from the De- troit side to join in the chase. He might, however, have been ordered the day before, during the rain, to cross over with his regiment; but of this I have not a distinct ^collection. The army I know was on its march by
GENERAL HARRISON. 95
sunrise on the morning of the 2nd of OctobeT, and continued the pursuit (often in a run,) until the evening of the 5th, when the enemy was overtaken. During the whole of this long and arduous pursuit, no man could make greater exertions, or use more vigilance than you did to overtake Proctor, whilst the skill and promptitude with which you arranged the troops for battle, and the distinguished zeal and bravery you evinced during its continuance, merited and received my highest approba- tion.
" In short, sir, from the time I joined you to the mo- ment of our separation, I believe that no commander ever did or could make greater exertions than you did to effect the great objects of the campaign. I admired your plans, and thought them executed with great ener- gy ; particularly your order of battle, and arrangements for landing on the Canada shore, were calculated to in- spire every officer and man wdth a confidence that we could not be defeated by anything like our own number.^
" Until after I had served the campaign of 1813, 1 was not aware of the difficulties which you had to encounter as commander of the north-western army. I have since often said, and still do believe, that the duties assigned to you on that occasion, wTere more arduous and difficult to accomplish than any I had ever known confided to any commander ; and with respect to the zeal and fidel- ity with which you executed that high and important trust, there are thousands in Kentucky, as well as my- self, who believed it could not have been committed to better hands.
" With sentiments of the most sincere regard and esteem, I have the honor to be, with great respect, your obedient servant, ISAAC SHELBY.
" Major General William Henry Harrison"
Newport, August 18, 1817. " My Dear Sir : — I have received your letter of the 11th ult. in which you request me to reply to the fol- lowing questions, viz : first, * Whether the statements made by governor Shelby in his letter to you of the 21st of April, 1816, be substantially correct]' to which I re-
96 SKETCHES OF
ply in the affirmative. Secondly, ' Whether you did ever, either in the council held at Sandwich, or in pri- vate conversation with me, evince anything like an in- disposition to pursue the British army hy one of the two routes which were under consideration]'- — to which I answer in the negative. In a conversation which I held with you the morning prior to the assembling of the general council at Sandwich, you appeared particularly desirous of attempting to cut off the retreat of the Bri- tish army by the route from port Talbot. To your argu- ments in favor of this measure, I opposed our limited means of transportation, and the great difficulty and uncertainty of the lake navigation at this season of the year. These obstacles appeared to induce you to have recourse to the measure which was afterwards adopted.
" Although I have little or no pretensions to military knowledge as relates to an army, still I may be allowed to bear testimony to your zeal and activity in the pursuit of the British army under general Proctor, and to say, the prompt change made by you in the order of battle, on discovering the position of the enemy, always has appeared to me to have evinced a high degree of military talent. I concur most sincerely with the venerable governor Shelby, in his general approbation of your con- duct as far (as it came under my observation,) in that campaign. With great regard, I am, my dear sir, your friend, " 0. H. PERRY.
" Major General W* H. Harrison"
Extract of a letter from Governor Cass to General Harrison, dated Detroit, August 31, 1817. " Upon the subject of the council which was held at Sandwich, I cannot speak with precision ; I think that for some cause, I do not now recollect, I was not present at its deliberations. But I do recollect that at all the interviews I had with yon, you were ardent and zeal- ous for the pursuit of Proctor; nor did I ever hear that a doubt had been expressed by you upon that subject, till long after the events themselves had passed away. In the letter from governor Shelby to you, which has been published, the governor has stated so correctly and
GENERAL HARRISON. 97
distinctly, the propositions which were made for the pur- suit of Proctor, that there is less necessity for me to enter into a detail of them. The main body of the ene- my's army had left Amherstburg some days before we landed, and were understood to be upon the river French, If conducted with common prudence, it was my opinion then, and it is my opinion yet, that they might have moved with such celerity as to have rendered it im- practicable for us to have overtaken them. A deep in- dentation of the lake some distance below Maiden would have brought us within a few miles of the road upon which Proctor retreated, and considerably advanced of the position where we overtook him. The propriety of pursuing him along the road he had taken, or of endeav- oring to intercept him by the other route, was the subject of conversation on our first arrival at Sandwich. But whenever I conversed with you, the latter route was mentioned as one which deserved examination rather than one upon which any decided opinion had been formed. Upon a consideration of its uncertainty at that season of the year, it was soon abandoned. I was with you fre- quently, and conversed with you freely, during our con- tinuance at Sandwich, and I am confident you never hes- itated in your determination to pursue Proctor. So far as my feeble testimony can aid in removing erroneous impressions, which have injured you, it is given with pleasure. From the time I joined the army under your command, its operations were conducted with as much celerity as possible, and so far as respects yourself, its fiscal concerns, I am confident, were managed with the most scrupulous integrity."
5 I
98 SKETCHES OF
CHAPTER IX.
Battle of the Thames. — Documents as to the same. — General Harrison sails for Buffalo. — Marches to Fort George. — Or- dered to his District.— Descends lake Ontario to Sackett's Harbor. — Passes to Cincinnati, via. New York, Philadelphia, and Washington. — Interference with his command by Gen- eral Armstrong. — Perry's letter.-— M'Arthur's letter. — John- son's letter. — Croghan's letter. — Harrison's letter of resigna- tion to the President. — Governor Shelby's letter to the Pres- ident.
When the army reached Sandwich, on the 29th, gen- eral M' Arthur was detached with his brigade to retake possession of Detroit, which for thirteen months had been in the possession of the British and Indians. The latter did not leave it until startled by a few rounds from one of our vessels. On the same day, the general, seizing the first moment to abrogate the martial law in force by Proctor, re-established the civil government of Michigan, to the great joy and relief of the inhabitants.
Colonel Johnson, with his mounted regiment, crossed the strait early on the 1st of October, and rejoined, the army. On the 2nd of October, the pursuit was resumed. On a fork of the Thames, near Chatham, a large party of Indians were found prepared to dispute the passage of that stream. A few shot from Wood's artillery dis- persed them. This was the place appointed by Proc- tor, in his conference with Tecurothe, to make a stand. " Here," said the former, " they would either defeat gen- eral Harrison, or there lay their bones." Tecumthe ap- proved of the position, and said, "when he should look at the two streams, they would remind him of the Wa- bash and Tippecanoe."* The pursuit was continued with unabated speed, — the troops being frequently on a run, until the 5th, when near the Moravian towns,
* A deep, unfordable creek falls into the Thames, near Chat- ham.
GENERAL HARRISON. 99
twelve miles beyond the crossing of the Thames, the enemy was overtaken.
The position selected by the enemy was eminently ju- dicious. The British troops, amounting to eight or nine hundred, were posted with their left upon the river, which was unfordable at that point; their right extended to, and across a swamp, and united there with a body of Indians, led by the celebrated Tecumthe, amounting to eighteen hundred or two thousand. The British artil- lery was placed in the road along the river, near to the left of their line. At from two to three hundred yards from the river, a swamp extends nearly parallel to it, the intermediate ground being dry. This position of the enemy, with his flank protected on the left by the river, and on the right by the swamp rilled by the Indians, was evidently calculated to call for a display of military tal- ent in the opposing general, and of valor in his troops. As the wings could not be turned, general Harrison made his arrangements to concentrate his forces against the British line. The 1st division, under major-general Henry, was formed in three lines at one hundred yards from each other — the front line consisting of Trotter's brigade, the second line of Chiles's brigade, and the re- serve of King's brigade. These lines were in front of, and parallel to, the British troops. The second division, under major general Desha, composed of Allen's and Caldwell's brigades, was formed en potence, or at right angles to the first division. Governor Shelby, as senior major general of the Kentucky troops, was posted at this crotchet, formed between the first and second divisions. Colonel Simrall's regiment of light infantry was formed in reserve, obliquely to the left division and covering the rear of the front division; and after much reflection as to the disposition to be made of colonel Johnson's mounted troops, they were directed, as soon as the front line ad- vanced, to take ground to the left, and, forming upon that flank, to endeavor to turn the right of the Indians. A de- tachment of regular troops of the 26th United States in- fantry, under colonel Paul, occupied the space between the road and the river for the purpose of seizing the ene- my's artillery ; and simultaneously with this movement,
100 SKETCHES OF
forty friendly Indians were to pass under the bank to the rear of the British line, and by their fire induce the enemy to suppose their own Indians had turned against them. At the same time, colonel Wood had been in- structed to make preparations for using- the enemy's ar- tillery, and rake their own line by a flank fire. By refu- sing the left or second division, the Indians were kept in the air, that is, in a position in which they would be use- less. It will be seen, as the general anticipated, that they awaited in their position the advance of the second division, whilst the British left was contending with the American right. The Indians afterwards inquired why this division did not charge their line. This disposition of the troops wTas a combination of the modern tactics in Europe, with that prescribed by Washington and adopt- ed by general Wayne. Johnson's corps consisted of nine hundred men, and the five brigades under governor Shel* by, amounted from fifteen to eighteen hundred, in all not exceeding two thousand seven hundred.
In the midst of these arrangements, and just as the or- der was about to be given to the front line to advance, at the head of which general Harrison had placed himself with his staff, major Wood approached him with the intelligence, that having reconnoitred the enemy he had ascertained the remarkable fact, that the British lines, in- stead of the usual close order, had been drawn up at open order. This departure from ordinary military principles in the formaiion of the British troops, at once induced general Harrison to adopt the novel expedient of charg ing the British lines with Johnson's mounted troops This determination was communicated to colonel John son, who was directed to draw up his regiment U in c.]o&» column, with its right fifty yards from the road- (that t$ might be, in some measure, protected by the tre*;s from the artillery,) its left upon the swamp, and to Jhaige full speed upon the enemy."
At this juncture, general Harrison, wi*b Ms aids-de- camp, attended by general Cass and commodore Perry, advanced from the right of the front lint of infantry, to the right of the front of the column of mounted troops Jed by lieutenant colonel James Jonn^on and major Du-
GENERAL HARRISON. 101
val Payne. General Harrison personally gave the direc- tions for the charge to be made " when the right bat- talion of the mounted men received the fire of the Brit- ish ; the horses in the front of the column recoiled from the fire ; another was given by the enemy, and our col- umn at length getting in motion, broke through the ene- my with irresistible force. In one minute the contest in front was over. The British officers seeing no prospect of reducing their disordered ranks to order," and seeing the advance of infantry "and our mounted men wheeling upon them and pouring in a destructive fire, immediately surrendered."*
The result of this charge decided the fate of the day. It uncovered the Indian left, and necessarily compelled a retreat, although the battle continued to rage severely to the left along the Indian line. Colonel Richard M. John- son, by the extension of his line, had come in contact with the Indians, who had made some impression upon him and the left of Trotter's brigade. As soon as the charge upon the right had taken effect, general Harrison dispatched an order to governor Shelby to bring up Sim- rali's regiment to reinforce the point pressed by the In- dians, and then the general passed to the left to superin- tend the operations in that quarter. The governor, how- ever, had anticipated the wishes of the general, and bringing up Simrall's regiment, met the general near the crotchet, and soon after the battle ceased. The com manding general then directed a portion of the right bat talion, under major Payne, to pursue general Proctor, who had fled under the escort of a troop of dragoons and some mounted Indians. The pursuit was so hot for six miles beyond the Moravian town, that the British gene- ral was compelled to abandon his sword, papers, and carriage, which, with sixty-three prisoners, several In- dians killed, and an immense amount of stores, was the result of this daring enterprise by seven officers and three privates, who alone continued the pursuit after the first few miles.
Our loss in this decisive battle, Was from seventeen to
* Official dispatch. i2
102 SKETCHES OF i
twenty killed, and thirty to forty wounded. The British loss was six hundred and forty-five, of which eighteen were killed and twenty-six wounded ; and the Indians left on the ground and in the pursuit, between fifty and sixty killed, and, estimating the usual proportion of wrounded, their total loss must have been near two hun- dred. Among our gallant dead, was colonel Whitleyy and lieutenant Logan. Colonel R. M. Johnson and cap- tains J. Davidson and Short, were severely wounded, Tecumthe, a brigadier-general in the British service, and the formidable chief of the Indian confederacy, fell in this memorable battle, by which an important territory was restored to the United States, the uppermost Canada was conquered, and the blessings of peace extended to the frontier settlements in the north-west.
From a review of the arrangements and incidents in this battle, it will be seen that the plan of refusing the left wing, was attended with the happiest consequences. The force of the enemy consisted principally of Indians in position, with the right of their line thrown forward obtusely from the point where they united with the British : the latter appeared to constitute the weakest wing of the enemy ; and therefore general Harrison ex- hibited military genius in so arranging his troops as to suspend or avoid a conflict with the Indians, and concen- trate his strength against the British line. The severe loss inflicted by the Indians on colonel Johnson's left, and the small part of the infantry with which they came in contact, abundantly shews what would have been the loss of life, if the left wing had advanced upon the In- dian line.
