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THE
SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER;
CONTAINING
|l farg* Itote joff |to Bitir J^jpgriafe Dims,
PROSE DECLAMATION, POETICAL RECITATION,
AND DRAMATIC READINGS.
CAREFULLY
SELECTED FROM THE BEST AUTHORS, AMERICAN,
ENGLISH, AND CONTINENTAL
ARRANGED IN A RHETORICAL ORDER, AND ADAPTED TO THE
WANTS OF CLASSES IN
SCHOOLS, ACADEMIES, AND COLLEGES.
BY
HENRYCOPPEE, A.M.,
PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LITERATURE IN THE UNIVERSITY OF PENNSYLVANIA, AUTHOR OF " ELEMENTS
!., El
OF LOGIC,' fi ELEMENTS OF RHETORIC," ETC., ETC. - 1 -
-
PHILADELPHIA:
PUBLISHED BY E. H. BUTLER & CO.
1860.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 18G0, by
E. II. BTJTLBB & CO.,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, in and for the Kartell!
District of Pennsylvania.
PREFACE.
The great extent and variety of English and American litera-
ture, is a sufficient warrant for publishing a new book of extracts
from their valuable stores.
Add to this the importance which literature has attained in this
age ) the new authors of merit and genius who are almost daily
appearing, and the correspondent increase in our standard litera-
ture, and what was before simply warrantable, becomes almost a
necessity.
Without disparagement of many excellent books already pub-
lished, it must be said that we have delayed too long upon the
hackneyed though beautiful periods of a few favorite orators or
authors ; and that those acquainted with the wants of academies
and colleges, know how difficult it is, in any such work, to
find what young speakers, and their hearers, alike crave, — some-
thing new.
Such is the experience of the compiler of this volume, an
experience of years in the suggestion and selection of pieces for
declamation by students : and this has prompted the publication
of the present volume.
To meet these wants, he offers the following as among the claims
of " The Select Academic Speaker": —
The selections are with few exceptions new: they have not
(3)
iv PREFACE.
appeared before in books of this character. A very small number
of old favorites have been admitted, which from their sterling
merits seemed to demand this recognition.
While care has been taken to bring new pieces together, they
have been selected not for this quality alone, but also for their real
merits, — the finest efforts of oratory and the varied enunciation
of true poetry are here collated, with the hope that their study and
recitation will instruct and refine the student's heart.
Another aim has been to present short pieces : the time allotted
to the individual speaker in seminaries where there are many
students, is but small; and, besides, the complaint of those who
have many studies to carry on connectedly, is, that the pieces
ordinarily selected are too long to be easily learned during the
pressure of other lessons.
On account of the brevity of the extracts, and the small but clear
type in which the book is printed, a greater number of pieces, and
a more numerous collection of authors, have been presented than in
any similar book. Care has been taken to do justice to the great
minds of all parts of our country, and as far as possible, by
avoiding all sectional and sectarian bias, to fit the book for the
great popular wants of education throughout the Union.
With the earnest hope that he has succeeded in his honest
attempt, the compiler places his book in the hands of the instruct-
ors and students of the United States.
H. C.
University of Pennsylvania, June 1860.
CONTENTS.
PART I.
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE.
ACADEMIC AND POPULAR.
The Orator's Art, John Qttincy Adams.
The Orator's Gift, Abbe Baittain, . .
The Wonders of the Dawn, Edward Everett, .
The Duties of the Historian, Mitchell King, . .
Popular Government in America, Daniel "Webster,
Language and Poetry, Joseph R. Ingersoll,
The Glory of Athens, Joseph R. Ingersoll,
The True Inspiration of the Orator, .... Abbe Baittain, . .
The Statesman's Panoply, John Qtjincy Adams,
Mount Ebal and Mount Gerizim, John Qtjincy Adams,
Early Astronomy, Lord Macattlay,
Installation Speech at Glasgow, Lord Macattlay,
The Influence of Byron, Lord Macattlay,
The Miracles of Mature, Thomas Carlyle,
Mysteries, Thomas Carlyle,
The Origin of Universities, Thomas Carlyle,
Atheism Absurd, Thomas Carlyle,
Theism and its Tenets, Thomas Carlyle,
Kings' Desires, Lord Bacon,
Studies, Lord Bacon,
Beauty and Utility, Wieland,
English Valor, Dr. Johnson,
Truth, Lord Bacon,
Mental and Moral Greatness, Dr. Stevens,
Pacific Railroad, Calvin Colton
The Exile's Hope, Victor Hugo,
Golden Grain, Edward Everett,
The Xew Olympiad, Morton McMichael
The Preservation of the Union, Edward Everett,
The Sons of Georgia, Bishop Elliott, .
The Sculptor's Art, Henry Reed, . .
The Great Mountains, John Rttskin,
The Student's Duties, James Walker, D.D.,
Calvert and the Maryland Charter, .... William George Reed
The Finite and the Infinite, R. C. Winthrop,
Florence and its Treasures, Edward Everett,
Tolerant Christianity the Law of the Laud, . Daniel Webster,
The Obstacles to Christianity, Stephen Colwell,
Christian Courage, William C. Rives,
1* (5)
28
28
29
30
31
32
32
33
34
35
36
36
37
38
39
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
45
46
47
48
49
49
50
51
51
52
53
54
55
55
56
57
VI
CONTENTS.
The Demon of Speculation,
The Influence of the Classics,
Modern Authorship,
The Demeanor of Books,
National Vigor,
England and America,
Degrees of Imagination,
The Cataract of Niagara,
Italy,
The' New World and the Old,
Vathek in the II all of Eblis,
The Dramatic Age,
Culture of the English Language, . . . .
Byron's Tomb,
Address of Nicias to his Troops,
Common Things Important,
The Physician's Duty and Responsibility, . .
The Smithsonian Institute,
The First Predicted Eclipse,
Kepler's Discovery of the Third Law, . . .
The Treaty of Shackamaxon,
The Settlement of Pennsylvania,
Canova's Triumph,
Devotion to Science,
European Names in America,
The Progress of Civilization,
The Pilgrims of New England,
The Value of the Union,
English Opinions of France,
Napoleon's Tomb,
Man's Immortality,
The Stone Age,
Penn and Lycurgus,
The Spread of Knowledge,
The Heavens Proclaim the Deity,
The Franks,
The House of Refuge,
The Dutch Republic,
The Use of Knowledge,
English Prisons,
Ireland and Grattan,
Rapid Progress in Agriculture,
The Wonders of the Deep,
Aspects of the Ocean,
Farewell to the Army at Fontainebleau, 1814,
Charlemagne,
Proclamation to the Army of Italy, . . . .
Washington,
Inauguration of the Monument to Henry Clay,
The Great Merits of Henry Clay,
English Culture,
The Egotistical Talker,
The Sense of Beauty,
Books, •
Dn. Bo LIU) MAN,
Joseph Story,
Joseph Stout,
John Milton, . . . 60
John Milton, .... 60
G eorge 1'. Marsh, . 61
Leigh Hint 61
Ch \ i i. IlUbbiand, ... 03
Hor ice iiiNMv Wallace, 63
Arnold Ghyot, . . . 64
William Beckford, . 66
Henry Rbbi 66
Henry Reed, .... or
W lshington Crying, . 69
Thdcydides G ( J
II. C. Winthrop, . . . N
Dr. J. W. Francis, . . 70
Joel R. Poinsett, . . 71
0. M. MlT< BEL, ... 71
0. M. MlTCHEL, ... 73
Henry J). Gilpin, . . 7-1
Henry D. Gilpin, . . 74
Cardinal Wiseman, . 75
Augustin Thierry, . 70
Adgustin Thierry, . 70
Guizot, 77
S. S. Prentiss, ... 78
S. S. Prentiss, ... 7'J
Dr. Dubbin, .... 80
Dr. Durbin, .... SO
William Proht, . . 81
Walter Scott, . . . 82
Gulian C. Verrlanck . 83
W. E. Channing, . . 84
0. M. MlTCHEL, ... 80
Augustin Thierry, . 80
John Sergeant, . .
Gulian C. Verplanck
Cardinal Wiseman,
Sydney Smith,
Sydney Smith,
W. M. Meredith,
Anonymous,
Anonymous, . ,
Napoleon Bonaparte,
Montesquieu, . .
Napoleon Bonaparte,
Charles Phillips,
John Tyler, . . .
John Tyler, . . .
Lord John Russell,
J. B. Owen, . . .
W. E. Channing,
W. E. Channing,
CONTENTS.
JUDICIAL, FORENSIC, AND PARLIAMENTARY.
Impressment of American Sailors, Henry Clay,
Abuse of Napoleon, Henry Clay, .
Reply to John Randolph, Henry Clay, .
The Building of National Roads, Henry Clay, .
Address to Lafayette, Henry Clay, .
The Juryman's Duty, Daniel Webster,
The Murderer's Self-Betrayal, Daniel Webster,
The Murderer's Plan, Daniel Webster,
The Bunker Hill Monument, Daniel Webster,
England and America, J. C. Calhoun,
Federal Government, J. C. Calhoun,
The Roman System, J. C. Calhoun,
The Roman System — Continued, J. C. Calhoun,
Reply to the Charge of iEschines, Demosthenes,
The Commonwealth and its Ambassadors, . . Demosthenes,
Religious Liberty, William Gaston,
False Philanthropy, R. Y. Hayne, .
South Carolina in the Revolution, . . . . R. Y. Hayne, .
Laws Concerning the Slave Trade, .... James M. Wayne,
Friendship with England, Rufus King, . .
American Influence, . H. W. Hilliard,
Hamilton, Gouverneur Morris,
On the Distribution Bill, Thomas H. Benton,
To the Noblesse of Provence, Mirabeau, ....
Monomania, David Paul Brown,
Actions and Motives, David Paul Brown,
An Independent Judiciary, James A. Bayard, .
Switzerland, an Example, Patrick Henry, . .
Amendments to the Constitution, Patrick Henry, . .
James II. and George III William H. Drayton,
American Rights, Joseph Warren,
The Southern Campaign, John Rutledge, . .
English Presumption, James Madison, . .
Faction and Tyranny, Alexander Hamilton,
The Achievers of our Liberty, John Hancock, . .
Inaugural Address, George Washington,
The Rule of American Conduct, George Washington,
The Appeal to Arms, John Dickinson, . .
The Necessity of Independence, Samuel Adams, . .
Call to Americans, Josiah Quincy, Jr.,
Address to a Jury, Josiah Quincy, Jr.,
A Stable Government for America, .... Benjamin Rush, . .
Washington, Henry Lee, . . .
Acknowledgments to England, John Randolph, . .
The Injuries of England, John Randolph, . .
The Character of Lafayette, John Quincy Adams,
The Future Glory of America, David Ramsay, . .
Capital Punishment, Edward Livingston,
Judges among Men, Tristram Burges, .
The Congress of 1776, William Wirt, . .
Address to a Jury, David Paul Brown,
The Banner of Union, Franklin Pierce, .
American Policy, De Witt Clinton,
viii CONTENTS.
Tho "Value of a Navy, James A. Bayard,
War in Self-Dcfence, John Randolph,
The Excise System, John Randolph,
Tho Excise System Impossible in America, . John Randolph,
American Valor, Lewis Cass,
Barbarous Warfare, Lord Chatham,
England and her Children, Edmund Burkb,
Milton and " The Age of Reason," .... T. Erskine,
The East Indian Government, Edmund Burke,
French Legitimacy, Charles Phillips,
Lafayette in America, Thomas II. Benton
The Ceded Lands, John M. Berrien,
The Protective System, George McDuffie :
The Charter of Runnymede, Lord Chatham, .
The French Revolution, Sir James McIntosh,
American Petitions, Lord Chatham, . .
The Exile's Fate, Richard Lalor Sheh»,
Religious Charity, Richard Lalor Sheil,
Defence of John O'Connell, Richard Lalor Sheil,
Iron Links, Rufus Choate, . .
The Learning for a Judge, Rufus Choate, . .
The Incorruptible Judge, Rufus Choate, . .
States Protected by the General Government, T. F. Marshall,
Modern Toleration, T. F. Marshall, . .
State Laws, • . . Alexander Hamilton,
The Constitution a Bill of Rights, .... Alexander Hamilton,
The Power of the Constitution, James Madison,
Eulogy on Franklin, Abbe Fauchet, . .
The American Motive to War, Charles James Fox,
The Reign of Terror, Lord Brougham,
Denunciation of Lord Castlereagh, .... Lord Brougham,
The Valor of the Irish Aliens, Richard Lalor Sheil,
Retirement from the Senate, Henry Clay, . . .
The Deeds of General Taylor, Jefferson Davis, .
Constitutional Responsibility, Stephen A. Douglas,
The French War, J. J. Crittenden,
Jewish Disability, Lord John Russell,
Aid to Hungary, Louis Kossuth, . .
The Limit of Intervention, Judge Duer, . . .
The Cause of Hungary, R. M. T. Hunter,
Catiline Denounced, Cicero,
Expunging Resolution, J. C. Calhoun, . .
HISTORICAL, BIOGRAPHICAL, AND DESCRIPTIVE.
History Properly Written, Lord Macaulay, .
Civil and Religious Liberty, William Smyth,
England and America, William Smyth,
Addison's Hymns, W. M. Thackeray,
Fielding's Fame, W. M. Thackeray,
John Locke and William Penn, George Bancroft,
Milton and Dryden, Lord Macaulay,
Wonders of English Rule in India, .... Lord Mahon,
The Black Hole of Calcutta, Lord Mahon,
Macaulay's Oratory, Neio York Daily Times,
CONTENTS.
The Wounded After a Battle,
Architecture in Venice,
The Execution of Andre,
The Hospital at Sebastopol,
Byron and Burns,
The Assault on the Malakoff,
The Struggle in the Redan,
Napoleon and Josephine,
The Oratory of Pitt,
The Character of Fox, .......
The Eloquence of Burke,
Lord North's Policy,
The Administration of Pitt (Lord Chatham),
The Handwriting of Junius,
The Oratory of Canning,
R,elics at Abbotsford,
Machiavelli,
Robespierre,
The Court of Charles II.,
The Character of James I.,
The Policy of Queen Elizabeth, ....
The Cathedral at Rouen,
Art in Antwerp,
Domestic Comfort in the Fifteenth Century,
Tacitus as a Historian,
Monticello,
Eulogy on Calhoun,
Murder of Thomas a Becket,
The Cosmos,
La Valetta at Malta,
The Mahometan Corsair,
Dr. Arnold at Rugby,
The Death of Major Hodson at Lucknow, .
Washington's Presence,
Washington's Moral Character, ....
The Fate of Andre,
West Point,
The Impossible,
Havelock's Highlanders,
The News from Lexington,
Allen's Capture of Ticonderoga, ....
The Downfall of Napoleon,
Isabella of Spain and Elizabeth of England,
Venice,
Spring,
Scandinavian Amazons,
Christmas in St. Peter's,
Washington at Oermantown,
Manhattan in the Olden Time, ....
Fashionable Parties in New Netherlands, .
Sheridan's Classical Powers,
Irving's Washington,
Common Conversation,
The Counsel of Queen Caroline, ....
London Times,
John Ruskin,
Harper's Magazine,
London Times,
Thomas Caklyle,
London Times,
London Times,
Fraser's Magazine,
Lord Brougham,
Lord Brougham,
Lord Brougham,
Lord Brougham,
Lord Brougham,
Lord Brougham,
Lord Brougham,
Washington Irving
Lord Macaulay,
Lord Brougham,
Lord John Russell
Sanford, . .
Lord Macaulay,
Dr. Durbin, .
Dr. Durbin, .
Hallam, .
Lord Macaulay,
William Wirt,
Daniel Webster
A. Thierry, .
Bayard Taylor,
Prescott,
Prescott,
Hughes, . . .
Hughes, .
Sparks,
Sparks, . . .
C. J. BlDDLE,
LOSSING, . . •
Robert Dale Owen
W. Brock, . .
GrEORGE BANCROFT,
George Bancroft,
Thomas Arnold, D
Prescott, . .
G-. S. Hileard, .
Hawthorne,
H. Wheaton,
G. S. Hillard, .
Sidney G. Fisher,
Washington Irving,
Washington Irving,
Anonymous, . . .
G. W. Greene, .
Bulwer, . . . .
Dr. Doran, .
D.,
CONTENTS.
IiELICUOUS, MORAL, AND DIDACTIC.
The Voice of the Preacher, ....
The Queen of England at her Accession,
The Office of a Judge,
The Abuse of Conscience,
Reflection,
Life,
Suffering enhances Virtue, ....
The Great Assize,
Modern Infidelity,
The Ministry of the Sciences, ....
Man Justified,
Safety of God's Children,
Heavenly Glory,
The Few Chosen,
The King's Power,
The King's Power — Continued, . . .
Moral Courage,
The Influence of Literature, ....
Bishop White,
Penn's Motive,
Life is an Education,
The Sophistry of Infidels,
Righteousness exalteth a Nation,
The Glory of Christianity,
The Hour and the Event of All Time, .
The Expulsive Power of a New Affection,
The Voice of Scripture,
The Voice of Scripture — Continued,
David's Sin,
Belief in God's Existence, ....
The Gospel for the Poor,
The Society of Heaven,
Influence of Heavenly Glimpses,
The Important Truth,
Christianity in America,
Science and Religion,
Man's Love to God,
Religionists,
Duelling,
The Cheerfulness of Piety, ....
Duty and Praise,
The Confirmation of Faith, ....
The Beauty of Goodness,
The Resurrection,
The Purposes of Christianity, . . .
Christian Motives,
Songs in the Night,
The Danger of Delay,
The Universal Empire of Death,
National Error,
The Great Price,
The Millennium,
Patriotism a Christian Virtue,
Kind Listeners,
The Desire of Death,
John Quincy Adams,
Sydney Smith, .
Sydney Smith, .
Laurence Sterne,
Colkridge, . •
Archbishop Leigiiton,
Barrow, . .
John Wesley,
Robert Hall,
Dr. Stevens,
Martin Luther,
Melanctiion,
A. Carson, . .
PAGE
239
239
240
241
242
242
243
244
244
245
240
247
247
John Baptist Massillon, 248
John Knox, . . • . 219
John Knox, .... 250
Dr. Boardman, . . 250
Alonzo Potter, D.D., . 251
Alonzo Potter, D.D., . 252
Alonzo Potter, D.D., . 252
F. W. Robertson, . . 253
Robert Hall, . . . 254
Dr. Stevens, . . . 254
John McLaurin, . . 256
Hugh Blair, ... 256
Thomas Chalmers, . 257
Edward Irving, . . 258
Edward Irving, . . 259
Bishop White, . . . 200
Jonathan Maxey, . . 260
John M. Mason, . . 261
Gregory T. Bedell, . 262
II. Melvill, .... 263
II. Melvill, . . . 263
R. J. Breckenridge, . 264
M. Hopkins, .... 265
J. McClintock, ... 266
F. D. Huntington, . . 267
Eliphalet Nott, . . 268
Dr. Durbin, .... 269
J. B. Kerfoot, ... 270
Bishop White, . . . 271
J. B. Kerfoot, . . . 272
Bishop McIlvaine, . 273
F. Wayland, ... 274
George F. Pierce, . 275
C. H. Spurgeon, . 275
J. C. Young, .... 276
D. S. Doggett, . . . 277
T. P. Akers, ... 278
J. H. Newman, . . . 278
Archbishop Whately, 280
Huntington, .... 281
F. W. Faber, . . . 281
F. W. Faber. . . . 2.«2
CONTENTS.
PART II.
RECITATIONS IN POETRY.
EPIC, LYRIC, AND DESCRIPTIVE.
Human Life, J. R. Lowell,
Changes of Home, W. G. Simms,
The Skies, Mary E. Lee,
"Westminster Abhey, Thomas Miller
Don Garzia, Rogers,
Requiem, Julia R. McMasters,
Address to Light, Milton, . . .
Eternal Truth, Cowper, . . .
Country and Town, , Cowper, .
The Bull-Eight, Lord Byron,
The Coliseum, Lord Byron,
The Destiny of America, Bryant, . . .
Religion, Young, . . .
To the Past, Bryant, . . .
Adonais, . Shelley, . . .
The Occultation of Orion, Longfellow,
The Builders, Longfellow,
Sand of the Desert in an Hour-glass, . . . Longfellow,
The Temptation of Christ, Milton, . . .
The Minstrel's Earewell to his Harp, . . . Sir Walter Scott,
The Highland Chase, Sir "Walter Scott,
The Cloud, Shelley, . .
Speed the Prow, "... Montgomery,
The Field of the World, Montgomery,
An Incident at Ratishon, Browning,
Ginevra, Rogers,
The Four Eras, Rogers,
To-Night, Shelley, . .
Better Moments, • N. P. Willis,
Death of General Harrison, N. P. Willis,
Hymn to the Flowers, Horace Smith,
The Mummy, Horace Smith,
Song of the Stars, Bryant, . .
Small Things, Charles Mackay,
Forgive and Forget, Charles Swain,
The First Prayer, Charles Swain,
The Deep, Brainard,
The Old Man's Carousal, Paulding,
Children of Light, Bernard Barton,
The Fourth of July, Pierpont,
The True Glory of America, G. Mellen, .
The Suppliant, Dean Trench,
Weary of Life, Boker,
The Celestial Army, T. B. Read, .
Napoleon's Exile, Mrs. Browning.
Southern Autumn, W. H. Timrod,
Evening in Winter, T. B. Read, .
Xii CONTENTS.
To Time, " The Old Traveller," W. H. Timrod, . . . 338
The Mystery of Song, Anonymous, .... 339
The Banner of the Cross, Anonymous, .... 340
Ode to Duty, Wordsworth, . . . 342
I give my Soldier Boy a Blade, Maginn, 343
The Influence of Fame, Joanna Baillie, . . :: I I
The Last Man, Campbell, .... 341
Napoleon's Final Return, Mrs. Browning, . . 345
My Father, H.R.Jackson, ... 340
The Closing Year, George D. Prentice, . 349
The Village Schoolmaster, Goldsmith, .... 350
The Traveller's Eyrie, Goldsmith, .... :;.">l
Washington, Eliza Cook, .... 351
The Pauper's Death-Bed, Mrs. Soutiiey, . . . 353
The Settler, A. B. Street, ... 354
The Coral Grove, Percival, .... :w>j
Apostrophe to the Sun, Percival, ....
" Let there be Light !" Mrs. F. H. Cooke, . . 307
All's for the Best, M. F. Tipper, ... 358
Echo and Silence, Sir Egerton Brydges, 359
The Four-Leaved Shamrock, Lover, 359
The Blest of Earth, J. Gilboiini: Lyons. . 360
The Homes of England, Mrs. Hemans, . . . 360
The Magnetic Telegraph, J. Gilborne Lyons, . 362
Matin Bells, A. C. Coxe, .... 362
Light, W. P. Palmer, ... 364
The Worship of Nature, Whittier, .... 365
Fingal at Carric-Thura, Ossian, 366
Forgiveness, • . . . Anonymous, .... 368
Sonnet, Dean Trench, . . . 369
The Execution, Bariiam, 370
The British Bow, Bisnop Heber, . . . 371
Morning, Keble, 372
Evening, Keble, 373
The Haunted Palace, E. A. Poe, .... 375
Stand like an Anvil, Bishop Doane, . . . 376
Life in the Autumn Woods, P. Pendleton Cooke, . 377
Night Study, Dr. Bethune, ... 379
Columbus, B. Simmons, .... 380
Address to the Sun, Ossian, 382
The Power of Poetry, Holmes, 383
The Sleep, Mrs. Browning, . . 383
The Seraph and Poet, Mrs. Browning, . . 385
Milton on his Blindness, Elizabeth Lloyd, . . 385
The Live-Oak, H. R. Jackson, ... 387
The Famine, Longfellow, . . . 388
Heaven's Sunrise to Earthly Blindness, . . Mrs. Browning, . . 390
NATIONAL ODES AND BATTLE-PIECES.
National Songs, Anonymous, .... 391
The American Flag, Joseph Rodman Drake, 391
The Star-Spangled Banner, Francis Scott Key, . 393
The Charge at Waterloo, Sir Walter Scott, . . 394
The Battle March, Gerald Massey, . . 395
CONTENTS.
Laissez Aller ! .
My Fatherland,
The Soldier's Cloak,
Leonidas,
The German's Native Land,
Gustavus's Battle-Song,
The Song of the Sea-King,
Ye Mariners of England,
Battle of the Baltic,
War Song of the Royal Edinburgh Light
Dragoons,
The Charge of the Light Brigade,
Soldier, Wake ! the Day is Peeping, ....
There came from the Wars on a Jet-Black
Steed,
The Norman Battle Song,
The Battle of Ivry,
Magyar Hussar Song,
Song of the Greeks,
War Song of the Greeks,
Moorish Song : Abdallah's Battle Call, . . .
Hamet arousing the Citizens of Granada, . .
Spanish National Air,
Hymn of the Moravian Nuns at Bethlehem, at
the Consecration of Pulaski's Banner, . .
The Death-Song of Outalissi,
The Tenth Avatar,
Waterloo,
Hugo before his Father,
The Fall of Corinth,
The Death of the Brave,
Flodden Field,
The Battle of Buena Vista,
The Battle of Cerro Gordo,
" Bois Ton Sang, Beaumanoir,"
The Lamentation of Don Roderick, . . . .
The Lord of Butrago,
The Cavaliers' March to London,
The Combat of Herminius and Mamilius, . .
Attila on the Battle-Field of Chalons, . . .
The Bended Bow,
The Lyre and Sword,
The Cavalier's Song,
Rio Bravo. A Mexican Lament,
The Origin of the Marseillaise,
" Qui Vive !"
England's Dead,
The Death of General Worth,
Balaklava,
'H TAN, 'H 'EHI TAN,
Monterey,
The Brigade of Fontenoy,
The Grasp of the Dead,
Image of War,
Franklin Lushington,
Kcerner,
Anonymous.
Croly, . .
Uhland,
Altenburg,
Anonymous,
Campbell, .
Campbell, .
Sir Walter Scott,
Alfred Tennyson,
Sir Walter Scott,
Anonymous, . .
Anonymous, . .
Lord Macaulay,
Gabriel Dobrentci
Campbell, . . .
Barry Cornwall,
Anonymous,
Anonymous,
Anonymous,
Longfellow, .
Campbell, . .
Campbell, . .
Lord Byron, .
Lord Byron, .
Lord Byron, .
William Collins,
D. M. Moir, .
Albert Pike,
Anonymous,
Mrs. Osgood, .
J. G. Lockhart,
J. G. Lockhart,
Lord Macaulay,
Lord Macaulay,
W. Herbert, . .
Mrs. Hemans,
George Lunt,
Wm. Motherwell,
C F. Hoffman, .
Holmes, . . .
Holmes, . . .
Mrs. Hemans,
G. W. Cutter,
Dean Trench,
Dean Trench,
C. F. Hoffman, .
Bartholomew Dowling,
L. E. Landon,
Lord Byron,
xiv CONTENTS.
WIT AND HUMOR, IN VEItSE.
PAGE
The Height of the Ridiculous, Holmes, 11!*
Nux Postcoenatica, Holmes, 461
American Genius, Pierpont,
Fashion, Saxe 459
No! Thomas Hood, . . . l.t
The Donkey and his Panniers, Thomas Moore, . . . 151
Cardinal Wolsey, Anonymous, . . . . Aji)
School and School-Fellows, Praed, iJ-7
The Rush of the Train, Anonymous, .... 459
Saying not Meaning, W.B.Wake, .... 460
An Echo, Anonymous, .... 462
On Factotum Ned, Thomas Moore, . . . 462
The Lobsters, Punch, 464
The Bandit's Fate, Pmu-h, :.; I
Boys, Saxe
The Railway Traveller's Farewell, .... Punch,
The Rich Man and the Poor Man, .... KHEMNITZER, .... 467
The Vicar, Praed,
The March to Moscow, Robert SOUTHRY, . . 470
The Chameleon, MERRICK !7I
Derniot O'Dowd, Lover, !70
My only Client, Punch,
The Last Stanzas of Yankee Doodle, . . . Punch,
The Song of Hiawatha, Punch, 480
Rhyme of the Rail, Saxe,
A Serenade, Thomas Hood, . . .
Morning Meditations, Thomas Hood, . . . 485
The Season, Thomas Hood, . . .
Spring, Thomas Hood, . . . 487
The Music Grinders, HoLHES, 488
A Parental Ode to my Son, aged three years | Thqmas h . . . 4 9l"
and five months, J
Provincial Speech, Holmes, 492
A Rhymed Lesson, . Holmes, 493
PART III.
THE DRAMA.
SOLILOQUIES AND MONOLOGUES.
Manfred. The Invocation, Lord Byron, .... 495
Macbeth's Soliloquy, Shakspeare, .... 490
Beleses' Address to the Sun, Lord Byron, .... 496
The Two Kings, Shakspeare, .... 497
Falstaff's Soldiers, Shakspeare, .... 498
Polonius to Laertes, Shakspeare, .... 499
The Lady in Comus, Melton, 500
The Student's Reverie, Longfellow, .... 500
Jaques' Fool, Shakspeare, .... 502
Cassius to Brutus Shakspeare 503
CONTENTS.
xv
Earth's Regeneration, Bailey, .
Norman's Description to Violet, Bulwer,
Tell's Refusal of Homage to Gesler's Cap, . . Knowles,
Richelieu's Soliloquy, Bulwer,
Music by Moonlight, Shakspeare,
Bolingbroke's Triumph, Shakspeare,
Prologue to Addison's Cato, Pope, . .
Nothing to Wear, "W. A. Butler,
page
503
504
505
506
507
508
510
512
DIALOGUES AND COLLOQUIES.
The Cardinal's Exculpation, Bulwer, . . .
The Seaman's Pride, Bulwer, . . .
Conscience Triumphant, G-. Lillo, . . .
An Incorruptible Farmer, Thomas Morton,
Justice to the Lowly, Thomas Morgan,
The Spanish Student, Longfellow, . .
The Trial of Anne Boleyn, Boker, ....
Literary Stratagem, S. Eoote, . . .
The Hypocrite Unmasked, Goldsmith, . .
Jones at the Barber's Shop, Punch, ..."
Scene from Bombastes Furioso, Anonymous, . .
Conjugal Quarrels, R. B. Sheridan, .
Awkward Servants, Goldsmith, . .
The Enthusiasm of the Huntress. D. L. Bourcicault,
Family Obstinacy, Sheridan, . .
Scene from Pizarro, Kotzebue, . .
The Country Squire, Charles Dance,
The Serenade, Longfellow, .
The Murder of Clytus, Nathaniel Lee,
Caudle and Mrs. Caudle, E. Stirling,
The Quarrel Adjusted, Sheridan, . .
The Death of Cardinal Beaufort, Shakspeare, .
King Lear's returning Sanity, Shakspeare, .
The Enlistment, George Farquhai
Consultation of Physicians in Paris, .... Moliere, . . .
513
515
517
520
522
524
527
529
532
535
536
539
541
543
545
548
550
554
556
560
562
565
566
569
570
NAMES OF AUTHORS.
Adams, John Quincy, 27, 33, 34, 140,
239.
Adams, Samuel, 134.
Akers, T. P., 278.
Altenburg, 402.
Anonymous, 93, 235, 339, 340, 368, 391,
399, 402, 409, 410, 415, 416, 417, 427,
456, 459, 462.
Arnold, Thomas, D.D., 225.
Bacon, Loud, 41, 42.
Bailey, 503.
Baillie, Joanna, 344.
Bancroft, George, 184, 223, 224.
B Alt II am, 370.
Barrow, 243.
Barton, Bernard, 329.
Bautain, Abbe, 28, 32.
Bayard, Jambs A., 124, 147.
Bedell, Gregory T., 262.
Beckpord, William, 66.
Benton, Thomas II., 121, 155.
Bethune, Dr. George W., 379.
Biddle, Charles J., 219.
Blair, Hugh, 256.
Boardman, Dr. Henry A., 57, 250.
Boker, George H, 334, 527.
Bonaparte, Napoleon, 94, 95.
Bourcicault, Dion L., 543.
Bhainard, 327.
Breckenridge, Robert J., 264.
Brock, W., 223.
Brougham, Lord, 195, 196, 197, 198,
199, 201, 167, 16S.
Brown, David Paul, 123, 144.
Browning, Mrs., 312, 336, 345, 383,
3S5, 390.
Bryant, William C, 297, 298, 324.
Brydges, Sir Egerton, 359.
Bulwer, Edward Lytton, 236, 504,
506, 513, 515.
Burges, Tristram, 143.
Burke, Edmund, 152, 153.
Butler, W. A., 512.
Byron, Lord, 294, 296, 421, 422, 423,
448, 495, 496.
Calhoun, John C, 111, 112, 113.
Campbell, Thomas, 344, 403, 404, 413,
419, 420.
CARLYLE, Thomas, 37, 38, 39, 40, 192.
Carson, A., 247.
Cass, Lewis, 150.
Ohalmbrs, Thomas, 257.
Channino, W. E., SI, 101, 102.
Chateaubriand, 63.
Chatham. Lord, 151, 157, 15S.
Choate, Rupos, 161, 162.
Cicero. 179.
Clay, Hbnbt, 103, 104, 105, 107, 170.
Clinton, De Witt, 146.
ridge, Samuel S., 242
Collins, William, 124.
Colton, Calvin, 46.
Colwell, Stephen, 56.
Cooke. Eliza, 351.
Cooke, Mrs. F. II., 357.
Cookk, P. Pendleton, 377.
Cornwall, Barry, 414.
Cowper, Willtam, 292, 293.
Cone, A. B., 362.
Crittenden, John J., 173.
Croly, George, 400.
Cutter, G. W., 442.
Dance, Charles, 550.
Davis, Jefferson, 171.
Demosthenes, 114.
Dickinson, John, 134.
Doane, Bishop, 376.
Dobrentci, Gabriel, 412.
Doggett, D. S., 277.
Doran, Dr., 238.
Douglas, Stephen A., 172.
Dowltng, Bartholomew, 445.
Drake. James Rodman, 391.
Drayton, William H., 127.
Duer, Judge, 176.
Dubbin, Dr., SO, 204, 269.
Elltott, Bishop, 50.
Erskine, Thomas, 152.
Everett, Edward, 28, 48, 49, 55.
(xvi)
NAMES OF AUTHORS.
xvn
Faber, F. W., 281, 232.
Farquhar, George, 569.
Fauchet, Abbe, 166.
Fisher, Sidney G., 231.
Foote, Samuel, 529.
Fox, Charles James, 167.
Francis, Dr. J. W., 70.
Fraser's Magazine, 194.
Gaston, William, 115.
Gilpin, Henry D., 74.
Goldsmith, Oliver, 350, 351, 532, 541.
Greene, G. W., 235.
Guizot, 77.
Guyot, Arnold, 64.
Hall, Robert, 244, 254.
Hallam, 205.
Hamilton, Alexander, 130, 164.
Hancock, John, 131.
Harper's Magazine, 190.
Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 228.
Hayne, Robert Y., 116, 117.
Heber, Bishop, 371.
Hemans, F. D., 360, 435, 440.
Henry, Patrick, 125, 126.
Herbert, W"., 434.
Hillard, George S., 227, 229.
Hilliard, H. W„ 119.
Hood, Thomas, 454, 4S4, 4S5, 486, 4S7,
491.
Hoffman. Charles F., 438, 444.
Holmes, Oliver W.. 383, 449, 450, 48S,
492, 493, 439.
Hopkins, M., 265.
Hughes, 214, 216.
Hugo, Victor, 47.
Hunt, Leigh, 61.
Hunter, R, M. T.. 173.
Huntington, F. D., 267, 281.
Ingersoll, Joseph R., 31, 32.
Irving, Edward, 258, 259.
Irving, Washington, 68, 199, 232, 233.
Jackson, H. R., 346, 387.
Johnson, Dr. Samuel, 44, 45.
Keble, John, 372, 373.
Kerfoot, J. B., 270, 272.
Key, Francis Scott, 393.
Khemnitzer, 467.
King, Mitchell, 29.
King, Rufus, 118.
Knowles, James Sheridan, 505.
Knox, John, 249, 250.
Kcerner, 39S.
Kossuth, Louis, 175.
Kotzebue, 54S.
Landon, L. E., 447.
Lee, Henry, 138.
2* :
Lee, Mary E., 285.
Lee, Nathaniel. 556.
Leighton, Archbishop, 242.
Lillo, G., 517.
Livingston, Edward, 142.
Lloyd, Elizabeth, 385.
Lockhart, J. G., 429, 430.
London Times, 1S8, 191, 193.
Longfellow, Henry W., 301, 303, 3SS,
418, 500, 524, 554.
Lossing, B. J., 220.
Lover, Samuel, 359, 476.
Lowell, J. R., 283.
Lunt, George, 436.
Lushington, Franklin, 397.
Luther, Martin, 246.
Lyons, J. Gilborne, 360, 362.
Macaulay, Lord, 35, 36, 1S1, 185, 200,
203, 411, 431, 432.
Mackay, Chales, 325.
Madison, James, 129, 165.
Maginn, William, 343.
Mahon, Lord, 1S6.
Marsh, George P., 61.
Marshall, Thomas F., 163.
Mason, John M., 261.
Massey, Gerald, 395.
Massillon, John Baptist, 248.
Maxey, Jonathan, 260.
McClintock, J., 266.
McDuffie, George, 156.
McIlvaine, Bishop, 273.
McLntosh, Sir James, 157.
McLaurin, John, 256.
McMasters, Julia R., 290.
McMichael, Morton, 49, 206.
Melancthon, 247.
Mellon, G., 331.
Melvill, H., 263.
Meredith, William M., 92.
Merrick, 474.
Miller, Thomas, 2S7.
Milton, John. 60, 291, 305, 500.
MlRABEAU, 122.
Mitchel, O. M., 71, 73, 85.
Moir, D. M., 425.
MOL1ERE, 570.
Montesquieu, 95.
Montgomery, W. W., 311, 312.
Moore, Thomas, 462, 454.
Morgan, Thomas, 522.
Morris, Gouverneur, 120.
Morton, Thomas, 520.
Motherwell, William, 437.
Newman, T. H., 278.
New York Daily Times, 18S.
Nott, Eliphalut, 268.
Owen, J. B., 100.
Owen, Robert Dale, 21
NAMES OF AUTHORS.
Osgood, Mrs. F. S., 428.
Ossian, 366, 382.
Palmer, W. P., 364.
Paulding, James K., 328.
Percival, James G., 355, 356.
Phillips, Charles, 96, 154.
Pierce, Fhanklin, 145.
Pierce, George F., 275.
Pierpont. John, 330, 452.
Pike, Albert, 426.
Poe, Edgar A., 375.
Poinsett, Joel 11., 71.
Pope, Alexander, 510.
Potter, Alonzo, 251, 252.
Praed, W. M., 457, 468.
Prentice, George D., 349.
Prentiss, S. S., 78, 79.
Prescott, William II., 213, 226.
Prout, AVilliam, 81.
Punch, 461, 466, 477, 479, 4S0, 535.
Quincy, Josiah, Jr., 135, 136.
Ramsay, David, 141.
Randolph, John, 139, 148, 149.
Read, Thomas B., 335, 338.
Reed, Henry, 51, 66, 67.
Reed, William George, 53.
Rives, William C, 57.
Robertson, F W.. 253.
Rogers, Samuel, 314, 31G, 2SS.
Rush, Benjamin, 137.
Ruskin, John, 51, 189.
Russell, Lord John, 99, 174, 202.
Rutledge, John, 129.
Sanford, 202.
Saxe, John G., 453, 465, 482.
Scott, Sir Walter, 82, 306, 307, 394,
406, 408.
Sergeant, John, 88.
Shakspeare, William, 496, 497, 498,
499, 502, 503, 507, 508, 565, 566.
Sheil, Richard Lalor, 159, 160, 168.
Shelley, Percy B., 300, 308, 317.
Sheridan, R. B., 539, 545, 562.
Simmons, B., 380.
Simms, W. G, 284.
Smith, Horace. 320, 322.
Smith, Sydney, 90, 91, 239, 240.
Smyth, William, 1S2.
Southey, Mrs., 353.
Southey, Robert, 470.
Sparks, Jared, 217,218.
Spurgeon, Charles H., 275.
Sterne, La r rente, 241.
Stevens, Dr. Wieliam B., 45, 245, 251.
Stirling, E., 560.
Story, Dr. Joseph, 58, 59.
Street, A. B., 354.
Swain, Charles, 326, 327.
Taylor, Bayard, 212.
Tennyson, Alered, 407.
Tiiackaray, W. M., 183.
Thierry, Augustin, 76, 86, 210.
Thucydides, 69.
Timrod, W. II., 337. 338.
Trench, Dean, 333, 369, 443, 4 11.
Tri-i-ER, Martin F., 358.
Tyler, John, 97, 98.
I'llEAN'I), 401.
Veri-lanck, G ELIAN C, 83, S8.
Wake, W. B., 460.
Walker, James, D.D., 52.
Wallace, Horace Binney, 63.
Warren, Joseph, 128.
Washington, George, 132, 133.
Wayland, Francis, 271.
Wayne, James M., 1 18.
Webster, Daniel, 30, 55, 107, 108, 109,
110, 208.
Wesley, John, 244.
Wiiately, Archbishop, 2S0.
Wheaton, II., 228.
White, Bishop, 260, 271.
Wuittier, J. G., 365.
WlELAND, 43.
Wintiirop, Robert C, 54, 69.
Willis, N. P. 318, 319.
Wirt, William, 207, 144.
Wiseman, Cardinal, 75, 89.
Wordsworth, W. W., 342.
Young, Edward, 297.
Young, J. C, 276.
INTRODUCTION.
It is not the intention of the author, to do more, in this brief
introduction, than to offer a few practical remarks on the subject of
Elocution, and to give a few directions to students, to guide them in
the choice and declamation of the pieces contained in this volume.
Within the space allotted to such an introduction, it would be
difficult to present a system of elocution, or even a concise set of
rules to compass the whole subject. This is the duty and province
of the professed elocutionist; and it is hoped this book may fall
into the hands of many such, in order that it may meet with
proper illustration and use. Such instructors agree, however, in
asserting and in teaching, that nature is the basis of true elocution,
and that she only needs the guiding and controlling hand of art to
mature her powers. And here let it be observed, that, as good
habits and gentle manners in life are obtained by long culture,
beginning in our earliest youth, so elocution, which is the appli-
cation of good manners to the delivery of discourse, should be
commenced early in life, and made the subject of constant practice
in schools and institutions of learning.
I. The first direction offered to the student is, to select his piece
according to a fair estimate of his own powers. Do not attempt
a difficult piece at first; begin with the simplest, and pass gradually
to those which demand more thought, action, and culture.
When chosen, let the piece be read with great care, before the
effort is made to memorize it. Put yourself, as far as possible,
into the position of the orator or author, and attain to the spirit
which animated him. By this means you find the natural emphasis,
that which the thought requires, and the first great lesson which the
declamation was designed to teach is already learned. With many
(xix)
xx INTRODUCTION.
students the first step is to learn, parrot-like, the words of the speech,
with as little regard to its meaning as though it had none, leaving
the understanding and due expression of it for after consideration.
This is inverting the true order, and makes it difficult to invest the
unintelligible words with their real meaning afterwards.
II. It seems almost unnecessary to say that the next important step
is to learn it thoroughly. But this is no truism. Leaving out of the
account those who break down, when called upon the platform, in
the middle of the speech, how many there are who betray painfully
to the audience, by their lack-last re eye. and hesitating manner,
that their thoughts are not addressed to them, but are busy
drawing up from the wells of memory something which Deeds the
constant effort, and is resistant of it at the end of every period.
The appearance of this should he avoided, by so thorough a memo-
rizing as to make the matter of the speech your own.
It has becu said, put yourself into the orator's place : By this is
meant only to think and feel as he must have done; and then to
render his thought yourself, not as he rendered it, but as it ought
to be rendered. It cannot be doubted that many a school-boy does
more oratorical justice to Burke or Macaulay than those speakers
did to themselves.
III. Having thoroughly prepared, and intelligently appreciated
the piece, the next and the true objective part of the elocution, is
its delivery. In this comprehensive term arc included the manage-
ment of the voice; the use of the hands, the eyes, and the person,
all which are included in the word gesture.
Of the Voice. — The general discussion of this subject is based
upon a division of voice according to its quality and its power. By
quality is meant the character of the voice itself — as smooth or
rough, as harsh or melodious, as guttural or nasal. By power is
meant its ability to give greater or less volume of sound, as loud or
soft. Little need be said of the qualify in this connection; by
constant practice and training much may be done to correct the
unpleasant characteristics — to make a harsh voice smooth, and a
rough one melodious.
In speaking of the power of the voice, it is observed that it is
of great importance to give a sufficient volume of voice to fill the
hall in which the declamation is made, to be heard by the audience,
without requiring an intensity of listening attention, as where the
sound is barely loud enough to be heard with effort.
INTRODUCTION. xx i
Articulation, or Enunciation. — By articulation is meant the
clear utterance of every part of each word, so that if the sound be
heard, the word will he also heard and understood. This is not
unfrequently called clear enunciation. Many persons have quite
enough volume of voice, but, by reason of their want of proper
enunciation, especially of final consonants, they make a jumble of
sounds quite as indistinct as those which are almost inaudible.
Sometimes this proceeds from what is called mouthing : from
opening the mouth too wide in speaking, and from a want of
vigor and exactness in the use of the lips and tongue, as in sound-
ing p and b, d and t, and making the distinction between them
respectively. A clear enunciation frequently makes a speaker
heard without much power of voice : an adjustment should be
made between the two, so as not to exert the voice more than is
evidently required.
Another direction is as to the modulation of the voice. By
this something more is meant than an adaptation of the sound to
the character of the thought in different sentences or clauses. As
a matter of practice it is found that some persons find it very diffi-
cult to get out of a continued monotone, one dead level of voice,
like a song all on one note \ or with a slight cadence of intonation
which recurs at the end of every sentence, or alternate sentence,
until it becomes extremely painful to the ear, and mars the thought
entirely. Others begin on a medium note, and in a long paragraph
find themselves falling lower and lower, until they fall below the
compass of their voice into an impracticable bass. Others, still, with
fine voices, seem to lose control over them, and they run up and down
the oratorical gamut like the singular sounds of a wind harp.
It must rest with professed elocutionists, with copious vocal
illustrations, to teach the proper modulation of the voice, as it
must necessarily vary with each piece to be declaimed.
In the consideration of the voice are also included the subjects
of accent, emphasis, and inflection, which can only be thoroughly
taught by an elocutionist. Nature, however, which dictates our
emphasis and inflection in ordinary conversation, or in the earnest,
unaffected speech of the common people, is the foundation of this
instruction. By accent is meant the stress laid upon one or more
syllables of a word. By emphasis is meant the increase of force
given to a word by a louder sound, or by a pause upon it, to mark
it as the principal word in the sentence. Sometimes there are
xxii INTRODUCTION.
more emphatic words than one in a sentence, and differences of
emphasis, which should be distinctly marked.
There is such a thing as toe much emphasis; there are certain
speakers who dwell upon more than half the words in a sentence,
giving a sort of hammering and joking sound, peculiarly disagree-
able. It is greatly better to have too little than too much, for in
the clear and well-enunciated utterance, the hearer will supply his
own emphasis; but there is a just medium, which, by marking the
few words of decided importance, gives great force and vigor to the
expression.
By inflection is meant the rise or fall of the voice on a parti-
cular word, to give a certain effect. It is usual to express inflection
by the grave and acute accent, thus : v and / . Thus, a direct
question ends with the rising inflection ; and the direct answer
usually with the falling : " Where have you Lccn''! I have been in
the count)-i/ y ." But this is not universal. The nature of the
question and answer, and of the circumstances, must decide the
character of the inflection. A false inflection frequently alters the
meaning of a sentence entirely; delicate adaptations and changes
of inflection give great variety and interest to speech.
It is chiefly in poetry that young speakers are led into false em-
phasis and inflection, by reason of the rhythm and the rhyme, which
seem to demand a sort of invariableness of emphasis, as at the cacsu-
ral pauses, and of inflection, with the rhyme. This is wrong; we
should not neglect the rhythm or the recurring cadence entirely, nor
should we be so bound by it as to spoil the connection and the sense.
IV. The next important topic is gesture, and here the most
deplorable diffidence often seizes the young declaimer. Gesture
should speak to the eye what the words do to the ear, and conse-
quently the action of the body must harmonize with the thought
which is uttered. Gesture, in its widest compass, subsidizes the
whole body to give force and expression to the speech. It is not
the arms and hands alone which the orator should use, but he
should make the head, the eye, the muscles of the face, the
shoulders, the chest, the attitude, the feet, do their important part
in acting out and illustrating the spoken thought. A toss of the
head betrays indifference ; a contracted brow denotes displeasure ;
a dilated eye tells of astonishment; a distension of the nostrils
evinces alarm; a curled lip betokens disdain; a compressed mouth
indicates firmness; a shrug of the shoulders expresses doubt; the
INTRODUCTION. xxiii
chest thrown forward shows manliness; an erect bearing evinces
dignity; a well-planted foot marks strength of purpose; and a
frequent change of position betrays restlessness and irresolution.
These, in all their possible varieties and combinations, in connec-
tion with the arms, the great levers of oratory, should be cultivated
by the student who would learn the art of gesture. The errors to
be avoided, are, too much action, constrained action, inappropriate
action, forced action, untimely action ; and the points to be culti-
vated, are, graceful action, illustrative action, variety, freedom, and
naturalness of action : thus we should judiciously adapt the sign-
language of gesture to the word-language of the lips.
The student cannot be too earnestly advised, after all that has
been said, to cultivate a deliberate and poised manner. Most
beginners find themselves hurrying over the pieces, with a con-
stantly increasing momentum, which threatens destruction to all
understanding of the piece. This can be avoided by deliberation.
Most of what has been said has particular reference to the decla-
mation of prose pieces really addressed — as are the efforts of the
rostrum, the pulpit, and the bar — to the persons of the hearers.
Poetry, notwithstanding its divorce from music, addresses itself
to the heart of every reader ; but has an indefiniteness of aim, and
an impersonality, when recited before an audience. The words in
a certain sense are not directly addressed by the speaker to the
audience, but cast forth like a melody upon the air, and designed,
like music, to claim for itself, and not him who pronounces it, the
meed of praise and admiration.
Poetry requires, therefore, a less personal, less direct utterance ;
it should be recited, and not declaimed ; the general rules of
expression are, however, the same; but the tone of the voice is
more nearly akin to music than ordinary speech. Let the prosody
be carefully observed ; give every line its proper part in the melody,
but do not spoil the sense by a sing-song cadence, too commonly
indulged in by beginners.
To the drama, the directions already given refer : but there is
one important difference. In oratory, we immediately address and
are concerned about the audience before us ; what we say is entirely
for them and to them;^ the orator is in the closest personal com-
munication with those before him; and in poetry, the beautiful
thoughts uttered in musical speech are for the behoof of the
hearers ; but in the drama, by a fiction of the play, each speaker is
xxiv INTRODUCTION.
to act uu consciously of an audience ; the other speakers are his
audience, and he a part of theirs : the true aim, then, in dialogue,
should be to act for your fellow actors, and neither by look or
innuendo to appear to be acting at or to the audience. This is the
secret of success; and to him who bears his part in the drama most
naturally, supposing it to be a real scene, is awarded the applause
and praise of the audience.
And now let it be observed, that all our practice in declamation
and recitation, as important as it is, is so because it is preparatory
to another step of far greater importance in the drama of life. Its
object is to prepare the youth to write and speak his own speeches,
and to enable him to rise and make extemporaneous addresses, in
his own sphere, upon topics of great and manifold interest. No
educated American, in the nineteenth century, should be " unac-
customed to public speaking," or should be called on ' : unex-
pectedly/' when the interests of his country, of education, of
philanthropy, are at stake.
The spirit of a free people is the true spirit of oratory ; because
it is natural, fearless, and earnest. American natural orators are
everywhere renowned, and even the Indians, our unfortunate pre-
decessors in this goodly land, give us, without the excellent culture
of the schools, matchless models of eloquence, subsidizing nature,
inventing rhetoric, and extorting our praise. This brings us to the
point from which we started, viz. : that nature is the true source
of the best oratory, and that art is only its handmaid and adorner.
The Latin poet knew the value of this naturalness when he wrote —
Si vis me flere, dolendum est
Primum ipsi tibi;"
fbr that naturalness is the earnest of human sympathy, and true
sympathy makes all oratory interesting and attractive.
If to this we add that culture which, based upon nature and
sympathy, is only intended to develop the powers of nature to the
utmost; to detract nothing from its reality, but to give it new
avenues of power and beauty, we shall do proper homage to the
most expressive of the arts, at once useful and aesthetic, Elocution.
In closing these introductory remarks on the subject of elocu-
tion, the compiler desires to explain the divisions which he has
INTRODUCTION. xxv
made in classifying and arranging his selections. The classifica-
tion is based upon general rhetorical principles. It is as follows : —
I. Declamations in Prose.
II. Recitations in Poetry.
III. The Drama.
I. Declamations in Prose.
Under the general head of Declamations in Prose are included
extracts from all kinds of public discourse, as the subdivision will
show. The first part of this subdivision is
1. Academic and Popular. — In this part are included such
efforts as are found in special orations, in seminaries and colleges,
before literary societies, in addresses on great anniversaries, in
speeches before public meetings on issues other than political ; in a
word, this part comprises a very varied selection from occasional
discourses of literary or popular interest. To these are added
eloquent extracts from certain written works of the same general
character, and specially adapted to be spoken to an audience.
2. Judicial, Forensic, and Parliamentary. — This part easily
explains itself, as containing extracts from the charges of judges
on the bench, the speeches of lawyers at the bar, and addresses in
houses of legislation, such as the English Parliament, our own Con-
gress, and our state legislatures.
3. Historical, Biographical, and Descriptive. — In this subdivi-
sion will be found extracts from historical and biographical lectures,
and from written histories and biographies, with a few descriptive
sketches from books of travel and cognate works. The custom so
prevalent in our day of lecturing in public on such themes, offers,
it is evident, a new avenue for the teacher of elocution and the
compiler of such books as this volume. This subdivision has been
virtually neglected in other books of this description, and has been
monopolized heretofore by the Readers or Reading Class-Books.
4. Religious, Moral, and Didactic. — In most books of extracts
for reading and speaking, this part is entirely neglected, or most
inadequately supplied. The truth is, there is in amount more
eloquence and rhetorical power from the pulpit than from all the
other sources of oratory combined. It has been deemed proper to
collect here a fair representation of pulpit orators, and as varied as
possible, including numerous denominations of Christians.
xxvi INTRODUCTION.
II. Recitations in Poetry.
It was unnecessary under this grand division to designate many
varieties. They are all included under three heads, for the sake
of convenience of reference.
1. Epic, Lyric, and Descriptive. — This is a large and varied
department, in which will be found many new pieces, unhackneyed
by that constant repetition which has robbed some of the finest
English pieces of their original charm.
2. National Odes and Battle Pieces. — This subdivision of stirring
and patriotic selections, gives some idea of the enthusiasm of the
human heart in all countries when called out to defend its father-
land. The author feels sure that it will be generally regarded as an
interesting and distinguishing feature of this book.
3. Wit and Humor in Verse. — Under this title have been
grouped many entirely new pieces, containing unforced wit and
true humor. With two or three exceptions, the author has aimed
to present what the student will not find in similar works.
III. The Drama.
Although the Drama must be written in prose or poetry, and
might fairly come under one of the two principal heads already
mentioned in a rhetorical arrangement, for convenience and dis-
tinction it has been classified as separate from either. It has also
two subdivisions.
1. Soliloquies and Monologues. — All the best dramas abound in
passages of this nature, which, when extracted, make excellent
separate speeches; but which, in such portion of the drama itself
as could be placed in a work of this compass, would be too # long
and tedious in colloquy.
2. Dialogues and Colloquies. — Varied extracts from dramas, old
and new, tragic and comic, are included in this part, and complete
the volume. They have been chosen with great care, and with
special regard to eliminating that license and immorality which
have so infected the stage drama in our day. It is hoped they will
give ease of colloquy to students, while at the same time they offer
them a new and extensive selection from the works of English and
American dramatists.
THE
SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
PART I.
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE.
ACADEMIC AND POPULAR.
THE OKATOR'S AET.
John Quinct Adams.
The eloquence of the college is like the discipline of a review. The
art of war, we are all sensible, does not consist in manoeuvres on a
training-day ; nor the steadfastness of the soldier in the hour of
battle, in the drilling of his orderly sergeant. Yet the superior excel-
lence of the veteran army is exemplified in nothing more forcibly than
in the perfection of its discipline. It is in the heat of action, upon
the field of blood, that the fortune of the day may be decided by the
exactness of manual exercise ; and the art of displaying a column, or
directing a charge, may turn the balance of victory, and change the
history of the world. The application of these observations is as direct
to the art of oratory as to that of war. The exercises to which you are
here accustomed are not intended merely for the display of the talents
you have acquired. They are instruments put into your hands for
future use. Their object is not barely to prepare you for the composi-
tion and delivery of an oration to amuse an idle hour on some public
anniversary. It is to give you a clue for the labyrinth of legislation
in the public councils; a spear for the conflict of judicial war in the
public tribunals ; a sword for the field of religious and moral victory
in the pulpit.
From " Lectures on Rhetoric and Oratory," delivered at Harvard, 1808.
(27)
28 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
THE ORATOR'S GIFT.
Abbe Bautaot.
Art may develop and perfect the talent of a speaker, but cannot
produce it. The exercises of grammar and of rhetoric will teach a
person how to speak correctly and elegantly; but nothing can teach
him to be eloquent, or give that eloquence which conies from the heart
and goes to the heart. All the precepts and artifices on earth can but
form the appearances or semblance of it. Now this true and natural
eloquence which moves, persuades and transports, consists of a soul
and a body, like man, whose image, glory, and word it is.
The soul of eloquence is the centre of the human soul itself, which,
enlightened by the rays of an idea, or warmed and stirred by an
impression, flashes or bursts forth to manifest, by some sign or other,
what it feels or sees. This it is which gives movement and life to a
discourse; it is like a kindled torch, or a shuddering and vibrating
nerve.
The body of eloquence is the language which it requires in order to
speak, and which must harmoniously clothe what it thinks or feels, as
a fine shape harmonizes with the spirit which it contains. The material
part of language is learnt instinctively, and practice makes us feel and
seize its delicacies and shades. The understanding then, which sees
rightly and conceives clearly, and the heart which feels keenly, find
naturally, and without effort, the words and the arrangement of words
most analogous to what is to be expressed. Hence the innate talent
of eloquence, which results alike from certain intellectual and moral
aptitudes, and from the physical constitution, especially from that of
the senses and of the organs of the voice.
From " The Art of Extempore Speaking."
THE WONDERS OF THE DAWN.
Edward Everett.
Much as we are indebted to our observatories for elevating our con-
ceptions of the heavenly bodies, they present even to the unaided sight
scenes of glory which words are too feeble to describe. I had occasion,
a few weeks since, to take the early train from Providence to Boston ;
and for this purpose rose at two o'clock in the morning. Everything
around was wrapt in darkness and hushed in silence, broken only by
what seemed at that hour the unearthly clank and rush of the train.
It was a mild, serene, midsummer's night, — the sky was without a
cloud, — the winds were whist. The moon, then in the last quarter,
had just risen, and the stars shone with a spectral lustre but little
affected by her presence. Jupiter, two hours high, was the herald of
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 29
the day ; the Pleiades just above the horizon shed their sweet influence
in the east ; Lyra sparkled near the zenith ; Andromeda veiled her
newly-discovered glories from the naked eye in the south ; the steady
pointers far beneath the pole looked meekly up from the depths of the
north to their sovereign.
Such -was the glorious spectacle as I entered the train. As we pro-
ceeded, the timid approach of twilight become more perceptible ; the
intense blue of the sky began to soften ; the smaller stars, like little
children, went first to rest ; the sister-beams of the Pleiades soon
melted together ; but the bright constellations of the west and north
remained unchanged. Steadily the wondrous transfiguration went on.
Hands of angels hidden from mortal eyes shifted the scenery of the
heavens ; the glories of night dissolved into the glories of the dawn.
The blue sky now turned more softly gray ; the great watch-stars shut
up their holy eyes ; the east began to kindle. Faint streaks of purple
soon blushed along the sky ; the whole celestial concave was filled with
the inflowing tides of the morning light, which came pouring down
from above in one great ocean of radiance ; till at length, as we reached
the Blue Hills, a flash of purple fire blazed out from above the horizon,
and turned the dewy tear-drops of flower and leaf into rubies and
diamonds. In a few seconds, the everlasting gates of the morning
were thrown wide open, and the lord of day, arrayed in glories too
severe for the gaze of man, began his state.
From " Address at the Inauguration of the Dudley Observatory" 1856.
THE DUTIES OF THE HISTORIAN.
Mitchell King.
The first duty of the man, who contemplates the arduous task of
writing a history, would seem to be, to estimate his own strength, and
ascertain how far he is, or can make himself, competent for the under-
taking. To know one's self, is perhaps the most difficult part of human
knowledge. Few, very few, have attained that yvcodc aeaorov — Know
thyself — which the satirist says, E ccelo descendit — came down from
heaven, and was inscribed in golden letters on the portals of the temple
of Delphos. It is necessary for the historian, as well as the poet, to
ascertain —
quid ferre recusent,
Quid valeant humeri ;
and not to take up a load which he is unable to carry. If he err greatly
in this estimate, he may look in vain for success.
An accurate and comprehensive acquaintance with the events of the
times of which he undertakes to write, and with the characters of H-"
3*
30 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
men who acted in them, is indispensable to the historian. No pains
can be too great, no research too persevering, to acquire this informa-
tion. Without it, correct history cannot be written. It must be sought
in every quarter in which it can be obtained ; in the public archives of
a people — in the repositories of individuals — in the ephemeral, in the
enduring literature of the day — in the private letters— in the monu-
ments of the age. Herodotus visited himself the places which he
describes; and examined the records of the people of whom he writes,
whenever they were accessible to him ; and when he relates anything
which he had not himself seen, or learned, from what he considered
sufficient authority, he generally qualifies his narrative with an "it is
said," or " they say/' and leaves the reader to form his own conclusion.
Thucydides lived, we know, in the midst of the interesting events which
he so admirably commemorates — mingled largely in them — heard, per-
haps, the very speeches which he puts in the mouths of Pericles, and
of others of his contemporaries; and possessed ample means — of which
he has well availed himself— for obtaining the information which he
required. Polybius travelled through Gaul and Spain — followed Scipio
into Africa — was present with him at the taking of Carthage — by his
assistance had access to all the archives of Rome ; and was indefatigable
in collecting materials for the composition of that history, which,
mutilated as it is, deserves to be more read and studied. Examples
similar to these might be accumulated almost without end ; but these
may serve to show the care and industry required in collecting the
information necessary for the historian.
From " A Discourse before tlie Georgia Historical Society."
POPULAR GOVERNMENT IN AMERICA.
Daniel Webster.
When the battle of Bunker Hill was fought, the existence of South
America was scarcely felt in the civilized world. The thirteen little
colonies of North America habitually called themselves the " Conti-
nent." Borne down by.colonial subjugation, monopoly, and bigotry,
those vast regions of the south were hardly visible above the horizon.
But, in our day, there hath been, as it were, a new creation. The
southern hemisphere emerges from the sea. Its lofty mountains begin
to lift themselves into the light of heaven ; its broad and fertile plains
stretch out in beauty to the eye of civilized man, and, at the mighty
being of the voice of political liberty, the waters of darkness retire.
We are not propagandists. Wherever other systems are preferred,
either as being thought better in themselves, or as better suited to exist-
ing condition, we leave the preference to be enjoyed. Our history
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 31
hitherto proves, however, that the popular form is practicable, and that,
with wisdom and knowledge, men may govern themselves ; and the
duty incumbent on us is, to preserve the consistency of this cheering
example, and take care that nothing may weaken its authority with the
world. If, in our case, the representative system ultimately fail, popu-
lar governments must be pronounced impossible. No combination of
circumstances more favorable to the experiment can ever be expected
to occur. The last hopes of mankind, therefore, rest with us ; and if it
should be proclaimed, that our example had become an argument
against the experiment, the knell of popular liberty would be sounded
throughout the earth.
These are excitements to duty ; but they are not suggestions of
doubt. Our history and our condition, all that is gone before us, and
all that surrounds us, authorize the belief, that popular governments,
though subject to occasional variations, perhaps not always for' the
better, in form, may yet, in their general character, be as durable and
permanent as other systems. "We know, indeed, that, in our country,
any other is impossible. The principle of free governments adheres to
the American soil. It is bedded in it — immovable as its mountains.
From " Oration at the Laying of the Comer Stone of the Bunl:er Hill Monument."
LANGUAGE AND POETEY.
J. R. Ingersoll.
What has so much adorned and characterized an age as its poetic
fame ? Look back through the annals of every nation that has been
distinguished by the various properties of greatness, and the eye will
rest with its intensest interest on those periods which the historian has
been delighted to describe as the days when language was pure, and
when poets were honored and renowned — the days of Pericles, of
Augustus, of Elizabeth, of Louis XIV. You are familiar with the
observation of Kennett, that it was a common saying, that if all arts
and sciences were lost, they might be found in Virgil. His knowledge
and his verse were not the less amiable for the absence of rhyme, which
marked not his writings only, but those of all the classic poets. The
classic language of Rome was coeval with Roman glory, which faded
with the pollution of its vigorous and expressive dialect. Rome ceased
to be the Mistress of the world only when she forgot to speak the Latin
tongue.
" Obliti sunt Romao loqui lingua Latina."
History is not wanting in other proofs, equally authentic and memo-
rable, of the association between the inspired efforts of poetry and
national greatness, or even the essential spirit of liberty. Edward the
32 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
First ordered the Welsh Bards to be murdered, and braved the penalty
of—
" Cambria's curse and Cambria's tears ;"
as the most effectual method of extinguishing the national spirit.
From "All Address delii-ucl at Athens, Ga., n 1847.
THE GLORY OF ATHENS.
J. EL Ingersoll.
It is with unfeigned pleasure that I exchange congratulations with
yourselves, gentlemen, and with all this assembly, upon our being in
the midst of Athens. Not personally in that Alliens which was the
light of Greece, but in another classic residence, adopting for wise pur-
poses of emulation and resemblance a name which was once a signal
for everything brilliant in arts, glorious in arms, successful in com-
merce, accomplished in manners, and distinguished in wit, wisdom, and
elegant literature. Egypt yielded her supremacy to this, the bright
inheritrix of her learning. Imperial Home, awaking from the rugged
sway of military habit and authority, sent to the schools of Athenian
philosophy her favorite sons, who brought back the elements of an
Augustan age. All the world did homage to the light which shone
from the temple of Minerva on the top of the Acropolis. The source
of it has been long since extinguished ; but the influences of it have not
ceased to radiate during the interval of two thousand years. An example
sufficiently obvious for distinct examination, connected with much that
might be unbecoming, or ill adapted to the uses of modern times, affords
an interesting study for the scholar, who, without the evils, may profit
by many advantages in the history of the ancient metropolis. Works
of art remain in imperishable grandeur for the instruction and admira-
tion of mankind. Pagan religion and false philosophy have passed
away. Objects which served in their proud supremacy to adorn them,
still present in venerable ruin monuments of exploded error, and models
of taste and elegance. A people, among whom deities were to be found
scarcely less readily than men — who, having exhausted the fabulous
calendar of the skies, erected an altar to the unknown God — have given
to a remote posterity the mutilated but beautiful memorials of a delu-
sive worship for the uses of a better faith.
From "An Address delivered at Athens, Ga." 1847.
THE TRUE INSPIRATION OF THE ORATOR.
Abbe Bautain.
He who feels the importance and the danger of speaking, who has
any notion of what the orator ought to be, any notion of all that ho
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 33
needs to accomplish his task, the obstacles he must surmount, the diffi-
culties he must overcome, and, on the other hand, how slight a matter
suffices to overthrow or paralyze him, — he who understands all this,
can well conceive also that he requires to he breathed upon from on
high in order to receive the inspiration, the light, fire, which shall
make his discourse living and efficacious. For all life comes from Him
who is life itself life infinite, life eternal, inexhaustible, and the life
of minds more still than of bodies, since God is spirit. It is but just,
therefore, to pay Him homage for what He has vouchsafed to give us,
and to refer to Him at the earliest moment the fruit or glory of what
we have received. This is the more fitting, because there is nothing
more intoxicating than the successes of eloquence ; and in the elation
which its power gives, owing to a consciousness of strength, and the
visible influence -which one is exercising over one's fellow-creatures,
one is naturally prone to exalt oneself in one's own conceit, and to
ascribe to oneself, directly or indirectly, wholly or partially, the effect
produced. One should beware of these temptations of pride, these
illusions of vanity, which are invariably fatal to true talent.
From " The Art of Extempore Speaking."
THE STATESMAN'S PANOPLY.
t J. Q. Adams.
Would it be an unlicensed trespass of the imagination to conceive,
that on the night preceding the day of which you now commemorate
the fiftieth anniversary — on the night preceding that thirtieth of April,
one thousand seven hundred and eighty-nine, when from the balcony
of your city hall, the chancellor of the state of New York administered
to George Washington the solemn oath, faithfully to execute the office
of President of the United States, and to the best of his ability, to
preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States —
that in the visions of the night, the guardian angel of the Father of our
country had appeared before him, in the venerated form of his mother,
and, to cheer and encourage him in the performance of the momentous
and solemn duties that he was about to assume, had delivered to him a
suit of celestial armor — a helmet, consisting of the principles of piety,
of justice, of honor, of benevolence, with which from his earliest infancy
he had hitherto walked through life, in the presence of all his brethren
— a spear, studded with the self-evident truths of the Declaration of
Independence — a sword, the same with which he had led the armies
of his country through the war of freedom, to the summit of the tri-
umphal arch of independence — a corselet and cuishes of long experience
and habitual intercourse in peace and war with the world of mankind,
C
34 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
his cotemporarics of the human race, in all their stages of civilization —
and last of all, the Constitution of the United States, a shield embossed
by heavenly hands, with the future history of his country.
Yes, gentlemen! on that shield, the Constitution of the United
States, was sculptured (by forms unseen, and in characters then
invisible to mortal eye) the predestined and prophetic history of the
one confederated people of the North American Union.
From " The Jubilee of the Constitution," 1839.
MOUNT EBAL AND MOUNT GERIZIM.
J. Q. Adams.
When the children of Israel, after forty years of wanderings in the
wilderness, were about to enter upon the promised land, their leader,
Moses, who was not permitted to cross the Jordan with them, just
before his removal from among them, commanded that when the Lord
their God should have brought them into the land, they should put the
curse upon Mount Ebal, and the blessing upon Mount Gerizim. This
injunction was faithfully fulfilled by his successor Joshua. Immedi-
ately after they had taken possession of the land, Joshua built an altar
to the Lord, of whole stones, upon Mount Ebal. And there he wrote
upon the stones a copy of the law of Moses, which he had written in
the presence of the children of Israel : and all Israel, and their elders
and officers, and their judges, stood on the two sides of the ark of the
covenant, borne by the priests and Levites, six tribes over against
Mount Gerizim, and six over against Mount Ebal. And he read all
the words of the law, the blessings and cursings, according to all that
was written in the book of the law.
Fellow-citizens, the ark of your covenant is the Declaration of Inde-
pendence. Your Mount Ebal is the confederacy of separate state
sovereignties, and your Mount Gerizim is the Constitution of the United
States. In that scene of tremendous and awful solemnity, narrated in
the Holy Scriptures, there is not a curse pronounced against the people
upon Mount Ebal, not a blessing promised them upon Mount Gerizim,
which your posterity may not suffer or enjoy, from your and their
adherence to, or departure from, the principles of the Declaration of
Independence, practically interwoven in the Constitution of the United
States. Lay up these principles, then, in your hearts, and in your
souls — bind them for signs upon your hands, that they may be as
frontlets between your eyes — teach them to your children, speaking of
them when sitting in your houses, when walking by the way, when
lying down and when rising up — write them upon the doorplates of
your houses, and upon your gates-
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 35
life — adhere to them as to the cords of your eternal salvation. So may
your children's children at the next return of this day of jubilee, after
a full century of experience under your national Constitution, celebrate
it again in the full enjoyment of all the blessings recognised by you in
the commemoration of this day, and of all the blessings promised to the
children of Israel upon Mount Gerizim, as the reward of obedience to
the law of God.