We introduce in this place, an extract of the official letter of general Harrison, bearing testimony to the con- duct of his officers and soldiers in this battle. j
" In communicating to the president through you, sir, my opinion of the conduct of the officers who served un- der my command, I am at a loss how to mention that of governor Shelby, being convinced that no euJogium of mine can reach his merit. The governor of an indepen- dent state, greatly my superior ia years, in experience,, and in military character, he placed himself under mj4
GENERAL HARRISON. 103
i
command, and was not more remarkable for his zeal and. activity, than for the promptitude and cheerfulness with which he obeyed my orders. The major-generals Henry and Desha, and the brigadiers Allen, Caldwell, King, Chiles, and Trotter, all of the Kentucky volunteers, man- ifested great zeal and activity. Of governor Shelby's staff, his adjutant-general, colonel M'Dowell, and his quarter-master general, colonel Walker, rendered great service, as did his aids-de-camp, general Adair and ma- jors Barry and Crittenden. The military skill of the former was of great service to us, and the activity of the two latter gentlemen could not be surpassed. Illness deprived me of the talents of my adjutant-general, colo- nel Gaines, who was left at Sandwich. His duties were, however, ably performed by the acting assistant adju- tant-general, captain Butler. My aids-de-camp, lieutenant O'Fallon and captain Todd, of the line, and my volunteer aids, John Speed Smith and John Chambers, Esq. have rendered me the most important service from the opening of the campaign. T have already stated that general Cass and commodore Perry assisted me in forming the troops for action. The former is an officer of the high- est merit, and the appearance of the brave commodore cheered and animated every breast.
"It would be useless, sir, after stating the circum stances of the action, to pass encomiums upon colonel Johnson and his regiment. Veterans could not have manifested more firmness. The colonel's numerous wounds prove that he was in the post of danger. Lieu- tenant-colonel James Johnson and the majors Payne and Thomson were equally active, though more fortunate. Major Wood, of the engineers, already distinguished by his conduct at Fort Meigs, attended the army with two six poenders. Having no use for them in the action, he joined in the pursuit of the enemy, and with major Payne of the mounted regiment, two of my aids-de-camp, Todd and Chambers,* and three privates, continued it for seve-
* Captain Langham, and lieutenants Scroggin and Bell, in- advertently omitted in this letter, were noticed in a subsequent general order, as being in the pursuit."
104 SKETCHES OF
ral miles after the rest of the troops had halted, and made many prisoners.
" I left the army before an official return of the prison- ers, or that of the killed and wounded, was made out. It was however ascertained that the former amounts to six hundred and one regulars, including twenty-five officers. Our loss is seven killed and twenty-two wounded, live of which have since died. Of the British troops twelve were killed and twenty-two wounded. The Indians suf- fered most — thirty-three of them having been found upon the ground, besides those killed on the retreat. On the day of the action, six pieces of brass artillery were taken, and two iron twenty-four pounders the day before. Sev- eral others were discovered in the river, and can be easily procured. Of the brass pieces three are the trophies of our revolutionary war, that were taken at Saratoga and York, and surrendered by general Hull. The number of small arms taken by us and destroyed by the enemy must amount to upwards of five thousand ; most of them had been ours, and taken by the enemy at the surrender of Detroit, at the river Raisin, and colonel Dudley's de- feat. I believe that the enemy retain no other military trophy of their victories than the standard of the 4th reg- iment. They were not magnanimous enough to bring that of the 41st regiment into the field, or it would have been taken.
"You have been informed, sir, of the conduct of the troops under my command in action; it gives me great pleasure to inform you, that they merit also the approba- tion of their country for their conduct, in submitting to the greatest privations with the utmost cheerfulness. The infantry were entirely without tents, and for several days the whole army subsisted on fresh beef without bread or salt. I have the honor to be, &c.
"WILLIAM H. HARRISON.
" P. S. General Proctor escaped by the fleetness of his horses, escorted by forty dragoons and a number of mounted Indians.
" General James Armstrong, Secretary of War"
GENERAL HARRISON. 105
Colonel Wood, whose military eye discovered that position of the enemy which induced general Harrison to change the mode of attack, introduced into his journal the following criticism upon the events of the day :
" It is really a novel thing that raw militia, stuck upon horses, with muskets in their hands instead of sabres, should be able to pierce British lines with such com- plete effect, as did Johnson's men in the affair upon the Thames ; and perhaps the only circumstance which could justify that deviation from the long established rules of the art military, is the complete success of the result. Great generals are authorized to step aside occasionally — especially when they know that their errors will not be noticed by their adversary."
Commodore Perry, in a letter to general Harrison of 18th August, 1817, says:
" The prompt change made by you in the order of bat- tle on discovering the position of the enemy, has always appeared to me to have evinced a high degree of mili- tary talent. I concur w7ith the venerable Shelby in his general approbation of your conduct in that campaign."
Mr. Madison, in his annual message to congress, thus notices, with rare discrimination and justice, the promi- nent actors in this scene :
"The success on lake Erie having' opened a passage to the territory of the enemy, the officer commanding the north-western army transferred the war thither, and rap- idly pursuing the hostile troops, fleeing with their sav- age associates, forced a general action, which quickly terminated in the capture of the British, and dispersion of the savage force. — This result is signally honorable to major-general Harrison, by wThose military talents it was prepared ; to colonel Johnson and his mounted volun- teers, whose impetuous onset gave a decisive blow to the ranks of the enemy ; and to the spirit of the volunteer mi- litia, equally brave and patriotic, who bore an interesting part in the scene ; more especially to the chief magistrate of Kentucky, at the head of them, whose heroism, signal- ized in the war which established the independence of his country, sought, at an advanced age, a share in hard- ships and battles, for maintaining its rights and its safety," 5*
106 SKETCHES OF
Mr. Cheves alludes to this event in a speech in con- gress, in the following terms :
" The victory of Harrison was such as would have se- cured to a Roman general in the best days of the Repub- lic, the honors of a triumph ! He put an end to the war in the uppermost Canada."
And the patriotic Simon Snyder, governor of Pennsyl- vania, introduces the subject to the legislature in these terms:
"Already is the brow of the young warrior, Croghan, encircled with laurels, and the blessings of thousands of women and children, rescued from the scalping knife of; the ruthless savage of the wilderness, and from the still more savage Proctor, rest on Harrison and his gallant army."
The capture of the British, and dispersion of the In- dian force on the Thames, enabled general Harrison to proceed to the Niagara frontier with the brigade of Mc Ar- thur, the rifle regiment under colonel Wells, and the battal- ion under colonel Ball. On this, as on a former occasion, he anticipated the wishes of the government; for although he had received no instructions since the preceding July, his own judgment led him to transfer his disposable force to the Niagara strait, after he had accomplished the objects of the campaign. The want of the necessary provisions, and the season being too far advanced to en- counter the upper lakes, fhad previously determined the general and commodore Perry, to abandon the expedition against Macinaw. General Cass was stationed at De- troit with his brigade, and the civil government of Mich- igan and the military occupation of the uppermost Can* ada, committed to his charge.
General Harrison sailed in Perry's fleet and reached Erie on the 22nd, and Buffalo on the 24th of October, and proceeded immediately to Newark, when he assu- med the command of the troops at that place, and Forts George and Niagara, then under the command of general McClure, of the New York militia. He received at this point from general Armstrong, secretary of war, a copy of the dispatch of the 22nd of September, which had been lost with captain Brown, in the attempt to pass up to
GENERAL HARRISON. 107
Detroit, in October. This letter suggested the propriety of general Harrison proceeding to the Niagara strait, af- ter he had secured Maiden and the army under Proctor. Another letter received about this time from the secretary of war, under date of the 20th of October, adds the au- thority of general Armstrong's military opinion, so far as it was entitled to weight, to the propriety of general Harrison having convened a council of war at Sandwich, to determine upon the route by which Proctor should be pursued. We introduce an extract of the letter to show that Armstrong recommended the very route which was not taken :
"Sackett's Harbor, October 20, 1813.
"We are, perhaps, too remote to profit by each oth- er's suggestions ; but it does not appear to me that Sand- wich is the point at which Proctor will stop, if you pur- sue him. From Point aux Pins, on lake Erie, there is a good road to Chatham, on the Thames, the distance not more than twenty-four miles. Were this gained and traveled back to Sandwich, the enemy's means of sub- sistence might be destroyed, and himself compelled to surrender — but of the practicability of this, you are the best judge. My opinion is suggested by the map."
The secretary of war, in a letter of the 30th of Octo- ber, recommended to general Harrison to move against the enemy, at Burlington Heights, near the head of lake Ontario, the capture or destruction of which, he says, would be a glorious finale to his campaign. But whilst the most active preparations were making to effect this object, another letter from the secretary, on the 3rd of November, four days later, required general Harrison to send McArthur's brigade to Sackett's Harbor, concluding with the declaration that the " general would be permit- ted to make a visit to his family, which he understood as an order to retire to his own district."* His letters of the 15th of November, 1813, to general M'Clure, show the sense in which general Harrison regarded this letter, which "left him no alternative as to the disposition of McArthur's brigade," and which he considered as " or-
* M'Affee, 405.
108 SKETCHES OF
dering him to return to the westward." Generals Hani- son and McClure were actively engaged in preparations against the enemy in conformity to Armstrong's sugges- tion on the 30th or' October, when these arrangements were arrested by the requisition contained in the letter of the 3rd of November, and the arrival of commodore Chaun- cey, with his squadron, on the 14th of November. The commodore "was extremely pressing that the troops should immediately embark, declaring that the naviga- tion at that season, to small vessels, was very danger- ous."* The general accompanied the troops to Sackett's Harbor, and returned to his district by the way of New York, Philadelphia, and Washington. In the two for- mer cities, he received those evidences of public grati- tude which belong only to public benefactors. Early in January he resumed, at Cincinnati, the command of the 8th military district.
The course of public opinion during the winter, indica- ted very decidedly that general Harrison ought to be in- vested with the chief command in the next campaign. Commodore Perry, who had witnessed the exertions, the skill and bravery of general Harrison, addressed to him about this period, a letter, in which he says, " You know wxhat has been my opinion as to the future commander- in-chief of the army. I pride myself not a little, I assure you, on seeing my predictions so near being verified ; yes, my dear friend, I expect to hail you as the chief who is to redeem the honor of our arms in the north." The veteran general McArthur, another eye-witness to the career of general Harrison, wrote to him early in 1814, from Al- bany, New York, from which the following is an extract; " You, sir, stand the highest with the militia-of this state of any general in the service, and I am confident, that no man can fight them to so great an advantage ; and I think their extreme solicitude may be the means of calling you to this frontier." But from causes, which it is difficult at this time to explain, general Armstrong's feelings and opinions in relation to general Harrison, had undergone a material change. His letter of the 14th May, 1814t
-"- ' — ' — "-m
* 5th vol. Niles. 333,
GENERAL HARRISON. 109
enclosing the plan of the campaign, as submitted to the president on the 30th of April, fully authorizes the infer- ence that general Harrison would not be assigned any command in the active operations of the approaching cam- paign. All of the troops in the 8th military district, ex- cepting garrisons for Detroit and Maiden, were to be held io readiness to move down the lake to Buffalo, and general McArthur was designated for the command of those corps, including the 17th, 19th, 24th, and 28th reg- iments of regulars. This arrangement of all the disposa- ble force in the north-west, while it left general Harrison to remain in the 8th military district, was made after the receipt at the war office of his letter of the 13th of Feb- ruary, 1814, in which he expresses his views and feel- ings arising from the interference of the secretary in with- drawing general Howard from his command. That letter concludes with the following declaration: "Apart from the considerations of my duty to my country, I have no inducement to remain in the army, and if the prerogatives of my rank and station as the commander of a district, be taken from me, being fully convinced that I can render no important service, I should much rather be permitted to retire to private life."*
This was the condition of things, when the secretary persevered in interfering with his prerogatives, as the commander of the district, by dispatching to major Holmes, a subordinate officer at Detroit, an order to take three hundred men from that post, and proceed on board commodore Sinclair's fleet, destined to Macinaw. This proceeding on the part of the secretary, was a gross in- vasion of military propriety ; and whatever may have been the design, it authorized general Harrison to sup- pose it was not the intention of the secretary to respect his rank as commander of the district. The order not only passed by the general, hut was derogatory to the rank of colonel Croghan, the immediate commander of the post. That gallant young officer spoke of this course without reserve; and in a letter to general Har- rison, made the following appropriate remarks : " Major
* Dawson, 435. K
110 SKETCHES OF
Holmes has been notified by the war department, that he is chosen to command the land troops which are intended to co-operate with the fleet against the enemy's force on the upper lakes. So soon as I may be directed by you to order major Holmes on that command, and to furnish him with the necessary troops, I shall do so ; but not till then shall he, or any other part of my force, leave the sod." # In another letter to general Harrison, he re- marks : " I know not how to account for the secretary of war's assuming to himself the right of designating major Holmes for this command to Macinaw. My ideas on the subject may not be correct; yet for the sake of the principle, were I a general commanding a district, I would be very far from suffering the secretary of war, or any other authority to interfere with my internal police." f This order to major Holmes would authorize the infer- ence that the secretary may have had other correspon- dence with him or other inferior officers of the district. It was evidently a course of conduct indicating a very different state of feeling towards the only successful general of the previous campaigns, from that implied by the unlimited powers confided to him in 1812— '13. Of the impolicy and great indelicacy, of a secretary at war interfering in the internal arrangements of the district confided to a commanding general, abundant evidence is afforded in the unmilitary order given to colonel Johnson in June, 1813, to march to St. Louis. Colonel Johnson and his regiment were anxious to participate in the con- templated movements into Canada, and were exceedingly mortified with this order, interfering as well with their' wishes as with the internal police of the commanding general. It was on this trying occasion that colonel Johnson, on the 4th of July, appealed to general Harri- son, to countermand the order; but the general regarded it as so imperative that he would not disobey it. In the colonel's letter, he expressed the wish, to "serve under a general who was brave, skilful, and prudent;1'' but gen- eral Harrison would only so far modify the order, as to permit colonel Johnson and his regiment to take Ken-
* M'Affee, 417. f M'Afee, 418.