From " Tlie Jubilee of the Constitution," 1839.
EAKLY ASTRONOMY.
Lord Macaulat.
Astronomy was one of the sciences which Plato exhorted his disciples
to learn, but for reasons far removed from common habits of thinking.
" Shall we set down astronomy," says Socrates, "among the subjects
of study ?" " I think so," answers his young friend Glaucon : " to
know something about the seasons, about the months and the years, is
of use for military purposes, as well as for agriculture and navigation."
"It amuses me," says Socrates, "to see how afraid you are lest the
common herd of people should accuse you of recommending useless
studies." He then proceeds in that pure and magnificent diction,
which, as Cicero said, Jupiter would use if Jupiter spoke Greek, to
explain, that the use of astronomy is not to add to the vulgar comforts
of life, but to assist in raising the mind to the contemplation of things
which are to be perceived by the pure intellect alone. The knowledge
of the actual motions of the heavenly bodies he considers as of little
value. The appearances which make the sky beautiful at night are,
he tells us, like the figures which a geometrician draws on the sand,
mere examples, mere helps to feeble minds. We must get beyond
them ; we must neglect them ; we must attain to an astronomy which
is as independent of the actual stars as geometrical truth is independent
of the lines of an ill-drawn diagram. This is, we imagine, very nearly,
if not exactly, the astronomy which Bacon compared to the ox of Pro-
metheus — a sleek, well-shaped hide, stuffed with rubbish, goodly to look
at, but containing nothing to eat. He complained that astronomy had,
to its great injury, been separated from natural philosophy, of which
it was one of the noblest provinces, and annexed to the domain of
mathematics. The world stood in need, he said, of a very different
astronomy — of a living astronomy, of an astronomy which should set
forth the nature, the motion, and the influences of the heavenly bodies,
as they really are.
From " Critical and Miscdlanemts Essays."
36 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
INSTALLATION SPEECH AT GLASGOW.
Loud BIacaulat.
I trust, that when a hundred years more have run out, this ancient
college will still continue to deserve well of our country and of man-
kind. I trust that the installation of 1949 will be attended by a still
greater assembly of students than I have the happiness now to see
before me. The assemblage indeed may not meet in the place where
we have met. These venerable halls may have disappeared. My suc-
cessor may speak to your successors in a more stately edifice, in an
edifice which, even among the magnificent buildings of the future
Glasgow, will still be admired as a fine specimen of architecture which
flourished in the days of the good Queen Victoria. But though the site
and the walls may be new, the spirit of the institution will, I hope, be
still the same. My successor will, I hope, be able to boast that the
fifth century of the University has been even more glorious than the
fourth. He will be able to vindicate that boast, by citing a long list
of eminent men, great masters of experimental science, of ancient
learning, of our native eloquence, ornaments of the senate, the pulpit,
and the bar.
He will, I hope, mention with high honor some of my young friends
who now hear me ; and he will, I also hope, be able to add that their
talents and learning were not wasted on selfish or ignoble objects, but
were employed to promote the physical and moral good of their species,
to extend the empire of man over the material world, to defend the
cause of civil and religious liberty against tyrants and bigots, and to
defend the cause of virtue and order against the enemies of all divine
and human laws. I have now given utterance to a part, and a part
only, of the recollections and anticipations of which on this solemn
occasion my mind is full. I again thank you for the honor which you
have bestowed on me ; and I assure you that while I live I shall
never cease to take a deep interest in the welfare and fame of the body
with which, by your kindness, I have this day become connected.
From " Critical and Miscellaneous Essays."
THE INFLUENCE OF BYRON.
Lord Macatjlat.
Among that large class of young persons whose reading is almost
entirely confined to works of imagination, the popularity of Lord Byron
was unbounded. They bought pictures of him, they treasured up the
smallest relics of him ; they learned his poems by heart, and did their
best to write like him, and to look like him. Many of them practised
at the glass, in the hope of catching the curl of the upper lip, and the
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 37
scowl of the brow, which appear in some of his portraits. A few dis-
carded their neckcloths, in imitation of their great leader. For some
years, the Minerva press sent forth no novel without a mysterious,
unhappy, Lara-like peer. The number of hopeful under-graduates and
medical students who became things of dark imaginings, on whom the
freshness of the heart ceased to fall like dew, whose passions had con-
sumed themselves to dust, and to whom the relief of tears was denied,
passes all calculation. This was not the worst. There was created in
the minds of many of these enthusiasts a pernicious and absurd asso-
ciation between intellectual power and moral depravity.
This affectation has passed away ; and a few more years will destroy
whatever yet remains of that magical potency which once belonged to
the name of Byron. To us he is still a man, young, noble, and un-
happy. To our children he will be merely a writer ; and their
impartial judgment will appoint his place among writers, without
regard to his rank or to his private history. That his poetry will
undergo a severe sifting ; that much of what has been admired by his
contemporaries will be rejected as worthless, we have little doubt. But
we have as little doubt, that, after the closest scrutiny, there will still
remain much that can only perish with the English language.
From " Review of Moore's Life of Byron"
THE MIRACLES OF NATURE.
Thomas Caklyle.
Ton remember that fancy of Aristotle's, of a man who had grown to
maturity in some dark distance, and was brought on a sudden into
the upper air to see the sun rise. What would his wonder be, says
the Philosopher, his rapt astonishment, at the sight we daily witness
with indifference ! With the free open sense of a child, yet with the
ripe faculty of a man, his whole heart would be kindled by that sight,
he would discern it well to be Godlike, his soul would fall down in
worship before it. Now, just such a childlike greatness was in the
primitive nations. The first Pagan Thinker among rude men, the first
man that began to think, was precisely the child-man of Aristotle.
Simple, open as a child, yet with the depth and strength of a man.
Nature had as yet no name to him ; he had not yet united under a
name the infinite variety of sights, sounds, shapes, and motions, which
we now collectively name Universe, Nature, or the like, — and so with
a name dismiss it from us. To the wild deep-hearted man all was yet
new, not veiled under names or formulas ; it stood naked, flashing in
on him there, beautiful, awful, unspeakable. Nature was to this man,
what to the Thinker and Prophet it for ever is, preternatural. This
green flowery rock-built earth, the trees, the mountains, rivers, many-
"4
38 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
sounding seas ; that great deep sea of azure that swims overhead ; the
winds sweeping through it ; the black cloud fashioning itself together,
now pouring out fire, now hail and rain : what is it? Ay, what? At
bottom we do not yet know ; we can never know at all. It is not by
our superior insight that we escape the difficulty ; it is by our superior
levity, our inattention, our want of insight. It is by not thinking that
we cease to wonder at it. Hardened round us, encasing wholly every
notion we form, is a wrappage of traditions, hearsays, mere words.
We call that fire of the black thunder-cloud " electricity," and lecture
learnedly about it, and grind the like of it out of glass and silk ; but
what is it? What made it? Whence comes it? Whither goes it?
Science has done much for us ; but it is a poor science that would hide
from us the great deep sacred infinitude of Nescience, whither we can
never penetrate, on which all science swims as a mere superficial film.
This world, after all our science and sciences, is still a miracle ; won-
derful, inscrutable, magical and more, to whosoever will think of it.
From " Heroes and Hero Worship."
MYSTERIES.
Thomas Carlyle.
That great mystery of Time, were there no other; the illimitable,
silent, never-resting thing called Time, rolling, rushing on, swift, silent,
like an all-embracing ocean-tide, on which we and all the Universe
swim like exhalations, like apparitions which are, and then are not : this
is for ever very literally a miracle ; a thing to strike us dumb, — for we
have no word to speak about it. This Universe, ah me ! — what could the
wild man know of it ; what can we yet know? That it is a Force, and
thousandfold Complexity of Forces ; a Force which is not we. That is
all ; it is not we, it is altogether different from us. Force, Force, every-
where Force ; we ourselves a mysterious Force in the centre of that.
" There is not a leaf rotting on the highway but has Force in it : how
else could it rot?" Nay surely, to the Atheistic Thinker, if such a one
were possible, it must be a miracle too, this huge illimitable whirlwind
of Force, which envelops us here ; never-resting whirlwind, high as
Immensity, old as Eternity. What is it? God's Creation, the religious
people answer ; it is the Almighty God's ! Atheistic science babbles
poorly at it, with scientific nomenclatures, experiments and what not,
as if it were a poor dead thing, to be bottled up in Leyden jars, and
sold over counters ; but the natural sense of man, in all times, if he
will honestly apply his sense, proclaims it to be a living thing, — ah, an
unspeakable, godlike thing; towards which the best attitude for us
after never so much science, is awe, devout prostration and humility
of soul ; worship if not in words, then in silence.
From '•' Heroes and Hero Worship."
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 39
THE ORIGIN OF UNIVERSITIES.
Thomas Carlyle.
Universities are a notable, respectable product of the modern ages.
Their existence, too, is modified, to the very basis of it, by the exist-
ence of books. Universities arose while there were yet no books pro-
curable ; while a man, for a single book, had to give an estate of land.
That, in those circumstances, when a man had some knowledge to
communicate, he should do it by gathering the learners round him,
face to face, was a necessity for him. If you wanted to know what
Abelard knew, you must go and listen to Abelard. Thousands, as
many as thirty thousand, went to hear Abelard and that metaphysi-
cal theology of -his. And now for any other teacher who had also
something of his own to teach, there was a great convenience opened :
so many thousands eager to learn were already assembled yonder ; of
all places the best place for him was that. For any third teacher it was
better still; and grew ever the better, the more teachers there came.
It only needed now that the king took notice of this new phenomenon ;
combined or agglomerated the various schools into one school ; gave it
edifices, privileges, encouragements, and named it universitas, or school
of all sciences : the University of Paris, in its essential characters, was
there. The model of all subsequent universities ; which, down even to
these days, for six centuries now, have gone on to found themselves.
Such, I conceive, was the origin of universities.
From " Heroes and Hero Worship."
ATHEISM ABSURD.
Thomas Carlyle.
Diderot was an Atheist, then ; stranger still, a proselytizing Atheist,
who esteemed the creed worth earnest reiterated preaching, and en-
forcement with all vigor ! The unhappy man had " sailed through
the Universe of Worlds and found no Maker thereof; had descended
to the abysses where Being no longer casts its shadow, and felt only
the rain-drops trickle down ; and seen only the glimmering rainbow of
Creation which originated from no Sun ; and heard only the everlasting
storm which no one governs ; and looked upwards for the Divine Eye,
and beheld only the black, bottomless, glaring Death's Eye-Socket :"
such, with all his wide voyages, was the philosophic fortune he had
realized.
Sad enough, horrible enough : yet, instead of shrieking over it, or
howling and Ernulphus'-cursing over it, let us, as the more profitable
method, keep our composure, and inquire a little, What possibly it may
mean? The whole phenomenon, as seems to us, will explain itself
40 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
from the fact above insisted on, that Diderot was a Polemic of decided
character in the Mechanical Age. "With great expenditure of words
and froth, in arguments as waste, wild-weltering, delirious-dismal as
the chaos they would demonstrate — which arguments one now knows
not whether to laugh at or to weep at, and almost docs both, — have
Diderot and his sect perhaps made this apparent to all who examine it:
That in the French System of thought (called also the Scotch, and still
familiar enough everywhere, which, for want of a better title, we have
named the Mechanical), there is no room for a Divinity; that to him
for whom "intellect, or the power of knowing and believing, is still sy-
nonymous with logic, or the mere power of arranging and communicat-
ing," there is absolutely no proof discoverable of a Divinity ; and such
a man has nothing for it but either (if he be of half spirit, as is the
frequent case) to trim despicably all his days between two opinions;
or else (if he be of whole spirit) to anchor on the rock or quagmire of
Atheism, — and further, should he see fit, proclaim to others that there
is good riding there. So much may Diderot have demonstrated: a con-
clusion at which we nowise turn pale. "Was it much to know that
Metaphysical Speculation, by nature, whirls round in endless Mael-
stroms, " both creating and swallowing — itself?" For so wonderful a
self-swallowing product of the Spirit of Time, could any result to arrive
at be fitter than this of the Eterxal No? We thank Heaven that the
result is finally arrived at; and so now we can look out for something
other and further. But, above all things, proof of a God ? A probable
God ! The smallest of Finites struggling to prove to itself (that is to
say, if we consider it, to picture out and arrange as diagram, and in-
clude within itself) the Highest Infinite ; in which, by hypothesis, it
lives, and moves, and has its being! This, Ave conjecture, will one day
seem a much more miraculous miracle than that negative result it has
arrived at, — or any other result a still absurder chance might have led
it to. He who, in some singular Time of the World's History, were
reduced to wander about, in stooping posture, with painfully con-
structed sulphur-match and farthing rushlight (as Gowkthrapple
Naigeon), or smoky tar-link (as Denis Diderot), searching for the Sun,
and did not find it ; were he wonderful and his failure ; or the singular
Time, and its having put him on that search ?
From " Essay on Diderot."
THEISM AND ITS TENETS.
Thomas Carlyle.
The second consequence seems to be that this whole current hypo-
thesis of the Universe being " a Machine," and then of an Architect,
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 41
who constructed it, sitting, as it were, apart, and guiding it, and seeing
it go, — may turn out an inanity and nonentity; not much longer tena-
ble : with which result likewise we shall, in the quietest manner, recon-
cile ourselves. " Think ye," says Goethe, " that God made the Uni-
verse, and then let it run round his finger (am Finger aufen liessef")
On the whole, that Metaphysical hurly-burly (of our poor, jarring,
self-listening Time) ought at length to compose itself: that seeking for
a God there, and not here; everywhere outwardly in physical Nature,
and not inwardly in our own Soul, where alone he is to be found by
us, — begins to get wearisome. Above all, that " faint possible Theism"
which now forms our common English creed, cannot be too soon swept
out of the world. What is the nature of that individual, who, with
hysterical violence, theoretically asserts a God, perhaps a revealed
Symbol and Worship of God ; and, for the rest, in thought, word, and
conduct, meet with him where you will, is found living as if his theory
were some polite figure of speech, and his theoretical God a mere dis-
tant Simulacrum, with whom he, for his part, had nothing further to
do ? Fool ! The Eternal is no Simulacrum ; God is not only There,
but Here, or nowhere, in that life-breath of thine, in that act and
thought of thine, — and thou wert wise to look to it. If there is no
God, as the fool hath said in his heart, then live on with thy decencies,
and lip-homages, and inward Greed, and falsehood, and all the hollow
cunningly-devised halfness that recommends thee to the Mammon of
this world : if there is a God, we say, look to it ! But, in either case,
what art thou ? The Atheist is false ; yet is there, as we see, a fraction
of truth in him : he is true compared with thee ; thou, unhappy mortal,
livest wholly in a lie, art wholly a lie.
From " Essay on Diderot,"
kings' desires.
Lord Bacon.
It is a miserable state of mind to have few things to desire, and
many things to fear ; and yet that commonly is the case with kings,
who being at the highest, want matter of desire, which makes their
minds more languishing, and have many representations of perils and
shadows, which make their minds the less clear : and this is one reason
also of that effect which the Scripture speaketh of, " That the king's
heart is inscrutable ;" for multitude of jealousies, and lack of some
predominant desire, that should marshal and put in order all the rest,
maketh any man's heart hard to find or sound. Hence it comes like-
wise, that princes many times make themselves desires, and set their
hearts upon toys ; sometimes upon a building ; sometimes upon erect-
4*
42 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
ing of an Order; sometimes upon the advancing of a person; some-
times upon obtaining excellency in some art, or feat of the hand — as
Nero for playing on the harp ; Domitian for certainty of the hand with
the arrow; Commodus for playing at fence; Caracalla for driving
chariots; and the like. This seemeth incredible unto those that know
not the principle, that the mind of man is more cheered and refreshed
by profiting in small things, than by standing at a stay in great. We
see also that kings that have been fortunate conquerors in their first
years, it being not possible for them to go forward infinitely, but that
they must have some check or arrest in their fortunes, turn in their
latter years to be superstitious and melancholy; as did Alexander the
Great, Dioclesian, and in our memory Charles V., and others; for he
that is used to go forward, and findeth a stop, falleth out of his own
favor, and is not the thing he was.
From " Essays,"
STUDIES.
Lord Bacox.
Studies serve for delight, for ornament, and for ability. Their chief
use for delight is in privateness, and retiring ; for ornament, is in dis-
course ; and for ability, is in the judgment and disposition of business ;
for, expert men can execute, and perhaps judge of particulars, one by
one ; but the general counsels, and the plots and marshalling of affairs,
come best from those that are learned. To spend too much time in
studies, is sloth ; to use them too much for ornament, is affectation ; to
make judgment wholly by their rules, is the humor of a scholar ; they
perfect nature, and are perfected by experience — for natural abilities
are like natural plants, that need pruning by study ; and studies them-
selves do give forth directions too much at large, except they be bounded
in by experience. Crafty men contemn studies, simple men admire
them, and wise men use them, for they teach not their own use ; but
that is a wisdom without them, and above them, won by observation.
Read not to contradict and confute, nor to believe and take for granted,
nor to find talk and discourse, but to weigh and consider. Some books
are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed
and digested : that is, some books are to be read only in parts ; others
to be read, but not curiously ; and some few to be read wholly, and
with diligence and attention. Some books also may be read by deputy,
and extracts made of them by others ; but that would be only in the
less important arguments, and the meaner sort of books ; else distilled
books are, like common distilled waters, flashy things. Reading maketh
a full man, conference a ready man, and writing an exact man ; and,
therefore, if a man write little, he had need of a great memory; if he
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 43
confer little, he had need have a present wit ; and if he read little, he
had need have much cunning, to seem to know that he doth not. His-
tories make men wise ; poets witty ; the mathematics subtle ; natural
philosophy deep ; moral, grave ; logic and rhetoric, able to contend.
From " Essays."
BEAUTY AND UTILITY.
WlELAND.
Socrates exhorts the painter and the sculptor to unite the beautiful
and the agreeable with the useful ; as he encourages the pantomimic
dancer to ennoble the pleasure that his heart may be capable of giving,
and to delight the heart at the same time with the senses. According
to the same principle, he must desire every laborer who occupies him-
self about something necessary, to unite the useful as much as possible
with the beautiful. But to allow no value for beauty, except where it
is useful, is a confusion of ideas.
Beauty and grace are undoubtedly united by nature itself with the
useful ; but they are not, therefore, desirable because they are useful ;
but because, from the nature of man, he enjoys a pure pleasure in their
contemplation — a pleasure precisely similar to that which the contem-
plation of virtue gives ; a necessity as imperative for man as a reason-
able being, as food, clothing, and a habitation are for him as an animal.
I say for him as an animal, because he has much in common with
all or most other animals. But neither these animal wants, nor the
capability and desire to satisfy them, make him a man. While he
procures his food, builds himself a nest, takes to himself a mate, leads
his young, fights with any other who would deprive him of his food, or
take possession of his nest ; in all this he acts, so far as it is merely
corporal, as an animal. Merely through the skill and manner in which,
as a man, he performs all these animal-like acts (where not reduced to
and retained in an animal state by external compulsory causes), does
he distinguish and elevate himself above all other animals, and evince
his human nature. For this animal that calls itself man, and this only,
has an inborn feeling for beauty and order, has a heart disposed to
social communication, to compassion and sympathy, and to an infinite
variety of pleasing and beautiful feelings; has a strong tendency to
imitate and create, and labors incessantly to improve whatever it has
invented or formed.
All these peculiarities together separate him essentially from the
other animals, render him their lord and master, place earth and ocean
in his power, and lead him step by step so high through the nearly
illimitable elevation of his capacity for art, that he is at length in a
44 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
condition to remodel nature itself, and from the materials it affords him
to create a new, and, for his peculiar purpose, a more perfectly adjusted
world.
From " Criticism upon Bulzort.' 1
ENGLISH VALOR.
Dr. Johhboh.
By those who have compared the military genius of the English with
that of the French nation, it is remarked, that the French officers will
always lead, if the soldiers will follow; and that the English soldiers
will always follow, if their officers will lead.
In all pointed sentences, some degree of accuracy must be sacrificed
to conciseness: and, in this comparison, our officers seem to lose what
our soldiers gain. I know not any reason for supposing that the
English officers are less willing than the French to lead ; hut it is, I
think, universally allowed that the English soldiers are more willing to
follow. Our nation may boast, beyond any other people in the world,
of a kind of epidemic bravery, diffused equally through all its ranks.
We can show a peasantry of heroes, and fill our armies with clowns,
whose courage may vie with that of their general.
Whence then is the courage of the English vulgar? It proceeds, in
my opinion, from that dissolution of dependence, which obliges every
man to regard his own character. While every man is fed by his own
hands, he has no need of any servile arts ; he may always have wages
for his labor ; and is no less necessary to his employer than his employer
is to him. While he looks for no protection from others, he is naturally
roused to be his own protector ; and having nothing to abate his esteem
of himself, he consequently aspires to the esteem of others. Thus every
man that crowds our streets is a man of honor, disdainful of obligation,
impatient of reproach, and desirous of extending his reputation among
those of his own rank ; and as courage is in most frequent use, the fame
of courage is most eagerly pursued. From this neglect of subordina-
tion I do not deny that some inconveniences may from time to time
proceed : the power of the law does not always sufficiently supply the
want of reverence, or maintain the proper distinction behveen different
ranks ; but good and evil will grow up in this world together ; and they
who complain in peace of the insolence of the populace, must remember
that their insolence in peace is bravery in war.
From " Political Tracts.'"
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 45
TRUTH.
Lord Bacon.
The first creature of God, in the works of the days, was the light of
the sense, the last was the light of reason, and his Sabbath work, ever
since, is the illumination of his Spirit. First he breathed light upon
the face of the matter, or chaos, then he breathed light into the face of
man ; and still he breatheth and inspireth light into the face of his
chosen. The poet, that beautified the sect, that was otherwise inferior
to the rest, saith yet excellently well, " It is a pleasure to stand upon
the shore, and to see ships tost upon the sea ; a pleasure to stand in
the window of a castle, and to see a battle, and the adventures thereof
below ; but no pleasure is comparable to the standing upon the vantage-
ground of truth (a hill not to be commanded, and where the air is
always clear and serene), and to see the errors, and wanderings, and
mists, and tempests, in the vale below; "so always that this prospect be
with pity, and not with swelling or pride. Certainly it is heaven upon
earth to have a man's mind move in charity, rest in providence, and
turn upon the poles of truth.
To pass from theological and philosophical truth to the truth of civil
business, it will be acknowledged, even by those that practise it not,
that clear and round dealing is the honor of man's nature, and that
mixture of falsehood is like alloy in coin of gold or silver, which may
make the metal work the better, but it embaseth it ; for these winding
and crooked courses are the goings of the serpent, which goeth basely
upon the belly, and not upon the feet. There is no vice that doth so
cover a man with shame as to be found false and perfidious ; and there-
fore Montaigne saith prettily, when he inquired the reason why the
word of the lie should be such a disgrace, and such an odious charge,
" If it be well weighed, to say, that a man lieth, is as much as to say
that he is brave towards God, and a coward towards man ; for a lie
faces God, and shrinks from man.-" Surely the wickedness of falsehood
and breach of faith cannot possibly be so highly expressed as in that it
shall be the last peal to call the judgments of God upon the generations
of men: it being foretold, that when "Christ cometh," he shall not
" find faith upon earth."
From " Essays."
MENTAL AND MORAL GREATNESS.
Dr. Stevens.
Behind the high altar, in the cathedral of Cologne, is a costly shrine,
in which are placed the silver-gilt coffins of three kings. The skulls
of these kings are crowned with golden diadems, studded with jewels,
46 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
and inscribed with their names written in rubies. This is political
greatness — a skull crowned with gold — a name written in rubies.
Touching comment on the mock greatness and the fleeting glory of
kings and statesmen !
And is not moral greatness superior to this? Is not a crown of glory
around brows that never die better than a diadem of gold upon a flesh-
less skull? Is not a name, written with the finger of God in the book
of life, better than a name written over the shrine of our bones with
rubies? Yet, with all this contest, sense wrestles with faith — and the
flesh generally gains the mastery over the spirit, forgetting " that the
things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen
are eternal. "
Mental greatness is nobler than martial or political greatness. There
is something sublime in beholding the struggles and achievements of a
great mind. To see it silently gather to itself new energies — new
forces — and with these to make new onsets in the dominion of thought,
seeking to rule, an intellectual king, over its realms. These sights
are grand, whether we behold them in the philosopher, fathoming the
depths of mind — in the geologist, quarrying out science from the rock
and the fossil — or in the chemist, deducing the laws of life and
death from the crucible and the laboratory ; whether we sec them
in the artist, busied in the magnificent creations of the chisel and the
pencil — in the poet, entering into the treasure-houses of imagination,
and stringing those rosaries of thought, the jewelled epic and the spark-
ling song — or in the astronomer, soaring to the planets, measuring their
paths — weighing their masses, and calling them by their names. But
after all, what is it? A few systems — a few poems — a few discoveries
— the writing of a few names in rubies — and that is all of mental
greatness !
From " Discourse on Washington's Birth-Day ," 1846.
PACIFIC RAILROAD.
Calvin Colton.
The social and political results of such a road, such a universal
path, will be as important and notable as any yet recorded in history.
The people of Asia and of Europe will thus be introduced to each
other, and made neighbors and friends ; whereas now they are almost
total strangers. Universal liberty will receive a new stimulus from
this great construction. America, the land of the free, will then be in
the centre of the world ; and it will diffuse the blessings of freedom to
the continents and nations that gird it round. It will teach them the
lessons which it has learned. It will inspire them to greater things by
its example. It will control the universal public opinion of the world
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 47
by its superior intelligence. Such is to be the future of America. It
is to rise in importance in the eyes of the nations. It will be the
greatest of empires. Upon us the ends of the world will come. Eng-
land will no longer be the first maritime power of the world. The old
Queen of the Atlantic will be surpassed in beauty, freshness, and
power, by her young daughter, who is soon to be crowned Queen of the
greater Pacific. The star of empire, which takes its way westward, is
about to stand still over the great and vigorous young republic, which
the American citizen is proud to call his native land.
From " Disccrurse before tJie American Geographical Society" 1855.
Victor Hugo.
You are wrung with grief, but you have courage and faith. You do
well, my friends. Courage, then ! Courage ! more than ever ! As I
have already said, it grows more evident, from day to day, that, at this
instant,. France and England have left to them but one path, one outlet
of safety — the emancipation of the peoples — the insurrection in mass
of the prostrate nationalities — the Revolution ! Sublime alternative !
It is grand that safety has become identified with justice. It is in this
that Providence breaks forth in splendor. Ay, have courage, more
than ever. In the hour of utmost peril Danton exclaimed, " Daring !
daring! and yet more daring!" In adversity we should cry out,
" Hope ! hope ! and still more hope !" Friends and brothers ! the great
republic, the democratic, social, and free republic, will, ere long, blaze
out in magnificence again ; for it is the office of the empire to give it a
new birth, as it is the office of the night to usher in the day. These
men of tyranny and misery will disappear. Their time to stay is now
counted by quick minutes. They are backing to the edge of the abyss,
and we, who are already in the gulf, can see their heels that quiver
already beyond the borders of the precipice. Oh, exiles ! I call forth
in testimony the hemlock the Socrates have drank ; the Golgothas the
Christs have climbed ; the Jerichos the Joshuas have caused to crumble.
I summon up in testimony the baths of blood taken by the Thraseas ;
the faggots whence John Huss, and those of this world like him, have
cried, the swan will yet be born ! I summon in testimony these seas
that beat around us, and which the Columbuses have passed beyond ;
I call upon yonder stars which shine above us, and which the Galileos
have questioned, to bear witness, exiles and brethren, that liberty can
never die : she is immortal, and, exiles, Truth is eternal !
Progress is the very stride of God.
Then let those who weep be comforted ! and those who tremble, if
48 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
any such there be among us, be assured. Humanity ignores self-
murder, and God lays not aside his omnipotent control.
No, the peoples shall not for ever grope in darkness, knowing not
what hour has been reached in science, what hour in philosophy, what
hour in art, what hour in human mind, and, with their eyes fixed upon
despotism, that black dial of gloom on which the double needle, at
once sword and sceptre, for ever motionless, for ever marks Midnight.
From " Speech on tlte Anniversary of the French Revolution,*' 1848.
GOLDEN GRAIN.
Edward Everett.
Gold, while it is gold, is good for little or nothing. You can neither
eat it, nor drink it, nor smoke it. You can neither wear it, nor burn
it as fuel, nor build a house with it ; it is really useless till you exchange
it for consumable, perishable goods; and the more plentiful it is the
less its exchangeable value. Far different the case with our Atlantic
gold ; it does not perish when consumed, but, by a nobler alchemy
than that of Paracelsus, is transmuted in consumption to a higher life.
"Perish in consumption, " did the old miser say? "Thou fool, that
which thou sowest is not quickened except it die." The burning pen
of inspiration, ranging heaven and earth for a similitude, to convey to
our poor minds some not inadequate idea of the mighty doctrine of the
resurrection, can find no symbol so expressive as "bare grain, it may
chance of wheat or some other grain." To-day a senseless plant, to-
morrow it is human bone and muscle, vein and artery, sinew and
nerve ; beating pulse, heaving lungs, toiling, ah, sometimes, overtoiling
brain. Last June, it sucked from the cold breast of the earth the
watery nourishment of its distending sap-vessels ; and now it clothes
the manly form with warm, cordial flesh ; quivers and thrills with the
five-fold mystery of sense ; purveys and ministers to the higher mystery
of thought. Heaped up in your granaries this week, the next it will
strike in the stalwart arm, and glow in the blushing cheek, and flash
in the beaming eye ; till we learn at last to realize that the slender
stalk, which we have seen shaken by the summer breeze, bending in
the corn-field under the yellow burden of harvest, is indeed the " staff
of life," which, since the world began, has supported the toiling and
struggling myriads of humanity on the mighty pilgrimage of being.
From " Speech before U. S. Agricultural Society" 1854.
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 49
THE NEW OLYMPIAD.
Morton McMichael.
But, Mr. President, on a new continent, under a new dispensation,
and a new polity — professors of a purer creed, possessors of a surer
heritage — we have to-day commemorated a new Olympiad. From all
parts of a republic, mightier in its infancy than Athens in its prime,
there have crowded earnest candidates for the honors, valiant strugglers
for the prizes you have had to bestow. Nor have the statue and temple
been wanting. Beneath the dome of your capitol we have marked the
placid dignity of our Pater Patriae, whose deeds and whose virtues shall
survive in the affections of distant generations, when the old mythology,
father-god and all, with all its vanities and vices, has sunk into utter
oblivion. From the foot of a neighboring eminence, we have gazed on
the simple column which crowns the spot consecrated by the blood of
the primitive martyrs of American freedom — a column which, simple
though it be, is dearer in the associations which cluster around it, than
any hoary pile, no matter how venerable in its antiquity, nobler than
any modern trophy,
"Built with the riches of a spoiled world."
And, Mr. President, whatever of pride the cultivated Greek may
have felt in contemplating the master-piece of Grecian skill — whatever
of reverence the pious Greek may have felt in contemplating the master
deity of the Grecian Pantheon — we, who are now assembled from the
north and the south, from the east and the west, have felt a loftier pride ?
a holier reverence than ever Olympian statue or Olympian temple
inspired, as, filled with the solemn memories of the past, and jubilant
hopes of the future, we have stood before the marble form of our own
Washington, or beside the granite monument that records the story of
Bunker Hill.
From " Speech at Boston, before IT. S. Agricultural Society" 1854.
THE PRESERVATION OF THE UNION.
Edward Everett.
Shall we permit this curiously compacted body politic, the nicest
adjustment of human wisdom, to go to pieces? Will we blast this
beautiful symmetric form ; paralyze this powerful arm of public
strength ; smite with imbecility this great National Intellect ? Where,
sir, where, will be the flag of the United States ? Where our rapidly,
increasing influence in the family of nations ? Already they are
rejoicing in our divisions. The last foreign journal which I have
read, dwells upon our political condition as something that " will
5 P
50 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
compel us to keep the pence with the powers of Europe," and that
means, to take the law from them in our international relations.
I meant to have spoken of the wreck of that magnificent and mutu-
ally-beneficial commercial intercourse which now exists between the
producing and manufacturing states ; — of the hostile tariffs in time of
peace and the habitually-recurring border Avars, by which it will be
annihilated. I meant to have said a word of the Navy of the United
States; and the rich inheritance of its common glories. Shall we give
up this ? The memory of our Fathers — of those happy days when the
men of the North and South stood together for the country, on hard-
fought fields ; when the South sent her Washington to Massachusetts,
and New England sent her Greene to Carolina — is all this forgotten ?
" Is all the counsel that we two have shared ;" all the joint labors to
found this great Republic ; — is this "all forgot?" and will we permit
this last great experiment of Confederate Republicanism, to become a
proverb and a by-word to the Nations ? No, fellow-citizens — no, a
thousand times no ! This glorious Union shall not perish ! Precious
legacy of our Fathers, it shall go down, honored and cherished, to our
children. Generations unborn shall enjoy its privileges as we have
done ; and if we leave them poor in all besides, we will transmit to
them the boundless wealth of its blossings !
From " Speech at Faneuil Hall," 1859.
THE SONS OF GEORGIA.
Bi3nop Elliot.
For the first time in her history, may Georgia now look for a native
'population — a population born upon her soil and loving her because
they call her mother. Not that those who have emigrated into her do
not love her — many of her most faithful and devoted public servants
come within this category — but nothing can replace the peculiar feeling
which man sucks in with his mother's milk for the spot where first he
breathed the air of Heaven. Those who have come into her may feel
themselves identified with her, so that her interest is their interest, but,
strive as they may, they cannot acquire that enthusiastic love — made
up of moral sentiment and youthful association — which springs out of
an identity as well of lineage, as of pursuit. The Greeks expressed
this feeling when they gloried in being " auro^Oo^sq," sons of the soil,
and felt that a stain upon their country was a stain upon a mother's
reputation, and a reproach to her an insult that went to their hearts as
to the hearts of children. This is what Georgia, for years to come,
should especially cultivate — this feeling of homebred affection — the say-
ing of her sons, "This is my own, my native land," and not only say-
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 51
ing it, bat living it in thought and word and action. It has been
impossible for her hitherto to have possessed it in her length and
breadth, but now she may, and now she will, and it must give her an
impulse that shall show her sister States that she is " as a giant awak-
ing out of sleep." Let her sons but lock their shields together, and
nothing can impede her progress to greatness !
From a Address be/are the Georgia Historical Society" 1844.
ItEJsTtY Reed.
What has been done by one branch of art for the memory of
"Washington, is shown by the standard portrait of him by Stuart, but
for the purest sublimities which art can teach, we turn to the more
ideal and imaginative work of the sculptor. I remember having seen
Greenough's statue of Washington, as it is placed facing the Capitol,
for the first time in the early morn of a bright spring day. There was
no trivial noise — no intrusive criticism to disturb the solemn impression
it is fitted to give. The eye seemed to reject all sensations save what
came from the unclouded sky and from the spotless marble — a harmony
rather than a contrast, and the things of earth had no part in it. In
that ideal portraiture the moral of the character — the history of the
life in its marvellous integrity and with its perfect consummation, was
visible — the one hand laying down, as if at his country's feet, the
sheathed sword, and the other pointing to the sky. There was nothing
between the finger of that uplifted arm and the highest heavens ; and
as the imagination of the spectator was thus carried upward, you could
not but feel that no cloud of mortal passion had ever dimmed the glory
of the character here idealized in marble, and that that soul had risen
above the strife of self-will and the tumult of human frailties, into the
serene atmosphere of duty and of Christian heroism. Thus is it that
the sculptor's genius has its triumph ; and casting away the self-hurtful
temper of narrow and disputatious criticism, we may render thoughtful
gratitude to the moral beauty and power of art.
From "Address before Philadelphia Art Union," 1849.
THE GBEAT MOUNTAINS.
John Rcskej.
Inferior hills ordinarily interrupt, in some degree, the richness of
the valleys at their feet ; the gray downs of southern England, and
treeless coteaux of central France, and gray swells of Scottish moor,
whatever peculiar charm they may possess in themselves, are at least
52 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
destitute of those which belong to the woods and fields of the Lowlands.
But the great mountains lift the lowlands on their sides. Let the
reader imagine, first, the appearance of the most varied plain of some
richly cultivated country ; let him imagine it dark with graceful woods,
and soft with deepest pastures ; let him fill the space of it, to the utmost
horizon, with innumerable and changeful incidents of scenery and life ;
leading pleasant streamlets through its meadows, strewing clusters of
cottages beside their banks, tracing sweet footpaths through its avenues,
and animating its fields with happy flocks, and slow wandering spots
of cattle ; and when he has wearied himself with endless imagining,
and left no space without some loveliness of its own, let him conceive all
this great plain, with its infinite treasures of natural beauty and happy
human life, gathered up in God's hands from one edge of the horizon
to the other, like a woven garment ; and shaken into deep falling folds,
as the robes droop from a king's shoulders ; all its bright rivers leaping
into cataracts along the hollows of its fall, and all its forests roaring
themselves aslant against its slopes, as a rider rears himself back when
his horse plunges ; and all its villages nestling themselves into the new
windings of its glens ; and all its pastures thrown into steep waves of
greensward, dashed with dew along the edges of their folds, and sweep-
ing down into endless slopes, with a cloud here and there lying quietly,
half on the grass, half in the air ; and he will have as yet, in all this
lifted world, only the foundation of one of the great Alps. And what-
ever is lovely in the lowland scenery becomes lovelier in this change :
the trees which grew heavily and stiffly from the level line of plain
assume strange curves of strength and grace as they bend themselves
against the mountain side ; they breathe more freely, and toss their
branches more carelessly as each climbs higher, looking to the clear
light above the topmost leaves of its brother tree ; the flowers which on
the arable plain fell before the plough, now find out for themselves
unapproachable places, where year by year they gather into happier
fellowship, and fear no evil ; and the streams which in the level land
crept in dark eddies by unwholesome banks, now move in showers of
silver, and are clothed with rainbows, and bring health and life wher-
ever the glance of their waves can reach.
From •'' Modern Painters."
DUTIES.
James Walker, D. D.
The spirits of the sainted dead, who consecrated this school of the
prophets to Christ and the Church, hover over us now. In that pre-
sence remember what you owe to your parents and friends, whose affec-
tions and pride, whose very life, are bound up with the hope of your
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 53
well-doing. Remember -what you owe to your country. If there is
not wisdom enough, if there is not moderation enough, in the educated
classes, to restrain the heats of party, — the violence, the inconsidera-
fcion, the injustice on all sides, — our best hopes are in imminent peril.
"What is wanted is, not that a man should be indifferent to the evils in
the country, but that he should deal with them in the spirit of one who
loves his country. Remember what you owe to God. All the distinc-
tions of birth, and wealth, and intellect will pass away : what will
endure for ever of your labors here, is the earnest purpose to fulfil the
high vocation of the Christian scholar. " This also we humbly and
earnestly beg, that human things may not prejudice such as are divine ;
neither that from the unlocking of the gates of sense, and the kindling
of a greater natural light, anything of incredulity, or intellectual night,
may arise in our minds towards divine mysteries. But rather, that by
our mind, thoroughly cleansed and purged from fancy and vanities,
and yet subject and perfectly given up to the Divine Oracles, there may
be given unto faith the things that are faith's."
From " Inaugural Address at Harvard."
CALYERT AND THE MARYLAND CHARTER.
William George Read.
From Jamestown, Calvert turned towards the unoccupied territory,
which borders the majestic Chesapeake, to the north of the Potomac.
The enterprise of Smith and others had already partially explored it,
and disclosed its extent, fertility, and beauty. No European settlement
had as yet been established there ; and the rights of the British crown,
as recognised in the international law of Europe, to countries occupied
only by savages, had been revested by the cancelling of the old Vir-
ginia charter. State policy, therefore, as well as regard for Calvert,
whose moderation and sincerity seem to have conciliated universal
esteem, dictated compliance with his petition for a grant ; of which the
terms were left to be adjusted by himself. The charter of Maryland,
the undoubted production of his pen, is the fair and lasting monument
of his wisdom and his virtues. His military exploit may be lost in the
blinding blaze of England's martial glory ; his sacrifices to conviction
may be merged in those of her myriad martyrs ; but his charter shall
endure on our statute book, so long as the blue firmament of the Ame-
rican flag shall sparkle with the brilliant beams of the Maryland star !
From " An Oration on the Anniversary of the Settlement of Maryland" 1842.
5*
54 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
THE FINITE AND THE INFINITE.
Robert C. Wintiirop.
Let men lift their vast reflectors or refractors to the skies, and detect
new planets in their hiding-places. Let them waylay the fugitive
comets in their flight, and compel them to disclose the precise period
of their orbits, and to give bonds for their punctual return. Let them
drag out reluctant satellites from " their habitual concealments.-" Let
them resolve the unresolvable nebula? of Orion or Andromeda. They
need not fear. The sky will not fall, nor a single star be shaken from
its sphere.
Let them perfect and elaborate their marvellous processes for making
the light and the lightning their ministers, for putting " a pencil of
rays" into the hand of art, and providing tongues of fire for the com-
munication of intelligence. Let them foretell the path of the whirl-
wind, and calculate the orbit of the storm. Let them hang out their
gigantic pendulums, and make the earth do the work of describing
and measuring her own motions. Let them annihilate human pain,
and literally "charm ache with air, and agony with ether." The
blessing of God will attend all their toils, and the gratitude of man will
await all their triumphs.
Let them dig down into the bowels of the earth. Let them rive
asunder the massive rocks, and unfold the history of creation as it lies
written on the pages of their piled-up strata. Let them gather up the
fossil fragments of a lost Fauna, reproducing the ancient forms which
inhabited the land or the seas, bringing them together, bone to his
bone, till Leviathan and Behemoth stand before us in bodily presence
and in their full proportions, and we almost tremble lest these dry
bones should live again ! Let them put nature to the rack, and tor-
ture her, in all her forms, to the betrayal of her inmost secrets and
confidences. They need not forbear. The foundations of the round
world have been laid so strong that they cannot be moved.
But let them not think by searching to find out God. Let them not
dream of understanding the Almighty to perfection. Let them not
dare to apply their tests and solvents, their modes of analysis or their
terms of definition, to the secrets of the spiritual kingdom. Let them
spare the foundations of faith. Let them be satisfied with what is
revealed of the mysteries of the Divine Nature. Let them not break
through the bounds to gaze after the Invisible. — lest the day come
when they shall be ready to cry to the mountains, Fall on us, and to
the hills, Cover us !
From "Address be/ore the Alumni of Harvard," 1852.
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 55
FLORENCE AND ITS TREASURES.
Edward Everett.
There is much, in every way, in the city of Florence to excite the
curiosity, to kindle the imagination, and to gratify the taste. Sheltered
on the north by the vine-clad hills of Fiesole, whose Cyclopean walls
carry back the antiquary to ages before the Roman, before the Etruscan
power, the flowery city (Fiorenza) covers the sunny banks of the Arno
with its stately palaces. Dark and frowning piles of mediaeval struc-
tures, a majestic dome the prototype of St. Peter's, basilicas which
enshrine the ashes of some of the mightiest of the dead, the stone
where Dante stood to gaze on the campanile, the house of Michael
Angelo still occupied by a descendant of his lineage and name ; his
hammer, his chisel, his dividers, his manuscript poems, all as if he had
left them but yesterday ; airy bridges which seem not so much to rest
on the earth as to hover over the waters they span ; the loveliest crea-
tions of ancient art, rescued from the grave of ages again to " enchant
the world ;" the breathing marbles of Michael Angelo, the glowing
canvas of Raphael and Titian ; museums filled with medals and coins
of every age from Cyrus the Younger, and gems and amulets and
vases from the sepulchres of Egyptian Pharaohs coeval with Joseph,
and Etruscan Lucumons that swayed Italy before the Romans ; libraries
stored with the choicest texts of ancient literature ; gardens of rose and
orange and pomegranate and myrtle ; the very air you breathe languid
with music and perfume — such is Florence.
But among all its fascinations addressed to the sense, the memory,
and the heart, there was none to which I more frequently gave a
meditative hour during a year's residence, than to the spot where
Galileo Galilei sleeps beneath the marble floor of Santa Croce ; no
building on which I gazed with greater reverence, than I did upon the
modest mansion at Arcetri, villa at once and prison, in which that
venerable sage, by command of the Inquisition, passed the sad closing
years of his life.
From " Discourse at Albany," 1856.
TOLERANT CHRISTIANITY THE LAW OF THE LAND.
Daniel Webster..
General principles and public policy are sometimes established by
constitutional provisions, sometimes by legislative enactments, some-
times by judicial decisions, and sometimes by general consent. But
how, or when it may be established, there is nothing that we look for
with more certainty than this general principle, that Christianity is
part of the law of the land. This was the case among the Puritans of
56 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
England, the Episcopalians of the Southern States, the Pennsylvania
Quakers, the Baptists, the mass of the followers of Whitfield and
Wesley, and the Presbyterians — all — all brought and all adopted this
great truth — and all have sustained it. And where there is any reli-
gious sentiment amongst men at all, this sentiment incorporates itself
with the law. Everything declares it! The massive Cathedral of the
Catholic ; the Episcopalian Church, with its lofty spire pointing heaven-
ward ; the plain temple of the Quaker ; the log church of the hardy
pioneer of the wilderness ; the mementos and memorials around and
about us — the graveyards — their tombstones and epitaphs — their
silent vaults — their mouldering contents — all attest it. The dead prove
it as well as the living ! The generation that is gone before speak to it, '
and pronounce it from the tomb ! We feel it ! All, all, proclaim that
Christianity — general, tolerant Christianity — Christianity independent
of sects and parties — that Christianity to which the sword and the
faggot are unknown — general, tolerant Christianity, is the law of the
land!
From "An Argument in favor of Rcliyious Instruction" 1844.
THE OBSTACLES TO CHRISTIANITY.
Stephen Colwell.
We believe that the outward manifestations of Christianity do not
keep up -with the circumstances of the age in which we live, nor with
its intelligence ; and, above all, they do not correspond to the oppor-
tunities and privileges of the land in which we live. In every age
since the Christian era, and in every country, there have been circum-
stances, external or internal, in the condition of the people, which have
prevented the free expansion and proper growth of Christianity. Some-
times it has been a defective ecclesiastical system, sometimes the
repressive character of the temporal governments and the superstition
or improper education of the people ; but now at this day and in this
country, the Christian — whether statesman, man of science, or philoso-
pher — may look in what direction and pursue what line of inquiry,
religious or social, he pleases, when he is considering how he can most
promote the interests of Christianity and the temporal well-being of
his fellow-men.
From " The Position of Christianity in the United Stales."
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 57
CHRISTIAN COURAGE.
William C. Rives.
Courage, gentlemen, exerted in a good cause and sustained by right
principles, is one of the noblest attributes of humanity. The adver-
saries of Christianity, from Celsus down to Hume, have sought to assail
it by imputing to it a want of courage as a necessary consequence of
its doctrines of humility and forbearance. Strange that one of its
champions, and in other respects one of its ablest champions, should
sanction the unjust reproach by exhibiting the same misconceived view
of the holy cause he defends ! Humility before God is the highest
boldness towards man. Christ himself, while inculcating the fear of
God, solemnly warns his disciples, whom again he calls friends, to dis-
card all fear of man : " I say unto you, my friends, be not afraid of them
that kill the body, and after that have no more that they can do ; but
I will forewarn you whom ye shall fear : Fear Him which, after he
hath killed, hath power to cast into hell ; yea, I say unto you, fear
him." A religion which teaches its followers to regard all temporal
possessions, even the most cherished, as of but little worth compared
with the great interests of eternity — to " count life itself as not dear,
so that they may finish their course with joy" — which holds out its
high rewards in another and never-ending life — which enjoins every-
thing to be done and suffered for conscience' sake : such a religion must
needs be the parent and nurse of the loftiest courage in whatever cause
is sanctified by a sense of duty.
From "Discourse before tlie Young Men's Christian Association at Richmond," 1855.
THE DEMON OF SPECULATION.
Dr. Boardman.
The demon of speculation has seized not upon the mercantile, but
the railroad interest of the country ; and found or made willing instru-
ments for the achievement of his purposes. When the probe came to
be applied, one corporation after another was discovered to be a
stupendous engine of fraud. Moving
" In perfect phalanx, to the Dorian mood
Of flutes and soft recorders/'
they had carried on a scheme of swindling which astonished by its
vastness, as much as it shocked by its atrocity. Individuals were
swindled. Banks were swindled. Municipal corporations were swin-
dled. Lies were spoken with the same complacency as though they
had been truth. Spurious certificates of stock ; fictitious vouchers ;
58 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
made-up schedules of liabilities and assets; statements which, however
true in one sense, were false in the sense in which it was known they
would be understood ; oaths emasculated by mental reservations ; the
whole machinery of which these things form a part, was put in requisi-
tion, and plied with consummate tact and vigor. And when at length
the bubbles burst, and the gulfs were laid open into which deluded
capitalists and helpless widows had been casting their money, all confi-
dence was at an end. Credit, the most sensitive of all creations in the
realm of commerce, locked up its coffers and double-bolted them. The
funds which you, gentlemen, should have had for your legitimate traffic,
had been usurped by others for reckless speculation or were now placed
beyond your reach for safe-keeping. And the whole force of this
Titanic villany came down with a terrific crash upon your ranks, who
had had so little agency in nurturing it. What wonder if some should
have been swept away by the avalanche ! The only marvel is, that its
ravages have been. so restricted.
From " Address before the MercJiants' Fund," 1855.
THE INFLUENCE OF THE CLASSICS.
Joseph Story.
A language may be built up without the aid of any foreign mate-
rials, and be at once flexible for speech and graceful for composition ;
the literature of a nation may be splendid and instructive, full of
interest and beauty in thought and in diction, which has no kindred
with classical learning; in the vast stream of time, it may run its own
current unstained by the admixture of surrounding languages ; it may
realize the ancient fable, " Doris amara suam non intermisceat undam;"
it may retain its own flavor, and its own bitter saltness, too. But I do
deny that such a national literature does in fact exist, in modern Europe,
in that community of nations of which we form a part, and to whose
fortunes and pursuits in literature and arts we are bound by all our
habits, and feelings, and interests. There is not a single nation from
the north to the south of Europe, from the bleak shores of the Baltic
to the bright plains of immortal Italy, whose literature is not imbedded
in the very elements of classical learning. The literature of England
is, in an emphatic sense, the production of her scholars, — of men who
have cultivated letters in her universities, and colleges, and grammar-
schools, — of men who thought any life too short, chiefly because it left
some relic of antiquity unmastered, and any other fame humble,
because it faded in the presence of Roman and Grecian genius. He
who studies English literature without the lights of classical learning,
loses half the charms of its sentiments and style, of its force and feel-
DECLAMATIONS IN PEOSE. 59
ings, of its delicate touches, of its delightful allusions, of its illustra-
tive associations. Who that reads the poetry of Gray does not feel
that it is the refinement of classical taste which gives such inexpressi-
ble vividness and transparency to his diction ? Who that reads the
concentrated sense and melodious versification of Dryden and Pope,
does not perceive in them the disciples of the old school, whose genius
was inflamed by the heroic verse, the terse satire, and the playful wit
of antiquity ? Who that meditates over the strains of Milton does not
feel that he drank deep
■ At " Siloa's brook, that flowed
Fast by the oracle of God ;"
that the fires of his magnificent mind were lighted by coals from
ancient altars ?
From " Address at Harvard," 1826.
MODEEN AUTHOESHIP.
Joseph Story.
Authors no longer depend upon the smiles of a favored few. The
patronage of the great is no longer submissively entreated or exultingly
proclaimed. Their patrons are the public : their readers are the civil-
ized world. They address themselves not to the present generation
alone, but aspire to instruct posterity. No blushing dedications seek
an easy passport to fame, or flatter the perilous condescension of pride.
No illuminated letters flourish on the silky page, asking admission to
the courtly drawing-room. Authors are no longer the humble com-
panions or dependants of the nobility ; but they constitute the chosen
ornaments of society, and are welcomed to the gay circles of fashion
and the palaces of princes. Theirs is no longer an unthrifty vocation,
closely allied to penury; but an elevated profession, maintaining its
thousands in lucrative pursuits. It is not with them as it was in the
days of Milton, whose immortal " Paradise Lost" drew five sterling-
pounds, with a contingent of five more, from the reluctant bookseller.
My lord Coke would hardly find good authority, in our day, for his
provoking commentary on the memorable statute of the fourth Henry,
which declares that " none henceforth shall use to multiply gold or
silver, or use the craft of multiplication ;" in which he gravely enu-
merates five classes of beggars, ending the catalogue, in his own quaint
phraseology, with " poetasters," and repeating, for the benefit of young
apprentices of the law, the sad admonition,
" Ssepe pater dixit, Studium, quid inutile tentas ?
Maeonides nullas ipse reliquit opes."
From « Address at Harvard" 1826.
CO THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
THE DEMEANOR OF BOOKS.
Jonx Miltox.
It is of greatest concernment in the church and commonwealth, to
have a vigilant eye how books demean themselves, as well as men ;
and thereafter to confine, imprison, and do sharpest justice on them
as malefactors; for books are not absolutely dead things, but do con-
tain a progeny of life in them to be as active as that soul was whose
progeny they are ; nay, they do preserve as in a vial the purest efficacy
and extraction of that living intellect that bred them. I know they
are as lively, and as vigorously productive, as those fabulous dragons'
teeth: and being sown up and down, may chance to spring up armed
men. And yet, on the other hand, unless wariness be used, as good
almost kill a man as kill a good book : who kills a man kills a reason-
able cjeature, God's image ; but he who destroys a good book, kills
reason itself, kills the image of God, as it were, in the eye. Many a
man lives a burden to the earth : but a good book is the precious life-
blood of a master-spirit, embalmed and treasured up on purpose to a
life beyond life. It is true, no age can restore a life, whereof perhaps
there is no great loss ; and revolutions of ages do not oft recover the
loss of a rejected truth, for the want of which whole nations fare the
worse. We should be wary, therefore, what persecution we raise
against the living labors of public men, how we spill that seasoned life
of man, preserved and stored up in books ; since we see a kind of
homicide may be thus committed, sometimes a martyrdom ; and if it
extend to the whole impression, a kind of massacre, whereof the execu-
tion ends not in the slaying of an elemental life, but strikes at the
ethereal and fifth essence, the breath of reason itself; slays an immor-
tality rather than a life.
From " Areopagitica."
NATIONAL VIGOR.
JOHX MlLTOX.
As in a body when the blood is fresh, the spirits pure and vigorous,
not only to vital, but to rational faculties, and those in the acutest and
the pertest operations of wit and subtlety, it argues in what good plight
and constitution the body is ; so when the cheerfulness of the people
is so sprightly up, as that it has not only wherewith to guard well its
own freedom and safety, but to spare, and to bestow upon the solidest
and sublimest points of controversy and new invention, it betokens us
not degenerated, nor drooping to a fatal decay, by casting off the old
and wrinkled skin of corruption to outlive these pangs, and wax young
again, entering the glorious ways of truth and prosperous virtue, des-
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 61
tined to become great and honorable in these latter ages. Methinks I
see in my mind a noble and puissant nation rousing herself like a
strong man after sleep, and shaking her invincible locks : methinks I
see her as an eagle mewing her mighty youth, and kindling her un-
dazzled eyes at the full midday beam ; purging and unsealing her
long-abused sight at the fountain itself of heavenly radiance ; while
the whole noise of timorous and nocking birds, with those also that
love the twilight, nutter about, amazed at what she means, and in their
envious gabble would prognosticate a year of sects and schisms.
From " Areopagilica."
ENGLAND AND AMERICA.
George P. Marsh.
Of all countries known in history, the North American republic is
most conspicuously marked by the fusion, or rather the absence of rank
and social distinctions, by community of interests, by incessant and
all-pervading intercommunication, by the universal diffusion of educa-
tion, and the abundant facilities of access, not only to the periodical
conduits, but to the permanent reservoirs of knowledge. The condition
of England is in all these respects closely assimilated to that of the
United States ; and not only the methods, but the instruments, of popu-
lar instruction are fast becoming the same in both ; and there is a
growing conviction among the wise of the two great empires, that the
highest interests of both will be promoted by reciprocal good-will and
unrestricted intercourse, perilled by jealousies and estrangement.
Favored, then, by the mighty elective affinities, the powerful harmonic
attractions, which subsist between the Americans and the Englishmen
as brothers of one blood, one speech, one faith, we may reasonably
hope that the Anglican tongue on both sides of the Atlantic, as it
grows in flexibility, comprehensiveness, expression, wealth, will also
more and more clearly manifest the organic unity of its branches, and
that national jealousies, material rivalries, narrow interests, will not
disjoin and shatter that great instrument of social advancement, which
God made one, as he made one the spirit of the nations that use it.
From a Lectures an trie English Language"
DEGREES OF IMAGINATION.
Leigh Hunt.
There are different kinds and degrees of imagination, some of them
necessary to the formation of every true poet, and all of them possessed
by the greatest. Perhaps they may be enumerated as follows : — First,
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that which presents to the mind any object or circumstance in every-
day life; as -when we imagine a man holding a sword, or looking out
of a window ; — second, that which presents real, but not cvery-day cir-
cumstances ; as King Alfred tending the loaves, or Sir Philip Sidney
giving up the water to the dying soldier ; — third, that which combines
character, and events directly imitated from real life, with imitative
realities of its own invention ; as the probable parts of the histories of
Priam and Macbeth, or what may be called natural fiction as distin-
guished from supernatural ; — fourth, that which conjures up things and
events not to be found in nature ; as Homer's gods, and Shakspeare's
witches, enchanted horses and spears, Ariosto's hippogriff, A:c. ; — fifth,
that which, in order to illustrate or aggravate one image, introduces
another; sometimes in simile, as when Homer compares Apollo descend-
ing in his wrath at noon-day to the coming of night-time ; sometimes
in metaphor, or simile comprised in a word, as in Milton's " motes that
people the sunbeams ;" sometimes in concentrating into a word the main
history of any person or thing, past or even future, as in the " starry
Galileo'' of Byron, and that ghastly foregone conclusion of the epithet
" murdered" applied to the yet living victim in Keats's story from
Boccaccio —
So the two brothers and their murdered man
Rode towards fair Florenoe ; —
sometimes in the attribution of a certain representative quality which
makes one circumstance stand for others ; as in Milton's grey-fiy wind-
ing its "sultry horn," which epithet contains the heat of a summer's
day ; — sixth, that which reverses this process, and makes a variety of
circumstances take color from one, like nature seen with jaundiced or
glad eyes, or under the influence of storm or sunshine ; as when in
Lycidas, or the Greek pastoral poets, the flowers and the flocks are
made to sympathize with a man's death ; or, in the Italian poet, the
river flowing by the sleeping Angelica seems talking of love —
Parea che l'erba le fiorisse intorno,
E d'amor ragionasse quella riva ! —
Orlando Innamorato, Canto iii.
or in the voluptuous homage paid to the sleeping Imogen by the very
light in the chamber, and the reaction of her own beauty upon itself;
or in the " witch element" of the tragedy of Macbeth and the May-day
night of Faust; — seventh, and last, that which by a single expression,
apparently of the vaguest kind, not only meets but surpasses in its
effect the extremest force of the most particular description.
From '•' Imagination and Fancy."
DECLAMATIONS IN PEOSE. 63
THE CATAEACT OF NIAGAEA.
Chateaubriand.
We arrived at the brink of the cataract, which had before announced
itself by a terrible roar. It is formed by the river Niagara, which
unites Lake Erie and Lake Ontario. The height of the fall is one
hundred and forty-four feet ; from Lake Erie to the precipice the descent
is quite rapid ; and at the moment of the fall, it is less a river than a
sea, whose whelming torrents press together as if into the hungry
mouth of a great gulf. The cataract is divided into two branches, and
is bent like a horse-shoe. Between the two falls is a small island,
which hangs with all its trees over the chaos of waters. The volume
of the river which is precipitated at the south, is rounded into a vast
cylinder, and then unrolls itself into a sheet of snow, shining in the
sunlight with every variety of color. That which falls at the east de-
scends in a frightful shadow ; one might fancy a column of water from
the ancient deluge. A thousand rainbows curve and mingle in the
abyss. The wave, as it strikes the quivering rock, is thrown back in
whirlwinds of foam, which rise higher than the forest, like the smoke
of a vast furnace. Pines, chestnuts, rocks cut into fantastic forms, are
the decorations of the scene. Eagles, borne along by the current of
air, descend whirling into the bottom of the gulf; where also are often
found the broken carcases of elks and bears.
Translated from " Le Gtnie du Chiistianisme."
ITALY.
Horace Binn"et Wallace.
An era is it in the history of any man, when for the first time he
crosses the Alps. A sympathy is touched and developed, that shall
vibrate and expand for ever. Upon that soil, we learn that Imagination
and Sentiment are the Italian elements of our nature. All things seem
ideal, poetic, visionary. Splendors that the northern world knows only
by half-heavenly flashes that fade before they can be felt, here are
natural and permanent. From the valleys and plains of Italy the lustre
of summer is never wholly withdrawn, and winter seems but a tardier
spring. Elsewhere we have glimpses of her life in conservatories, and
when we enter the guarded retreats where orange-trees and olives and
myrtles are garnered up as creating around them a kind of sacred soul-
life, we say, " This is like Italy." Its atmosphere is fragrance, its soil
is beauty, its canopy a glory unimaginable. Its air is a prism to turn
the common light into enchantment. What melodies of color, — violet,
rose, purple, — roll along its steeps ! Yet the true fascination of Italy
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is of the soul ; and the features of the scene enjoy our devotion on
account of the Spirit that looks out from them, and which they typify.
It is the clime of Art, — the temple of the sacrament of the material
transfigured into the spiritual, — of the perpetual marriage of the formal
with the divine. Life, thought, passion, manners, all things, partake
of an a3sthetic quality. An ethereal stream of ideal sentiment seems
to float over the land and refract all perceptions, feelings, and objects
into beautiful outlines and hues.
It is the land of Antiquity, the school of History, the home of the
Past. No time is recorded when Italy stood not foremost in the annals ;
a scene where great things were thought and wrought. Etruscan, Hu-
man, Pontifical, these civilizations have succeeded one another, and no
later one has effaced the vestiges of that which preceded it. All now
dwell together ; and the face of the land is as a self-registering chronicle
of all that has been felt and done upon its surface. Here, under the
calm, grave eye of the Venerable Past, the Present moves modestly,
and with self-distrust. Here you may stand in the religious presence
of the Older Day, and imbibe a temper which is more than wisdom.
The active, the striving, the destructive, we leave behind when we cross
the mountains. Existence here is moral, consultative, intellectual. It
seems like an Elysium, where life is fancied, and interests notional ;
the blissful future state of an existence gone by, where shadowy forms
rehearse in silent show the deeds that once resounded, or elsewhere re-
sound. It is a land where all is ruin ; but where ruin itself is more
splendid, more permanent, and more vital than the freshest perfections
of other countries.
From "Art, Scenery, and Philosophy in Europe."
THE NEW WOPwLD AND THE OLD.
Arnold Gctot.
The comparison we have made between the Old "World and the New,
and the detailed study of the first, have enabled us, I think, to deter-
mine its true character, the character assigned to it by its physical
nature. The character it owes to its more oceanic position, to the abun-
dance of the waters, to a more tropical situation, to a more fertile soil,
is the marked preponderance of vegetable life over animal life. A vig-
orous vegetation, abundant rather than delicate, immense forests, a soil
everywhere irrigated, everywhere productive — these are the wealth of
America. Nature has given her all the raw materials with liberality ;
has lavished upon her all useful gifts.
But our globe would be incomplete, if this element were alone repre-
sented, if this were the only world that existed. One of the two worlds
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 65
is by no means a repetition of the other ; for the Author of all things is
too rich in his conceptions ever to repeat himself in his works.
We know already a good number of the physical characteristics of
the Old World, an unknown world to us no more. Nevertheless, it is
well to recall them here, in order to group them in a single picture,
and to deduce from them the essential and characteristic feature which
distinguishes it from America.
The number of the continents, double that of the New World, their
grouping in a more compact and solid mass, make it already and pre-
eminently the continental world. It is a mighty oak, with stout and
sturdy trunk, while America is the slender and flexible palm-tree, so
dear to this continent. The Old World — if it is allowable to employ
here comparisons of this nature — calls to mind the square and solid
figure of man ; America the lithe shape and delicate form of woman.
If America is distinguished by the simplicity of its interior structure,
and by the consequent unity of character, the Old World, on the contrary,
presents the variety of structure carried to its utmost limits. While
America, as we have seen, is constructed upon one and the same plan
in the two continents, the Old World has at least three, as many as its
separate masses ; one for Asia and Europe, one for Africa, a third for
Australia ; for, in spite of their resemblance in certain general features,
common to them, as the law of the reliefs has taught us, each of these
three continents has none the less its special structure, which is not the
same in Australia as in Africa, nor in Africa as in Asia-Europe.
The great mass of Asia-Europe, which may be well called a single
continent, of a triangular form, whose western point is Europe — Asia-
Europe, by itself, forms already the pendant of the two Americas. Like
the New World, it is divided into two parts by a long ridge of heights,
of mountain chains, and of table lands, forming a line of the highest
elevations, and the axis of this continent ; the Himmalaya, the Hindo-
Khu, the Caucasus, the Alps, the Pyrenees, are analogous to the long
American Cordilleras.
This ridge also divides the Old World into two unequal parts, but is
not placed on one of the edges of the continents, as in America. It is
only a little out of the centre, so that it divides the whole surface into
two opposite slopes, unequal certainly, but the narrower is nevertheless
considerable. The northern slope is more vast : it contains all the great
plains of the north, but it is less favored by the climate, and by the
forms of the soil. The southern slope is less extended, but it enjoys a
more beautiful climate ; nature is richer there ; it is more indented,
more variously moulded ; it possesses all those fine peninsulas, the two
Indies, Arabia, Asia Minor, Greece, Italy, Spain, which form the wealth
of Asia and Europe. Figure to yourselves the coasts of the Pacific,
furnished with a series of peninsulas of this description, and you will
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have an idea of the augmentation of wealth that would result to Ame-
rica from such an addition.
From " The Earth and Man."
VATHEK IN THE HALL OF EBLIS.
William Beckfoiid.
A voice announced to the caliph, Nouronihar, the four princes, and
the princess, the awful and irrevocable decree. Their hearts imme-
diately took fire, and they, at once, lost the most precious gift of
heaven — hope. These unhappy beings recoiled, with looks of the
most furious distraction. Vathek beheld in the eyes of Nouronihar
nothing but rage and vengeance; nor could she discern aught in his,
but aversion and despair. The two princes who were friends, and, till
that moment, had preserved their attachment, shrunk back, gnashing
their teeth with mutual and unchangeable hatred. Kalilah and his
sister made reciprocal gestures of imprecation ; all testified their horror
for each other by the most ghastly convulsions, and screams that could
not be smothered. All severally plunged themselves into the accursed
multitude, there to wander in an eternity of unabating anguish.
Such was, and such should be, the punishment of unrestrained
passions and atrocious deeds ! Such shall be the chastisement of that
blind curiosity, which would transgress those bounds the wisdom of
the Creator has prescribed to human knowledge ; and such the dread-
ful disappointment of that restless ambition, which, aiming at discove-
ries reserved for beings of a supernatural order, perceives not, through
its infatuated pride, that the condition of man upon earth is to be —
humble and ignorant.
Thus the caliph Vathek, who, for the sake of empty pomp and for-
bidden power, had sullied himself with a thousand crimes, became a
prey to grief without end, and remorse without mitigation ; whilst the
humble, the despised Gulchenrouz passed whole ages in undisturbed
tranquillity, and in the pure happiness of childhood.
From "VatheJc"
THE DRAMATIC AGE.
Henry Reed.
The large luminary of Spenser's imagination had scarce mounted
high enough above the horizon to kindle all it touched, when there
arose the still more glorious shape of Shakspeare's genius, radiant like
Milton's seraph — " another morn risen on mid-noon." This was the
wonderful dramatic era in English letters. Within about fifty years,
beginning in the latter part of the sixteenth century, there was a con-
67
course of dramatic authors, the like of which is seen nowhere else in
literary history. The central figure is Shakspeare, towering above
them all; but there were there Ben Jonson, and Beaumont, and
Fletcher, and Ford, and a multitude of whom a poet has said, —
" They stood, around
The throne of Shakspeare, sturdy, but unclean."
It is scarce possible, it seems to me, to mistake that this abundant
development of dramatic poetry was characteristic of times distin-
guished by the admirable union of action and contemplation in many
of the illustrious men who flourished then ; for instance, Sir Philip
Sydney devoting himself to the effort of raising English poetry to its
true estate, kindling his heart with the old ballads, or drawing the
gentle Spenser forth from the hermitage of his modesty ; at the same
time sharing in affairs of state, in knights' deeds of arms, and on the
field of battle meeting an early death, memorable with its last deed of
charity, when, putting away the cup of water from his own lips, burn-
ing with the thirst of a bleeding death, he gave it to a wounded soldier
with the words, " Thy necessity is yet greater than mine :" or Raleigh
preserving his love of letters throughout his whole varied career, at
court, in camp, or tempest-tost in his adventures on the ocean. It
seems to me that an age thus characterized by the combination of
thought and deed in its representative men, had its most congenial
literature in the drama — that form of poetry which Lord Bacon has
described as "history made visible/ 7
From "English Literature?'
CULTUEE OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE.
Henry Reed.
We are living at a period when the language has attained a high
degree of excellence, both in prose and verse, — when it has developed
largely, for all the uses of language, its power and its beauty. It is
one of the noblest languages that the earth has ever sounded with ; it
is our endowment, our inheritance, our trust. It associates us with the
wise and good of olden times, and it couples us with the kindred peo-
ples of many distant regions. It is our duty, therefore, to cultivate, to
cherish, and to keep it from corruption. Especially is this a otuty for
us, who are spreading that language over such vast territory ; and not
only that, but having such growing facilities of intercommunication,
that the language is perpetually speeding from one portion of the land
to another with wondrous rapidity, equally favorable to the diffusion
of either purity or corruption of speech, but, certainly, calculated to
break down narrow and false provincialisms of speech.
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In the culture and preservation of a language, there are two princi-
ples, deep-seated in the philosophy of language, which should be borne
in mind. One is, that every living language has a power of growth,
of expansion, of development ; in other words, its life — that which
makes it a living language, having within itself a power to supply the
growing wants and improvements of a living people that uses it. If,
by any system of rules, restraint is put on this genuine and healthful
freedom, on this genial movement, the native vigor of the language is
weakened.
From " English Literature."
BYRON'S TOMB.
Washington Irving.
Byron's tomb is in an old gray country church, venerable with the
lapse of centuries. lie lies buried beneath the pavement, at one end of
the principal aisle. A light falls on the spot through the stained glass
of a gothic window, and a tablet on the adjacent wall announces the
family vault of the Byrons. It had been the wayward intention of the
poet to be entombed, with his faithful dog, in the monument erected by
him in the garden of Newstead Abbey. His executors showed better
judgment and feeling, in consigning his ashes to the family sepulchre,
to mingle with those of his mother and his kindred. Here,
"After life's fitful fever, be sleeps well.
Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing
Can touch him further !"
How nearly did his dying hour realizesthe wish made by him but a
few years previously in one of his fitful moods of melancholy and mis-
anthropy : —
" When time, or soon or late, shall bring
The dreamless sleep that lulls the dead,
Oblivion ! may thy languid wing
Wave gently o'er my dying bed !
No band of friends or heirs be there,
To weep or wish the coming blow :
No maiden with dishevelled hair,
To feel, or feign decorous woe.
But silent let me sink to earth,
With no officious mourners near;
I would not mar one hour of mirth,
Nor startle friendship with a fear."