GENERAL HARRISON. Ill
tucky in the route to St. Louis, in the hope that the horses might be recmited, and additional volunteers obtained. In the history of the late war in the west, it is stated, that "he had scarcely reached Kentucky, be- fore general Harrison had been authorized to recall him, by a letter from the war department, in which the secre- tary expressed his regret that the order for his march had ever reached general Harrison, and that the latter, know- ing the impropriety of the order , had not on that ground, delayed its execution." *
Immediately upon the receipt by general Harrison, of the notification of the order to major Holmes, he sent to the war department a resignation of his commission in the army ; accompanied by a letter of the same date, to the president of the United States. The felicity of style, and nobleness of sentiment which characierize that letter, warrant its introduction into these sketches:
"Head Quarters, Cincinnati, May 11, 1814.
Dear Sir; — I have this day forwarded to the secretary of war, my resignation of the commission I hold in the army.
" This measure has not been determined on, without a reference to all the reasons which should influence a cit- izen, who is sincerely attached to the honor and interests of his country ; who believes that the war in which we are engaged is just and necessary ; and that the crisis requires the sacrifice of every private consideration, which could stand in opposition to the public good. But after giving the subject the most mature considera- tion, I am perfectly convinced, that my retiring from the army is as compatible with the claims of patriotism, as it is with those of my family, and a proper regard for my own feelings and honor.
"I have no other motives in writing this' letter, than to assure you, that my resignation was not produced by any diminution of the interest I have always taken in the success of your administration, or of respect and attachment for your person. The former can only take
* M'Affee, 337.
112 SKETCHES OF
place, when I forget the republican principles in which I have been educated ; and the latter, when I shall cease to regard those feelings, which must actuate every honest man, who is conscious of favors that it is out of his power to repay. Allow me, &c.
" HARRISON. " James Madison, Esq. President U, S. ."
As soon as governor Shelby understood that general Harrison had forwarded his resignation, he addressed a letter to the president, urging him to decline an ac- ceptance. The president was on a visit to Virginia, to which place the letters from general Harrison and governor Shelby were forwarded, and that of the lat- ter was not received, until after Armstrong, without the previous consent of the president, had taken upon him- self the high prerogative of accepting the resignation. The president expressed his great regret that the letter of governor Shelby had not been received at an earlier date, as in that case the valuable services of general Harrison would have been preserved to the nation in the ensuing campaigns.
As that letter was written by a veteran soldier who had served under general Harrison, and also under Gates, Greene, and Marion, of the revolutionary war, by which he was enabled to judge of their comparative merits, we insert it, that the present generation may form some idea of the loss sustained by the nation, in the resignation of general Harrison, produced by the course of general Armstrong in the war office.
" Frankfort, May 15, 1814.
Dear Sir: — The interest I feel for the prosperity of our beloved country, at all times, but especially in the common cause in which she is at present engaged, will, I flatter myself, he a sufficient apology for addressing you this letter. The motives which impel me, arise from considerations of public good, and are unknown to the gentleman who is the subject of the letter.
"It is not my intention to eulogize general Harrison;
GENERAL HARRISON. 113
he is not in need of that aid, his merits are too conspicu- ous not to be observed ; but it is my intention to express to you with candor, my opinion of the general, founded on personal observation.
"A rumor has reached this state, which, from the publie prints, appears to be believed, that the commanding gen- eral of the northern army, may be removed from that command. This circumstance has induced me to reflect on the subject, and to give a decided preference to major general Harrison, as a successor. Having served a cam- paign with general Harrison, by which I have been en- abled to form some opinion of his military talents, and capacity to command, 1 feel no hesitation to declare to you, that I believe him to be one of the first military characters I ever knew; and, in addition to this, he is capable of making greater personal exertions than any officer with whom I have ever served. I doubt not but it will hereafter be found, that the command of the north- western army, and the various duties attached to it, has been one of the most arduous and difficult tasks, ever assigned to any officer in the United States ; yet he sur- mounted all.
" Impressed with the conviction, that general Harri- son is fully adequate to the command of the northern ar- my, should a change take place in that division, I have ventured thus freely to state my opinion of him, that he is \ a consummate general, and would fill that station with* ability and honor; and, that if, on the other hand, any arrangement should take place in the war department, which may produce the resignation of general Harrison, it will be a misfortune which our country will have cause to lament. His appointment to the command of the northern army, would be highly gratifying to the wishes of the western people, except some who may, perhaps, be governed by sinister views.
" I confess the first impressions upon my mind, when informed of the defeat of colonel Dudley's regiment, on the 5th of May last, were unfavorable to general Harri- son's plans ; but on correct information, and a knowledge of his whole plans, I have no doubt but they were well concerted, and might, with certainty, have been executed k2
114 SKETCHES OF
had his orders been strictly obeyed. I mention this sub- ject because Mr. H. Clay informed me that he had shewn you my letter, stating the impressions which that affair had first made upon my mind, on information that was not correct.
" Hoping that my opinion of this meritorious officer will not be unacceptable to you, I have candidly expressed it, and hoping the apology stated in the preceding part of this letter, will justify the liberty taken of intruding opinions unsolicited.
" I have the honor to be, most respectfully, " Your obedient servant, "ISAAC SHELBY, " His Excellency, James Madison, President U. S"
CHAPTER X.
Commissioner to treat with the Indians. — Elected to Congress in 1816. — Investigation of his conduct in that body. — Effort in favor of the pension laws. — Speech in regard to Kosci- usko.— .Speech on General Jackson's conduct in the Seminole war. — Favors the independence of the South American Re- publics.— A gold medal, and the thanks of Congress award- ed him. — Elected to the Legislature of Ohio. — Unfounded charge of having voted to sell white men imprisoned for debt. — Elected to the Senate of the United States. — Refutes Randolph's charge of federalism. — Minister to Colombia.-— Letter to Bolivar. — Recalled by General Jackson.
Having, from the causes stated in the previous chap- ter, resigned his commission in the army, general Harri- son returned to his farm at North Bend, fifteen miles below Cincinnati. During the summer of 1814, govern- ment appointed general Harrison, governor Shelby, and general Cass, to treat with the Indian tribes in the north- west. Governor Shelby declining on account of his offi ciai station, general Adair was selected to fill his place.
GENERAL HARRISON. 115
A treaty was shortly afterwards concluded by them, with the Indians, at Greenville. After the peace in 1815, general Harrison was placed at the head of another commission, to treat with the Indians in regard to the restoration of the territory possessed by them before the war. The council was held in Detroit, and a treaty made, which embraced nine important tribes.
In 1816, general Harrison was elected to congress, from the district in which he resided* having received more than a thousand votes over the aggregate number given to his six competitors. An army contractor hav- ing about this time made some charges against general Harrison's conduct, while in command in the west, he promptly invited an investigation. The committee in the house of representatives, by their chairman, R. M. Johnson, now vice-president of the United States, say in their report on this charge, made 23rd of January, 1817 : "The committee are unanimously of opinion, that gen- eral Harrison stands above suspicion, as to his having had any pecuniary or improper connection with the offi- cers of the commissariat, for the supply of the army; that he did not wantonly or improperly interfere with the jights of contractors ; and that he was in his measures governed by a proper zeal and devotion to the public in- terest." When the report was read, Mr. Hulbert, of Massachusetts, a member of the committee, made some explanations, and concluded with the following remark: 64 The most serious accusation against the general was, that while he was commander-in-chief in the west, re- gardless of his country's good, he was in the habit of managing the public concerns with a view to his own private interest and emolument. Mr. Hulbert said he could not refrain from pronouncing this a false and cruel accusation. He was confident that directly the reverse was true. There was the most satisfactory evidence, that the general, in the exercise of his official duties, in his devotion to the public interest, had neglected his private concerns to his material detriment and injury. In a word, said Mr. Hulbert, I feel myself authorized to say, that every member of the committee is fully satis- fied, that the conduct of general Harrison in relation to
116 SKETCHES Otf
the subject matter of this inquiry, has been that of a brave, honest, and honorable man; that, instead of de- serving censure, he merits the thanks and applause of his country."
Soon alter general Harrison took his seat in congress, he was placed at the head of the committee on the mili- tia. Early in the session, he moved the following reso- lution, which was agreed to :
"Resolved^ That the military committee be instructed to report a bill providing by law for the relief of such of the officers and soldiers who, having faithfully served in the armies of the United States, are now in distressed circumstances, and who, not having received wounds or disabilities whilst in actual service, are excluded from the benefits of the pension laws."
This resolution led the way for that measure "which encircles the fame of this republic with a glory the an- cient republics could not boast of, by exhibiting to the world the most beautiful example on record, of a na- tion's GRATITUDE."
During this session, there was a bill before the house to increase the compensation of members of congress, from six to nine dollars per day ; and on motion to strike out " nine" and insert "six" dollars as the daily pay, general Harrison said, that "in explaining what would otherwise appear an inconsistency in the vote he wras about to give, he was aware that in order to preserve in congress talents of a proper grade, and to enable men of moderate property to come to that body without loss, a higher compensation was necessary than had heretofore been allowed to members of congress. But, said he, holding as we do, the key of the treasury, we ought not to do ourselves even justice, before we do it to others whose claims are stronger, and of longer standing. When- ever JUSTICE SHALL BE DONE TO THE SUFFERERS IN THE WAR OF THE REVOLUTION, AND NOT TILL THEN, I SHALL BE PREPARED TO DO JUSTICE TO OURSELVES."
Shortly afterwards, general Harrison offered a resolu- tion for a committee to report " what measures it may be proper to adopt to manifest the public respect for the memory of general Thaddeus Kosciusko, formerly an oh>
GENERAL HARRISON. 117
cer in the service of the United States, and the uniform and distinguished friend of liberty and the rights of man." On the presentation of this resolution, he made a most touching and eloquent appeal to the house, which concluded in these words :
I' Such was the man, sir, for whose memory I ask from an American congress a slight tribute of respect. Not, sir, to perpetuate his fame, but our gratitude. His fame will last as long as liberty remains upon the earth ; as long as a votary offers incense upon her altar, the name of Kosciusko wrill be invoked. And if, by the common consent of the world, a temple shall be erected to those who have rendered most service to mankind — if the statue of our great countryman shall occupy the place cf the * most worthy,' that of Kosciusko will be found at his side, and the wreath of laurel will be entwined with the palm of virtue, to adorn his brow."
The career of general Harrison, in congress, proved that he was eminently qualified for the duties of a legis- lator. He exhibited, while a member of that body, an intimate familiarity with the civil and military affairs of the country, and the possession of a vigorous and culti- vated mind. As a debater, he was ready, fluent, and for- cible— always courteous and dignified, eminently happy in illustrating his arguments by the history of other na- tions, both ancient and modern, with the philosophy of which, his mind is deeply and accurately imbued. His speeches on the organization of the militia of the United States, the pension bill, the Seminole war, the recogni- tion of the independence of the South American repub- lics, may all be cited as masterly productions, teeming with deep pathos, pure patriotism, and eloquent argu- ment.
u While general Harrison was in the house of repre- sentatives, the important debate arose, on the resolution to censure general Jackson for his conduct in the Semi- nole war; and he delivered on this subject a most elabo- rate and eloquent speech. It was one of the finest efforts elicited by that interesting occasion ; but is chiefly admi- rable for its impartial and patriotic spirit. While he disapproved the course of general Jackson, and comment*
118 SKETCHES OF
ed on his conduct with the manly independence of a free* man, he defended such of the acts of that distinguished citizen as he thought right, and did justice to his mo- tives. His concluding remarks were as follows :
" If the highest services could claim indemnity for crime, then might the conqueror of Platesa have been suf- fered to continue his usurpations until he had erected a throne upon the ruins of Grecian liberty. Sir, it will not be understood that I mean to compare general Jackson with these men. No; I believe that the principles of the patriot are as firmly fixed in his bosom as those of the soldier. But a republican government should make no distinctions between men, and should never relax its maxims of security for any individual, however distin- guished. No man should he allowed to say that he could do that with impunity which another could not do. If the father of his country were alive, and in the admin- istration of the government, and had authorized the ta- king of the Spanish posts, I would declare my disappro- bation as readily as I do now. Nay, more — because the more distinguished the individual, the more salutary the example. No one can tell how soon such an example may be beneficial. General Jackson will be faithful to his country ; but I recollect that the virtues and patriot- ism of Fabius and Scipio, were soon followed by the crimes of Marius and the usurpation of Sylla. I am sure, sir, that it is not the intention of any gentleman upon this floor to rob general Jackson of a single ray of glory ; much less to wound his feelings, or injure his rep- utation. And whilst I thank my friend from Mississippi, (Mr. Poindexter,) in the name of those who agree with me, that general Jackson has done wrong, I must be per- mitted to decline the use of the address which he has so obligingly prepared for us, and substitute the following, as more consonant to our views and opinions. If the res- olutions pass, I would address him thus : ' In the per- formance of a sacred duty imposed by their construction of the constitution, the representatives of the people have found it necessary to disapprove a single act of your bril- liant career; they have done it in the full conviction that the hero who has guarded her rights in the field, will
GENERAL HARRISON. 119
bow with reverence to the civil institutions of his coun- try— that he has admitted as his creed, that the character of the soldier can never be complete without eternal ref- erence to the character of the citizen. Your country has done for you all that a country can do for the most favor- ed of her sons. The age of deification is past; it was an age of tyranny and barbarism: the adoration of man should be addressed to his Creator alone. You have been feasted in the Pritanes of the cities. Your statue shall be placed in the capitol, and your name be found in the songs of the virgins. Go, gallant chief, and bear with you the gratitude of your country. Go, under the full conviction, that as her glory is identified with yours, she has nothing more dear to her but her laws, nothing more sacred but her constitution. Even an unintentional error shall be sanctified to her service. It will teach posterity that the government which could disapprove the conduct of a Marcellus, will have the fortitude to crush the vices of a Marius.'