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 69
He died among strangers ; in a foreign land, without a kindred hand
to close his eyes, yet he did not die unwept. With all his faults, and
errors, and passions, and caprices, he had the gift of attaching his
humble dependants warmly to him. One of them, a poor Greek,
accompanied his remains to England, and followed them to the grave.
I am told that, during the ceremony, he stood holding on by a pew in
an agony of grief, and, when all was over, seemed as if he would have
gone down into the tomb with the body of his master. A nature that
could inspire such attachments must have been generous and beneficent.
From " Newstead Abbey."
ADDRESS OF NICTAS TO HIS TROOPS.
Thtjctdibes.
Athenians, I must remind you that you left behind you no more such
ships in your docks, nor so fine a body of heavy-armed troops ; and that,
if anything else befall you but victory, your enemies here will imme-
diately sail thither, and those of our countrymen who are left behind
there will be unable to defend themselves against both their opponents
on the spot and those who will join them ; and thus, at the same time,
you who are here will be at the mercy of the Syracusans (and you know
with what feelings you came against them), and those who are there at
home at that of the Lacedemonians. Being brought then to this one
struggle for both parties, fight bravely now, if you ever did ; and
reflect, both individually and collectively, that those of you who will
now be on board your ships represent both the army and the navy of
the Athenians, all that is left of your country, and the great name of
Athens : in behalf of which, whatever be the point in which one man
excels another, either in science or courage, on no other occasion could
he better display it, so as both to benefit himself and to contribute to
the preservation of all.
From " The Peloponnesian War."
COMMON" THINGS IMPORTANT.
Robert C. Wixtheop.
Scholars must condescend to deal with common thoughts, with com-
mon words, with common topics ; — or rather, they must learn to con-
sider nothing as common or unclean which may contribute to the
welfare of man, the safety of the republic, or the glory of God. It is
theirs, by their efforts in the pulpit or at the bar, in the lecture-room,
or the legislative hall, at the meetings of select societies, or at the
grander gatherings of popular masses, in the columns of daily papers,
70 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
in the pages of periodical reviews or magazines, or through the scat-
tered leaves of the occasional tract or pamphlet, to keep a strong,
steady current of sound, rational, enlightened sentiment always in
singulation through the community. Let them remember that false
doctrines will not wait to be corrected by ponderous folios or cum-
brous quartos. The thin pamphlet, the meagre tract, the occasional
address, the weekly sermon, the daily leader, — these are the great
instruments of shaping and moulding the destinies of our country.
In them, the scholarship of the country must manifest itself. In them,
the patriotism of the country must exhibit itself. In them, the
morality and religion of the country must assert itself. " The word
in season/' — that word of which Solomon understood the beauty and
the value, when he likened it to apples of gold in pictures of silver,
— it is that which is to arrest error, rebuke falsehood, confirm faith,
kindle patriotism, commend morality and religion, purify public opinion,
and preserve the State.
From "Address before the Alumni of Harvard," 1852.
THE PHYSICIAN'S DUTY AND RESPONSIBILITY.
Dr. J. W. Francis.
"Who that has kept vigils at the couch of genius, and marked the
wayward flickerings of its sacred fire, made yet more ethereal by
disease, or seen beauty grow almost supernatural in the embrace of
pain, has not felt his mission to be holy as well as responsible?
And when a voice that has thrilled millions is hushed, or a mind upon
which rest the cares of a nation is prostrated, who has not realized how
intimately the healing art is knit into the vast and complex web of
human society ? Let not that be thought a light office which summons
us to minister, as apostles of science, to the greatest exigencies of life ;
to cheer the soul under the acute sufferings of maternity, and alleviate
the decay of nature ; to watch over the glimmering dawn and the fading
twilight of existence; to stand beside the mother, whose sobs are hushed
that the departure of her first-born may be undisturbed ; and be oracles
at the bedside of the revered minister of holy truth, the halo of whose
piety softens, on his brow, the lines of mortal agony. What a mastery
of self, what requisites, mental and corporeal, are demanded in him
who is the observer of scenes like these, whose sympathies are awakened
to services such as are befitting the mighty crisis, and whose talents
are efficiently enlisted for the triumphant accomplishment of his devout
trust ! The advent of such an ambassador, when his calling is duly
understood, must awaken the heart to its profoundest depths, and can-
not be inoperative upon minds of intellectual and moral culture.
From "Discourse before the New York Academy of Medicine."
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 71
THE SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTE.
Joel R. Poinsett.
A liberal and enlightened Englishman, foreseeing the benefits
which would result to science throughout the world, by its successful
cultivation in the vast and extensive field offered by these states and
territories, with enlarged views and praiseworthy philanthropy, has
bequeathed a fund to be employed for the sacred purposes of increas-
ing and diffusing knowledge among men. This bequest will enable
the government to afford all necessary protection to the promotion of
science and the useful arts, without the exercise of any doubtful power,
by the application of the annual interest of this fund to the establish-
ment of an observatory, the erection of suitable buildings to contain
the collections, and for lecture-rooms, the purchase of books and in-
struments, and the salaries of professors and curators. Specimens of
natural history are rapidly accumulating. The exploring expedition
has already sent home a large collection, which remains packed away
in boxes in a room belonging to the Philadelphia Museum, generously
loaned by the company for that purpose ; and we may anticipate from
the ability and well-known zeal of the naturalists who accompanied it
by order of government, that the squadron itself, shortly expected, will
return richly freighted with objects of natural history.
From " A Discourse at Washington" 1840.
THE FIEST PREDICTED ECLIPSE.
0. M. MlTCHEl.
To predict an eclipse of the sun, the astronomer must sweep forward,
from new moon to new moon, until he finds some new moon which
should occur, while the moon was in the act of crossing from one side
to the other of the sun's track. This certainly was possible. He knew
the exact period from new moon to new moon, and from one crossing
of the ecliptic to another. With eager eye he seizes the moon's place
in the heavens, and her age, and rapidly computes where she will be
at her next change. He finds the new moon occurring far from the
sun's track ; he runs round another revolution ; the place of the new
moon falls closer to the sun's path, and the next yet closer, until, reach-
ing forward with piercing intellectual vigor, he at last finds a new
moon which occurs precisely at the computed time of her passage
across the sun's track. Here he makes his stand, and on the day of
the occurrence of that new moon, he announces to the startled inhabit-
ants of the world that the sun shall expire in dark eclipse. Bold pre-
diction ! — Mysterious prophet ! with what scorn must the unthinking
world have received this solemn declaration ! How slowly do the moons
72 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
roll away, and with what intense anxiety does the stern philosopher
await the coming of that day which should crown him with victory, or
dash him to the ground in ruin and disgrace ! Time to him moves on
leaden wings ; day after day, and at last hour after hour, roll heavily
away. The last night is gone— the moon has disappeared from his
eagle gaze in her approach to the sun, and the dawn of the eventful
day breaks in beauty on a slumbering world.
This daring man, stern in his faith, climbs alone to his rocky home,
and greets the sun as he rises and mounts the heavens, scattering
brightness and glory in his path. Beneath him is spread out the popu-
lous city, already teeming with life and activity. The busy morning
hum rises on the still air, and reaches the watching place of the solitary
astronomer. The thousands below him, unconscious of his intense
anxiety, buoyant with life, joyously pursue their rounds of business,
their cycles of amusement. The sun slowly climbs the heavens, round
and bright and full-orbed. The lone tenant of the mountain-top
almost begins to waver in the sternness of his faith, as the morning
hours roll away. But the time of his triumph, long delayed, at length
begins to dawn ; a pale and sickly hue creeps over the face of nature.
The sun has reached his highest point, but his splendor is dimmed, his
light is feeble. At last it comes !-^Blackness is eating away his round
disc, — onward with slow but steady pace the dark veil moves, blacker
than a thousand nights, — the gloom deepens, — the ghastly hue of death
covers the universe, — the last ray is gone, and horror reigns. A wail
of terror fills the murky air, — the clangor of brazen trumpets resounds, —
an agony of despair dashes the stricken millions to the ground, while
that lone man, erect on his rocky summit, with arms outstretched to
heaven, pours forth the grateful gushings of his heart to God who had
crowned his efforts with triumphant victory. Search the records of our
race, and point me, if you can, to a scene more grand, more beautiful.
It is to me the proudest victory that genius ever won. It was the con-
quering of nature, of ignorance, of superstition, of terror, all at a single
blow, and that blow struck by a single arm. And now do you demand
the name of this wonderful man ? Alas ! what a lesson of the insta-
bility of earthly fame are we taught in this simple recital. He who
had raised himself immeasurably above his race, — who must have been
regarded by his fellows as little less than a god, who had inscribed his
fame on the very heavens, and had written it in the sun, with a " pen
of iron, and the point of a diamond," even this one has perished from
the earth — name, age, country, are all swept into oblivion, but his
proud achievement stands. The monument reared to his honor stands,
and although the touch of time has effaced the lettering of his name,
it is powerless, and cannot destroy the fruits of his victory.
From " Planetary and Stdlar Worlds."
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 73
keplek's DISCOVEEY OF THE THIED LAW.
0. M. MlTCHEL.
Guided by some kind angel or spirit whose sympathy had been
touched by the unwearied zeal of the mortal, Kepler returned to his
former computations, and, with a heaving breast and throbbing heart,
he detects the numerical error in his work, and commences anew. The
square of Jupiter's period is to the square of Saturn's period as the
cube of Jupiter's distance is to some fourth term, which Kepler hoped
and prayed might prove to be the cube of Saturn's distance. With
trembling hand, he sweeps through the maze of figures ; the fourth
term is obtained ; he compares it with the cube of Saturn's distance.
They are the same ! — He could scarcely believe his own senses. He
feared some demon mocked him. He ran over the work again and
again — he tried the proportion, the square of Jupiter's period to the
square of Mars' period as the cube of Jupiter's distance to a fourth
term, which he found to be the cube of the distance of Mars — till
finally full conviction burst upon his mind : he had won the goal, the
struggle of seventeen long years was ended, God was vindicated, and
the philosopher, in the wild excitement of his glorious triumph,
exclaims : —
" Nothing holds me. I will indulge my sacred fury ! If you forgive
me, I rejoice ; if you are angry, I can bear it. The die is cast. The
book is written, to be read either now, or by posterity, I care not which.
It may well wait a century for a reader, since God has waited six
thousand years for an observer !"
More than two hundred years have rolled away since Kepler
announced his great discoveries. Science has marched forward with
swift and resistless energy. The secrets of the universe have been
yielded up under the inquisitorial investigations of god-like intellect.
The domain of the mind has been extended wider and wider. One
planet after another has been added to our system ; even the profound
abyss which separates us from the fixed stars has been passed, and
thousands of rolling suns have been descried swiftly flying or majesti-
cally sweeping through the thronged regions of space. But the laws of
Kepler bind them all : — satellite and primary — planet and sun — sun
and system, — all with one accord proclaim, in silent majesty, the
triumph of the hero philosopher.
From " Planetary and Stellar Worlds.'"
74 THE SELECT ACADExMIC SPEAKER.
THE TREATY OF SHACK AM AXON".
Henry D. Gilpin.
The treaty of Shackamaxon — " the treaty not sworn to and never
broken" — is the beacon-spot in the history of Pennsylvania, most con-
spicuous in her early annals. At the dawn of every people's history,
there seems to be some characteristic incident for ever remembered
and cherished. The legend of Athens never ceased to keep in lively
remembrance the promise of protection, given by the Goddess of wis-
dom, intelligence and courage, on the rude rock beneath which the
future city was to grow, and the olive-tree that she planted there, as
the token of her promise, was guarded and encircled with monuments
of art, taste, and beauty, which still, even in their ruins, win the
admiration of the world. The laws inspired by Egeria at her seques-
tered fountain, which were to form from a band of robbers the mighty
Roman race ; the league framed by the three bold spirits of Switzerland,
in the sequestered xVlpine meadow of Grutli ; the charter of liberty
extorted from their perfidious sovereign, by the armed barons of Eng-
land, on the island of Runnymede, are events of national story that
have loomed out more largely as time has rolled on ; and, with us, the
first memorable treaty of Penn has become more reverenced with each
succeeding year, as having founded the government under which we
live, on the corner-stones of justice and peace.
From " Address before Vie Pennsylvania Historical Society," 1857.
THE SETTLEMENT OF PENNSYLVANIA.
Hexrt D. Gilpin.
If the foundation and settlement of Pennsylvania were planned and
accomplished upon a system so benignant and just, alike to the red
man and the emigrant, as to elicit the praise and wonder of the age, to
what was it due but to his promises, made in advance and never swerved
from, of just and gentle dealings towards the one, and, to the other,
that they should "be governed by laws of their own making, so that
they might be a free, and, if they would, a sober and industrious
people," possessing " all that good and free men could reasonably desire
for the security and improvement of their own happiness" ? " Let the
Lord," he said, "guide me by His wisdom to honor His name, and to
serve His truth and people, so that an example and a standard may be
set up to the nations."
If the constitution of our state, now and always, has declared that
no right of conscience, and no form or mode of religious worship, shall
be controlled or interfered with, and requires, in offices of the highest
trust, no religious qualification but a belief in the existence of the
DECLAMATIONS IN PKOSE. 75
Supreme Being, and His power to punish or reward our actions, we
proudly remember that this glorious principle is foremost in the earliest
of our laws, voluntarily proclaimed by Penn before he left the shores
of England ; and that he, among all legislators, was the first to gua-
rantee, by the enactments of his civil code, the full enjoyment of this
Christian liberty to every one living in his province, " who should con-
fess and acknowledge one Almighty God to be the creator, upholder,
and ruler of the world."
From "Address before the Pennsylvania Historical Society," 1857.
canova's tkiumph.
Cardinal Wiseman.
Some years ago the entire Church of St. Peter's was lighted up on
Thursday and Friday evenings of Holy Week, by one huge brazen
cross, studded with lamps, and hung below the dome.
The play of light and shadow, in bold masses, edged bluffly one by
another, through the aisles, was splendid beyond description. Now it
is certain that Canova designed the beautiful monument of Rezzonico
(Clement XIII.), its fine lions and reclining genius, with an eye, most
particularly, to the effect upon it of this religious illumination. He
had it carefully covered till the first of these evenings, and exposed it
to view under the influence of this unusual light. I well remember its
splendid effect under such circumstances ; and can imagine the general
delight upon its first exhibition. Indeed, so anxious was Canova him-
self to try the experiment fairly, that he employed his friend, Cav.
D'Este, from whom I have the account, to procure for him a disguise.
" My friends," he observed, " are sure to praise the monument ; and
my enemies are sure to find fault with it. I will go among the people
and hear their opinions." After vain attempts to dissuade him, the
costume of a very poor priest was procured, and he was soon so dis-
guised as to defy detection. D'Este saw him thread his way through
the admiring crowd, and listen to the judgment of every little knot,
till he stood by the group in which the senator Rezzonico, nephew to
the Pope, was asking, " Where is Canova, that we may congratulate
with him," eyeing, at the same time, askance, the dilapidated sacristan,
as he thought him, who was almost intruding upon them. But Canova
was not discovered, and returned home satisfied, having received sen-
tence of approval from an unpacked and unprejudiced jury.
From " Lectures at Rome."
76 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
DEVOTION TO SCIENCE.
ACGCSTIX TniERRT.
If, as I delight in thinking, the interest of science is counted in the
number of great national interests, I have given my country all that
the soldier, mutilated on the field of battle, gives her. "Whatever may
be the fate of my labors, this example, I hope, will not be lost. I
would wish it to serve to combat the species of moral weakness which
is the disease of our present generation ; to bring back into the straight
road of life some of those enervated souls that complain of wanting
faith, that know not what to do, and seek everywhere, without finding
it, an object of worship and admiration. Why say, with so much bit-
terness, that in the world, constituted as it is, there is no air for all
lungs, no employment for all mind3? Is not calm and serious study
there? And is not that a refuge, a hope, a field within the reach of all
of us? With it, evil days are passed over without their weight being
felt; every one can make his own destiny ; every one employ his life
nobly. This is what I have done, and would do again, if I had to
recommence my career ; I would choose that which has brought me
where I am. Blind, and suffering without hope, and almost without
intermission, I may give this testimony, which from me will not appear
suspicious: there is something in the world better than sensual enjoy-
ments, better than fortune, better than health itself; it is devotion to
science.
From " Autobiographical Preface."
EUROPEAN NAMES IN AMERICA.
AVOVBTVH Thierry.
The District of Columbia is the seat of the chief congress, and
contains the palace in which the members of the congress assemble.
This palace has been called by the ancient name of the Capitol. It is
not, like the Capitol of Rome, built on an immovable rock ; but its
destiny is far more certain. Liberty presides over it, instead of the
fickle god of war; and the tide of the vengeance of the people will
never need to rise against it.
We cannot see, without emotion, on the map of that free country,
the names of cities borrowed from all the countries of Europe, the
names of Paris, Home, Lisbon, and even that of Athens. All European
countries have furnished their share to that happy population, as if to
prove to the world that liberty belongs to all, and is the peculiar pro-
perty of none. The exiles of each country have, like the fugitives of
Troy, attached the beloved name of the home of their childhood to the
name of their old age. America is the common asylum of us all.
From whatever part of the Old World we steer, we shall not be strangers
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 77
in the New ; we shall there meet with our language, our fellow-coun-
trymen, and our brethren. If, what destiny will doubtless not permit
to occur, the barbarism of ancient times prevailed against modern
Europe ; if those who gave the communes the name of execrable, and
who still threaten war against us in the names of their ancestors, the
enemies of ours, were to triumph over reason and us, we should have a
redress which our ancestors had not ; the sea is free, and there is a free
world beyond it. We should breathe there with ease, we should brace
up our minds there, and we should rally there our strength.
Nos manet Oceanus circumvagus ; arva beata
Petamus arva
From " Essays."
THE PROGRESS OF CIVILIZATION.
Guizot.
Civilization is still in its infancy. How distant is the human mind
from the perfection to which it may attain — from the perfection for
which it was created ! How incapable are we of grasping the whole
future destiny of man ! Let any one even descend into his own mind
— let him picture there the highest point of perfection to which man,
to which society may attain, that he can conceive, that he can hope ; —
let him then contrast this picture with the present state of the world,
and he will feel assured that society and civilization are still in their
childhood : that however great the distance they have advanced, that
which they have before them is incomparably, is infinitely greater.
This, however, should not lessen the pleasure with which we contem-
plate our present condition. When you have run over with me the
great epochs of civilization during the last fifteen centuries, you will
see, up to our time, how painful, how stormy, has been the condition
of man ; how hard has been his lot, not only outwardly as regards
society, but internally, as regards the intellectual man. For fifteen
centuries the human mind has suffered as much as the human race.
You will see that it is only lately that the human mind, perhaps for the
first time, has arrived, imperfect though its condition still be, to a state
where some peace, some harmony, some freedom is found. The same
holds with regard to society — its immense progress is evident — the con-
dition of man, compared with what it has been, is easy and just. In
thinking of our ancestors we may almost apply to ourselves the verses
of Lucretius : —
" Suave mari magno, turbantibus sequora ventis,
E terra magnum alterius spectare laborem."
Without any great degree of pride we may, as Sthenelas is made
7*
78 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
to do in Homer, IJ;is.iz to) icarepatv psy OLfietvove^ eu^ofieff eivav, " Ke-
turn thanks to God that we are innuitely better than our fathers."
From " History of Civilization.'"
THE PILGRIMS OF NEW ENGLAND.
B. 8, Prentiss.
How proudly can we compare their conduct with that of the adven-
turers of other nations who preceded them ! How did the Spaniard
colonize? Let Mexico, Peru, and llispaniola answer. lie followed in
the train of the great Discoverer, like a devouring pestilence. His cry
was gold ! gold ! ! gold ! ! ! Never in the history of the world had the
sacra fames auri exhibited itself with such fearful intensity. His
imagination maddened with visions of sudden and boundless wealth,
clad in mail, he leaped upon the New World, an armed robber. In
greedy haste he grasped the sparkling sand, then cast it down with
curses, when he found the glittering grains were not of gold.
Pitiless as the blood-hound by his side, he plunged into the primeval
forests, crossed rivers, lakes, and mountains, and penetrated to the
very heart of the continent. No region, however rich in soil, delicious
in climate, or luxuriant in production, could tempt his stay. In vain
the soft breeze of the tropics, laden with aromatic fragrance, wooed
him to rest ; in vain the smiling valleys, covered with spontaneous
fruits and flowers, invited him to peaceful quiet. His search was still
for gold: the accursed hunger could not be appeased. The simple
natives gazed upon him in superstitious wonder, and worshipped him
as a god ; and he proved to them a god, but an infernal one — terrible,
cruel, and remorseless. With bloody hands he tore the ornaments from
their persons, and the shrines from their altars: he tortured them to
discover hidden treasure, and slew them that he might search, even in
their wretched throats, for concealed gold. Well might the miserable
Indians imagine that a race of evil deities had come among them, more
bloody and relentless than those who presided over their own san-
guinary rites.
Now let us turn to the pilgrims. They, too, were tempted ; and
had they yielded to the temptation, how different might have been the
destinies of this continent — how different must have been our own !
Previous to their undertaking, the Old World was filled with strange
and wonderful accounts of the new. The unbounded wealth, drawn
by the Spaniards from Mexico and South America, seemed to afford
rational support for the wildest assertions. Each succeeding adven-
turer, returning from his voyage, added to the Arabian tales a still
more extravagant story. At length Sir Walter Raleigh, the most
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 79
accomplished and distinguished of all those "bold voyagers, announced
to the world his discovery of the province of Guiana, and its magnifi-
cent capital, the far-famed city of El Dorado. We smile now at his
account of the "great and golden city," and "the mighty, rich, and
beautiful empire." We can hardly imagine that any one could have
believed, for a moment, in their existence. At that day, however, the
whole matter was received with the most implicit faith.
The pilgrims were urged, in leaving Holland, to seek this charming
country, and plant their colony among its Arcadian bowers. Well
might the poor wanderers cast a longing glance towards its happy val-
leys, which seemed to invite to pious contemplation and peaceful labor.
Well might the green grass, the pleasant groves, the tame deer, and
the singing birds allure them to that smiling land beneath the equinoc-
tial line. But while they doubted not the existence of this wondrous
region, they resisted its tempting charms. They had resolved to vindi-
cate, at the same time, their patriotism and their principles — to add
dominion to their native land, and to demonstrate to the world the
practicability of civil and religious liberty. After full discussion and
mature deliberation, they determined that their great objects could be
best accomplished by a settlement on some portion of the northern con-
tinent, which would hold out no temptation to cupidity — no inducement
to persecution. Putting aside, then, all considerations of wealth and
ease, they addressed themselves with high resolution to the accomplish-
ment of their noble purpose. In the language of the historian, " trusting
to God and themselves," they embarked upon their perilous enterprise.
From " Address at lS T eiv Orleans."
THE VALUE OF THE UNION.
S. S. Prentiss.
We cannot do with less than the whole Union ; to us it admits of no
division. In the veins of our children flows northern and southern
blood ; how shall it be separated ; who shall put asunder the best affec-
tions of the heart, the noblest instincts of our nature ? We love the
land of our adoption, so do we that of our birth. Let us ever be true
to both ; and always exert ourselves in maintaining the unity of our
country, the integrity of the Kepublic.
Accursed, then, be the hand put forth to loosen the golden cord of
Union ; thrice accursed the traitorous lips, whether of northern fanatic
or southern demagogue, which shall propose its severance. But no !
the Union cannot be dissolved ; its fortunes are too brilliant to be
marred : its destinies too powerful to be resisted. Here will be their
greatest triumph, their most mighty development. And when, a cen-
80 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
tury hence, this Crescent City shall have filled her golden horns ; when,
within her broad-armed port, shall be gathered the products of the in-
dustry of a hundred millions of freemen ; when galleries of art and
halls of learning shall have made classic this mart of trade ; then may
the sons of the Pilgrims, still wandering from the bleak hills of the
north, stand upon the banks of the great river, and exclaim with
mingled pride and wonder, Lo ! this is our country: when did the
world ever witness so rich and magnificent a city — so great and glori-
ous a llepublic !
From "Address at JVcw Orleans."
ENGLISH OPINIONS OF FRANCE.
Dr. Drnm.v.
In forming an opinion of the moral state of France, we should first
endeavor to divest ourselves of any unreasonable prejudice imbibed
from English statements. Knowing, as we do, how steadily and system-
atically the character and institutions of America are misrepresented
by English travellers, and how readily their extravagant statements
are credited by their countrymen, we should be the more inclined to
distrust their observations in regard to France, their ancient rival and
hereditary enemy. English travellers, in general, can do justice to no
country ; least of all to France. For ages the English feeling towards
France has fluctuated between fear and contempt ; but for the last half
century her politics have been regarded with dread and her irreligion
with horror by the islanders. Accordingly, their pictures of the moral
condition of France are, in general, deeply shaded. True, the violence
and crime of the Revolution warranted the darkest coloring ; but France
under the Revolution and France under Louis Philippe are two differ-
ent states of society. The demoralizing effects of the Revolution are,
to be sure, yet visible ; the society of France may be said as yet to be
only in its forming state ; but yet he must be blind indeed who cannot
see in the vast increase of trade and manufactures, in the increased
attention to agriculture and the arts of peace, new elements at work to
purify the moral atmosphere. Within a certain limit, such will be
their tendency ; and that tendency is already perceptible.
From " Observations in Europe."
napoleon's tomb.
Dr. Durbin.
The crowning interest of this magnificent establishment (The Inva-
lides) is the tomb of Napoleon, in the chapel of St. Jerome. In reach-
ing the chapel, we had to cross the body of the church, under the dome.
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 81
Some of us forgot to take off our hats on entering the rotunda, until
two of the old warriors, standing as sentinels at the tomb, a hundred
and fifty feet off, reminded us of our negligence in a quick, loud tone.
Of course, we obeyed. Hastening across to the chapel, we approached
the iron grating that cuts off access to the sarcophagus, and stood
within a few feet of the ashes of the hero. I felt a sensation of awe
such as I had never before experienced in presence of the living, or
among the remains of the dead. Upon the marble lay his crown, his
sword, and the hat which had pressed his manly brows at Eylau. On
the top of a marble pyramid, at the head of the tomb, some fifteen feet
in height, is the majestic eagle of France, with wings outspread, as if
looking for the resurrection of the mighty man beneath. The chapel
of the tomb is richly hung in velvet, and a dim, cold light comes
through the ground-glass windows above. We held our voices in the
great man's resting-place. Many came while we were there, but none
who did not gaze with reverence on the tomb of him who had broken
up the despotic institutions of a thousand years, and changed the face
of Europe and the world.
From " Observations in Europe."
man's immortality.
William Peout.
What is to become of man ? Is the being who, surveying nature,
recognises to a certain extent, the great scheme of the universe ; but
who sees infinitely more which he does not comprehend, and which he
ardently desires to know ; — is he to perish like a mere brute — all his
knowledge useless ; all his most earnest wishes ungratified ? How are
we to reconcile such a fate with the wisdom — the goodness — the im-
partial justice — so strikingly displayed throughout the world by its
Creator ? Is it consistent with any one of these attributes, thus to raise
hopes in a dependent being, which are never to be realized ? thus to
lift, as it were, a corner of the veil — to show this being a glimpse of the
splendor beyond — and after all to annihilate him ? With the character
and attributes of the benevolent Author of the universe, as deduced
from His works, such conceptions are absolutely incompatible. The
question then recurs — What is to become of man ? That he is mortal,
like his fellow-creatures, sad experience teaches him ; but does he, like
them, die entirely ? Is there no part of him, that, surviving the general
wreck, is reserved for a higher destiny ? Can that, within man, which
reasons like his immortal Creator — which sees and acknowledges His
wisdom, and approves of His designs, be mortal like the rest? Is it-
probable, nay, is it possible, that what can thus comprehend the opera-
tions of an immortal Agent, Is not itself immortal ?
F
82 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
Thus has reasoned man in all ages ; and his desires and his feelings,
his hopes and his fears, have all conspired with his reason, to strengthen
the conviction, that there is something within him which cannot die:
that he is destined, in short, for a future state of existence, where his
nature will be exalted, and his knowledge perfected ; and where the
great design of his Creator, commenced and left imperfect here below,
WILL BE COMPLETED.
From " Bridgewukr Treatises."
THE STONE AGE.
Walter Scott.
The most important memorials of the stone age are the graves,
called Cromlechs and Giants' Chambers. The former vary much in
size and shape, the long cromlechs being generally from sixty to a
hundred, but sometimes reaching even four hundred feet in length, by
from sixteen to forty feet in breadth, while the circular cromlechs arc
much smaller. All, however, have the same character, as they appear
to have had the same destination. Each cromlech consists of several
large flat stones arranged edgewise on a mound of earth, and capped
by a huge fragment of rock, often from thirty to forty feet in circum-
ference, thus forming a sepulchral chamber, wherein the bodies of the
dead were placed, mostly in a sitting posture, with their backs to the
wall.
The giants' chamber differs from the cromlech in being somewhat
larger, in having a long passage of stone leading to the interior, and
from the whole being covered with a mound of earth forming a
tumulus. Some of these tumuli also contain two chambers with
separate entrances.
Skeletons of unburnt bodies, implements of stone and flint, amber
beads, various ornaments, and earthenware vases, have been found in
all these tombs ; which are not only interesting, as showing the degree
of civilization attained by the people, but from indicating that they
possessed ideas of a future state, as they buried by the warrior's side
weapons and various articles thought necessary to him in another
existence. This custom is general amongst savage tribes even at the
present day, while in all parts of the world nations in an unenlight-
ened and barbarous condition have been found to sacrifice the friends
or servants of their deceased chiefs, in order that they might be pro-
perly attended on their entrance into the next world. Such might
have been the case in Scandinavia, and would at once account satisfac-
torily for the fact of the cromlechs and giants' chambers containing
several skeletons.
The ornaments of the stone period, seen in the museum, are of the
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 83
simplest kind ; the most precious amongst them consisting of pieces of
amber pierced, and doubtless worn as beads ; some of these are rough,
others formed like hammer-heads or axes.
The people of the " stone age" were not confined to Southern Scan-
dinavia, for cromlechs are found along the north-west and west coasts
of Europe, the southern shores of the Baltic, in Ireland and Britain,
all having similar contents to those of Denmark. But in Norway and
the north of Sweden, this kind of tomb does not exist, although imple-
ments and weapons of stone are found in those countries, as well as in
Southern Europe, and even in the tumuli of the Mississippi valley in
North America. Some of the implements discovered in the latter,
especially the flint knives, bear an exact resemblance to those of Den-
mark ; but we cannot infer from this circumstance alone, that the same
race inhabited these widely-separated countries ; for nations the
farthest removed from each other, with the same wants, and their
faculties in a like state of development, arrive at similar results in
their first feeble essays at art, of which the close similarity between
the Scandinavian and New Zealand productions in stone afford another
striking example. It may, however, be reasonably presumed that the
southern coast of the Baltic, Hanover, the north of Holland, England,
and Ireland, where the cromlechs are found, were inhabited by the
same race as that of the stone age in Denmark.
PENN AND LYCUEGUS.
G. C. Verplanck.
Penn arrived in Pennsylvania, in October, 1682. As he was wont,
according to the taste of the age and of his sect, to allegorize natural
occurrences, he might have found in the soft serenity of the season in
which he landed, an apt emblem of those happy and useful days he
was to pass in America. The rest of his life, like the other parts of
the year in this climate, was vexed with many fierce and sudden varie-
ties of change, but the period of his administration in America, was
destined to be, like the American autumn, mild, calm, bright, and
abounding in rich fruits.
Here, his genius seemed to expand, as if to fit itself for a grander
scene of action ; while his benevolence grew warmer amid " the sweet
quiet of these parts," to use his own beautiful language, " freed from
the troublesome and anxious solicitations, hurries, and perplexities of
woful Europe." In all outward things he was well satisfied, and he
had no desire left, but that of doing good. "The land," said he, "is
rich, the air clear and sweet, the springs plentiful, and provisions good
84 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
iitid easy to come at: in fine, here is what an Abraham, Isaac, and
Jacob would be well contented with ; and service enough for God, for
the fields are here white for harvest."
The history of man does not furnish any more interesting scene, nor
one calling up finer associations or more generous sympathies, than the
first conference of William Penn and his followers with the savage
chiefs ; when, to recur again to his own inimitable words, " they met
on the broad pathway of good faith and good-will, so that no advantage
was taken on either side, but all was openness, brotherhood, and love."
Montesquieu, with his usual brilliant and ambitious originality, has
styled Penn the modern Lycurgus. Paradoxical as this strange asso-
ciation of names may at first appear, there is one marked point of
resemblance between the Spartan and the Pennsylvanian legislator ;
widely as they differed in the character of their institutions, and the
ultimate ends of their ambition.
It is the peculiar glory of these two, above all the other legislators of
mankind, to have possessed that self-balanced and confident energy of
mind, which could enable them to disregard all considerations of tem-
porary expediency and private interest, and to make every part of their
system harmonize in perfect unison with those leading principles which
were to pervade, animate, and govern every portion of the state.
From " Address before New York Historical Society"
THE SPREAD OF KNOWLEDGE.
CHAmroro.
Books are now placed within reach of all. Works, once too costly
except for the opulent, are now to be found on the laborer's shelf.
Genius sends its light into cottages. The great names of literature
have become household words among the crowd. Every party, reli-
gious or political, scatters its sheets on all the winds. We may
lament, and too justly, the small comparative benefit as yet accom-
plished by this agency ; but this ought not to surprise or discourage
us. In our present state of improvement, books of little worth,
deficient in taste and judgment, and ministering to men's prejudices
and passions, will almost certainly be circulated too freely. Men are
never very wise and select in the exercise of a new power. Mistake,
error, is the discipline through which we advance. It is an undoubted
fact, that, silently, books of a higher order are taking place of the
worthless. Happily, the instability of the human mind works some-
times for good as well as evil ; men grow tired at length even of
amusements.
The remarks now made on literature might be extended to the fine
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 85
arts. In these we see, too, the tendency to universality. It is said
that the spirit of the great artists has died out ; but the taste for their
works is spreading. By the improvements of engraving, and the
invention of easts, the genius of the great masters is going abroad.
Their conceptions are no longer pent up in galleries open to but few,
but meet us in our homes, and are the household pleasures of millions.
Works, designed for the halls and eyes of emperors, popes, and
nobles, find their way, in no poor representations, into humble dwell-
ings, and sometimes give a consciousness of kindred powers to the
child of poverty. The art of drawing, which lies at the foundation of
most of the fine arts, and is the best education of the eye for nature, is
becoming a branch of common education.
Thus we see, in the intellectual movements of our times, the ten-
dency to expansion, to universality ; and this must continue. It is not
an accident, or an inexplicable result, or a violence on nature ; it is
founded in eternal truth. Every mind was made for growth, for
knowledge ; and its nature is sinned against when it is doomed to
ignorance. Every being is intended to acquaint himself with God
and his works, and to perform wisely and disinterestedly the duties of
life. Accordingly, when we see the multitude of men beginning to
thirst for knowledge, for intellectual action, for something more than
animal life, we see the great design of Nature about to be accom-
plished ; and society, having received this impulse, will never rest till
it shall have taken such a form as will place within every man's reach
the means of intellectual culture. This is the revolution to which we
are tending : and without this, all outward political changes would be
but children's play, leaving the great work of society yet to be done.
From " Essays."
THE HEAVENS PEO CLAIM THE DEITY.
0. M. MlTCHEL.
Would you gather some idea of the eternity past of God's existence,
go to the astronomer, and bid him lead you with him in one of his
walks through space ; and, as he sweeps outward from object to object,
from universe to universe, remember that the light from those filmy
stains on the deep pure blue of heaven, now falling on your eye, has
been traversing space for a million of years. Would you gather some
knowledge of the omnipotence of God, weigh the earth on which we
dwell, then count the millions of its inhabitants that have come and
gone for the last six thousand years. Unite their strength into one
arm, and test its power in an effort to move this earth. It could not
stir it a single foot in a thousand years ; and yet under the omnipotent
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hand of God, not a minute passes that it does not fly for more than a
thousand miles. But this is a mere atom; — the most insignificant
point among his innumerable worlds. At his bidding, every planet,
and satellite, and comet, and the sun himself, fly onward in their
appointed courses. His single arm guides the millions of sweeping
suns, and around His throne circles the great constellation of unnum-
bered universes.