"These sentiments, sir, lead to results in which all must unite. General Jackson will still live in the hearts of his fellow-citizens, and the constitution of your coun- try will be immortal."*
In 1816, a resolution was introduced into the senate of the United States, voting gold medals and the thanks of congress, to Harrison and Shelby. Owing to the oppo- sition of the war party, in that body, and certain charges preferred against general Harrison, his name was stricken out by two votes in committee of the whole. On the ques- tion to concur in the amendment to strike out Harrison's name, it was lost by one vote. Here the proceedings of this session closed, general Harrison's name being re- tained, and the resolution laid over. On the 24th of March, 1818, Mr. Dickerson, formerly governor of New Jersey, and late secretary of the navy under an appoint- ment from president Jackson, renewed the subject by offering anew, the same resolution, which he sustained by a strong eulogium on the military services of general Harrison; and, on the 30th, it passed the senate by a
* Hall's Memoir.
120 SKETCHES OF
unanimous vote. On the 31st, the house concurred ift the resolution with only one dissenting voice, and on the 6th of April it received the approval of the president. It is in these words :
Resolved, by the senate and house of representatives of the United States of America in congress assembled, that the thanks of congress be, and they are hereby pre- sented to major general William Henry Harrison, and Isaac Shelby, late governor of Kentucky, and,. through them, to the officers and men under their command, for their gallantry and good conduct in defeating the com- bined British and Indian forces under major general Proctor, on the Thames, in Upper Canada, on the 5th day of October, one thousand eight hundred and thirteen, capturing the British army, with their baggage, camp equipage, and artillery ; and that the president of the United States be requested to cause two medals to be struck, emblematical of this triumph, and presented to general Harrison and Isaac Shelby, late governor of Kentucky. H. CLAY,
Speaker of the House of Representatives, JOHN GAILLARD, President of the Senate, pro tempore*
April 4, 1818. — Approved,
JAMES MONROE.
When governor Shelby heard of the effort in the sen- ate to strike out general Harrison's name, he wrote to his old commander, under date of May 16th, 1816, as fol- lows: "Don't let the conduct of the senate disturb your mind. I hope their resolution has been laid over as to both of us. The moment I heard of the course it was like to take, I wrote instantly to Mr. Clay, and express- ed my regret that it had been introduced, and how mor- tified I should feel to be noticed, if you were not in- cluded, who had rendered ten times more service to the nation than I had." This letter is as creditahle to the generous disinterestedness of the governor, as it is to the public services of general Harrison.
In the autumn of 1819, general Harrison was elected to the legislature of Ohio. One of his votes, while ia
GENERAL HARRISON, 121
that body, having been greatly perverted, for party pur- poses, we deem it proper, in this place, to set the matter right. The charge is, that while in the senate of Ohio, he voted in favor of a law to sell white persons imprisoned under a judgment for debt, for a term of years, if unable otherwise to discharge the execution. This charge is un- true in every part. The law had no reference whatever to debtors — no such proposition was ever before the leg- islature of Ohio, nor could such a law be passed without a palpable violation of the constitution. It had respect solely to the mode of disposing of public offenders, who had been found guilty by a jury of citizens, of crimes against the laws of the state. By the act then in force, criminals of different ages, sex and color, were crowded together in a common jail, where they, were kept until their fines and the costs of prosecution were paid. The new law, in favor of which general Harrison voted, con- tained a section, providing, that in cases where criminals were sentenced to confinerr.^t in jail, until payment was made of fine and costs of prosecution — this being a part of the sentence, — the commissioners of the county were authorized to compel them to work upon the publie roads ; or, in their discretion, to hire them out to the best bidder, until their wages would discharge the fines, for the non-payment of which they were kept in prison. This disposition of young offenders, and especially of females, w7as certainly more humane than to suffer them to lie in jail — to work on the public roads, with a chain and ball upon their legs, or to be publicly whipped, as was provided for in the law for which this was to be the substitute. Whatever may be thought of its policy, on$ thing is absolutely certain — the law for which general Harrison voted, had no reference to persons imprisoned for debt. Subsequently to the time when this vote was given, the general, in an exposition of it, remarked, " I have said enough to show that this obnoxious law would not have applied to 4 unfortunate debtors of sixty-four years,' but to infamous offenders wTho depredate upon the property of their fellow-citizens, and who, by the consti- tution of the state, as well as the principle of existing laws, were subject to involuntary servitude. I must con- 6 L
122 SKETCHES OF
fess T had no very sanguine expectations of a beneficial effect from the measure, as it would apply to convicts who had obtained the age of maturity; but I had sup- posed that a woman, or a youth, who, convicted of an offence, remained in jail for the payment of the line and costs imposed, might with great advantage be transferred to the residence of some decent, virtuous private family, whose precept and example would gently lead them back to the paths of rectitude."
In the autumn of 1822, general Harrison being a can- didate for congress, published a short address to the voters of his district, in which he sums up his political principles. We subjoin a portion of it, breathing the pure spirit of sound republicanism.
"I believe, that upon the preservation of the union of the states depends the existence of our civil and religious liberties; and that the cement which binds it together is not a parcel of words written upon paper or parchment, but the brotherly love and regard which the citizens of the several states possess for each other. Destroy this, and the beautiful fabric which was reared and embellish- ed by our ancestors crumbles into ruins. From its dis- jointed parts no temple of liberty will again be reared. Discord and wars will succeed to peace and harmony — barbarism will again overspread the land; or, what is scarcely better, some kindly tyrant will promulgate the decrees of his will, from the seat where a Washington and a Jefferson dispensed the blessinos of a free and equal government. I believe it, therefore, to be the duty of a representative to conciliate, by every possible means, the members of our great political family, and always to bear in mind that as the union was effected only by a spirit of mutual concession and forbearance^ so only can it be pre- served"
In the year 1824, the legislature of Ohio elected gene- ral Harrison to the senate of the United States, in which body, soon after taking his seat, he succeeded general Jackson as chairman of the committee on military affairs. While 2 member of that body, among other measures, he strongly advocated a bill giving a preference, in the ap- pointment of cadets to the military academy at West
GENERAL HARRISON. 123
Point, to the sons of those who had fallen in battle, in their country ^ 's service.
While in the senate, John Randolph, of Virginia, took occasion to renew an old charge against general Harri- son, of his having been a black-cockade federalist of '98, and of having voted for the alien and sedition laws of that period. As soon as Mr. Randolph had taken his seat, general Harrison rose, and with remarkable coolness and temper, considering the virulent and unprovoked charac- ter of the attack, he observed : " that the extraordinary manner in which his name had been brought before the senate, by the senator from Virginia, probably required some notice from him, though he scarcely knew how to treat such a charge as had been advanced against him seriously. The gentleman had charged him with being a black-cockade federalist of '98, and with having voted for the standing army and the alien and sedition laws. He had not so fertile a memory as the gentleman from Virginia, nor could he at command call up all the trans- actions of nearly thirty years ago. He could say, how- ever, that at the time alluded to, he was not a party man in the sense the senator from Virginia used — he was a delegate of a territory which was just then rising into importance, and having no vote on the general questions before congress, it was neither his duty nor the interest of those whom he represented, to plunge into the turbu- lent sea of general politics which then agitated the na- tion. There were questions of great importance to the north- western territory then before congress, questions upon the proper settlement of which, the future prosper- ity of that now important portion of the Union greatly depended. Standing as he did, the sole representative of that territory, his greatest ambition was to prove himself faithful to his trust, by cherishing its interests, and no- thing could have been more suicidal or pernicious to those he represented, than for him to exasperate either party by becoming a violent partisan, without the power of aiding either party, because he had no vote on any po- litical question. This was his position, and although ho "had his political principles as firmly fixed as those of the gentleman from Virginia, it was no business of his to
124 SKETCHES OF
strike where he could not be felt, and where the blow must recoil upon himself and those whom he represent- ed. He wore no cockade, black or tri-colored, at that day — and never wore one but when he was in the mili- tary service of his country. But he was seriously charg- ed with the heinous offence of associating" with federal gentlemen. He plead guilty — he respected the revolu- tionary services of president Adams, and had paid him that courtesy which was due to him as a man and as chief magistrate. He also associated with such men as John Marshall and James A. Bayard — was the acknow- ledgment of such guilt to throw him out of the pale of political salvation 1
" On the other hand, he was on intimate terms with Mr, Jefferson, Mr. Gallatin, and with the whole Virginia del egation, among whom he had many kinsmen and dear friends. They were his principal associates in Philadel- phia, in whose mess he had often met the gentleman who was now his accuser, and with whom he had spent some of the happiest hours of his life. It was true, as the sena- tor alledged, he had been appointed governor of the north- western territory by John Adams— so had he been by Thomas Jefferson and James Madison. He was not in congress when the standing army was created, and the alien and sedition laws were passed, and if he had been he could not have voted for them, and would not if he could. It was not in his nature to be a violent or pre- scriptive partizan, but he had given a firm support to the republican administrations of Jefferson, Madison and Monroe. He hoped the senator from Virginia was an* swered — he was sure the senate must be wTearied with this frivolous and unprofitable squabble."
In the latter part of the year 1828, president Adams appointed oeneral Harrison minister plenipotentiary to the republic of Colombia. He reached Marycabo in December, and from thence proceeded to Bogota. Im- mediately after the inauguration of president Jackson, i«rt 1829, he recalled general Harrison, and appointed Mr. Thomas Moore, of Kentucky, in his place.
While in Colombia, the proposition was entertained by one of the political parties, of putting aside the con-
GENERAL HARRISON. 125
Stitution, and raising Bolivar to a dictatorship. During the agitation of this question, general Harrison, as the personal friend of Bolivar, and not in his official capa- city, addressed him a letter on the subject of this change of government. This document, which has been exten- sively circulated and greatly admired in the United States, is written with great force and elegance of dic- tion, and breathes the pure spirit of republican liberty. We have only room to cite the concluding paragraphs of this masterly production :
" In relation to the effect which this investment of power is to have upon your happiness and your fame, will the pomp and glitter of a court, and the flattery of Tenal courtiers, reward you for the troubles and anxieties attendant upon the exercise of sovereignty, everywhere, and those which will flew from your peculiar situation? Or power, supported by the bayonet, for that willing homage which you were wont to receive from your fel- low-citizens ? The groans of a dissatisfied and oppress- « people will penetrate the inmost recesses of your pal- , and you will be tortured by the reflection, that you longer possess that place in their affections, which was once your pride and your boast, and which would have been your solace under every reverse of fortune. Unsupported by the people, your authority can be main- tained only, by the terrors of the sword and the scaffold. And have these ever been successful under similar cir- cumstances 1 Blood may smother, for a period, but can never extinguish the fire of liberty, which you have con- tributed so much to kindle in the bosom of every Co- lombian.
" I will not urge, as an argument, the personal dangers to which you will be exposed. But I will ask, if you could enjoy life, which would be preserved by the con- stant execution of so many human beings — your country- men, your former friends, and almost your worshipers ? The pangs of such a situation will be made more acute, by reflecting on the hallowed motive of many of those who would aim their daggers at your bosom. That, like the last of the Romans, they would strike, not from ha- toed to the man, but love to the country. l2
126 SKETCHES Otf
" From a knowledge of your own disposition, and pres* ent feelings, your excellency will not be willing to believe, that you could ever be brought to commit an act of tyranny, or even to execute justice with unnecessary rigor. But trust me, sir, that there is nothing more cor- rupting, nothing more destructive of the noblest and finest feelings of our nature, than the exercise of unlim- ited power. The man who, in the beginning of such a career, might shudder at the idea of taking away the life of a fellow-beino", might soon have his conscience so seared by the repetition of crime, that the agonies of his murdered victims might become music to his soul, and the drippings of his scaffold afford " blood enough to swim in." History is full of such exam- ples.
" From this disgusting picture, permit me to call the at- tention of your excellency to one of a different character. It exhibits you as the constitutional chief magistrate of a free people. Giving to their representatives the influ- ence of your great name and talents, to reform the abuses which, in a long reign of tyranny and misrule, have fajjfc. tened upon every branch of the administration. Tf^P army, and its swarm of officers, reduced within the lim- its of real usefulness, placed on the frontiers, and no longer permitted to control public opinion, and be the terror of the peaceful citizen. By the removal of this incubus from the treasury, and the establishment of order, responsibility, and economy, in the expenditures of the government, it would soon be enabled to dispense with the odious monopolies, and the duty of the Jllcavala, which have operated with so malign an effect upon com- merce and agriculture; and, indeed, upon the revenues which they were intended to augment. No longer op- pressed by these shackles, industry would everywhere re- vive : the farmer and the artizan, cheered by the prospect of ample reward for their labor, would redouble their ex- ertions : foreigners, with their capital and skill in the arts, would crowd hither, to enjoy the advantages which could scarcely elsewhere be found : and Colombia would soon exhibit the reality of the beautiful fiction of Fenelon— ^ Salentum rising from misery and oppression, to prosper*
GENERAL HARRISON. 127
ity and happiness, under the councils and direction of the concealed goddess.
11 What objections can be urged against this course? Can any one, acquainted with the circumstances of the country, doubt its success, in restoring and maintaining tranquillity? The people would certainly not revolt against themselves ; and none of the chiefs who are sup- posed to be factiously inclined, would think of opposing the strength of the nation, when directed by your talents and authority. But it is said, that the want of intelli- gence amongst the people unfits them for the govern- ment. Is it not right, however, that the experiment should be fairly tried? I have already said, that this has not been done. For myself, I do Kot hesitate to de clare, my firm belief, that it will succeed. The people of Colombia possess many traits of character, suitable for a republican government. A more orderly, forbear- ing, and well-disposed people are nowhere to be met with. Indeed, it may safely be asserted, that their faults and vices are attributable to the cursed government to which
«jy have been so long subjected, and to the intolerant __aracter of the religion, whilst their virtues are all their own. But admitting their present want of intelligence, no one has ever doubted their capacity to acquire knowl- edge, and under the strong motives which exist, to obtain it, supported by the influence of your excellency, it would soon be obtained.
" To yourself, the advantage would be as great as to the country ; like acts of mercy, the blessings would be reciprocal; your personal happiness secured, and your fame elevated to a height which would leave but a sin- gle competition in the estimation of posterity. In be- stowing the palm of merit, the world has become wiser than formerly. The successful warrior is no longer regarded as entitled to the first place in the temple of fame. Talents of this kind have become too common, and too often used for mischievous purposes, to be re- garded as they once were. In this enlightened age, the mere hero of the field, and the successful leader of ar- mies, may, for the moment, attract attention. But it will be such as is bestowed upon the passing meteor, whose
138 SKETCHES OF
Hblaze is no longer remembered, when it is no longer seen. To be esteemed eminently great, it is necessary to be eminently good. The qualities of the hero and the general mast be devoted to the advantage of mankind, before he will be permitted to assume the title of their benefactor ; and the station which he will hold in their regard and affections will depend, not upon the number and the splendor of his victories ; but upon the results and the use he may make of the influence he acquires from them.
" If the fame of our Washington depended upon his military achievements, would the common consent of the world allow him the pre-eminence he possesses"? The victories at Trenton, Monmouth, and York, brilliant as they were — exhibiting, as they certainly did, the highest grade of military talents, are scarcely thought of. Tiie source of the veneration and esteem which is entertained for his character, by every description of politicians— the monarchist and aristocrat, as well as the republican, is to be found in his undeviating and exclusive devotedness to the interest of his country. No selfish consideratiJ^ was ever suffered to intrude itself into his mind. F^i his country he conquered ; and the unrivalled and in- creasing prosperity of that country is constantly adding fresh glory to his name. General ; the course which he pursued is open to you, and it depends upon yourself to attain the eminence which he has reached before you.
" To the eyes of military men, the laurels you won on the fields of Vargas, Bayaca, and Carebobo, will be for- ever green ; but will that content you 1 Are you willing that your name should descend to posterity, amongst the mass of those whose fame has been derived from shed- cling human blood, without a single advantage to the hu- man race] Or, shall it be united to that of Washing- ton, as the founder and the father of a great and happy people? The choice is before you. The friends of lib- erty throughout the world, and the people of the United States in particular, are waiting your decision with in- tense anxiety. Alexander toiled and conquered to attain the applause of the Athenians ; will you regard as noth- ing the opinions of a nation whir»b h^. evinced its supe-
GENERAL HARRISON. 129
riority over that celebrated people, in the science most useful to man, by having carried into actual practice a system of government, of which the wisest Athenians had but a glimpse in theory, and considered as a blessing never to be realized, however ardently to be desired ? The place which you are to occupy in their esteem de- pends upon yourself."
It has been stated that general Harrison was recalled from Colombia in consequence of his interference in the internal affairs of the republic. This is not the fact. He leached Bogota on the 5th of February, 1829. Presi- dent Jackson was inaugurated on the 4th of March of that year, and Mr. Moore was appointed to this office on the Sth. It is therefore impossible that the president could even have known of general Harrison's arrival at the seat of government, when he was recalled. Mr. Moore reached Bogota in September, and on the 26th of that month, general Harrison had his audience of leave. On that occasion, the president of the council said to him : " In expressing to you, sir, the sentiments of the ieouncil towards your government, it is agreeable to me ^o declare, that the hopes formed by Colombia, when the appointment was aunounced of so distinguished a gen- eral, and one of the most eminent citizens of the oldest republic of America, have been realized by your resi- dence in this capital, as envoy extraordinary, and minis- ter plenipotentiary near this government ; and, therefore, it is highly satisfactory to me, to show the high esteem which your personal qualities have inspired." At the time when this address was made, Bolivar was absent from Bogota, and the president of the council was ad- ministering the affairs of the government. His address to general Harrison, the concluding paragraphs of which have been quoted, clearly demonstrates that our minister had discharged the duties of his station with dignity, prudence and ability 6*
130 SKETCHES OF
CHAPTER XI.
Colonel Johnson's speech in Congress. — General Harrison's Cheviot address. — His address in 1832, in regard to slavery. I — Vincennes speech about Abolition. — His speech at the 47th anniversary celebration of the settlement of Ohio. — His- torical discourse on the aborigines of the Ohio.
After general Harrison's return from Colombia, he retired to his farm and resumed the peaceful pursuits of agriculture. In June, 1331, he was chosen to deliver the annual discourse before the Hamilton county Agricultu- ral Society. In this address, he gave evidence of being' a sound practical fanner, combining theory and practice, in regard to crops and herds, with the same ready suc- cess, that in other days he had applied military princi- ples to the movement of armies. A single extract from this valuable discourse, is all that our limits will per- mit:
" The encouragement of agriculture, gentlemen, would* be praiseworthy in any country : in our own it is pecu- liarly so. Not only to multiply the means and enjoy- ment of life, but as giving greater stability and securi- ty to our political institutions. In all ages and in ai2 countries, it has been observed, that the cultivators of the soil, are those who were least willing to part with their rights, and submit themselves to the will of a mas- ter. I have no doubt also, that a taste for agricultural pursuits, is the best means of disciplining the ambition of those daring spirits, who occasiona^y spring up in the world, for good or for evil, to defend or destroy the liberties of their fellow-men, as the principles received from education or circumstances may tend. As long as the leaders of the Roman armies were taken from the plough, to the plough they were willing to return. Never in the character of general, forgetting the duties of the citizen, and ever ready to exchange the sword and the triumphal purple, for the homely vestments of the hus« bandman.
GENERAL HARRISON. 131
u The history of this far-famed republic is full of instan- ces of this kind; but none more remarkable than our own age and country have produced. The fascinations of power and the trappings of command, were as much despised, and the enjoyment of rural scenes, and rural employments as highly prized by our Washington, as by Cincinnatus or Regulus. At the close of his glori- ous military career, he says, 'I am preparing to return to that domestic retirement which it is well known I left with the deepest regret, and for which I have not ceased to sigh through a long and painful absence.'
" Your efforts, gentlemen, to diffuse a taste for agricul- ture amongst men of all descriptions and professions, may produce results more important even than increas- ing the means of subsistence, and the enjoyment of life. It may cause some future conqueror for his country, to end his career
" Guiltless of his country's blood"
" To the heart-cheering prospect of flocks and herds feeding on unrivalled pastures, fields of grain, exhibiting the scriptural proof that the seed had been cast on good ground — how often is the eye of the philanthropic travel- er disgusted with the dark, unsightly manufactories of a certain poison— poison to the body and the soul. A modern iEueas or Ulysses might mistake them for en- trances into the Infernal Regions; nor would they great- ly err. But unlike those passages which conducted the Grecian and Trojan heroes on their pious errands, the scenes to which these conduct the unhappy wretch who shall enter are those, exclusively, of misery and woe. No relief to the sad picture; no Tartarus there, no Ely- sium here. It is all Tartarian darkness, and, not un- frequently, Tartarian crime. I speak more freely of the practice of converting the material of the ■ staff of life' (and by which so many human beings yearly perish) into an article which is so destructive of health and hap- piness, because in that way I have sinned myself; but in that way I shall sin no more." *
* Borne years since, general Harrison established a distiileiy
132 SKETCHES OF
In 1831, pending an application in congress for the settlement of the accounts of J. Symmes Harrison, late Receiver of public monies at Vineennes, colonel Richard M. Johnson, now vice-president of the United States, in alluding to the father of the late Receiver, spontaneously bore the following well merited tribute to his old com- mander:
" Who is general Harrison 1 The son of one of the signers of the declaration of independence, who spent the greater part ©f his large fortune in redeeming the pledge he then gave, of his 'fortune, life and sacred hon- or,' to secure the liberties of his country.
"Of the career of general Harrison I need not speak— the history of the west, is his history. For forty years he has been identified with its interests, its perils and its hopes. Universally beloved in the walks of peace, and distinguished by his ability in the councils of his coun- try, he has been yet more illustriously distinguished in the field.
" During the late war, he was longer in active service than any other general officer ; he was, perhaps, oftener in action than any one of them, and never sustained a defeat."
In 1833, general Harrison delivered, by appointment, at Cheviot, Hamilton county, Ohio, an address in com- memoration of the 4th of July, which was subsequently published by the committee of arrangements. It pre- sents a summary of the causes which led to the revolu- tionary war, and a lucid exposition of the constitution of the United States. His interpretation of that instrument is in strict accordance with the celebrated resolutions of Virginia and Kentucky, of 1798.
Being desirous of making a fair representation of the views of general Harrison, on all important public mat- ters, we now introduce two documents touching his opin-
on his farm, to convert his surplus corn into whiskey. Soon perceiving the bad consequences of such a manufactory, upon the surrounding population, he cheerfully encountered pecunia- ry sacrifice by abolishing his manufactory of that baneful ar- ticle.
GENERAL HARRISON. 133
ions on the subject of slavery. In the year 1822, when he was a candidate for congress, his opponents, for the purpose of defeating his election, charged him with be- ing a pro-slavery man — that he had owned slaves, and had been in favor of introducing slavery into Indiana. In refutation of this sweeping charge, general Harrison published an address, from which we take all of that por- tion relating to the subject of slavery. It is in these word s : • £:■'
" Being called suddenly home to at^nd my sick fam- ily, I have but a moment to answer a'few of the calum- nies which are in circulation concern ing^me^
"I am accused of being friendly to slafwy... From my earliest youth to the present moment, I have been the ardent friend of Human Liberty, At the age of eigh- teen, I became a member of an Abolition Society establish- ed at Richmond, Virginia ; the object oi which was to ameliorate the condition of slaves and procure their free- dom by every legal means. My venerable friend, Judge CJatch, of Clermont county, was also a member of thi3 society, and has lately given me a certificate that I was one. The obligations which I then came under I have faithfully performed. I have been the means of liberating many slaves, but never placed one in bondage. I deny that my vote in congress in relation to Missouri and Arkansas, are in the least incompatible with these prin- ciples. Congress had no more legal or constitutional Tight to emancipate the negroes in those sections of Lou- isiana without the consent of their owners, than they have to free those of Kentucky. These people were secured in their property by a solemn covenant with France whpn the country was purchased from that pow- er. To prohibit the emigration of citizens of the south- ern states to the part of the country, the situation and climate of which, was peculiarly suited to them, would have been highly unjust, as it had been purchased out of the common fund. Particularly, too, when it is recollect- ed that all the immense territory to the north-west of the Ohio had been ceded by Virginia, and with an unexampled liberality, she had herself proposed, that by excluding slavery from it, to secure it for the emigration of those M
134 SKETCHES OF
states which had no slaves. Was it proper, then, wneis her reserved territory was in a great measure filled up, to exclude her citizens from every part of the territory pur- chased out of the common fund 1 I was the first person to introduce into congress the proposition that all the country above Missouri (which having no inhabitants was free from the objection made to Missouri and Arkansas) should ne- ver have slavery admitted into it. I repeat what I have be- fore said, that as our union was only effected by mutual concession, so only can it be preserved.
" My vote against the restriction of Missouri in form- ing her constitution was not a conclusive one ; there would have been time enough, had I continued to be a member, before the question was decided, for my consti- tuents to have instructed me, and I should have rejoiced in an opportunity of sacrificing my seat to my principles, if they had instructed me in opposition to my construc- tion of the constitution. Like many other members from the non-slaveholding states, of whom I mention Shaw, Holmes, Mason of Massachusetts, Laman of Connec- ticut, and Baldwin of Pennsylvania, I could see nothing in the constitution which I had sworn to .support, to warrant such an interference with the rights of the states, and which had never before been attempted. And where is the crime in one set of men not being able to interpret the constitution as other men interpret it 1 As we had all sworn to support it, the crime would have been in giving it a construction which our consciences would not sanction. And let me ask, for what good is this question again brought up1? It has been settled, as all our family differences have been set- tled, on the firm basis of mutual compromise. And pat- riotism, as well as prudence, devoted the effects of that awful discussion to eternal oblivion. Is it not known, that from that cause the great fabric of our Union was shaken to its foundation % Is it not known that Missou- ri would not have submitted to the restriction, and that the other slave-holding states had determined to support her? But for this compromise, the probability is, that at this moment we might look upon the opposite shore of Ohio, not for an affectionate sister state, but on aa
GENERAL HARRISON. 135
armed and implacable rival. What patriotic man would not join the gallant Eaton in execrating the head and the hand that could devise and execute a scheme productive of a calamity so awful 1
" Upon the whole, fellow-citizens, our path is a plain one ; it is that marked out as well by humanity as duty. We cannot emancipate the slaves of the other states without their consent, but by producing a convulsion which would undo us all. For this much to be desired event, we must wait the slow but certain progress of those good principles which are every wrhere gaining ground, and which assuredly will ultimately prevail."
It is proper to remark, that this society, originally established by the Quakers, but not confined to them, was, according to the statement of Judge Gatch, a " Hu- mane Society ;" and it seems to have been of a character to which no exceptions were taken in Virginia. A num- ber of the citizens of Richmond were members, and its principles were not understood to be at all in conflict with the rights guarantied to the owners of slaves, by the constitution and the laws of the land. Within a few months after his first connection with Ifchis society, general Harrison, then but eighteen years of age, re- moved from Virginia, since which time he has never at- tended one of its meetings, nor been either directly or indirectly connected with any society touching the ques- tion of slavery.
The other document upon this subject, is taken from a speech made by general Harrison, at VincenneSa Indiana, , in May, 1835, on the occasion of a public dinner having been given to him by the citizens of that place.