"Would you comprehend the idea of the omniscience of God, remem-
ber that the highest pinnacle of knowledge reached by the whole human
race, by the combined efforts of its brightest intell(Mt. has enabled the
astronomer to compute approximately the perturbations of the planetary
worlds. lie has predicted roughly the return of half a score of comets.
But God has computed the mutual perturbations of millions of suns,
and planets, and comets, and worlds, without number, through the ages
that are passed, and throughout the ages which are yet to come, not
approximately, but with perfect and absolute precision. The universe
is in motion, — system rising above system, cluster above cluster, nebula
above nebula, — all majestically sweeping around under the providence
of God, who alone knows the end from the beginning, and before
whose glory and power all intelligent beings, whether in heaven or on
earth, should bow with humility and awe.
Would you gain some idea of the wisdom of God, look to the admi-
rable adjustments of the magnificent retinue of planets and satellites
which sweep around the sun. Every globe has been weighed and
poised, every orbit has been measured and bent to its beautiful form.
All is changing, but the laws fixed by the wisdom of God, though they
permit the rocking to and fro of the system, never introduce disorder,
or lead to destruction. All is perfect and harmonious, and the music
of the spheres that burn and roll around our sun is echoed by thafcof
ten millions of moving worlds, that sing and shine around the bright
suns that reign above.
From "Planetary and Stellar Worlds.'"
THE FRANKS.
Augustin Thierry.
In 1810, I was finishing my studies at the College of Blois, when a
copy of " Les Martyrs" brought from without, circulated through the
college. It was a great event for those amongst us who already felt a
love of the beautiful and of glory. We quarrelled for the book ; it was
arranged that each one should have it by turns, and mine fell on a
holiday, at the hour of going out walking. That day I pretended to
have hurt my foot, and remained alone at home. I read, or rather
devoured the pages, seated before my desk in a vaulted room, which
DECLAMATIONS IN PKOSE. 87
was our school-room, and the aspect of -which appeared to rac grand
and imposing. I at first felt a vague delight, my imagination was
dazzled ; but when I came to the recital of Eudore, that living history
of the declining empire, a more active and reflecting interest attached
me to the picture of the Eternal City, of the court of a Roman emperor,
the march of a Roman army in the marshes of Batavia, and its encoun-
ter with an army of Franks.
I had read in the history of France, used by the scholars of the
military college, and our classical book, " The Franks, or French,
already masters of Tournay, and the banks of the Escaut, had extended
their conquests as far as Somme. . . . Clovis, son of King Childeric,
ascended the throne 481, and by his victories strengthened the founda-
tions of the French monarchy." All my archseology of the middle
ages consisted in these sentences, and some others of the same kind,
which I had learned by heart. French, throne, monarchy, were to me
the beginning and end, the groundwork and the form of our na-
tional history. Nothing had given me any notion of M. de Chateau-
briand's terrible Franks, clothed in the skins of bears, seals, and wild
boars, and of the camp guarded by leathern boats, and chariots drawn by
huge oxen, of the army placed in the form of a triangle, in which could,
be distinguished nothing but a forest of javelins, of wild beasts' shins, and,
half naked bodies." As the dramatic contrast between the savage war-
rior and the civilized soldier gradually developed itself, I was more and
more deeply struck ; the impression made on me by the war-song of
the Franks was something electrical. I left the place w r here I was
seated, and marching from one end of the room to the other, repeated
aloud, and making my steps ring on the pavement : —
" Pharamond ! Pharamond ! we have fought with the sword.
" We have hurled the battle-axe with two blades ; sweat ran from
the brow of the warriors, and trickled down their arms. The eagles
and birds with yellow feet uttered screams of joy ; the crows swam in
the blood of the dead ; all ocean was but a wound. The virgins have
long wept.
" Pharamond ! Pharamond ! we have fought with the sword.
" Our fathers fell in battle, all the vultures moaned at it: our fathers
satiated them with carnage. Let us choose wives whose milk shall be
blood, and shall fill with valor the hearts of our sons. Pharamond, the
song of the bard is ended, the hours of life are passing away ; we will
smile when we must die.
" Thus sang forty thousand barbarians. The riders raised and low-
ered their white shields in cadence ; and at each burden, they struck
their iron-clad chests with the iron of their javelins."
From " Preface to Eecit des Temps Merovingicns."
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THE HOUSE OF REFUGE.
John SeBOBAHT.
The philanthropist and the statesman may here concur. lie who
desires the welfare of all mankind, and he who only seeks to arrange
the movement of a community so as to produce security and peace,
will equally find his purpose promoted. And even the most rigid eco-
nomist, looking only to the pecuniary cost (if any such there be), will have
nothing to object. The expense of maintaining a refuge is not greater
than the expense of maintaining a jail. The amount required to sup-
port its inmates is less than the cost of an equal number in prison.
And if, enlarging his view, he recollects, that those who begin their
days in a jail, most commonly become a burden for life, subsisted by
the public while in, and by plunder when out; whereas the refuge,
working a reform, enables them to support themselves, and to con-
tribute something to the general expenses of society ; that the one
enlarges the sources of crime, and swells the streams that flow from it,
and the other seeks to diminish the fountain of iniquity, and dry up its
noxious issues \ he will be convinced that a just economy walks hand
in hand with charity and policy.
If at this moment you should see a destitute and helpless child
approaching the brink of a precipice, and know that its ignorant steps
would in a few moments lead it to destruction, would you not reach
forth your hand to save it? Many are on their way to that yawning
monster, a jail, which devours all that is sound and healthful in their
nature, and fills the vacant space with corruption. Will you not, from
your abundance, give something to save them from imminent ruin, and
yourselves from the infliction you must suffer from them, or will you
allow the mischief to spread and grow till some other hand shall
check it ?
It was said of an eminent heathen sage, that he brought philosophy
from the clouds, and fixed her abode among men. The Christian's
philosophy comes from heaven, brought by no mortal hands, but freely
given to man for his own benefit and guidance. It teaches us that
charity is like unto the duty enjoined by the "first and great com-
mandment."
From. '•' Address in PhiladdpJiia," 1828.
THE DUTCH REPUBLIC.
G. C. Yerplanck.
After having beaten down and broken for ever the colossal power
of the Spanish monarchy, the Dutch republic continued, for nearly a
century, to hold the balance of European j olitics with a strong and
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 89
steady hand ; and when the rest of the continent crouched under the
menaces, and the English court was bought by the gold of France, she
stood alone and undaunted, defending the liberties of the world with a
perseverance and self-devotion never surpassed by any nation. During
the same period she had served the cause of freedom and reason, in
another and much more effectual manner, by breaking down the old
aristocratic contempt for the mercantile character; and her merchants,
while they amazed the world by an exhibition of the wonderful effects
of capital and credit, directed by sagacity and enterprise, and operating
on a vaster scale, than had ever before been seen, shamed the poor
prejudices of their age out of countenance by a high-minded and punc-
tilious honesty, before which, the more lax commercial morality of their
degenerate descendants in this country should stand rebuked.
It was about this same remarkable period of her history, that Hol-
land produced many of the most illustrious men of modern Europe.
There are no greater names, in politics and arms, than Barneveldt and
Dewitt, than Tromp and De Ruyter, than Prince Maurice and the Wil-
liams of Oraneg — none more conspicuous in letters and philosophy than
those of Erasmus, Grotius, and Boerhave. In physical and mathematical
science, with the single exception of the discoveries of Newton, nearly
as much was done in Holland as in all the rest of Europe besides. It
was there that were invented the most important and useful instru-
ments of Natural Philosophy ; the telescope, by Jansen ; the microscope
and the thermometer, by Drebell ; the pendulum, in its application to
clocks and as a standard of measure, by Huyghens ; and the Leyden
Phial, by Cuneus and Muschenbroek. The Medical School of Leyden, in
the time of Boerhave and his immediate successors, was what that of
Edinburgh has since become. In ancient literature, the scholars of
Holland effected all that learning and industry could accomplish, and
prepared the way for that very ingenious and philosophical investiga-
tion of the principles of language which has since been so successfully
cultivated in the Dutch Universities. Her jurists were the expounders
of public and of civil law to the continent, and the theologians of the
whole protestant world entered into the controversies of the Dutch
divines, and had ranked themselves, on either side, under the banners
of Gomar and Arminius.
From " Address before New York Historical Society."
THE USE OF KNOWLEDGE.
Cardinal Wiseman.
Whosoever shall try to cultivate a wider field, and follow, from
day to day, as humbly we have striven here to do, the constant progress
of every science, careful ever to note the influence which it exercises on
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his more sacred knowledge, shall have therein such pure joy, and such
growing comfort, as the disappointing eagerness of mere human learn-
ing may not supply. Such a one I know not unto whom to liken, Bave
to one who unites an enthusiastic love of Nature's charms, to a suffi-
cient acquaintance with her laws, and spends his days in a garden of
the choicest hloom. And here he seeth one gorgeous flower, that has
unclasped all its beauty to the glorious sun ; and there another is just
about to disclose its modester blossom, not yet fully unfolded ; and
beside them, there is one only in the hand-stem, giving but slender
promise of much display : and yet he waiteth patiently, well knowing
that the law is fixed whereby it too shall pay, in due season, its tribute
to the light and heat that feed it. Even so, the other doth likewise
behold one science after the other, when its appointed hour is come,
and its ripening influences have prevailed, unclose some form which
shall add to the varied harmony of universal truth, which shall recom-
pense, to the full, the genial power that hath given it life, and, how-
ever barren it may have seemed at first, produce something that may
adorn the temple and altar of God's worship.
And if he carefully register his own convictions, and add them to the
collections already formed, ot various, converging proofs, he assuredly
will have accomplished the noblest end for which man may live and
acquire learning, his own improvement, and the benefit of his kind.
For, as an old and wise poet has written, after a wiser saint: —
" The chief use then in man of that he knowes,
Is his paines-taking for the good of all,
Not fleshly weeping for our own made woes,
Not laughing from a melancholy gall,
Not hating from a soul that overflowes
With bitterness breathed out from inward thrall ;
But sweetly rather to ease, loose : or bindc,
As need requires, this fraile fallen human kinde."
From "Lectures on Science and Eeligvsn"
ENGLISH PRISONS.
Stdxet Smith
In this age of charity and of prison improvement, there is one aid to
prisoners which appears to be wholly overlooked ; and that is, the means
of regulating their defence, and providing them witnesses for their
trial. A man is tried for murder, or for house-breaking, or robbery,
without a single shilling in his pocket. The nonsensical and capricious
institutions of the English law, prevent him from engaging counsel to
speak in his defence, if he had the wealth of Croesus ; but he has no
money to employ even an attorney, or to procure a single witness, or to
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 91
take out a subpoena. The judge, we are told, is his counsel ;— this is
sufficiently absurd ; but it is not pretended that the judge is his wit-
ness. He solemnly declares that he has three or four witnesses who
could give a completely different color to the transaction ; — but they are
sixty or seventy miles distant, working for their daily bread, and have
no money for such a journey, nor for the expense of a residence of some
days in an assize town. 'They do not know even the time of the assize,
nor the modes of tendering their evidence if they could come. When
everything is so well marshalled against him on the opposite side, it
would be singular if an innocent man, with such an absence of all
means of defending himself, should not occasionally be hanged or trans-
ported : and accordingly we believe that such things have happened.
Let any man, immediately previous to the assizes, visit the prisoners
for trial, and see the many wretches who are to answer to the most
serious accusations, without one penny to defend themselves. If it
appeared probable, upon inquiry, that these poor creatures had impor-
tant evidence, which they could not bring into court for want of money,
would it not be a wise application of compassionate funds to give them
this fair chance of establishing their innocence ? — It seems to us no bad
finale of the pious labors of those who guard the poor from ill-treat-
ment during their imprisonment, to take care that they are not unjustly
hanged at the expiration of the term.
From "Bevievjs," 1821.
IRELAND AND GRATTAN.
Sydney Smith.
Thank God that all is not profligacy and corruption in the history
of that devoted people — and that the name of Irishman does not always
carry with it the idea of the oppressor or the oppressed — the plunderer
or the plundered — the tyrant or the slave. Great men hallow a whole
people, and lift up all who live in their time. What Irishman does not
feel proud that he has lived in the days of Grattan ? who has not
turned to him for comfort, from the false friends and open enemies of
Ireland ? who did not remember him in the days of its burnings and
wastings and murders ? No government ever dismayed him — the world
could not bribe him— he thought only of Ireland — lived for no other
object — dedicated to her his beautiful fancy, his elegant wit, his manly
courage, and all the splendor of his astonishing eloquence. He was so
born and so gifted, that poetry, forensic skill, elegant literature, and
all the highest attainments of human genius, were within his reach ;
but he thought the noblest occupation of a man was to make other men
happy and free ; and in that straight line he went on for fifty years,
without one side-look, without one yielding thought, without one motive
92 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
in his heart which he might not have laid open to the view of God and
man. He is gone ! — but there is not a single day of his honest life of
which every good Irishman would not be more proud, than of the whole
political existence of his countrymen — the annual deserters and betray-
ers of their native land.
From "Reviews," 1821.
RAPID PROGRESS IN AGRICULTURE.
W. M. Ukrbdith.
The advance is going on. We shall step from improvement to im-
provement, until agriculture, like the other sciences, will necessarily
have had its day. A little explanation will make this obvious. Our
chemists have analyzed both the plants, and the animals, and the
earth. We are no longer in the dark. For instance, we will suj
there is some individual whose backbone wants a little stiffening — an
uncommon case in this quarter, sir. Chemistry tells him that he
wants a particular quantity of phosphate of lime, I think. How does
he get it? Why, sir, you have to take that phosphate of lime and put
it in the earth ; then you sow the wheat ; then you take it out of the
earth, and it must pass through a variety of processes — reaping, thresh-
ing, grinding, &C. ; you have your machines working away at it by
steam — (I acknowledge that you have reduced already all the peasantry
of your country to one engineer, and a stoker for each farm, so that a
man with his eyes shut cannot tell whether he is on a farm or a steam-
boat) — you must put the phosphate of lime in the ground and coax it
out with wheat, and reap it, and thresh it, and grind it, knead it, bake
it, and then cut it into slices and put in your mouth.
The next great inventor, — I hope it may not be you, sir, because I
think immortality of that kind is not what you desire — will look to
saving all these intermediate processes of labor, and putting the phos-
phate of lime right into the man's mouth. Like Columbus with the
egg, the simplicity of the thing will be so great, that everybody will
wonder that it was not thought of sooner. In medicine we have acted
upon this principle for centuries. When the doctor wants to administer
a little mineral of some sort, some calomel, or magnesia, or anything
of that kind, he does not go about planting seed, and reaping a crop,
and then making it into bread, but he gives it to you at once ; he pops
it right down your throat ; he thrusts the magnesia right into your
gullet, and it will do what it was intended to do. Now, sir, they will
apply that to food. I am rather conservative ; I do not enter into
these questions of progress ; I go for things as they are, and I am con-
tent to be fed as we have been. Therefore, I hope it will be some
DECLAMATIONS IN PKOSE. 93
remote successor of yours who will preside at a banquet of this kind.
The first course will be a phosphate of lime and carbonate of magnesia ;
there will be a side dish of super-phosphate of iron, and a sort of omelette
souflt of gluten.
From '•' Speech before United States Agricultural Society,"
THE WONDERS OF THE DEEP.
Anontmous.
Who ever gazed upon the broad sea without emotion ? whether seen
in stern majesty, hoary with the tempest, rolling its giant waves upon
the rocks, and dashing with resistless fury some gallant bark on an iron-
bound coast ; or sleeping beneath the silver moon, its broad bosom
broken but by a gentle ripple, just enough to reflect a long line of
light, a path of gold upon a pavement of sapphire ; who has looked
upon the sea without feeling that it has power? Perhaps there is
no earthly object, not even the cloud-cleaving mountains of an alpine
country, so sublime as the sea in its severe and marked simplicity.
Standing on some promontory, whence the eye roams far out from the
unbounded ocean, the soul expands, and we conceive a nobler idea of
the majesty of that God, who holdeth " the waters in the hollow of his
hand." But it is only when on a long voyage, climbing, day after
day. to the giddy elevation of the masthead, one still discerns nothing
in the wide circumference but the same boundless wastes of waters,
that the mind grasps anything approaching an adequate idea of the
grandeur of the ocean.
Mailed and glittering creatures of strange form suddenly appear,
play a moment in our sight, and, with the velocity of thought, vanish
into the boundless depths. The very birds that we see in the wide
wastes are mysterious ; we wonder whence they come, whither they
go, how they sleep, homeless and shelterless as they seem to be. The
freeze, so fickle in its visitings, rises and dies away; " but thou knowest
not whence it cometh and whither it goeth ;" the night wind moaning
by, soothes the watchful helmsman with gentle sounds, that suggest to
him the whisperings of unseen spirits ; or the tempest, shrieking and
groaning among the cordage, turns him pale with the anticipation of a
watery grave.
ASPECTS OF THE OECAN.
AxoxTJiors.
The ocean is never perfectly at rest ; even between the tropics, in
what are called the calm latitudes, where the impatient seaman, for
weeks together, looks wistfully but vainly for the welcome breeze to
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waft his vessel onwards, which, like that of the " Ancient Mariner/ 1 is
almost as
" idle as a painted ship,
Upon a painted ocean ;"
even here the smooth and glittering surface is not entirely at rest ; for
long gentle undulations, which cause the taper mast to describe lines
and angles upon the sky, arc sufficiently perceptible to tantalize the
mariner with the thought that the breeze, which mocks his desires, is
blowing freshly and gallantly elsewhere.
The ocean is the highway of commerce. God seems wisely and
graciously to have ordained that man should not be independent, but
under perpetual obligation to his fellow-man, and that distant countries
should ever maintain a mutually beneficial dependence on each other.
He might have made every land produce every necessary and comfort
of life in ample supply for its own population ; the result of the separa-
tion has been, generally, an easy means of exchanging home for foreign
productions, which constitutes commerce.
It is lamentably true that the evil passions of men have often per-
verted the facilities of communication for purposes of destruction, yet
the sober verdict of mankind has for the most part been, that the
substantial blessings of friendly commerce are preferable to martial
glory. And the transport of goods of considerable bulk and weight,
or of such as are of a very perishable nature, would be so difficult by
land as very materially to increase their cost ; while land communica-
tion between countries, tens of thousands of miles apart, would be
attended with difficulties so great as to be practicably insurmountable.
FAREWELL TO THE ARMY AT FONTAINEBLEAU, 1814.
Napoleon- Boxaparte.
Soldiers ! receive my adieu. During twenty years that we havt
lived together, I am satisfied with you. I have always found you in the
paths of glory. All the powers of Europe have armed against me.
Some of my generals have betrayed their trust and France. My
country herself has wished another destiny : with you, and the other
brave men who have remained true to me, I could have maintained a
civil war : but France would have been unhappy.
Be faithful to your new king. Be submissive to your new generals ;
and do not abandon our dear country. Mourn not my fortunes. I
shall be happy while I am sure of your happiness. I might have died ;
but if I have consented to live, it is still to serve your glory ; I shall
record now the great deeds which we have done together.
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 95
Bring me the eagle standard ; let me press it to my heart. Farewell,
my children ; my hearty wishes go with you. Preserve me in your
memories.
CHARLEMAGNE.
Montesquieu.
Charlemagne made such an adjustment in the orders of the state,
that they were fairly counterbalanced, and that he remained master.
They were all united by the power of his genius. The empire was sus-
tained by the greatness of its chief; the prince was great, but the man
greater. He made admirable laws. He did more : he caused them to
be carried out. One sees, in the laws of this prince, a spirit of fore-
sight which understands everything, and a power which leads every-
thing in its train ; all pretexts for eluding duty are done away, all
negligences punished, abuses reformed or prevented. He knew how
to punish ; he knew better how to pardon. Vast in his plans, simple
in execution, no one has ever had more completely the art of doing
the greater things with ease, the most difficult with promptness.
Unceasingly he travelled over his vast empire, aiding with his pow-
erful hand its weaker parts. He played with dangers, and especially
those which almost always try great conquerors, — I mean conspiracies.
He was extremely frugal and temperate ; his disposition was mild, his
manners simple ; he loved to mix in the society of his court : if he had
his besetting sins, a prince who always governs alone, and who passes
his life in the severe toils of government, may, for these reasons, find
some palliation for his faults.
Original Translation.
PROCLAMATION TO THE ARMY OF ITALY.
Napoleon Bonaparte.
Soldiers : You have, in fifteen days, gained six victories, taken twenty
standards, fifty pieces of cannon, numerous strongholds, and conquered
the richest part of Piedmont; you have made fifteen thousand prison-
ers ; and killed or wounded more than ten thousand men.
But, I must not dissemble with you ; you have as yet done nothing,
since there remains still much to be done. Neither Turin nor Milan
are yours.
You were stripped of everything at the beginning of the campaign ;
you are to-day abundantly provided. The magazines taken from our
enemies are numerous. The artillery has arrived. The country has a
right to expect great things of you. Will you justify its expectation?
The greatest obstacles doubtless have already been surmounted; but
96 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
you have yet battles to fight, towns to take, rivers to cross. Is there
among you one whose courage begins to fail? is there one who would
prefer to return upon the summits of the Alps and Apennines, to
bear patiently the insults of a slavish soldiery? No! there is none
such among the victors of Montenotte, Millesimo, Diego, and Mondovi.
You are all fired with the wish to bear afar the glory of the French
people ; you all desire to humiliate those proud kings who dared to
think of putting us in fetters ; you all wish to dictate a glorious peace
which shall indemnify France for the immense sacrifices she has made.
You all wish, on going back to your village homes, to be able to say
with pride: " I was of the conquering army of Italy ."
WASHINGTON.
Charles Phillips.
It is the custom of your board, and a noble one it is, to deck the
cup of the gay with the garland of the great; and surely, even in the
eyes of its deity, his grape is not the less lovely when glowing beneath
the foliage of the palm-tree and the myrtle. — Allow me to add one
flower to the chaplet, which, though it sprang in America, is no exotic.
Virtue planted it, and it is naturalized everywhere. I see you antici-
pate me — I see you concur with me, that it matters very little what
immediate spot may be the birth-place of such a man as Washington.
No people can claim, no country can appropriate him ; the boon of
Providence to the human race, his fame is eternity, and his residence
creation. Though it was the defeat of our arms, and the disgrace of
our policy, I almost bless the convulsion in which he had his origin.
If the heavens thundered and the earth rocked, yet, when the storm
passed, how pure was the climate that it cleared ; how bright in the
brow of the firmament was the planet which it revealed to us ! In the
production of Washington, it does really appear as if nature was
endeavoring to improve upon herself, and that all the virtues of the
ancient world were but so many studies preparatory to the patriot of
the new. Individual instances no doubt there were ; splendid exem-
plifications of some single qualification. Caesar was merciful, Scipio
was continent, Hannibal was patient ; but it was reserved for Wash-
ington to blend them all in one, and like the lovely chefd'eeuvre of the
Grecian artist, to exhibit in one glow of associated beauty, the pride
of every model, and the perfection of every master. As a general, he
marshalled the peasant into a veteran, and supplied by discipline the
absence of experience ; as a statesman, he enlarged the policy of the
cabinet into the most comprehensive system of general advantage ; and
such was the wisdom of his views, and the philosophy of his counsels,
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 97
that to the soldier and the statesman he almost added the character of
the sage ! a conqueror, he was untainted with the crime of blood ; a
revolutionist, he was free from any stain of treason ; for aggression
commenced the contest, and his country called him to the command. —
Liberty unsheathed his sword, necessity stained, victory returned it.
If he had paused here, history might have doubted what station to
assign him, whether at the head of her citizens or her soldiers, her
heroes or her patriots. But the last glorious act crowns his career,
and banishes all hesitation. Who, like Washington, after having
emancipated a hemisphere, resigned its crown, and preferred the retire-
ment of domestic life to the adoration of a land he might be almost
said to have created ?
"How shall we rank thee upon glory's page,
Thou more than soldier, and just less than sage ;
All thou hast been reflects less fame on thee,
Far less than all thou hast foreborne to be I"
Such, sir, is the testimony of one not to be accused of partiality in
his estimate of America. Happy, proud America ! the lightnings of
heaven yielded to your philosophy! The temptations of earth could
not seduce your patriotism !
From " Speech at Dinas Island."
THE IN AU (JURATION OF THE MONUMENT TO HENRY CLAY.
John Tyler.
I frankly confess that I did not anticipate the call you have made
upon me. I came prepared, if opportunity was given, to say a few
words of the distinguished man whose memory you have, as far as
marble could do it, immortalized ; but, in speaking of him, I shall, of
necessity, speak of the Union. I came up to witness the proceedings
of to-day. It is a great spectacle, that of inaugurating the statue of
one who has passed away from earth ; it is the eternizing his name as
far as marble can accomplish it ; it is the rescuing from the tomb those
features which were immovable in their day and generation. To do
this on those grounds, and under the shadow of your Capitol, which is
halloAved by great events and great names — and this, too, in advance
of similar tributes to the heroes and statesmen of other days, who drew
their sustenance from Virginia's maternal breast, and made their
names illustrious — is no ordinary event ; and yet it is right. It is
right to reclaim the resemblance, while it may be done, of one of Vir-
ginia's sons, who in early life left the old homestead for a new one in
the West, under the nursing care of her eldest daughter. It may be
9 G
98 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
said, after tlic manner of the inscription on the tomb of the Mantuan
Swain, Virginia gave him birth ; Kentucky gave him a grave ; the
United States furnished him a theatre for his labors. I trust the day
is not distant when those public grounds will exhibit to our admiring
people the risen features of a grand host of departed patriots, each
after its own way, to be a silent but forcible monitor of that immortal-
ity of form which succeeds a life of high and honorable action.
From "Speech at Wchmond on the inauguration iff Clay Monvmanh"
THE GREAT MERITS OF IIEXRY CLAY.
John Tyler.
The details of Mr. Clay's life have been eloquently given by the
accomplished orator of the day. It is not because I admired him as a
man, as a leader in debate, as an orator of immense powers, that I am
here to-day. No, it is I- icause in my heart I believe that he has a title
to a monument for an act of broad and unselfish patriotism in the
course of his career which, standing by itself, I have not hesitated at
all times, and in all places when it was suitable to say, entitled him
not only to a monument of brass or marble, but to one in the hearts of
his countrymen. The brow of the Roman citizen who had saved the
life of another in battle, was encircled by an oaken wreath. What
badge of distinction is proud enough for him who saves his country
from civil war? Ask the parent who enfolds his little children and the
companion of all his hopes and trials and triumphs in life, in his arms,
at the horrible spectre of civil broil which threatens Avith grim aspect
to enter his heretofore peaceful dwelling — ask the lone and widowed
mother as she flies to the rock and desert with her infant strained to
her breast and concealed from view by the tresses of her streaming
hair — ask brave and stalwart men as they take their position in oppos-
ing ranks to shed each other's blood — ask one, ask all, what monument
he deserves who drives away this horrible spectre of civil war, and
restores his country to peace and confidence. Nay, more — ask the
lovers of freedom all over the world what is the measure of gratitude
for the man who saves that glorious banner, without a star shorn of its
dazzling lustre — the herald, if so preserved, of ultimate freedom to
mankind, from being torn and destroyed in the bloody arena of strife
and battle. It was because, in my innermost heart, I believe Henry
Clay did this, that I am here to-day.
From " Speech at Richmond on the inauguration of Clay Monument:'
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 99
ENGLISH CULTURE.
Lord John Russell.
Before many years are passed, there will be in Great Britain and
the United States of America, sixty, seventy, or eighty millions of free
people. May we not hope that these kindred nations — each speaking
the English language — each deriving its pedigree of liberty from a
common ancestry — each inheriting the English Bible — each reading
Shakspeare and Milton — each divided into many denominations of
Christians, but each allowing complete liberty of worship — will unite
in the glorious task of peaceful conquest and bloodless victory ? At
least let us indulge in this high hope. If we do not arrive at, or even
approximate to, perfection, we may look at least to uninterrupted pro-
gress towards a far better social organization than any we have yet
enjoyed. I have spoken to you of those times of civilization when
either the Christian religion was unknown ; or being known, it was
contemned, cast aside, and neglected. Let us hope that there is a
period arriving when we may see realized those beautiful and powerful
words of a great poet : —
" Dim as the borrowed beams of moon and stars
To lonely, weary, wandering travellers,
Is reason to the soul ; and as on high,
Those rolling fires discover but the sky,
Not light us here, so reason's glimmering ray
Was lent, not to assure our doubtful way,
But guide us upward to a better day.
And as those nightly tapers disappear
"When day's bright lord ascends our hemisphere,
So pale grows reason at religion's sight,
So dies and so dissolves in supernatural light."
To each, one of us — to you, young men of the united kingdom more
especially — belongs a portion of the noble task of speeding our country
on her great and glorious way, by walking steadfastly in the full light
of such truths as we already possess, and by hastening the noonday
brightness of such as are only dawning. Let it not be the reproach
of any one of us, that, born in a land where the laws acknowledge
that thought and speech are free, we have yet ever lent the helping
hand of custom, folly, or intolerance to extinguish one spark of that
Divine flame which we call the soul, or ever turned away from a right-
eous and peaceable endeavor to loosen the fetters that still bind it
throughout the world.
From "Lecture before the Young Hen's Cliristian Association of London."
100 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
THE EGOTISTICAL TALKER.
J. B. Owen.
The egotist is an Alexander Selkirk without the solitude. The ety-
mology of an egotist may be rendered thus : "One of those gluttonous
parts of speech that gulp clown every substantive in the social gram-
mar into its personal pronoun, condensing all the tenses, moods, and
voices of other people's verbs, into a first person singular of its own.
Example; 'I myself saw it with my own eyes, and nobody else but
me, I say/ "
He whoso staple conversation is his own panegyric, forgets that
everybody isn't as interested as himself in his alleged achievements.
Society resents as a trespass upon its common rights, the inflated eulo-
gy which seems to think no topic so attractive as itself; and retaliates
by a reprisal couched in the familiar formula : "We would buy him at
our price, and sell him at his own."
He has made a gross blunder somewhere (perhaps is always at it)
who provokes such a "quotation." This vanity of "mihi guidem vide-
tur" is sometimes, as with Cicero, associated with a genius too con-
scious of its own gifts to be sufficiently sensible of others. His inven-
tions won't always bear testing. His great acquaintances, whose cards
cover his table, thick as medals on the breast of Wellington, commem-
orative of so many social conquests, are not all genuine deposits of
their owners. Eggs are not always laid in the nest where they arc
hatched.
" I was to dine with the Admiral," said such a one, to a brother offi-
cer, as they met in the street ; " but I've so many cards for to-night, I
can't go."
" I received the same invitation," said his friend; "and I'll apolo-
gize for you."
"Don't trouble yourself; pray don't "
" I must, if you don't come ; for the admiral's invitation, you know,
is like royalty's — a command."
" Don't mention my name."
"I certainly must," said his friend, as they shook hands to separate.
"I say," at length stammered out the hero of a hundred cards,
" don't say a word about me ; I — I had a hint to stay away."
" A hint; how so?"
" 1 wasn't invited."
" No !" said his friend, " not invited ! Well, I said I had received
the same invitation, for neither was I; but I wanted to see how it lay
between us."
From " Lecture before the Young Men's Christian Association."
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 101
THE SENSE OF BEAUTY.
"VV. E. Channing.
Beauty is an all-pervading presence. It unfolds in the numberless
flowers of the spring. It waves in the branches of the trees and the
green blades of grass. It haunts the depths of the earth and sea, and
gleams out in the hues of the shell and the precious stone. And not
only these minute objects, but the ocean, the mountains, the clouds, the
heavens, the stars, the rising and setting sun, all overflow with beauty.
The universe is its temple ; and those men who are alive to it, cannot
lift their eyes without feeling themselves encompassed with it on every
side. Now this beauty is so precious, the enjoyments it gives are so
refined and pure, so congenial with our tenderest and noble feelings,
and so akin to worship, that it is painful to think of the multitude of
men as living in the midst of it, and living almost as blind to it as if,
instead of this fair earth and glorious sky, they were tenants of a dun-
geon. An infinite joy is lost to the world by the want of culture of
this spiritual endowment. Suppose that I were to visit a cottage, and
to see its walls lined with the choicest pictures of Raphael, and every
spare nook filled with statues of the most exquisite workmanship, and
that I were to learn that neither man, woman, nor child ever cast an
eye at these miracles of art, how should I feel their privation ; how
should I want to open their eyes, and to help them to comprehend and
feel the loveliness and grandeur which in vain courted their notice !
But every husbandman is living in sight of the works of* a diviner
Artist ; and how much would his existence be elevated, could he see
the glory which shines forth in their forms, hues, proportions, and
moral expression ! I have spoken only of the beauty of nature, but
how much of this mysterious charm is found in the elegant arts, and
especially in literature? The best books have most beauty. The
greatest truths are wronged if not linked with beauty, and they win
their way most surely and deeply into the soul when arrayed in this
their natural and fit attire. Now no man receives the true culture of
a man, in whom the sensibility to the beautiful is not cherished ; and I
know of no condition in life from which it should be excluded. Of all
luxuries this is the cheapest and most at hand ; and it seems to me to
be most important to those conditions, where coarse labor tends to give
a grossness to the mind. From the diflFusion of the sense of beauty in
ancient Greece, and of the taste for music in modern Germany, we learn
that the people at large may partake of refined gratifications, which
have hitherto been thought to be necessarily restricted to a few.
From " Self-culture."
9*
102 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
BOOKS.
W. M. ClIANNINH.
It is chiefly through books that we enjoy intercourse with superior
minds, and these invaluable means of communication are in the reach
of all. In the best books great men talk to us, give us their most pre-
cious thoughts, and pour their souls into ours. God be thanked for
books. They are the voices of the distant and the dead, and make us
heirs of the spiritual Life of past ages. Books are the true levellers.
They give to all, who will faithfully use them, the society, the spiritual
presence of the best and greatest of our race. No matter how poor I
am. No matter though the prosperous of my own time will not enter
my obscure dwelling. If the Sacred Writers will enter and take up
their abode under my roof, if Milton will cross my threshold to sing to
me of Paradise, and Shakspeare to open to me the worlds of imagina-
tion and the workings of the human heart, and Franklin to enrich me
with his practical wisdom, I shall not pine for want of intellectual
companionship, and I may become a cultivated man though excluded
from what is called the best society in the place where I live.
From " Self-culture."
JUDICIAL, FOKENSIC, AND PARLIAMENTAEY.
IMPEESSMENT OF AMEEICAN SAILOES.
Henry Clay.
If Great Britain desires a mark, by which she can know her own
subjects, let her give them an ear-mark. The colors that float from
the mast-head should be the credentials of our seamen. There is no
safety to us, and the gentlemen have shown it, but in the rule that all
who sail under the flag (not being enemies), are protected by the flag.
It is impossible that this country should ever abandon the gallant tars,
who have won for us such splendid trophies. Let me suppose that the
Genius of Columbia should visit one of them in his oppressor's prison, and
attempt to reconcile him to his forlorn and wretched condition. She
would say to him, in the language of gentlemen on the other side :
" Great Britain intends you no harm ; she did not mean- to impress
you, but one of her own subjects ; having taken you by mistake, I will
remonstrate, and try to prevail upon her, by peaceable means, to release
you, but I cannot, my son, fight for you." If he did not consider this
mere mockery, the poor tar would address her judgment and say, " You
owe me, my country, protection ; I owe you, in return, obedience. I
am no British subject, I am a native of old Massachusetts, where live
my aged father, my wife, my children. I have faithfully discharged my
duty. Will you refuse to do yours V Appealing to her passions, he
would continue : " I lost this eye in fighting under Truxtun, with the
Insurgente ; I got this scar before Tripoli ; I broke this leg on board
the Constitution, when the Guerriere struck." If she remained still
unmoved, he would break out, in the accents of mingled distress and
despair : —
Hard, hard is my fate ! once I freedom enjoyed,
Was as happy as happy could he !
Oh ! how hard is my fate, how galling these chains !
I will not imagine the dreadful catastrophe to which he would be driven
by an abandonment of him to his oppressor. It will not be, it cannot
be, that his country will refuse him protection.
From " Speech on Xeiv Army Bill."
(103)
104 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
ABUSE OF NAPOLEON.
1 1 i:\hv Clat.
Throughout the period I have been speaking of, the opposition hafl
Loon distinguished, amidst all its veerings and changes, by another in-
flexible feature, the application to Bonaparte of every vile and oppro-
brious epithet, our language, copious as it is in terms of vituperation,
affords. He has been compared to every hideous monster and beast,
from that mentioned in the Revelations, down to the most insignificant
quadruped. He has been called the scourge of mankind, the destroyer
of Europe, and the great robber, the infidel, the modern Attila, and
heaven knows by what other names. Ucally, gentlemen remind me of
an obscure lady, in a city not very far off, who also took it into her
head, in conversation with an accomplished French gentleman, to talk
of the affairs of Europe. She too spoke of the destruction of the
balance of power, stormed and raged about the insatiable ambition of
the emperor ; called him the curse of mankind, the destroyer of Europe.
The Frenchman listened to her with perfect patience, and when she
had ceased, said to her, with ineffable politeness: "Madam, it would
give my master, the emperor, infinite pain, if he knew how hardly you
thought of him/' Sir, gentlemen appear to me to forget that they
stand on American soil ; that they are not in the British House of
Commons, but in the chamber of the House of Representatives of the
United States ; that we have nothing to do with the affairs of Europe,
the partition of territory and sovereignty there, except so far as these
things affect the interests of our own country. Gentlemen transform
themselves into the Burkes, Chathams, and Pitts of another country,
and forgetting from honest zeal the interests of America, engage with
European sensibility in the discussion of European interests. If gen-
tlemen ask me, whether I do not view with regret and horror the con-
centration of such vast power in the hands of Bonaparte — I reply that
I do. I regret to see the emperor of China holding such immense sway
over the fortunes of millions of our species. I regret to see Great
Britain possessing so uncontrolled a command over all the waters of
our globe. If I had the ability to distribute among the nations of
Europe their several portions of power and of sovereignty, I would say
that Holland should be resuscitated, and given the weight she enjoyed
in the days of her De Witts. I would confine France within her natu-
ral boundaries, the Alps, Pyrenees, and the Rhine, and make her a
secondary naval power only. I would abridge the British maritime
power, raise Prussia and Austria to their original condition, and pre-
serve the integrity of the Empire of Russia. But these are specula-
tions. I look at the political transactions of Europe, with the single
exception of their possible bearing upon us, as I do at the history of
other countries, or other times. I do not survey them with half the
DECLAMATIONS IN PEOSE. 105
interest that I do the movements in South America. Our political re-
lation with them is much less important than it is supposed to be. I
have no fears of French or English subjugation. If we are united, we
are too poAverful for the mightiest nation in Europe, or all Europe com-
bined. If we are separated and torn asunder, we shall become an easy-
prey to the weakest of them. In the latter dreadful contingency, our
country will not be worth preserving.
From " Speech on New Army Bill."
EEPLY TO JOHN KANDOLPH.
Henry Clay.
Sik, I am growing old. I have had some little measure of experi-
ence in public life, and the result of that experience has brought me to
this conclusion, that when business, of whatever nature, is to be trans-
acted in a deliberative assembly, or in private life, courtesy, forbearance,
and moderation, are best calculated to bring it to a successful conclu-
sion. Sir, my age admonishes me to abstain from involving myself
in personal difficulties ; would to God that I could say, I am also
restrained by higher motives. I certainly never sought any collision
with the gentleman from Virginia. My situation at this time is pecu-
liar, if it be nothing else, and might, I should think, dissuade, at least,
a generous heart from any wish to draw me into circumstances of per-
sonal altercation. I have experienced this magnanimity from some
quarters of the House. But I regret, that from others it appears to
have no such consideration. The gentleman from Virginia was pleased
to say, that in one point at least he coincided with me — in an humble
estimate of my grammatical and philological acquirements. I know
my deficiencies. I was born to no proud patrimonial estate ; from my
father I inherited only infancy, ignorance, and indigence. I feel my
defects ; but, so far as my situation in early life is concerned, I may,
without presumption, say they are more my misfortune than my fault.
But, however I regret my want of ability to furnish to the gentleman
a better specimen of powers of verbal criticism, I will venture to say,
it is not greater than the disappointment of this committee as to the
strength of his argument.
From " Speech in the House of Representatives," 1824.
THE BUILDING OF NATIONAL EOADS.
Henry Clay.
Of all the powers bestowed on this government, I think none are
more clearly vested than that to regulate the distribution of the intel-
ligence, private and official, of the country ; to regulate the distribution
10G THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
of its commerce ; and to regulate the distribution of the physical force
of the Union. In the execution of the high and solemn tru-t which
these beneficial powers imply, we must look to the great ends which
the framers of our admirable constitution had in view. We must reject,
as wholly incompatible with their enlightened and beneficent intentions,
that construction of these powers which would resuscitate all the debi-
lity and inefficiency of the ancient confederacy. In the vicissitad<
human affairs, who can foresee all the possible cases in which it may be
necessary to apply the public force, within or without the Onion '! This
government is charged with the use of it to repel invasions, to suppress
insurrections, to enforce the laws of the Union ; in short, for all the
unknown and undefiuable purposes of war, foreign or intestine, wher-
ever and however it may rage. During its existence may not govern-
ment, for its effectual prosecution, order a road to be made, or a canal
to be cut, to relieve, for example, an exposed point of the Union ? If,
when the emergency comes, there is a power to provide for it, that
power must exist in the constitution, and not in the emergency. A
wise, precautionary, and parental policy, anticipating danger, will
beforehand provide for the hour of need. Roads and canals are in the
nature of fortifications, since, if not the deposits of military resources,
they enable you to bring into rapid action the military resources of the
country, whatever they may be. They are better than any fortificati
because they serve the double purposes of peace and war. They dis-
pense, in a great degree, with fortifications, since they have all the
effect of that concentration at which fortifications aim. I appeal from
the precepts of the President to the practice of the President. While
he denies to Congress the power in question, he does not scruple, upon
his sole authority, as numerous instances in the statute book will
testify, to order, at pleasure, the opening of roads by the military, and
then come here to ask us to pay for them. Nay, more, sir ; a sub-
ordinate, but highly respectable officer of the executive government, I
believe, would not hesitate to provide a boat or cause a bridge to be
erected over an inconsiderable stream, to insure the regular transporta-
tion of the mail. And it happens to be within my personal knowledge
that the head of the post-office department, as a prompt and vigilant
officer should do, has recently despatched an agent to ascertain the
causes of the late frequent vexatious failures of the great northern
mail, and to inquire if a provision of a boat or bridge over certain small
streams in Maryland, which have produced them, would not prevent
their recurrence.
From "Speech in the House of Representatives," 1824.
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 107
ADDEESS TO LAFAYETTE.
Henry Clay.
During all the recent convulsions of Europe, amid, as after the dis-
persion of, every political storm, the people of the United States have
beheld you, true to your old principles, firm and erect, cheering and
animating with your well-known voice, the votaries of liberty, its faith-
ful and fearless champion, ready to shed the last drop of that blood
which here you so freely and nobly spilled, in the same holy cause.
The vain wish has been sometimes indulged, that Providence would
allow the patriot, after death, to return to his country, and to contem-
plate the intermediate changes which had taken place ; to view the
forests felled, the cities built, the mountains levelled, the canals cut,
the highways constructed, the progress of the arts, the advancement
of learning, and the increase of population. General, your present
visit to the United States is a realization of the consoling object of that
wish. You are in the midst of posterity. Everywhere, you must
have been struck with the great changes, physical and moral, which
have occurred since you left us. Even this very city, bearing a vene-
rated name, alike endeared to you and to us, has since emerged from
the forest which then covered its site. In one respect you behold us
unaltered, and this is in the sentiment of continued devotion to liberty,
and of ardent affection and profound gratitude to your departed friend,
the Father of his country, and to you, and to your illustrious associates
in the field and in the cabinet, for the multiplied blessings which sur-
round us, and for the very privilege of addressing you which I now
exercise. This sentiment, now fondly cherished by more than ten mil-
lions of people, will be transmitted, with unabated vigor, down the tide
of time, through the countless millions who are destined to inhabit this
continent, to the latest posterity.
From " Speech in the House of Representatives" 1824.
• Daniel Webster.
Gentlemen, — Your whole concern should be to do your duty, and
leave consequences to take care of themselves. You will receive the
law from the court. Your verdict, it is true, may endanger the pri-
soner's life ; but then, it is to save other lives. If the prisoner's guilt
has been shown and proved, beyond all reasonable doubt, you will
convict him. If such reasonable doubts of guilt still remain, you will
acquit him. You are the judges of the whole case. You owe a duty
to the public, as well as to the prisoner at the bar. You cannot pre-
sume to be wiser than the law. Your duty is a plain, straightforward
108 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
one. Doubtless, we would all judge him in mercy. Towards him, as
an individual, the law inculcates n»> hostility ; but towards him, if
proved to be a murderer, the law, and the oaths you have taken, and
public justice, demand that you do your duty.
With consciences satisfied with the discharge of duty, no conse-
quences can harm you. There is no evil that we cannot either face or
fly from, but the consciousness of duty disregarded.
A sense of duty pursues us ever. It is omnipresent, like the Deity.
If we take to ourselves the wings of the morning and dwell in the
utmost parts of the seas, duty performed, or duty violated, is still with
US, for our happiness, or our misery, [f we say the darkness shall
cover us, in the darkness as in the light our obligations are yet with
us. We cannot escape their power, nor fly from their presence. They
are with us in this life, will be with us at its elosc ; and in that scene
of inconceivable solemnity, which lies yet farther onward — we shall
still find ourselves surrounded by the consciousness of duty, to pain us
wherever it has been violated, and to console us so far as God may have
given us grace to perform it.
From "Argument in /./ 77/ Trial," 1830.
Daniel Wf.bsteu.
Ah ! gentlemen, that was a dreadful mistake. Such a secret can be
safe nowhere. The whole creation of God has neither nook nor corner
where the guilty can bestow it, and say it is safe. Not to speak of that
eye which glances through all disguises, and beholds everything as in
the splendor of noon — such secrets of guilt are never safe from detec-
tion, even by men. True it is, generally speaking, that "murder will
out." True it is, that Providence hath so ordained, and doth so govern
things, that those who break the great law of heaven, by shedding
man's blood, seldom succeed in avoiding discovery. Especially, in a
case exciting so much attention as this, discovery must come, and will
come, sooner or later. A thousand eyes turn at once to explore every
man, every thing, every circumstance, connected with the time and
place ; a thousand ears catch every whisper ; a thousand excited minds
intensely dwell on the scene, shedding all their light, and ready to
kindle the slightest circumstance into a blaze of discovery. Meantime,
the guilty soul cannot keep its own secret. It is false to itself; or
rather it feels an irresistible impulse of conscience to be true to itself.
It labors under its guilty possession, and knows not what to do with it.
The human heart was not made for the residence of such an inhabitant.
It finds itself preyed on by a torment, which it dares not acknowledge
to God nor man. A vulture is devouring it, and it can ask no sympathy
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 109
or assistance, either from heaven or earth. The secret which the mur-
derer possesses soon comes to possess him ; and, like the evil spirits of
which we read, it overcomes him, and leads him whithersoever it will.
He feels it beating at his heart, rising to his throat, and demanding
disclosure. He thinks the whole world sees it in his face, reads it in
his eyes, and almost hears its workings in the very silence of his
thoughts. It has become his master. It betrays his discretion, it
breaks down his courage, it conquers his prudence. When suspicions,
from without, begin to embarrass him, and the net of circumstance to
entangle him, the fatal secret struggles with still greater violence to
burst forth. It must be confessed, it will be confessed, there is no
refuge from confession but suicide, and suicide is confession.
From " Argument in Knapp's Trial" 1830.
THE MURDERER'S PLAN.
Daniel Webster.
Let me ask your attention, then, in the first place, to those appear-
ances on the morning after the murder, which have a tendency to show,
that it was done in pursuance of a preconcerted plan of operation.
What are they ? A man was found murdered in his bed. No stranger
had done the deed — no one unacquainted with the house had done it.
It was apparent, that somebody from within had opened, and somebody
from without had entered. There had been there, obviously and cer-
tainly, concert and co-operation. The inmates of the house were not
alarmed when the murder was perpetrated. The assassin had entered,
without any riot, or any violence. He had found the way prepared
before him. The house had been previously opened. The window was
unbarred, from within, and its fastening unscrewed. There was a lock
on the door of the chamber, in which Mr. White slept, but the key was
gone. It had been taken away, and secreted. The footsteps of the
murderer were visible, out-doors, tending toward the window. The
plank by which he entered the window, still remained. The road he
pursued had been thus prepared for him. The victim was slain, and
the murderer had escaped. Everything indicated that somebody from
within had co-operated with somebody from without. Everything pro-
claimed that some of the inmates, or somebody having access to the
house, had had a hand in the murder. On the face of the circumstances,
it was apparent, therefore, that this was a premeditated, concerted,
conspired murder. Who, then, were the conspirators? If not now
found out, we are still groping in the dark, and the whole tragedy is
still a mystery.
From "Argument in Knapp's Trial," 1830.
10
110 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
THE BUNKER. HILL MONUMENT.
IMMI.I. WtBSTEB.
We know, indeed, that the record of illustrious actii us is most safely
deposited in the universal remembrance of mankind. We know that
if we could cause this structure to ascend, not only till it reached the
skies, but till it pierced them, its broad surfaces could still contain but
part of that, which, in an age of knowledge, hath Already been spread
over the earth, and which history charges itself with making known to
all future times. We know that no inscription on entablatures less
broad than the earth itself, can carry information of the events we
commemorate, where it has not already gone; and that no structure,
which shall not outlive the duration of letters and knowledge among
men, can prolong the memorial. But our object is. by this edifice to
show our own deep sense of the value and importance of the achieve-
ments of our ancestors; and, by presenting this work of gratitude to
the eye, to keep alive similar sentiments, and to foster a constant
regard for the principles of the Revolution. Human beings are com-
posed not of reason only, but of imagination also, and sentiment; ami
that is neither wasted nor misapplied which is appropriated to the
purpose of giving right direction to sentiments, and opening proper
springs of feeling in the heart. Let it not be supposed that our object
is to perpetuate national hostility, or even to cherish a mere military
spirit. It is higher, purer, nobler. We consecrate our work to the
spirit of national independence, and we wish that the light of peace
may rest upon it for ever. We rear a memorial of our conviction of
that unmeasured benefit, which has been conferred on our own land,
and of the happy influences which have been produced, by the same
events, on the general interests of mankind. We come, as Americans,
to mark a spot which must for ever be dear to us and our posterity.
We wish, that whosoever, in all coming time, shall turn his eye hither,
may behold that the place is not undistinguished where the first great
battle of the Revolution was fought. We wish that this structure
may proclaim the magnitude and importance of that event, to even-
class and every age. We wish that infancy may learn the purpose of
its erection from maternal lips, and that weary and withered age may
behold it. and be solaced by the recollections which it suggests. We
wish that labor may look up here, and be proud, in the midst of its
toil. We wish that, in those days of disaster, which, as they come on
all nations, must be expected to come on us also, desponding patriotism
may turn its eyes hitherward, and be assured that the foundations of
our national power still stand strong. We wish that this column,
rising towards heaven among the pointed spires of so many temples
dedicated to God, may contribute also to produce, in all minds, a pious
feeling of dependence and gratitude. We wish, finally, that the last
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 1H
object on the sight of him -who leaves his native shore, and the first to
gladden his who revisits it, may be something which shall remind him
of the liberty and the glory of his country. Let it rise, till it meet the
sun in his coming ; let the earliest light of the morning gild it, and
parting day linger and play on its summit.
From "Address at Laying of Corner-stone of Burilcer Hill Monument," 1825.
ENGLAND AND AMERICA.
John C. Calhoun.
The gentleman from Virginia is at a loss to account for what he calls
our hatred to England. He asks how can we hate the country of
Locke, of Newton, Hampden, and Chatham ; a country having the
same language and customs with ourselves, and descending from a
common ancestry. Sir, the laws of human affections are steady and
uniform. If we have so much to attach us to that country, potent
indeed must be the cause which has overpowered it. Yes, there is a
cause strong enough ; not in that occult courtly affection which he has
supposed to be entertained for France ; but it is to be found in continued
and unprovoked insult and injury — a cause so manifest, that the gentle-
man from Virginia had to exert much ingenuity to overlook it. But
the gentleman, in his eager admiration of that country, has not been
sufficiently guarded in his argument. Has he reflected on the cause of
that admiration? Has he examined the reasons of our high regard for
her Chatham ? It is his ardent patriotism, the heroic courage of his
mind, that could not brook the least insult or injury offered to his
country, but thought that her interest and honor ought to be vindicated
at every hazard and expense. I hope, when we are called upon to
admire, we shall also be asked to imitate. I hope the gentleman does
not wish a monopoly of those great virtues for England.
From " Speech in the House of Bepresentatives," 1811.
FEDERAL GOVERNMENT.
John C. Calhoun.
In reviewing the ground over which I have passed, it will be appa-
rent that the question in controversy involves that most deeply impor-
tant of all political questions, whether ours is a federal or a consoli-
dated government ; — a question, on the decision of which depend, as I
solemnly believe, the liberty of the people, their happiness, and the
place which we are destined to hold in the moral and intellectual scale
of nations. Never was there a controversy in which more important
consequences were involved ; not excepting that between Persia and
Greece, decided by the battles of Marathon, Platea, and Salamis —
112 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
which gave ascendancy to the genius of Europe over that of Asia— and
which, in its consequences, has continued to affect the destiny of so
large a portion of the world even to this day. There are often close
analogies between events apparently very remote, which are strikingly
illustrated in this case. In the great contest between Greece and
Persia, between European and Asiatic polity and civilization, the very
question between the federal and consolidated form of government was
involved. The Asiatic governments, from the remotest time, with some
exceptions on the eastern shore of the Mediterranean, have been based
on the principle of consolidation, which considers the whole community
as but a unit, and consolidates its powers in a central point. The
opposite principle has prevailed in Europe — Greece, throughout all her
states, was based on a federal system. All were united in one common
but loose bond, and the governments of the several states partook, for
the most part, of a complex organization, which distributed political
power among different members of the community. The same princi-
ples prevailed in ancient Italy ; and, if we turn to the Teutonic race,
our great ancestors — the race which occupies the first place in power,
civilization, and science, and which possesses the largest and the fairest,
part of Europe — we shall find that their governments were based on
federal organization.
From " Speech on the Fvrce Bill," 1833.
THE KOMAN SYSTEM.
Joiin C. Caliioun.
It is a well-known fact, that, from the expulsion of the Tarquins to
the time of the establishment of the tribunitian power, the government
fell into a state of the greatest disorder and distraction, and, I may
add, corruption. How did this happen? The explanation will throw
important light on the subject under consideration. The community
was divided into two parts — the Patricians and the Plebeians ; with the
power of the state principally in the hands of the former, without ade-
quate checks to protect the rights of the latter. The result was as
might be expected. The patricians converted the powers of the
government into the means of making money, to enrich themselves and
their dependants. They, in a word, had their American system, grow-
ing out of the peculiar character of the government and condition of
the country. This requires explanation. At that period, according to
the laws of nations, when one nation conquered another, the lands of
the vanquished belonged to the victor ; and, according to the Roman law,
the lands thus acquired were divided into two parts — one allotted to
the poorer class of the people, and the other assigned to the use of the
treasury — of which the patricians had the distribution and administra-
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 113
tion. The patricians abused their power by withholding from the ple-
beians that which ought to have been allotted to them, and by convert-
ing to their own use that which ought to have gone to the treasury. In
a word, they took to themselves the entire spoils of victory, and had
thus the most powerful motive to keep the state perpetually involved
in war, to the utter impoverishment and oppression of the plebeians.
After resisting the abuse of power by all peaceable means, and the
oppression becoming intolerable, the plebeians, at last, withdrew from
the city — they, in a word, seceded ; and to induce them to reunite, the
patricians conceded to them, as the means of protecting their separate
interests, the very power which I contend is necessary to protect the
rights of the States, but which is now represented as necessarily lead-
ing to disunion.
From " Speech on the Force Bill," 1833.
THE KOMAN SYSTEM Continued.
John C. Calhoun.
The patricians granted to the plebeians the right of choosing three
tribunes from among themselves, whose persons should be sacred, and
who should have the right of interposing their veto, not only against
the passage of laws, but even against their execution — a power which
those who take a shallow insight into human nature would pronounce
inconsistent with the strength and unity of the state, if not utterly
impracticable ; yet so far from this being the effect, from that day the
genius of Rome became ascendant, and victory followed her steps till
she had established an almost universal dominion. How can a result
so contrary to all anticipation be explained ? The explanation appears
to me to be simple. No measure or movement could be adopted with-
out the concurring assent of both the patricians and plebeians, and
each thus became dependent on the other ; and, of consequence, the
desire and objects of neither could be effected without the concurrence
of the other. To obtain this concurrence, each was compelled to con-
sult the good-will of the other, and to elevate to office, not those only
who might have the confidence of the order to which they belonged,
but also that of the other. The result was, that men possessing those
qualities which would naturally command confidence — moderation,
wisdom, justice, and patriotism — were elevated to office ; and the
weight of their authority and the prudence of their counsel, combined
with that spirit of unanimity necessarily resulting from the concurring
assent of the two orders, furnish the real explanation of the power of
the Roman state, and of that extraordinary wisdom, moderation, and
firmness which in so remarkable a degree characterized her public men.
I might illustrate the truth of the position which I have laid down by
10* II
114 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
a reference to the history of all free states, ancient and modern, dis-
tinguished for their power and patriotism, and conclusively Bhow, not
only that there was not one which had not some contrivance, under
some form, by which the concurring assent of the different portions of
the community was made necessary in the action of government, bat
also that the virtue, patriotism, and strength of the state were in direct
proportion to the perfection of the means of securing such assent.
From "Speech on the Farce Bill," 1833.
REPLY TO THE CHARGE OF .ESCHINES.
Demosthenes.
Had iEschines confined his chargo to the subject of the prosecution,
I too would have proceeded at once to my justification of the decree.
But since he has wasted no fewer words in the discussion of other mat-
ters, in most of them calumniating me, I deem it both necessary and
just, men of Athens, to begin by shortly adverting to these points, that
none of you may be induced by extraneous arguments to shut your
ears against my defence to the indictment.
To all his scandalous abuse of my private life, observe my plain and
honest answer. If you know me to be such as he alleged — for I have
lived nowhere else but among you — let not my voice be heard, however
transcendent my statesmanship! Rise up this instant and condemn
me! Hut if, in your opinion and judgment, I am far better and of
better descent than my adversary; if (to speak without offence) I am
not inferior, I or mine, to any respectable citizen ; then give no credit
to him for his other statements — it is plain they were all equally fic-
tions — but to me let the same good-will, which you have uniformly
exhibited upon many former trials, be manifested now. With all your
malice, iEschines, it was very simple to suppose that I should turn
from the discussion of measures and policy to notice your scandal. I
will do no such thing : I am not so crazed. Your lies and calumnies
about my political life I will examine forthwith ; for that loose ribaldry
I shall have a word hereafter, if the jury desire to hear it.
From " Oration on the Crown."
THE COMMONWEALTH AND ITS AMBASSADORS.
DEM0STHENE9.
Now let me contrast what the Athenian commonwealth has gained
by the peace, and what the Athenian ambassadors ; and see if the com-
monwealth and these men themselves have fared alike. To the com-
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 115
nionwealth the result has been, that she has relinquished all her pos-
sessions and all her allies, and has sworn to Philip, that should any
one else interfere ever to preserve them, you will prevent it, and will
regard the person who wishes to restore them to you as an adversary
and a foe, the person who has deprived you of them as an ally and a
friend. These are the terms which iEschines the defendant supported,
and his coadjutor Philocrates proposed ; and when I prevailed on the
first day and had persuaded you to confirm the resolution of your allies,
and to summon Philip's ambassadors, the defendant drove it off to the
following day, and persuaded you to adopt the decree of Philocrates,
in which these clauses, and many others yet more shameful, are con-
tained. To the state then such consequences have resulted from the
peace : — consequences more disgraceful could not easily be found: but
what to the ambassadors who caused them ? I pass by all the other
matters which you have seen — houses — timber — grain ; but in the ter-
ritory of our ruined allies they have estates and farms of large extent,
bringing in to Philocrates an income of a talent, to iEschines here thirty
minas. Is it not shocking and dreadful, Athenians, that the misfor-
tunes of your allies have become a source of revenue to your ambassa-
dors ; that the same peace has to the country which sent them proved
to be destruction of allies, cession of dominions, disgrace instead of
honor, while to the ambassadors, who wrought these mischiefs to the
country, it has produced revenues, resources, estates, riches, in exchange
for extreme indigence ? To prove the truth of my statements, call me
the Olynthian witnesses.
From " Oration on the Embassy."
RELIGIOUS LIBERTY.
William Gaston.
Sir, — I am opposed, out and out, to any interference of the state with
the opinions of its citizens, and more especially with their opinions on
religious subjects. Law is the proper judge of action, and reward or
punishment its proper sanction. Reason is the proper umpire of opinion,
and argument and discussion its only fit advocates. To denounce opin-
ions by law is as silly, and unfortunately much more tyrannical, as it
would be to punish crime by logic. Law calls out the force of the com-
munity to compel obedience to its mandates. To operate on opinion by
law, is to enslave the intellect and oppress the soul — to reverse the order
of nature, and make reason subservient to force. But of all the attempts
to arrogate unjust dominion, none is so pernicious as the efforts of
tyrannical men to rule over the human conscience. Religion is exclu-
sively an affair between man and his God. If there be any subject
upon which the interference of human 'power is more forbidden than
11G THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
on all others, it is on religion. Born of Faith — nurtured by Hope —
invigorated by Charity — looking for its rewards in a world beyond the
g rave — it is of Heaven, heavenly. The evidence upon which it is
founded, and the sanctions by which it is upheld, are addressed solely
to the understanding and the purified affections. Even He, from whom
cometh every pure and perfect gift, and to whom religion is directed ;is
its author, its end, and its exceedingly great reward, imposes no coer-
cion on His children. They believe, or doubt, or reject, according to
the impressions which the testimony of revealed truth makes upon
their minds. He causes His sun to shine alike on the believer and the
unbeliever, and His dews to fertilize equally the soil of the orthodox
and the heretic. No earthly gains or temporal privations are to influ-
ence their judgment here, and it is reserved until the hist day for the
just Judge of all the earth to declare who have criminally refused to
examine or to credit the evidences which were laid before them, lint
civil rulers thrust themselves in, and become God's avengers. Under
a pretended zeal for the honor of His house, and the propagation of
His Revelation, —
Snatch from His hand the balance and the rod ;
Rejudge His justice — are the God of God ;
define faith by edicts, statutes, and constitutions; deal out largesses to
accelerate conviction, and refute unbelief and heresy by the unanswer-
able logic of pains and penalties. Let not religion be abused for this
impious tyranny — religion has nothing to do with it. Nothing can be
conceived more abhorrent from the spirit of true religion than the
hypocritical pretensions of kings, princes, rulers, and magistrates, to
uphold her holy cause by their unholy violence.
From " Speech in Vie X. C. Convention to amend the Stale Constitution"
FALSE PHILANTHROPY.
Hayne.
There is a spirit which, like the father of evil, is constantly " walk-
ing to and fro about the earth, seeking whom it may devour:" it is the
spirit of false philanthropy. The persons whom it possesses do not
indeed throw themselves into the flames, but they are employed in
lighting up the torches of discord throughout the community. Their
first principle of action is to leave their own affairs, and neglect their
own duties, to regulate the affairs and duties of others. Theirs is the
task to feed the hungry and clothe the naked of other lands, while
they thrust the naked, famished, and shivering beggar from their own
doors; — to instruct the heathen, while their own children want the
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 117
bread of life. When this spirit infuses itself into the bosom of a states-
man (if one so possessed can be called a statesman), it converts him at
once into a visionary enthusiast. Then it is that he indulges in golden
dreams of national greatness and prosperity. He discovers that " liberty
is power," and, not content with vast schemes of improvement at home,
which it would bankrupt the treasury of the world to execute, he flies
to foreign lands, to fulfil obligations to " the human race," by inculca-
ting the principles of " political and religious liberty," and promoting
the " general welfare" of the whole human race. It is this spirit
which has filled the land with thousands of wild and visionary
projects, which can have no effect but to waste the energies and
dissipate the resources of the country. It is the spirit of which the
aspiring politician dexterously avails himself, when, by inscribing on
his banner the magical words, Liberty and Philanthropy, he draws to
his support that class of persons who are ready to bow down at the
very name of their idols.
From " Speech on Foote's Resolution," 1830.
SOUTH CAROLINA IN THE REVOLUTION.
Hayne.
What, sir, was the conduct of the south during the Revolution ? Sir,
I honor New England for her conduct in that glorious struggle. But
great as is the praise which belongs to her, I think, at least equal
honor is due to the south. They espoused the quarrel of their brethren,
with a generous zeal, which did not suffer them to stop to calculate
their interest in the dispute. Favorites of the mother country, possessed
of neither ships nor seamen to create a commerical rivalship, they might
have found in their situation a guarantee that their trade would be for
ever fostered and protected by Great Britain. But trampling on all
considerations either of interest or of safety, they rushed into the con-
flict, and fighting for principle, perilled all, in the sacred cause of
freedom. Never was there exhibited in the history of the world higher
examples of noble daring, dreadful suffering, and heroic endurance, than
by the whigs of Carolina, during the Revolution. The whole state, from
the mountains to the sea, was overrun by an overwhelming force of the
enemy. The fruits of industry perished on the spot where they were
produced, or were consumed by the foe. The " plains of Carolina"
drank up the most precious blood of her citizens ! Black and smoking
ruins marked the places which had been the habitations of her children !
Driven from their homes, into the gloomy and almost impenetrable
swamps, even there the spirit of liberty survived, and South Carolina
(sustained by the example of her Sumters and her Marions) proved,
by her conduct, that though her soil might be overrun, the spirit of her
people was invincible.
From " Speech on Footc's Resolution," 1830.
118 TIIE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
LAWS CONCERNING THE SLAVE TRADE.
m. Wxm.
Vessels of war cruising on the coast of Africa, under our Act of
1819, have been directed to search our own vessels, to arrest fcbe vio-
lators of the law, to bring in the ships for condemnation and the men
for punishment. At this time the government is not unmindful of this
treaty obligation, for our next squadron fur the coast of Africa will
consist, I believe, of four steamers and as many sloops-of-war, and four
steam-ships will probably cruise off Cuba, to intercept slavers that may
escape the ships on the African coast. Mr. Calhoun voted for the
ratification of the treaty, and expressed his clear conviction " that the
policy of closing the markets of the world was both right and expe-
dient in every point of view, that we were deeply committed against
the traffic, both by legislation and treaty. The influence and the efforts
of the civilized world were directed against it, and that, too, under our
lead at the commencement."
Still later, in 1855, the House of Representatives, by a vote nearly
unanimous, decided that it was not expedient to repeal the laws for the
suppression of the slave trade.
The leading points in the legislative history of the laws under dis-
cussion have been referred to, to show upon what solid foundations of
authority and consent, on the part of the executive and legislative
departments of the government, the laws for the suppression of the
slave trade rest. No doubt has been entertained by the long succes-
sion of jurists and statesmen who have been concerned in their discus-
sion and enactment, of the constitutional power of Congress to pass
them. There is no question of public morality which has been more
clearly and solemnly maintained than that on which this legislation
reposes. It would be a retrograde movement of more than a century
to consent to abate one line of the condemnation of this trade, or to
relax any effort for its extirpation. Many of the clauses of these laws
have come before the judiciary department of the United States for
interpretation ; property has been sentenced to confiscation, and men
have been tried and some condemned for the violation of them. Not a
question has been decided in the Circuit or in the Supreme Court which
in any manner impugns their validity as constitutional enactments.
From " Cliarge to the Grand Jury in Savannah," 1859.
FRIENDSHIP WITH ENGLAND.
Rufus KlXG.
The bill before the Senate, is in nothing unfriendly towards England ;
-it is merely a commercial regulation, to which we are even invited ;
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 119
a measure strictly of self-defence, and intended to protect the legitimate
resources of our own country from being any longer made use of, not
as they should be, for our benefit, but to increase and strengthen the
resources and power of a foreign nation. The time is propitious.
Causes that formerly prevented the union of opinions in favor of this
measure, no longer exist; the old world is at peace, and every nation
is busily employed in repairing the waste of war, by cultivating the
arts, and extending the blessings of peace ; — England has come out of
the most portentous war that Europe has ever suffered, not only unbro-
ken, but with increased power. Her agriculture, manufactures, and
commerce were cherished ; were without interruption, and increased,
while those of neighboring nations were suspended, interrupted, or de-
stroyed. Her colonies and dependent territories have been greatly
enlarged, at the expense of her enemies ; and regions, with which we
and others once had trade and intercourse, having fallen under her
power, are now closed against us. We have no other questions de-
pending with her, except those concerning impressment and the fish-
eries, and their settlement can, in no manner, be affected by the passing
of this act.
England is a great and illustrious nation, having attained to this
pre-eminence by generous and successful efforts, in breaking down the
civil and religious bondage of former ages. Her patriots, her scholars,
and her statesmen have adorned her history, and offer models for the
imitation of others. We are the powerful descendants of England,
desiring perpetual friendship, and the uninterrupted interchange of
kind offices and reciprocal benefits with her. We have demonstrated,
in circumstances the most critical, constant and persevering evidence
of this disposition. We still desire the impartial adjustment of our
mutual intercourse, and the establishment of some equitable regula-
tions, by which our personal and maritime rights may be secure from
arbitrary violation : A settlement that, instead of endless collision and
dispute, may be productive of concord, good humor, and friendship :
and it depends on her, whether such is to be the relation between us.
From " Speech on the Navigation Act" 1818.
AMERICAN INFLUENCE.
H. W. HlLLIAED.
One of England's own writers has said, " The possible destiny of the
United States of America, as a nation of one hundred millions of free-
men, stretching from the Atlantic to the Pacific, living under the laws
of Alfred, and speaking the language of Shakspeare and Milton, is an
august conception/'
It is an august conception, finely embodied ; and I trust in God that
120 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
it will, at no distant time, become a reality. I trust that the world will
see, through all time, our people living, not only under the laws of
Alfred, but that they will be heard to speak throughout our wide-spread
borders the language of Shakspeare and Milton. Above all is it my
prayer that, as long as our posterity shall continue to inhabit these
mountains and plains, and hills and valleys, they may be found living
under the sacred institutions of Christianity. Put these things toge-
ther, and what a picture do they present to the mental eye ! Civiliza-
tion and intelligence started in the East; they have travelled, and are
still travelling, westward ; but when they shall have completed the
circuit of the earth, and reached the extremest verge of the Pacific
shores, then, unlike the fabled god of the ancients, who dipped his
glowing axle in the western wave, they will take up their permanent
abode.
Then shall we enjoy the sublime destiny of returning these blessings
to their ancient seat ; then will it be ours to give the priceless benefits
of our free institutions, and the pure and healthful light of the gospel,
back to the dark family which has so long lost both truth and freedom ;
then may Christianity plant herself there, and while with one hand
she points to the Polynesian isles, rejoicing in the late-recovered trea-
sure of revealed truth, with the other present the Bible to the Chinese.
It is our duty to aid in this great work. I trust we shall esteem it as
much our honor as our duty. Let us not, like some of the British mis-
sionaries, give them the Bible in one hand and opium in the other, but
bless them only with the pure word of truth.
HAMILTON".
GOUVERXECR MORRIS.
Brethren of the Cincinnati — there lies our chief! Let him still be
our model. Like him, after long and faithful public services, let us
cheerfully perform the social duties of private life. Oh ! he was mild
and gentle. In him there was no offence ; no guile. His generous
hand and heart were open to all.
Gentlemen of the bar — you have lost your brightest ornament.
Cherish and imitate his example. "While, like him, with justifiable
and with laudable zeal, you pursue the interests of your clients, re-
member, like him, the eternal principle of justice.