"I have now, fellow-citizens, a few more words to say on another subject, and which is, in my opinion, of more importance than any other that is now in the course of discussion in any part of the Union. I allude to the societies which have been formed, and the movements of certain individuals in some of the states in relation to a portion of the population in others. The conduct of these persons is the more dangerous, because their object is masked under the garb of disinterestedness and bene- volence; and their course vindicated by arguments and
136 SKETCHES OF
propositions which, in the abstract, no one can deny. But, however fascinating may be the dress with which their schemes are presented to their fellow-citizens, with whatever purity of intention they may have been formed and sustained, they will be found to carry in their train mischief to the whole Union, and horrors to a large por- tion of it, which, it is probable, some of the projectors and many of their supporters have never thought of; the latter, the first in the series of evils which are to spring from their source, are such as you have seen perpetrated on the fair plains of Italy and Gaul, by the Scythian hordes of Attila and Alaric; and such as most of you apprehended upon that memorable night, when the toma- hawks and war clubs of the followers of Tecumthe were rattling in your suburbs. I regard not the disavowals of any such intention upon the part of the authors of these schemes, since, upon the examination of the publi- cations which have been made, they will be found to con- tain the very facts, and very arguments which they would have used, if such had been their object. I am certain that there is not, in this assembly, one of these deluded men, and that there are few within the bounds of the state. If there are any, I would earnestly entreat them to forbear; to pause in their career, and deliberately con- sider the consequence of their conduct to the whole Union, to the states more immediately interested, and to those for whose benefit they profess to act. That the latter will be the victims of the weak, injudicious, pre- sumptuous and unconstitutional efforts to serve them, a thorough examination of the subject must convince them. The struggle (and struggle there must, be) may com- mence with horrors such as I have described, but it will end with more firmly riveting the chains, or in the utter extirpation of those whose cause they advocate.
"Am I wrong, fellow-citizens, in applying the terms weak, presumptuous and unconstitutional, to the mea- sures of the emancipators] A slight examination will, I think, show that I am not. In a vindication of the objects of a convention which was lately held in one of the towTns of Ohio, which I saw in a newspaper, it was said that nothing more was intended than to produce a
GENERAL HARRISON. 137
state of public feeling which would lead to an amend- ment of the constitution, authorizing the abolition of slavery in the United States. Now can an amendment of the constitution be effected without the consent of the southern States 1 What then is the proposition to be submitted to them'? It is this: — 'The present pro- visions of the constitution secure to you the right (a right which you held before it was made, which you have never given up,) to manage your domestic concerns in your own way; but as we are convinced that you do not manage them properly, we want you to put in the hands of the general government, in the councils of which we have the majority, the control over these mat- ters, the effect of which will be virtually to transfer the* power from yours into our hands.' Again, in some of the states, and in sections of others, the black popula- tion far exceeds that of the white. Some of the emanci pators propose immediate abolition. What is the pro- position then, as it regards the states and parts of states, but the alternatives of amalgamation with the blacks, or an exchange of situations with them ? Is there any man of common sense who does not believe that the emancipated blacks, being a majority, will not insist up- on a full participation of political rights with the whites ; and when possessed of these, they will not contend for a full share of social rights also? What but the extremity of weakness and folly could induce any one to think, that such propositions as these could be listened to by a people so intelligent as the southern states 1 Further; the emancipators generally declare that it is their inten- tion to effect their object (although their acts contradict their assertion,) by no oth-sr means than by convincing the slave-holders that the emancipation of the slaves is called for, both by moral obligation and sound policy. An unfledged youth, at the moment of his leaving (indeed, in many instances, before he has left it,) his theological seminary, undertakes to give lectures up- on morals to the countrymen of Wythe, Tucker, Pen- dleton and Lowndes, and lessons of political wisdom to states, whose affairs have so recently been directed by Jefferson and Madison, Macon and Crawford. Is it m2
238 SKETCHES OV
possible, that instances of greater vanity and presump- tion could be exhibited 1 But the course pursued by the emancipators is unconstitutional. I do not say that there are any words in the constitution which forbid the dis- cussions they are engaged in ; I know that there are not. And citizens have the right to express and publish their opinions without restriction. But in the construction of the constitution, it is always necessary to refer to th& circumstances under which it was framed, and to ascer tain its meaning by a comparison of its provisions with each other, and with the previous situation of the several states who were parties to it. In a portion of these, sla very was recognized, and they took care to have the right secured to them ; to follow and reclaim such of them as were fugitives to other states. The laws of con- gress passed under this power, have provided punishment for any one who shall oppose or interrupt the exercise of this right. Now can any ©ne believe, that the instru- ment which contains a provision of this kind, which au- thorizes a master to pursue his slave into another state, take him back, and provides a punishment for any citi- zen or citizens of that state who should oppose him, should, at the same time, authorize the latter to assemble together, to pass resolutions and adopt addresses, not only to encourage the slaves to leave their masters, but to cut their throats before they do so 1
" I insist, that if the citizens of the non-slaveholding states can avail themselves of the article of the constitu- tion, which prohibits the restriction of speech or the press to publish anything injurious to the rights of the slave- holding states, that they can go to the extreme that I have mentioned, and effect any thing further which wri- ting or speaking could effect. But, fellow-citizens, these are not the principles of the constitution. Such a con- struction would defeat one of the great objects of its for- mation, which was that of securing the peace and harmony of the states which were parties to it. The liberty of speech and of the press, were given as the most effectual means to preserve to each and every citizen their own rights, and to the states the rights which appertained to them, at the time of their adoption. It could never
GENERAL HARRISON. 139
have been expected that it would be used by the citizens of one portion of the states for the purpose of depriving those of another portion, of the rights which they had reserved at the adoption of the constitution, and in the exercise of which, none but themselves have any con- cern or interest. If slavery is an evil, the evil is with them. If there is guilt in it, the guilt is theirs, not ours, cince neither the states where it does not exist, nor the government of the United States can, without usurpation of power, and the violation of a solemn compact, do any- thing to remove it without the consent of those who are immediately interested. But they will neither ask for aid nor consent to be aided, whilst the illegal, persecuting and dangerous movements are in progress, of which I complain: the interest of all concerned requires that these should be stopped immediately. This can only be done by the force of public opinion, and that cannot too soon be brought into operation. Every movement which is made by the abolitionists in the non-slaveholding states, is viewed by our southern brethren as an attack upon their rights, and which, if persisted in, must in the end eradicate these feelings of attachment and affection be- tween the citizens of all the states, which was produced by a community of interests and dangers in the war of the revolution, which was the foundation of our happy union, and by a continuance of which, it can alone be preserved. I entreat y ou, then, to frown upon the measures which are to produce results so much to he deprecated. The opinions which I have now given, I have omitted no op- portunity for the last two years to lay before the people of my own state. I have taken the liberty to express them here, knowing that even if they should unfortunately not accord with yours, they would be kindly received."
The attempt has been made to show that these two documents are inconsistent with each other. A careful comparison of them, however, must bring the candid en- quirer for truth, to a different conclusion. On this, as well as upon all other questions upon which general Harrison has been called to ant or express himself, there is an exhibition of the same consistency of opinion and character which has marked the whole of his eventful life.
140 SKETCHES OF
In 1835, at the celebration of the 47th anniversary of the settlement of Ohio, held in Cincinnati, general Harrison was among the invited guests ; and in reply to some complimentary toast, offered by the committee of arrangement, referring to general Wayne and himself, general Harrison took occasion to speak of the claims of the subordinate officers, non-commissioned officers and privates of the regular army in the west, under Harmer, St. Clair and Wayne, who brought the war of the revo- lution to a close by the victory of the Miami of the Lake. In this address, the claims of these soldiers were present- ed in a strong, touching and beautiful manner. From the many admirable sentiments contained in this speech, we cannot forbear quoting the following : " No more fatal idea can be entertained than that our republic is to be preserved, either by the wealth of our citizens or the amount of the revenue of the government. The bright- est eras of the republics which have existed, were thos*> when honorable poverty prevailed, and when patriotism was best rewarded."
In the autumn of 1837, general Harrison delivered a discourse before the Philosophical and Historical Society of Ohio, on the aborigines of the Ohio, which has since been published in the first volume of the Transactions of that body. It embraces about fifty pages of the work, and is among the most valuable contributions which have yet been made to that society. This discourse, written with classic elegance, in pure Saxon, is ingenious and profound, presenting the results of much close and accurate observation upon the ancient works and aborigi- nes of the valley of the Ohio. Having space but for a single extract, we take the following, on the reproduction of the forest upon the banks of the Ohio, after it has once been destroyed. The subject is introduced by the author to prove the great antiquity of the ancient mounds and fortifications of this region.
" The process by which nature restores the forest to its original state, after being once cleared, is extremely slow. In our rich lands, it is, indeed, soon covered again with timber, but the character of the growth is entirely differ- ent, and continues so, through many generations of men.
GENERAL HARRISON. 141
In several places on the Ohio, particularly upon the farm which I occupy, clearings were made in the first settlement, abandoned, and suffered to grow up. So rap of them, now to be seen, of nearly fifty years' growth, have made so little progress towards attaining the ap- pearance of the immediately contiguous forest, as to in- duce any man of reflection, to determine, that at least tea times fifty years would be necessary before its complete assimilation could be effected. The sites of the ancient works on the Ohio, present precisely the same appearance as the circumjacent forest. You find on them, all that beautiful variety of trees, which gives such unrivalled richness to our forests. This is particularly the case on the fifteen acres included within the walls of the work at the mouth of the Great Miami, and the relative pro- portions of the different kinds of timber, are about the same. The first growth on the same kind of land, once cleared, and then abandoned to nature, on the contrary, is more homogeneous- — often stinted to one, or two, or at most three kinds of timber. If the ground had been cul- tivated, yellow locust, in many places, will spring up as thick as garden peas. If it has not been cultivated, the black and white walnut will be the prevailing growth. The rapidity with which these trees grow for a time, smothers the attempt of other kinds to vegetate and grow in their shade. The more thrifty individuals soon over- top the weaker of their own kind, which sicken and die. In this way, there is soon only as many left as the earth will well support to maturity. All this time the squir* rels may plant the seed of those trees which serve them for food, and by neglect suffer them to remain, — it will be in vain ; the birds may drop the kernels, the ex- ternal pulp of which have contributed to their nourish- ment, and divested of which they are in the best state for germinating, still it will be of no avail: the winds of heaven may waft the winged seeds of the sycamore, cot- ton-wood and maple, and a friendly shower may bury them to the necessary depth in the loose and fertile soil — but still without success. The roots below rob them of moisture, and the canopy of limbs and leaves above intercept the rays of the sun, and the dews of heaven : the
142 SKETCHES OF /
young giants in possession, like another kind of aristoc* racy, absorb the whole means of subsistence, and leaver the mass to perish at their feet. This state of things will not, however, always continue. If the process of nature is slow and circuitous, in putting down usurpa- tion and establishing the equality which she loves, and which is the great characteristic of her principles, it is sure and efFecutal. The preference of the soil for the first growth, ceases with its maturity. It admits of no suc- cession, upon the principles of legitimacy. The long un- disputed masters of the forest may be thinned by the lightning, the tempest, or by diseases peculiar to them- selves ; and whenever this is the case, one of the oft-re- jected of another family, will rind between its decaying roots, shelter and appropriate food; and, springing into vigorous growth, will soon push its green foliage to the skies, through the decayed and withering limbs of its blasted and dying adversary — the soil itself, yielding it a more liberal support than any scion from the former oc- cupant. It will easily be conceived what a length of time it will require for a denuded tract of land, by a pro- cess so slow, again to clothe itself with the amazing va- riety of foliage which is the characteristic of the forests of this region. Of what immense age, then, must be those works, so often referred to, covered, as has been supposed by those who have the best opportunity of ex- amining them, with the second growth after the ancient forest state had been regained?"
CHAPTER XII.
General Harrison's first nomination for the presidency. — His letter to Sherrod Williams. — His opinions upon duelling. — . His letter to Harmer Denny, on the principles upon which the government should be administered. — Second nomination for the presidency, December, 1839.
In the autumn of this year, by a spontaneous move- ment of the people, in different parts of the Union, gene-
GENERAL HARRISON. 14?
ml Harrison was nominated as a candidate for the presi- dency. The late period in the canvass, at which thia movement was made, prevented that concentration of ac- tion among his friends, necessary to secure his election; but, under this disadvantage, and with their other candi- dates in the field, he received seventy-two electoral votes. In the fifteen states in which Mr. Van Buren and general Harrison were alone opposed to each other, the former received five hundred and eighty thousand, and the latter five hundred and fifty-two thousand votes, being a ma* jority of less than thirty thousand for Mr. Van Buren. This fact evinces — all circumstances considered — the re- markable popularity of general Harrison with the people of the United States.
During this canvass, Sherrod Williams, Esq. a mem* ber of congress from Kentucky, addressed a letter of en* quiry to general Harrison, on certain political matters^ which drew forth the following reply :
North Bend, May 1, 1836
Sir : — I have the honor to acknowledge the receipt of your letter of the 7th ultimo, in which you request me to? answer the following questions :
1st. " Will you, if elected president of the United States, sign and approve a bill distributing the surplus revenue of the United States, to each state according to the federal population of each, for internal improvement^ education, and to such other objects as the legislature of the several states may see fit to apply the same ?"
2nd. "Will you sign and approve a bill distributing the proceeds of the sales of the public lands to each state, according to the federal population of each, for the purposes above specified 1"
3d. " Will you sign and approve bills making appropri- ations to improve navigable streams above ports of entry]"
4-th. " Will you sign and approve (if it becomes ne- cessary to secure and save from depreciation the revenue and finances of the nation, and to afford a uniform sound currency to the people of the United States) a bili, with proper modifications and restrictions, chartering a bank of the United States?"
144 SKETCHES OF
5th, " What is your opinion as to the constitutional power of the senate or house of representatives of the congress of the United States, to expunge or obliterate from the journals the records and proceedings of a previ- ous session V
From the manner in which the four first questions are stated, it appears that you do not ask my opinion as to the policy or propriety of the measures to which they respectively refer; but what would be my course, if they were presented to me (being in the presidential chair of the United States) in the shape of bills, that had been duly passed by the senate and house of representatives.
From the opinions whish I have formed of the inten- tion of the constitution, as to cases in which the veto power should be exercised by the president, I would have contented myself with giving an affirmative answer to the four first questions ; but, from the deep interest which has been and indeed is now felt in relation to all the subjects, I think it proper to express my views upon each one separately.
I answer, then, 1st. That the immediate return of all the surplus money which is, or ought to be, in the trea- sury of the United. States, to the possession of the people from whom it was taken, is called for by every principle of policy and, indeed, of safety to our institutions ; and I know of no mode of doing it better than that recom- mended by the present chief magistrate, in his first an- nual message to congress, in the following words : " To avoid these evils it appears to me that the most safe, just and federal disposition ivhich could be made of the surplus reve- nue, would be its apportionment among the several states according to the ratio of representation.
This proposition has reference to a state of things which now actually exists, with the exception of the amount of money thus to be disposed of; for it could not have been anticipated by the president that the surplus above the real wants or convenient expenditures of the government would become so large, as that retaining it in the treasury would so much diminish the circulating medium as greatly to embarrass the business of the country.
GENERAL HARRISON. 145
What other disposition can be made of it with a view to get it into immediate circulation, but to place it in the hands of the state authorities ? So great is the amount, and so rapidly is it increasing, that it could not be ex- pended for a very considerable time on the comparatively few objects to which it could be appropriated by the gen- eral government; but the desired distribution amongst the people could be immediately effected by the state, from the infinite variety of ways in which it might be employed by them. By them it might be loaned to their own banking institutions, or even to individuals — a mode of distribution by the general government, which I sin- cerely hope is in the contemplation of no friend to his country.
2nd. Whilst I have always broadly admitted that the public lands were the common property of all the states, I have been the advocate of that mode of disposing of them, which would create the greatest number of free- holders ; and I conceived that in this way th-e interests of all would be as well secured as by any other disposition; but since, by the small size of the tracts in which the lands are now laid out, and the reduction of the price, this desirable situation is easily attainable by any person of tolerable industry, I am perfectly reconciled to the distribution of the proceeds of the sales as provided for by the bill introduced into the senate by Mr. Clay; the interests of all seem to be well provided for by this bill ; and as for the opposition which has hitherto been made to the disposition of the lands heretofore contemplated by the representatives of the new states, there is no prob- ability of its being adopted, I think it ought no longer to be insisted on.
3rd. As 1 believe that no money should be taken from the treasury of the United States to be expended on in- ternal improvements but for those which are strictly na- tional, the answer to this question would be easy but from the difficulty of determining which of those that are from time to time proposed, would be of this description. This circumstance, the excitement which has already been produced by appropriations of this kind, and the jealousies which it will no doubt continue to produce if 7 N
146 SKETCHES OF
persisted in, give additional claims to the mode of appro- priating all the surplus revenue of the United States in the manner above suggested. Each state will then have the means of accomplishing its own schemes of internal improvement. Still there will be particular cases when a contemplated improvement will be of greater advantage to the Union generally, and some particular states, than to that in which it is to be made. In such cases, as well as those in the new states, where the value of the public do- main will be greatly enhanced by an improvement in the means of communication, the general government should certainly largely contribute. To appropriations of the lat- ter character there has never been any very warm oppo- sition. Upon the whole, the distribution of the surplus revenue amongst the states seems likely to remove most, if not all, the causes of dissension of which the internal improvement system has been the fruitful source. There is nothing, in my opinion, more sacredly incumbent upon those who are concerned in the administration of our government, than that of preserving harmony between the states. From the construction of our system, there has been, and probably ever will be, more or less jeal- ousy between the general and state governments ; but there is nothing in the constitution — nothing in the char- acter of the relation which the states bear to each other, which can create any unfriendly feeling, if the common guardian administers its favor with an even and impartial hand. That this may be the case, all those to whom any portion of this delicate power is entrusted, should always act upon the principles of forbearance and conciliation; ever more ready to sacrifice the interest of their imme- diate constituents, rather than violate the rights of the other members of the family. Those who pursue a dif- ferent course, whose rule is never to stop short of the at- tainment of ail which they may consider their due, will often be found to have trespassed upon the boundary they had themselves established. The observations with which I shall conclude this letter, on the subject of the veto powTer by the president, will apply to this as well as your other questions. 4th. I have before me a newspaper, in which I am
GENERAL HARRISON. 147
designated by its distinguished editor, " The bank and federal candidate" I think it would puzzle the writer to adduce any act of my life which warrants him in identifying me with the interest of the first, or the poli- tics of the latter. Having no means of ascertaining the sentiments of the directors and stock-holders of the bank of the United States, (which is the one, I presume, with'which it was intended to associate me,) I cannot say what their course is likely to be in relation to the en- suing election for president. Should they, however, give me their support, it will be evidence at least, that the opposition which I gave to their institution in my ca- pacity of representative from Ohio, in congress, pro- ceeded, in their opinion, from a sense of duty which I could not disregard.
The journals of the second session of the thirteenth, and those of the fourteenth congress, will show that my votes are recorded against them upon every question in "which their interest was involved. I did, indeed, exert myself in the senate of Ohio, to procure a repeal of the law, which had imposed an enormous tax upon the branches which had been located in its boundaries at the request of the citizens. The ground of those exertions was not the interest of the bank ; but to save what I considered the honor of the state, and to prevent a controversy be- tween the state officers and those of the United States.
In the spring of 1834, I had also the honor to preside at a meeting 01 the citizens of Hamilton county, called for the purpose of expressing their sentiments in relation to the removal of the public money from the custody of the bank, by the sole authority of the executive. As president of the meeting, I explained at some length the object for which it was convened, but I advanced no opinion in relation to the rechartering of the bank.
A most respectful memorial to the president in relation to the removal of the deposites was adopted, as were also resolutions in favor of recharterinrr the bank ; but, as I have already said, this was not the purpose for which the meeting was called, and not one upon which, as pre- siding officer, I was called upon to give an opinion, but in the event of an equal division of the votes.
148 SKETCHES 0#
As a private citizen, no man can be more entirely cleat of any motive, either for rechartering the old institution, or creating a new one under the authority of the United States. I never had a single share in the former, nor in- deed, in any bank, with one exception; and that many years ago failed, with the loss of the entire stock. I have no inclination again to venture in that way, even if I should ever possess the means. With the exception above mentioned, of stock in a bank, long since bro- ken, I never put out a dollar at interest in my life. My interest being entirely identified with the cultivation of the soil, I am immediately and personally connected with none other.
I have made this statement to show you that I am not committed to any course in relation to the chartering of a bank of the United States ; and that I might, if so disposed, join in the popular cry of denunciation against the old institution, and upon its misconduct, predicate an opposition to the chartering of* another.
I shall not, however, take this course so opposite to that which I hope I have followed through life, but will give you my sentiments clearly and fully, not only with regard to the future conduct of the government on the subject of a national bank, but in relation to the operation of that which is now defunct.
I was not in congress when the late bank was char- tered, but was a member of the 13th congress, after its first session, when the conduct of the bank, in its incip- ient measures was examined into; and believing, from the result of the investigation, that the charter had been violated, I voted for the judicial investigation, with a view of annulling its charter. The resolution for that purpose, however, failed ; and shortly after, the manage- ment of its affairs was committed to the talents and in- tegrity of Mr. Cheves. From that period to its final dis- solution, (although I must confess I am not a very com- petent judge of such matters,) I have no idea that an institution could have been conducted with more ability, integrity, and public advantage than it has been.
Under these impressions, I agree with general Jackson in the opinion expressed in one of his messages to con-
GENERAL HARRISON. 149
gress, from which I make the foil-wing extract : " That a bank of the United States, competent to all the duties which may be required by the government, might be so or- ganized as not to infringe on our delegated powers, or the reserved rights of the states, I do not entertain a doubt," But the period for rechartering the old institution has passed, as Pennsylvania has wisely taken care to appro- priate to herself the benefits of its large capital.
The question, then, for me to answer, is whether, un- der the circumstances you state, if elected to the office of president, I would sign an act to charter another bank. I answer, I would, if it were clearly ascertained that the public interest in relation to the collection and disburse- ment of the revenue would materially suffer without one, and there were unequivocal manifestations of public opinion in its favor. I think, however, the experiment should be fairly tried, to ascertain whether the financial operations of the government cannot be as well carried on without the aid of a national bank. If it is not neces- sary for that purpose, it does not appear to me that one can be constitutionally chartered. There is no construc- tion which I can give the constitution which would au- thorize it, on the ground of affording facilities to com- merce. The measure, if adopted, must have for its ob- ject the carrying into effect (facilitating at least the exer- cise of,) some one of the powers positively granted to the general government. If others flow from it, producing equal or greater advantages to the nation, so much the better; but these cannot be made the ground for justify- ing a recourse to it.
The excitement which has been produced by the bank question, the number and respectability of those who deny the right to congress to charter one, strongly recom- mended the course above suggested.
5th. I distinctly answer to this question, that, in my opinion, neither house of congress can constitutionally expunge the record of the proceedings of their prede- cessors.
The power to rescind certainly belongs to them; and is, for every public legitimate purpose, all that is pecessary. The attempt to expunge their journal, now N2
150 SKETCHES OF
making in the senate of the United States, 1 am satis- fied could never have been made but in a period of the highest party excitement, when the voice of reason and generous feeling is stifled by long protracted and bitter controversy.
In relation to the exercise of the veto power by the president, there is, I think, an important difference in opinion between the present chief magistrate and myself. I express this opinion with less diffidence, because I be- lieve mine is in strict accordance with those of all the previous presidents to general Jackson.
The veto power, or the control of the executive over the enactment of laws by the legislative body, was not unknown in the United States previously to the formation of the present federal constitution. It does not appear, however, to have been in much favor. The principle was to be found in but three of the state constitutions; and in but one of them (Massachusetts,) was the execu- tive power lodged in the hands of a single chief magis- trate. One other state, (South Carolina,) had, indeed, not only adopted this principle, but had given its single executive magistrate an absolute negative upon the acts of the legislature. In all other instances it has been a qualified negative, like that of the United States. The people of South Carolina seem, however, not to have been long pleased with this investment of power in their governor, as it lasted but two years ; having been adop- ted in 1776, and repealed in 1778 ; from which time the ^cts of the legislature of that state have been entirely freed from executive control. Since the adoption of the constitution of the United States, the veto principle has been adopted by several other states; and until very lately, it seemed to be very rapidly growing into favor.
Before we can form a correct opinion of the manner in which this power should be exercised, it is proper to un- derstand the reasons which have induced its adoption. In its theory, it is manifestly an innovation upon the first principle of republican government — that the majority should rule. Why should a single individual control the will of that majority 1
GENERAL HARRISON. 151
It will not be said that there is more probability of finding1 greater wisdom in the executive chair, than in the halls of the legislature. Nor can it possibly be supposed, that an individual residing in the centre of an extensive country, can be as well acquainted with the wants and wishes of a numerous people, as those w'ho come immediately from amongst them — the partakers, for a portion of the year, in their various labors and employ- ments ; and the witnesses of the effects of the laws in their more minute as well as general operations.
As far, then, as it regards a knowledge of the wants and wishes of the people, wisdom to discover remedies for increasing the public prosperity, it would seem that the legislative bodies did not require the aid of an exec- utive magistrate. But there is a principle, recognized by all the American constitutions, which was unknown to the ancient republics. They all acknowledge rights in the minority, which cannot rightfully be taken from them. Experience had shown that in large assemblies, these rights were not always respected. It would be in vain that they should be enumerated, and respect for them enjoined in the constitution. A popular assembly, under the influence of that spirit of party which is always discoverable in a greater or less degree in all republics, might, and would, as it was believed, sometimes disre- gard them. To guard against this danger, and to secure the rights of each individual, the expedient of creating a department independent of the others, and amenable only to the laws, was adopted. Security was thus given against any parpable violation of the constitution, to the injury of individuals, or a minority party. But it was still possible for a willful and excited majority to enact laws of the greatest injustice and tyranny, without vio- lating the letter of their charter.
And this I take to be the origin of the veto power, as well in the state governments, as that of the United States. It appears to have been the intention to create an umpire between the contending factions, which had existed, it was believed, and would continue to exist. If there was any propriety in adopting this principle in the government of a state, all the reasons in favor of it
152 SKETCHES OF
existed in a tenfold degree for incorporating it in that of the United States. The operations of the latter, extend- ing over an immense tract of country, embracing the pro- ducts of almost every clime, and that country divided too into a number of separate governments, in many re- spects independent of each other and of the common federal head, left but little hope that they could always be carried on in harmony. It could not be doubted that sectional interests would at times predominate in the bosoms of the immediate representatives of the people and the states, combinations formed destructive of the public good, or unjust and oppressive to a minority. Where could a power to check these local feelings, and to destroy the effects of unjust combinations, be better placed than in the hands of that department whose autho- rity, being derived from the same common sovereign, is co-ordinate with the rest, and which enjoys the great distinction of being at once the immediate representa- tive of the whole people, as well as of each particular state?
In the former character, the interests of the whole community would be rigidly supported, and, in the latter, the rights of each member steadfastly maintained. The representation from the state authorities in the electoral colleges, I consider one of the most felicitous features in the constitution. It serves as an eternal memento to the chief magistrate that it is his duty to guard the in- terests of the weak against the unjust aggressions of the strong and powerful. From these premises, you will con- clude that I consider the qualified veto upon the acts of the legislature, conferred by the constitution upon the presi- dent, as a conservative power, intended only to be used to secure the instrument itself from violation, or, in times of hi<rh party excitement, to protect the rights of the minority, and the interests of the weaker members of the Union. Such, indeed, is my opinion, and such we must believe to be the opinion of nearly all the distin- guished men who have filled the executive chair. If I were president of the United States, an act which did not involve either of the principles above enumerated, must have been passed under very peculiar circum-
GENERAL HARRISON. 153
stances of precipitancy or opposition to the known public will, to induce me to refuse to it my sanction.
If the opinion I have given of the motives of the fra- mers of the constitution, in giving the veto power to the president, is correct, it follows, that they never could have expected that he who was constituted the umpire between contending factions, should ever identify him- self with the interests of one of them, and voluntarily razee himself from the proud eminence of leader of a na- tion to that of chief of a party. I can easily conceive the existence of a state of things by which the chief ma- gistrate of a state may be forced to act upon party prin- ciples; but such a course is entirely opposed to all the obligations which the constitution imposes on a presi- dent of the United States. The immense influence he possesses will always give to his party the prepon- derance, and the very circumstance of its being an ex- ecutive party will be the cause of infusing more bitter- ness and vindictive feeling in these domestic contests. Under these circumstances, the qualified veto given by the constitution may, if the president should think pro- per to change its character, become as absolute in prac- tice as that possessed by the kings of England and France. From the great variety of local interests acting upon the members of the two houses of congress, and from the difficulty of keeping all the individuals of a large party under the control of party discipline, laws will often be passed by small majorities adverse to the interests of the dominant party; but if the president should think proper to use the veto power for the pur- pose of promoting the interests of his party, it will be in vain to expect that a majority so large as two-thirds in both houses would be found in opposition to his wishes. In the hands of such a president, the qualified veto of <he constitution would in practice be absolute.
I have, upon another occasion, expressed my views upon the danger of a dominant executive party* It may, perhaps, be said, that the chief magistrate will find it im- possible to avoid the influence of party spirit. Several of our chief magistrates, however, have been able to escape its influence ; or, what is the same thing, to act 7*
154 SKETCHES OF
as if they did not feel it. As one mode of avoiding it, it would be my aim to interfere with the legislation of congress as little as possible. The clause in the consti- tution which makes it the duty of the president to give congress information of the state of the Union, and to recommend to their consideration such measures as he shall judge necessary and expedient, could never be in? < tended to make him the source of legislation. Informa- tion should always be frankly given, and recommenda- tions upon such matters as come more immediately under his cognizance than theirs. But there it should end. If he should undertake to prepare the business of legisla- tion for the action of congress, or to assume the char- acter of code maker for the nation, the personal interest which he will take in the success of his measures will necessarily convert him into a partisan, and will totally incapacitate him from performing the part of that impar- tial umpire, which is the character that I have supposed the constitution intends him to assume, when the acts passed by the legislature are submitted to his decision. I do not think it by any means necessary that he should take the lead as a reformer, even when reformation is, in his opinion, necessary. Reformers will be never want- ing when it is well understood that the power which wields the whole patronage of the nation will not oppose the reformation.
I have the honor to be, with great consideration and respect, sir, your humble servant.
W.H.HARRISON.
To the Hon, Sherrod Williams.
In 1838, a gentleman in New Jersey addressed general Harrison on the subject of duelling. The reply to this letter has been widely circulated, and is justly consider* ed one of the most effective attacks upon the practice of personal combat, that has been made. The concluding paragraph presents general Harrison's own views upon this subject, and we subjoin it.
" I am satisfied, that what I have said above, does not entirely meet your enquiry, and that you will expect me to state what effect the scenes described had in forming,
GENERAL HARRISON. 155
myown principles, and governing my own conduct. I have already stated an entire change in my sentiments, on the subject of duelling-, from those which I entertained upon my first entering the army; and for which no ex- cuse can be offered, but my extreme youth, and the bad examples continually before me. In almost every other case, possessed of the deliberate opinions of a man, you might safely conclude that his conduct would be in con- formity to them. But such, alas ! is not the case with men of the world, in relation to the laws which form " the code of honor." Abstractedly considered, they all condemn them, whilst in practice they adopt them. In all other cases, independent men act from their own con- victions, but, in this case, upon the opinions of others, or rather from what they fear may be the opinions of others. I acknowledge, then, that the change of my opinions, which I have admitted in relation to duelling, had no other influence on my conduct, than to determine me never to be the aggressor. But, although resolved to of- fer no insult nor inflict any injury, I was determined to suffer none. When I left the army, however, and retired to civil life, I considered myself authorized greatly to narrow the ground upon which I would be willing to re* sort to a personal combat. To the determination which I had previously made, to offer no insult or inflict any injury to give occasion to any one to call upon me in this way, (for after witnessing the scene which I have last described, the wealth and honors of the world would not have tempted me to level a pistol at the breast of a man whom I had injured,) I resolved to disregard all remarks upon my conduct which could not be construed into a deliberate insult, or any injury which did not affect my reputation or the happiness and peace of my family. When I had the honor to be called upon to command the north-western army, recollecting the number of gallant men that had fallen in the former war, in personal com- bat, I determined to use all the authority and all the in- fluence of my station to prevent their recurrence. And, to take away the principal source from which they spring, in an address to the Pennsylvania brigade, at Sandusky, I declared it to be my determination to prevent, by all
156 SKETCHES OF
the means that the military laws placed in my hands, any injury, or even insult, which should be offered, by the superior to the inferior officers. I cannot say what influ- ence this course, upon my part, may have produced in the result; but I state with pleasure, that there was not a single duel, nor, as far as I know, a challenge given, whilst I retained the command. The activity in which the army was constantly kept, may, however, have been the principal cause of this uncommon harmony.
" In relation to my present sentiments, a sense of higher obligations than human laws, or human opinions can im- pose, has determined me never, on any occasion, to ac- cept a challenge or seek redress for a personal injury, by a resort to the laws which compose the code of honor>"
The proceedings of the National Democratic Anti- masonic Convention, held in Pennsylvania, in 1838, by which general Harrison was nominated for the presi- dency of the United States, in the canvass of 1840, were transmitted to him, officially, by the Honorable Harmer Denny, of Pittsburgh. Under date of December 2nd, 1838, the general made a reply to Mr. Denny, the sub- stance of wThich is here given :
" Dear Sir : — As it is probable that you have by this time returned to Pittsburgh, I do myself the honor to ac- knowledge the receipt of your letter from Philadelphia, containing the proceedings of the National Democratic Anti-masonic Convention, which lately convened in that city. With feelings of the deepest gratitude, 1 read the resolution unanimously adopted, nominating me as a can- didate for the president of the United States. This is the second time that I have received from that patriotic party, of which you yourself are a distinguished member, the highest evidence of confidence that can be given to a citizen of our republic. I would attempt to describe my sense of the obligations I owe them, if I were not con- vinced that any language which I could command would fall far short of what I really feel. If, however, the wishes of the convention should be realized, and if I should second their efforts, I shall have it in my power to manifest my gratitude in a manner more acceptable to those whom you represent, than by any professions of it
GENERAL HARRISON. 157
which I could at this time make ; I mean by exerting my utmost efforts to carry out the principles set forth in their resolutions, by arresting the progress of the measures 44 destructive to the prosperity of the people, and tending to the suhversion of their liberties," and substituting for them those sound democratic republican doctrines, upon Which the administration of Jefferson and Madison were conducted.
Among the principles proper to be adopted by any ex- ecutive sincerely desirous to restore the administration to its original simplicity and purity, I deem the following to be of prominent importance.
I. To confine his service to a single term.
II. To disclaim all right of control over the public treasure, with the exception of such part of it as may be appropriated by law, to carry on the public services, and that to be applied precisely as the law may direct, and drawn from the treasury agreeably to the long establish- ed forms of that department.
III. That he should never attempt to influence the elections, either by the people or the state legislatures, nor suffer the federal officers under his control to take any other part in them than by giving their own votes, when they possess tne right of voting.
IV. That in the exercise of the veto power, he should limit his rejection of bills to, 1st. Such as are, in his opinion, unconstitutional ; 2nd. Such as tend to encroach on the rights of the states or individuals; 3rd. Such as involving deep interests, may, in his opinion, require mere mature deliberation or reference to the will of the people, to be ascertained at the succeeding elections,
V. That he should never suffer the influence of his of- fice to be used for purposes of a purely party character.
VI. That in removals from office of those who hold their appointments during the pleasure of the executive, the cause of such removal should be stated, if requested, to the senate, at the time the nomination of a successor is made.
And last, but not least in importance,
VII. That he should not suffer the executive depart- ment of the government to become the source of legisla-
O
158 SKETCHES OF
tion: but leave the whole business of making laws for the Union to the department to which the constitution has exclusively assigned it, until they have assumed that perfected shape, where and when alone the opinions of the executive may be heard. # * * *
The question may perhaps be asked of me, what secu- rity I have in my power to offer, if the majority of the American people should select me for their chief magis- trate, that I woifld adopt the principles which I have herein laid down as those upon which my administration would be conducted ; I could only answer, by referring to my conduct, and the disposition manifested in the dis- charge of the duties of several important offices, which have heretofore been conferred upon me. If the powei placed in my hands has, on even a single occasion, been used for any purpose other than that for which it was given, or retained longer than was necessary to accom- plish the objects designated by those from whom the trusts were received, I will acknowledge that either will constitute a sufficient reason for discrediting any promise I may make, under the circumstances in which I am now placed."
In December, 1839, a national convention, opposed to the present administration of the general government, was held in Harrisburgh, Pennsylvania, composed of a large number of delegates, of tried virtue, patriotism and intelligence. In this august body, drawn from twenty- three out of the twenty-six states of the Union, and rep- resenting every variety of interest in the slaveholding, as well as the non-slaveholding districts of the country, after full and mature deliberation, William Henry Harri- son was unanimously nominated as a candidate for the presidency, in 1840. This nomination was but a formal sanction of that previously made by the public sentiment of the nation. The people themselves, spontaneously, in their primitive meetings, had already most clearly mani- fested their preference for the patriot statesman of North Bend.
GENERAL HARRISON. 159
CHAPTER XIII.
General Harrison's civil and military qualifications considered — Parallel between him and Washington. — His integrity and disinterestedness, illustrated by several anecdotes. — His social and literary character. — His enjoyment of a green old age in body and mind.
Our narrative of the civil and military services of Har- rison, is now closed. Brief and imperfect as it may ap- pear, it is sufficient to establish his claim to a high rank as a civilian and a general. He has been thoroughly- tried in the council and the field, and in every situation has proved himself equal to the circumstances by which he has been surrounded. No citizen of the United States, it is believed, has ever filled so many civil and military offices, as the subject of this memoir; and cer- tainly no one has ever been more uniformly successful in discharging the trusts confided to him.
If it be true, that to plan and carry on a successful campaign, "requires an almost intuitive sagacity, great powers of combination, with prudence, caution, prompt- ness, and energy, combined with perfect self-reliance and self-control," it may be assumed that general Harrison, who is admitted to possess these attributes, — is an ac- complished civil ruler; inasmuch as these are precisely the qualities which fit an individual for acting efficiently upon men and things as they exist around him. But there are other and more practical evidences of his capa- city as a statesman. More than twenty years of his life have been spent in various important civil offices, many of them requiring inflexible integrity, firmness, intelli- gence, and wisdom. To prove that he possesses these virtues, in a high degree, it is only necessary to recur to his acts as governor of Indiana, as Indian commissioner and as a member of the national legislature. The mes- sages, letters, and speeches, called forth by these dif- ferent situations, are not only fine specimens of compo- sition, but exhibit great accuracy of information, consis-
160 SKETCHES OP
tency of political principle, and maturity of judgment. Rising above all sectarian or party influence, his views were at once national and deeply imbued with the love of liberty ; his voice and influence have ever been exerted in sustaining the cause of freedom in this, as well as in other kindred lands*
In his military capacity, general Harrison is not less distinguished. As commander-in-chief of the north- western army, he was entrusted with more extensive and responsible powers, than have been confided to any offi- cer in our country, Washington alone excepted. The command assigned to him, embraced an immense extent of territory, with a frontier of several hundred miles in length, stretching along the lakes (then in possession of] the enemy) with harbors, inlets, and rivers, admirably suited to favor their attacks upon our scattered border settlements. To defend this extended line of frontier, the commander's forces were chiefly undisciplined militia — entirely wanting experience in the field — engaged for short terms of service, and held in obedience more by personal influence than the force of authority. But it was not to the defence alone of this district, that general Harrison's duties were confined. He was directed by his government, to act offensively against the enemy, by retaking Detroit, and capturing the uppermost Canada, defended, as it was, by experienced British officers and soldiers, aided by a large body of north-western Indians. Detroit and Canada were separated from general Harri- son's source of troops, munitions of war and provisions, by a trackless and swampy wilderness, without roads, and presenting almost insuperable obstacles to the trans- portation of army supplies; while at the same time, it was precisely the region of country best adapted to the peculiar mode of warfare practised, by the bold and fero- cious Indians. Notwithstanding these manifold difficul- ties, in about one* year, from the time when he was in- vested with the chief command of the north-western army, general Harrison drove the enemy from his ex- tended military district, retook Detroit, defeated the com- bined arm v of Proctor and Tecumthe, on the Thames, conquered the uppermost Canada, and passed, as a vie-
-yi'2j>o^c>?c{.o<nii&