Fellow-citizens — you have long witnessed his professional conduct,
and felt his unrivalled eloquence. You know how well he performed
the duties of a citizen — you know that he never courted your favor by
adulation or the sacrifice of his own judgment. You have seen him
contending against you, and saving your dearest interests, as it were,
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 121
in spite of yourselves. And you now feel and enjoy the benefits result-
ing from the firm energy of his conduct. Bear this testimony to the
memory of my departed friend. I charge you to protect his fame. It
is all he has left — all that these poor orphan children will inherit from
their father. But, my countrymen, that fame may be a rich treasure
to you also. Let it be the test by which to examine those who solicit
your favor. Disregarding professions, view their conduct, and on a
doubtful occasion ask, Would Hamilton have done this thing ?
You all know how he perished. On this last scene I cannot, I must
not dwell. It might excite emotions too strong for your better judg-
ment. Suffer not your indignation to lead to any act which might
again offend the insulted majesty of the laws. On his part, as from his
lips, though with my voice — for his voice you will hear no more — let
me entreat you to respect yourselves.
And now, ye ministers of the everlasting God, perform your holy
office, and commit these ashes of our departed brother to the bosom of
the grave.
From "Address to the Cincinnati," 1804.
ON THE DISTRIBUTION BILL.
Thomas II. Benton.
I scorn the bill. I scout its vaunted popularity. I detest it. Nor
can I conceive of an object more pitiable and contemptible than that of
the demagogue haranguing for votes, and exhibiting his tables of dollars
and acres, in order to show each voter or each state, how much money
they will be able to obtain from the treasury if the land bill passes.
Such haranguing, and such exhibition, is the address of impudence and
knavery to supposed ignorance, meanness, and folly. It is treating the
people as if they were penny wise and pound foolish, and still more
mean than foolish. Why, the land revenue, after deducting the ex-
penses, if fairly divided among the people, would not exceed nine-pence
a head per annum ; if fairly divided among the states, and applied to
their debts, it would not supersede above nine-pence per annum of
taxation upon the units of the population. The day for land sales has
gone by. The sales of this year do not exceed a million and a half of
dollars, which would not leave more than a million for distribution,
which, among sixteen millions of people, would be exactly four-pence
half-penny, Virginia money, per head ; a fip in New York, and a
picaillon in Louisiana. At two millions, it would be nine-pence a head
in Virginia, equivalent to a levy in New York, and a bit in Louisiana ;
precisely the amount which, in specie times, a gentleman gives to a
negro boy for holding his horse a minute at the door. And for this
miserable doit — this insignificant subdivision of a shilling — a York
11
122 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
shilling — can the demagogue suppose that the people are base enough
to violate their Constitution — mean enough to surrender the defence of
their country, and stupid enough to be taxed in their coffee, tea, salt,
sugar, coats, hats, blankets, shoes, shirts, and every article of comfort,
decency, or necessity, which they eat, drink, or wear, or on which they
stand, sit, sleep, or lie ?
From " Speech in the Senate," 1841.
TO THE NOBLESSE OF PROVENCE.
MlRABEAU.
What have I done that was so criminal? I have wished that my
Order were wise enough to give to-day what will infallibly be wrested
from it to-morrow ; that it should receive the merits and glory of sanc-
tioning the assemblage of the Three Orders, which all Provence loudly
demands. This is the crime of your "enemy of peace \" Or rather I
have ventured to believe that the people might be in the right. Ah,
doubtless, a patrician soiled with such a thought deserves vengeance !
But I am still guiltier than you think ; for it is my belief that the
people which complains is always in the right; that its indefatigable
patience invariably waits the uttermost excesses of oppression, before it
can determine on resisting ; that it never resists long enough to obtain
complete redress ; and does not sufficiently know that to strike its
enemies into terror and submission, it has only to stand still, that the
most innocent as the most invincible of all powers is the power of
refusing to do. I believe after this manner : punish the enemy of
peace !
But you, ministers of a God of peace, who are ordained to bless and
not to curse, and yet have launched your anathema on me, without
even the attempt at enlightening me, at reasoning with me ! And you,
"friends of peace," who denounce to the people, with all vehemence
of hatred, the one defender it has yet found, out of its own ranks ; —
who, to bring about concord, are filling capital and province with
placards calculated to arm the rural districts against the towns, if your
deeds did not refute your writings ; — who, to prepare ways of concilia-
tion, protest against the royal Regulation for convoking the States-
General, because it grants the people as many deputies as both the
other orders, and against all that the coming National Assembly shall
do, unless its laws secure the triumph of your pretensions, the eternity
of your privileges ! Disinterested " friends of peace !" I have appealed
to your honor, and summon you to state what expressions of mine have
offended against either the respect we owe to the royal authority or to
the nation's right? Nobles of Provence, Europe is attentive; weigh
well your answer. Men of God, beware ; God hears you !
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 123
MONOMANIA.
David Paul Brown.
So fearfully and -wonderfully are -we made, that by the excessive in-
dulgence of an unrestrained, morbid passion, or by an insurmountable
obstacle suddenly checking that indulgence, insanity is equally likely
to ensue. A check to the ruling passion of pride, of lore, of hope, of
patriotism, of ambition, an utter check, when those passions are at
their highest tide, -will cause them, to use a strong figure, to overflo-w
the banks of reason and spread around them destruction and desola-
tion ! This is what is called monomania — and is characterized by the
ruling or despotic propensity. Why did Lord Castlereigh destroy him-
self? Why did Mr. Whitbread destroy himself? both prime ministers
of England — because they were so ensnared by political wiles as to be
defeated in the objects of their ambition ; they became mad ; and suicide
was the result. Why did Sir Samuel Komilly take his own life ? a
man of the highest intellect and the warmest heart — who was at once
a public and a private example — while revelling upon the very summit
of distinction, and professional honor ; he was bereft of the partner of
his bosom. His ruling passion was resisted, life became no longer of
any value, and he terminated it with his own hand. The coroner's
inquest placed all these deaths to the account of insanity.
From " A Forensic Argument," Philadelphia, 1859.
ACTIONS AND MOTIVES.
David Paul Brown.
I am now speaking of the criminal character of conspiracy. It is
not necessary that an act should be done at all. Nay, if the act be a
felony, the conspiracy is lost utterly, for, being but a misdemeanor, it
is merged in the graver offence. It is the agreement to do the act which
constitutes the crime. Your honor will perceive the beautiful philo-
sophy of the law. Not like the metaphysical moonshine that is intro-
duced here. The whole law, and especially the criminal law, consists
of a system of checks and safeguards. It is the protection of the com-
munity against vice — and subserves the divine law in forming, guarding,
and inducing virtue in man. That is the basis of it — built upon that —
the object is not to punish; the object is to prevent, or reform. What
does it do ? As long as man keeps his design within his heart — within
his breast, though it be of demoniac gloom and blackness — of course
human tribunals cannot suspect it, and cannot affect it. He is left to
the punishment of the Omnipotent ; " for darkness and light are both
124 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
[dike to Him." He alone can pry into the deep recesses of the sinner's
bosom ; drag forth the secret motive from its hiding-place, and expose
it to the reproaches of an affrighted and horror-stricken world. What
can man do in such a case? I can tell 3-011 what he can do, and what
he does do. The moment that by the slightest whisper the inward
workings and purposes of the culprit's mind are communicated to the
officers of justice, he becomes amenable to justice. Beautiful system !
Here is a man who intends to take the life of another ; his motive and
his purpose arc known only to that Power that can fathom the ocean.
The motive there is equal to the act — it is the act itself. The motive
here is nothing, till it be accompanied by the act, because it cannot be
detected.
From " A Forensic Argument," Philadelphia, 1859.
AN INDEPENDENT JUDICIARY.
James A. IMyard.
No power is so sensibly felt by society, as that of the judiciary.
The life and property of every man is liable to be in the hands of the
judges. Is it not our great interest to place our judges upon such
high ground that no fear can intimidate, no hope seduce them? The
present measure humbles them in the dust, it prostrates them at the
feet of faction, it renders them the tools of every dominant party. It
is this effect which I deprecate, it is this consequence which I deeply
deplore. What does reason, what does argument avail, when party
spirit presides? Subject your bench to the influence of this spirit, and
justice bids a final adieu to your tribunals. We are asked, sir, if the
judges are to be independent of the people? The question presents a
false and delusive view. We are all the people. We are, and as long
as we enjoy our freedom, we shall be divided into parties. The true
question is, shall the judiciary be permanent, or fluctuate with the
tide of public opinion? I beg, I implore gentlemen to consider the
magnitude and value of the principle w T hich they are about to annihi-
late. If your judges are independent of political changes, they may
have their preferences, but they will not enter into the spirit of party.
But let their existence depend upon the support of the power of a
certain set of men, and they cannot be impartial. Justice will be
trodden under foot. Your courts will lose all public confidence and
respect.
The judges will be supported by their partisans, who, in their turn,
will expect impunity for the wrongs and violence they commit. The
DECLAMATIONS IN PEOSE. 125
spirit of party will be inflamed to madness ; and the moment is not far
off, when this fair country is to be desolated by a civil war.
Do not say that you render the judges dependent only on the people.
You make them dependent on your President. This is his measure.
The same tide of public opinion which changes a President, will change
the majorities in the branches of the legislature. The legislature will
be the instrument of his ambition, and he will have the courts as the
instruments of his vengeance. He uses the legislature to remove the
judges, that he may appoint creatures of his own. In effect, the powers
of the government will be concentrated in the hands of one man, who
will dare to act with more boldness, because he will be sheltered from
responsibility. The independence of the judiciary was the felicity of
our constitution. It was this principle which was to curb the fury of
party on sudden changes. The first movements of power gained by a
struggle, are the most vindictive and intemperate. Raised above the
storm, it was the judiciary which was to control the fiery zeal, and to
quell the fierce passions of a victorious faction.
We are standing on the brink of that revolutionary torrent, which
deluged in blood one of the fairest countries of Europe.
France had her national assembly, more numerous and equally popu-
lar with our own. She had her tribunals of justice, and her juries.
But the legislature and her courts were but the instruments of her
destruction. Acts of proscription and sentences of banishment and
death were passed in the cabinet of a tyrant. Prostrate your judges at
the feet of party, and you break down the mounds which defend you
from this torrent.
From " Speech on the Judiciary," 1802.
Patrick Henry.
Switzerland consists of thirteen cantons expressly confederated for
national defence. They have stood the shock of four hundred years :
that country has enjoyed internal tranquillity most of that long period.
Their dissensions have been, comparatively to those of other countries,
very few. What has passed in the neighboring countries ? wars, dis-
sensions, and intrigues — Germany involved in the most deplorable civil
war thirty years successively, continually convulsed with intestine
divisions, and harassed by foreign wars — France with her mighty
monarchy perpetually at war. Compare the peasants of Switzerland
with those of any other mighty nation ; you will find them far more
happy : for one civil war among them, there have been five or six among
other nations : their attachment to their country, and to freedom, their
11*
12G THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
if .lute intrepidity in their defence, the consequent security and liappi-
which they have enjoyed, and the respect and awe which these
things produce in their bordering nations, have signalized those repub-
licans. Their valor, sir, has heen active ; everything that sets in
motion the springs of the human heart, engaged them to the protection
of their inestimable privileges. They have not only secured their own
liberty, but have been the arbiters of the fate of other people. lien-,
sir, contemplate the triumph of republican governments over the pride
of monarchy. I acknowledge, sir, that the necessity of national defence
has prevailed in invigorating their councils and arms, and lias been, in
a considerable degree, the means of keeping these honest people together.
But, sir, they have had wisdom enough to keep together and render
themselves formidable. Their heroism is proverbial. They would
heroically fight for their government, and their laws. One of the
illumined sons of these times would not fight for those objects. Ti
virtuous and simple people have not a mighty and splendid president,
nor enormously expensive navies and armies to support. No, sir, those
brave republicans have acquired their reputation no less by their un-
daunted intrepidity, than by the wisdom of their frugal and economical
policy. Let us follow their example, and be equally happy. The
honorable member advises us to adopt a measure which will destroy
our bill of rights: for, after hearing his picture of nations, and his rea-
sons for abandoning all the powers retained to the states by the con-
federation, I am more firmly persuaded of the impropriety of adopting
this new plan in its present shape.
From " Speech on the Federal Gmstitulion," 1788.
AMENDMENTS TO THE CONSTITUTION.
Patrick Hexkt.
I am constrained to make a few remarks on the absurdity of adopting
this system, and relying on the chance of getting it amended after-
wards. When it is confessed to be replete with defects, is it not offer-
ing to insult your understandings, to attempt to reason you out of the
propriety of rejecting it, till it be amended? Does it not insult your
judgments to tell you — adopt first, and then amend? Is your rage for
novelty so great, that you are first to sign and seal, and then to retract ?
Is it possible to conceive a greater solecism ? I am at a loss what to
say. You agree to bind yourselves hand and foot — for the sake of what ?
Of being unbound. You go into a dungeon — for what ? To get out.
Is there no danger when you go in, that the bolts of federal authority
shall shut you in ? Human nature never will part from power. Look
for an example of a voluntary relinquishment of power, from one end
of the globe to another — you will find none. Nine-tenths of our fellow-
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 127
men have been, and are now, depressed by the most intolerable slavery,
in the differents parts of the world ; because the strong hand of power
has bolted them in the dungeon of despotism. Review the present
situation of the nations of Europe, which is pretended to be the freest
quarter of the globe. Cast your eyes on the countries called free there.
Look at the country from which we are descended, I beseech you ; and
although we are separated by everlasting, insuperable partitions, yet
there are some virtuous people there who are friends to human nature
and liberty. Look at Britain ; see there the bolts and bars of power ;
see bribery and corruption defiling the fairest fabric that ever human
nature reared. Can a gentleman, who is an Englishman, or who is
acquainted with the English history, desire to prove these evils ? See
the efforts of a man descended from a friend of America ; see the efforts
of that man, assisted even by the king, to make reforms. But you find
the faults too strong to be amended. Nothing but bloody war can
alter them. See Ireland: that country groaning from century to cen-
tury, without getting their government amended. Previous adoption
was the fashion there. They sent for amendments from time to time,
but never obtained them, though pressed by the severest oppression, till
eighty thousand volunteers demanded them sword in hand — till the
power of Britain was prostrate ; when the American resistance was
crowned with success. Shall we do so? If you judge by the expe-
rience of Ireland, you must obtain the amendments as early as possible.
But, I ask you again, where is the example that a government was
amended by those who instituted it? Where is the instance of the
errors of a government rectified by those who adopted them ?
From " Speech on the Federal Constitution," 1788.
JAMES II. AND GEORGE III.
William H. Drayton.
King James broke the original contract by not affording due protec-
tion to his subjects, although he was not charged with having seized
their towns, and with having held them against the people — or with
having laid them in ruins by his arms — or with having seized their
vessels — or with having pursued the people with fire and sword — or
with having declared them rebels for resisting his arms levelled to
destroy their lives, liberties, and properties — but George the Third hath
done all those things against America ; and it is therefore undeniable,
that he hath not afforded due protection to the people. Wherefore, if
James the Second broke the original contract, it is undeniable that
George the Third has also broken the original contract between king
and people ; and that he made use of the most violent measures by
128 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
which it could be done — violences, of which Jambs was quili
Measures, carrying conflagration, massacre, and open war amidst a
people, whose subjection to the king of Great Britain, the law holds
to be due only as a return for protection. And so tenacious and clear
is the law upon this very principle, that it is laid down, subjection is
not due even to a king de jure, or of right, unless he be also king de
facto, or in possession of the executive powers dispensing protection.
From " Charge to the Grand Jury," 1776.
AMERICAN RIGHTS.
Joseph Warren.
Pardon me, my fellow-citizens, I know you want not zeal or forti-
tude. You will maintain your rights, or perish in the generous
Btruggle. However difficult the combat, you never will decline it when
freedom is the prize. An independence of Great Britain is not our
aim. No, our wish is, that Britain and the colonies may, like the oak
and ivy, grow and increase in strength together. But whilst the
infatuated plan of making one part of the empire slaves to the other is
persisted in, the interests and safety of Britain, as well as the colonies,
require that the wise measures, recommended by the honorable the
Continental Congress, be steadily pursued ; whereby the unnatural
contest between a parent honored and a child beloved, may probably
be brought to such an issue, as that the peace and happiness of both
may be established upon a lasting basis. But if these pacific measures
are ineffectual, and it appears that the only way to safety is through
fields of blood, I know you will not turn your faces from your foes, but
will, undauntedly, press forward, until tyranny is trodden under foot,
and you have fixed your adored goddess liberty, fast by a Brunswick's
side, on the American throne.
You, then, who have nobly espoused your country's cause, who
generously have sacrificed wealth and ease ; who have despised the
pomp and show of tinselled greatness ; refused the summons to the
festive board ; been deaf to the alluring calls of luxury and mirth ;
who have forsaken the downy pillow, to keep your vigils by the mid-
night lamp for the salvation of your invaded country, that you might
break the fowler's snare, and disappoiut the vulture of his prey — you
then will reap that harvest of renown which you so justly have
deserved. Your country shall pay her grateful tribute of applause.
Even the children of your most inveterate enemies, ashamed to tell
from whom they sprang, while they, in secret, curse their stupid, cruel
parents, shall join the general voice of gratitude to those who broke
the fetters which their fathers forged.
DECLAMATIONS IN PEOSE. 129
Having redeemed your country, and secured the blessing to future
generations, who, fired by youv example, shall emulate your virtues,
and learn from you the heavenly art of making millions happy; with
heartfelt joy, with transports all your own, you cry, The glorious work
is done ; then drop the mantle to some young Elisha, and take your
seats with kindred spirits in your native skies !
From " Oration on the Boston Massacre," 1770.
THE SOUTHEEN CAMPAIGN.
John Rutledge.
I also most heartily congratulate you on the glorious victory obtained
by the combined forces of America and France, over their common
enemy : when the very general who was second in command at the
reduction of Charleston, and to whose boasted prowess and highly-
extolled abilities the conquest of no less than three states had been
arrogantly committed, was speedily compelled to accept of the same
mortifying terms which had been imposed on that brave but unfortunate
garrison : to surrender an army of many thousand regulars, and to
abandon his wretched followers, whom he had artfully seduced from
their allegiance by specious promises of protection, which he could
never have hoped to fulfil, to the justice or mercy of their country, on
the naval superiority established by the illustrious ally of the United
States — a superiority in itself so decided, and in its consequences so
extensive, as must inevitably soon oblige the enemy to yield to us the
only post which they occupy in this state : and on the reiterated proofs
of the sincerest friendship, and on the great support which America
has received from that powerful monarch — a monarch whose magna-
nimity is universally acknowledged and admired, and on whose royal
word we may confidently rely for every necessary assistance: on the per-
fect harmony which subsists between France and America: on the
stability which her independence has acquired, and the certainty that
it is too deeply rooted ever to be shaken ; for animated as they are by
national honor, and united by one common interest, it must and will be
maintained.
From " Speech to the General Assembly of South Carolina," 1782.
ENGLISH PEESUMPTION.
James Madison.
By the treaty between the United States and his most Christian
majesty, among other things it is stipulated, that the great principle
on which the armed neutrality in Europe was founded, should prevail
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130 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
in case of future wars. The principle is this, that free ships shall
make free goods, and that vessels and goods shall be both free from
condemnation. Great Britain did not recognise it. 'While all Europe
was against her, she held out without acceding to it. It has been con-
sidered for some time past, that the flames of war, already kindled,
would spread, and that France and England were likely to draw those
swords which were so recently put up. This is judged probable. "We
should not be surprised, in a short time, if we found ourselves as a
neutral nation — France being on one side, and Great Britain on tin;
other. Then, what would be the situation of America ? She is remote
from Europe, and ought not to engage in her politics or wars. The
American vessels, if they can do it with advantage, may carry on the
commerce of the contending nations. It is a source of wealth which
we ought not to deny to our citizens. But, sir, is there not infinite
danger, that in despite of all our caution, we shall be drawn into the
war? If American vessels have French property on board, Great
Britain will seize them. By this means, we shall be obliged to relin-
quish the advantage of a neutral nation, or be engaged in a war. A
neutral nation ought to be respectable, or else it will be insulted and
attacked. America, in her present impotent situation, would run the
risk of being drawn in, as a party in the war, and lose the advantage
of being neutral. Should it happen, that the British fleet should be
superior, have we not reason to conclude, from the spirit displayed by
that nation to us and to all the world, that we should be insulted in
our own ports, and our vessels seized? But if we be in a respectable
situation ; if it be known that our government can command the whole
resources of the Union, we shall be suffered to enjoy the great advan-
tages of carrying on the commerce of the nations at war ; for none of
them would be willing to add us to the number of their enemies. I
shall say no more on this point, there being others which merit your
consideration.
From " Speech on the Federal Constitution," 1788.
FACTION AND TYRANNY.
Alexander Hamilton.
We should guard against a spirit of faction, that great bane to com-
munity, that mortal poison to our land. It is considered by all great
men as the natural disease of our form of government, and therefore we
ought to be careful to restrain that spirit. We have been careful that
when one party comes in it shall not be able to break down and bear
away the others. If this be not so, in vain have we made constitutions ;
for if it be not so, then we must go into anarchy, and from thence to
DECLAMATIONS IN PEOSE. 131
despotism and to a master. Against this I know there is an almost
insurmountable obstacle in the spirit of the people. They would not
submit to be thus enslaved. Every tongue, every arm would be uplifted
against it ; they would resist, and resist, and resist, till they hurled
from their seats those who dared make the attempt. To watch the
progress of such endeavors is the office of a free press ; to give us early
alarm, and put us on our guard against the encroachments of power.
This, then, is a right of the utmost importance ; one for which, instead
of yielding it up, we ought rather to spill our blood.
Never can tyranny be introduced into this country by arms ; these
can never get rid of a popular spirit of inquiry ; the only way to crush
it down is by a servile tribunal. It is only by the abuse of the forms
of justice that we can be enslaved. An army never can do it. For
ages it can never be attempted. The spirit of the country, with arms
in their hands, and disciplined as a militia, would render it impossible.
Every pretence that liberty can be thus invaded is idle declamation. It
is not to be endangered by a few thousands of miserable, pitiful mili-
tary. It is not thus that the liberty of this country is to be destroyed.
It is to be subverted only by a pretence of adhering to all the forms of
law, and yet, by breaking down the substance of our liberties ; by
devoting a wretched but honest man as the victim of a nominal trial.
It is not by murder, by an open and public execution, that he would be
taken off. The sight of this, of a fellow-citizen's blood, would at first
beget sympathy ; this would rouse into action, and the people, in the
madness of their revenge, would break, on the heads of their oppressors,
the chains they had destined for others.
From " Speech in the case of Harry CrosweU," 1804:.
THE ACHTEYEKS OF OUR LIBERTY.
John Hancock.
I thank God, that America abounds in men who are superior to
all temptation, whom nothing can divert from a steady pursuit of the
interest of their country ; who are at once its ornament and safeguard.
And sure I am, I should not incur your displeasure, if I paid a respect,
so justly due to their much-honored characters, in this place. But
when I name an Adams, such a numerous host of fellow-patriots rush
upon my mind, that I fear it would take up too much of your time,
should I attempt to call over the illustrious roll. But your grateful
hearts will point you to the men ; and their revered names, in all suc-
ceeding times, shall grace the annals of America. From them let us,
my friends, take example ; from them let us catch the divine enthu-
siasm ; and feel, each for himself, the godlike pleasure of diffusing
132 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
happiness on all around us; of delivering the oppressed from the iron
grasp of tyranny ; of changing the hoarse complaints and bitter moans
of wretched slaves into those cheerful songs, which freedom and c m-
tentment must inspire. There is a heartfelt satisfaction in reflecting
on our exertions for the public weal, which all the sufferings an enraged
tyrant can inflict, will never take away ; which the ingratitude and
reproaches of those whom we have saved from ruin, cannot rob us of.
The virtuous assertcr of the rights of mankind merits a reward, which
even a want of success in his endeavors to save his country, the heaviest
misfortune which can befall a genuine patriot, cannot entirely prevent
him from receiving.
I have the most animating confidence that the present noble struggle
for liberty will terminate gloriously for America. And let ns play the
man for our God, and for the cities of our God ; while we are using the
means in our power, let us humbly commit our righteous cause to the
great Lord of the universe, who lovcth righteousness and hateth
iniquity. And having secured the approbation of our hearts, by a
faithful and unwearied discharge of our duty to our country, let us
joyfully leave our concerns in the hands of Him who raiseth up and
pulleth down the empires and kingdoms of the world as he plea
and with cheerful submission to his sovereign will, devoutly say, —
" Although the fig-tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the
vines ; the labor of the olive shall fail, and the field shall yield no meat ;
the flock shall be cut off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in
the stalls ; yet we will rejoice in the Lord, we will joy in the God of our
salvation."
From " Speech on Vie Anniversary of Ike Boston Massacre," 1774.
INAUGURAL ADDRESS.
George Washington.
Among the vicissitudes incident to life, no event could have filled me
with greater anxieties, than that of which the notification was trans-
mitted by your order, and received on the fourteenth day of the present
month. On the one hand, I was summoned by my country, whose
voice I can never hear but with veneration and love, from a retreat
which I had chosen with the fondest predilection, and in my flattering
hopes with an immutable decision as the asylum of my declining years ;
a retreat which was rendered every day more necessary, as well as
more dear to me, by the addition of habit to inclination, and of frequent
interruptions in my health to the gradual waste committed on it by
time. On the other hand, the magnitude and difficulty of the trust, to
which the voice of my country called me, being sufficient to awaken in
the wisest ana most experienced of her citizens a distrustful scrutiny
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 133
into his qualifications, could not but overwhelm with despondence, one,
who inheriting inferior endowments from nature, and unpractised in
the duties of civil administration, ought to be peculiarly conscious of
his own deficiencies. In this conflict of emotions, all I dare aver, is,
that it has been my faithful study to collect my duty from a just
appreciation of every circumstance by which it might be affected. Ail
I dare hope is, that if in executing this task, I have been too much
swayed by a grateful remembrance of former instances, or by an
affectionate sensibility to this transcendent proof of the confidence of
my fellow-citizens, and have thence too little consulted my incapacity
as well as disinclination for the weighty and untried cares before me,
my error will be palliated by the motives which misled me, and its
consequences be judged by my country, with some share of the partiality
in which they originated.
From " The Inaugural Address," 1789.
THE RULE OF AMERICAN CONDUCT.
Georgb Washington.
The great rule of conduct for us, in regard to foreign nations, is, in
extending our commercial relations, to have with them as little political
connection as possible. So far as we have already formed engagements,
let them be fulfilled with perfect good faith. Here let us stop.
Europe has a set of primary interests, which to us have none, or a
very remote relation. Hence she must be engaged in frequent contro-
versies, the causes of which are essentially foreign to our concerns.
Hence, therefore, it must be unwise in us to implicate ourselves, by
artificial ties, in the ordinary vicissitudes of her politics, or the ordinary
combinations and collisions of her friendships and enmities.
Our detached and distant situation invites and enables us to pursue
a different course. If we remain one people, under an efficient govern-
ment, the period is not far off when we may defy material injury from
external annoyance ; when we may take such an attitude as will cause
the neutrality we may at any time resolve upon, to be scrupulously
respected ; when belligerent nations, under the impossibility of making
acquisitions upon us, will not lightly hazard the giving us provocation ;
when we may choose peace or war, as our interest, guided by justice,
shall counsel.
From " Farewell Address," 1796.
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134 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
THE APPEAL TO ARMS.
John Dickinson.
Our cause is just. Our union is perfect. Our internal resource!
are great, and, if nccessar}', foreign assistance is undoubtedly attain-
able. We gratefully acknowledge, as signal instances of Divine favor
towards us, that his providence would not permit us to be called into
this severe controversy, until we were grown up to our present strength,
had been previously exercised in warlike operations, and possessed the
means of defending ourselves. With hearts fortified by these animat-
ing reflections, we most solemnly, before God and the world, Declabz,
that, exerting the utmost energy of those powers which our beneficent
Creator has graciously bestowed upon us, the arms we have been com-
pelled by our enemies to assume, we will, in defiance of every hazard,
with unabating firmness and perseverance, employ for the preservation
of our liberties; being with one mind resolved to die freemen rather
than to live slaves.
Lest this declaration should disquiet the minds of our friends and
fellow-subjects in any part of the empire, "we assure them that we mean
not to dissolve that union which has so long and so happily subsisted
between us, and which we sincerely wish to see restored. Necessity
has not yet driven us into that desperate measure, or induced us to
excite any other nation to war against them. We have not raised
armies with ambitious designs of separating from Great Britain, and
establishing independent states. We fight not for glory or for conquest.
We exhibit to mankind the remarkable spectacle of a people attacked
by unprovoked enemies, without any imputation or even suspicion of
offence. They boast of their privileges and civilization, and yet proffer
no milder conditions than servitude or death.
In our own native land, in defence of the freedom that is our birth-
right, and which we ever enjoyed till the late violation of it — for the
protection of our property, acquired solely by the honest industry of
our forefathers and ourselves, against violence actually offered, we have
taken up arms. We shall lay them down when hostilities shall cease
on the part of the aggressors, and all danger of their being renewed
shall be removed, and not before.
From " Declaration on Talcing up Arms" 1775.
THE NECESSITY OF INDEPENDENCE.
Samcel Adams.
From the day on which an accommodation takes place between Eng-
land and America, on any other terms than as independent states, I
shall date the ruin of this country. A politic minister will study to
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 135
lull us into security, by granting us the full extent of our petitions.
The warm sunshine of influence would melt down the virtue which
the violence of the storm rendered more firm and unyielding. In a
state of tranquillity, wealth, and luxury, our descendants would forget
the arts of war, and the noble activity and zeal which made their
ancestors invincible. Every art of corruption would be employed to
'loosen the bond of union which renders our resistance formidable.
When the spirit of liberty which now animates our hearts and gives
success to our arms is extinct, our numbers will accelerate our ruin,
and render us easier victims to tyranny. Ye abandoned minions of an
infatuated ministry, if peradventure any should yet remain among us ! —
remember that a Warren and Montgomery are numbered among the
dead. Contemplate the mangled bodies of your countrymen, and then
say what should be the reward of such sacrifices ? Bid us and our
posterity bow the knee, supplicate the friendship, and plough, and sow,
and reap, to glut the avarice of the men who have let loose on us the
dogs of war to riot in our blood, and hunt us from the face of the earth ?
If ye love wealth better than liberty, the tranquillity of servitude than
the animating contest of freedom — go from us in peace. We ask not
your counsels or arms. Crouch down and lick the hands which feed
you. May your chains set lightly upon you, and may posterity forget
that ye were our countrymen.
From " Address in Philadelphia," 1776.
CALL TO AMERICANS.
Josiah Quinct, Jr.
By the sweat of our brow we earn the little we possess : from nature
we derive the common rights of man — and by charter we claim the
liberties of Britons ! Shall we, dare we pusillanimously surrender our
birthright? Is the obligation to our fathers discharged — is the debt
we owe posterity paid ? Answer me, thou coward, who hidest thyself
in the hour of trial. If there is no reward in this life, no prize of
glory in the next, capable of animating thy dastard soul ; think and
tremble, thou miscreant, at the whips and stripes thy master shall lash
thee with on earth — and the flames and scorpions thy second master
shall torment thee with hereafter !
Oh, my countrymen ! what will our children say when they read the
history of these times, should they find we tamely gave away, without
one noble struggle, the most invaluable of earthly blessings? As they
drag the galling chain, will they not execrate us ? If we have any
respect for things sacred ; any regard to the dearest treasure on earth —
if we have one tender sentiment for posterity ; if we would not be
136 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
despised by tho whole world — let us, in the most open, solemn manner,
and with determined fortitude, swear wc will die, if we cannot live
freemen !
Be not lulled, my countrymen, with vain imaginations, or idle fancies.
To hope for the protection of Heaven, without doing our duty, and
exerting ourselves as becomes men, is to mock the Deity. Wherefore
had man his reason, if it were not to direct him? Wherefore his
strength, if it be not his protection? To banish folly and luxury, cor-
rect vice and immorality, and stand immovable in the freedom in which
we are free indeed, is eminently the duty of each individual, at this
day. When this is done, we may rationally hope for an answer to our
prayers ; for the whole counsel of God, and the invincible armor of the
Almighty.
However righteous our cause, we cannot, in this period of the world,
expect a miraculous salvation. Heaven will undoubtedly assist us, if
Ave act like men ; but to expect protection from above, while we are
enervated by luxury, and slothful in the exertion of those abilities with
which we are endued, is an expectation vain and foolish. With the smiles
of Heaven, virtue, unanimity, and firmness will insure success. AVhile
we have equity, justice, and God on our side, tyranny, spiritual or tem-
poral, shall never ride triumphant in a land inhabited by Englishmen.
From " Boston Gazctk" 1708.
ADDRESS TO A JURY.
Josiah Qcincy, Jr.
Gentlemen of the Jury : — This cause has taken up much of your
time, and is likely to take up so much more, that I must hasten to a
close. Indeed, I should not have troubled you, by being thus lengthy,
but from a sense of duty to the prisoners ; they, who, in some sense,
may be said to have put their lives in my hands ; they, whose situation
was so peculiar, that we have necessarily taken up more time than ordi-
nary cases require. They, under all these circumstances, placed a
confidence it was my duty not to disappoint; and which I have aimed
at discharging with fidelity. I trust you, gentlemen, will do the like ;
that you will examine and judge with a becoming temper of mind;
remembering that they who are under oath to declare the whole truth,
think and act very differently from by-standers, who, being under no
ties of this kind, take a latitude, which is by no means admissible in a
court of law.
I cannot close this cause better, than by desiring you to consider
well the genius and spirit of the law, which will be laid down, and to
govern yourselves by this great standard of truth. To some purposes,
you may be said, gentlemen, to be ministers of justice; and " ministers, "
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 137
says a learned judge, " appointed for the ends of public justice, should
have written on their hearts the solemn engagements of his majesty,
at his coronation, to cause law and justice in mercy to be executed in
all his judgments."
" The quality of mercy is not strained ;
It droppeth like the gentle rain from heaven —
It is twice blessed ;
It blesses him that gives, and him that takes."
I leave you, gentlemen, hoping you will be directed in your inquiry
and judgment, to a right discharge of your duty. We shall all of us,
gentlemen, have an hour of cool reflection ; when the feelings and
agitations of the day shall have subsided ; when we shall view things
through a different and a much juster medium. It is then we all wish
an absolving conscience. May you, gentlemen, now act such a part, as
will hereafter insure it ; such a part as may occasion the prisoners to
rejoice. May the blessing of those who were in jeopardy of life come
upon you — may the blessing of Him who is " not faulty to die," descend
and rest upon you and your posterity.
From " Defence of the Soldiers in the Boston Massacre," 1770.
A STABLE GOVERNMENT FOR AMERICA.
Benjamin Rush.
Look at the steps by which governments have been changed, or
rendered stable in Europe. Read the history of Great Britain. Her
boasted government has risen out of wars, and rebellions, that lasted
above six hundred years. The United States are travelling peaceably
into order and good government. They know no strife — but what
arises from the collision of opinions ; and, in three years, they have
advanced further in the road to stability and happiness than most of
the nations in Europe have done in as many centuries.
There is but one path that can lead the United States to destruction ;
and that is, their extent of territory. It was probably to effect this
that Great Britain ceded to us so much waste land. But even this path
may be avoided. Let but one new state be exposed to sale at a time ;
and let the land office be shut up till every part of this new state be
settled.
I am extremely sorry to find a passion for retirement so universal
among the patriots and heroes of the war. They resemble skilful
mariners, who, after exerting themselves to preserve a ship from sink-
ing in a storm, in the middle of the ocean, drop asleep, as soon as the
waves subside, and leave the care of their lives and property, during
the remainder of the voyage, to sailors, without knowledge or expe-
12*
1 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
rionce. Every man in a republic is public property. His time and
talents — his youth — his manhood — his old age — nay more, his life, his
all, belong to his country.
Patriots of 1774, 1775, 177G— heroes of 1778, 1779, 1780! come for-
ward! your country demands your services! Philosophers and friends
to mankind, come forward ! your country demand- your studies and
speculations! Lovers of peace and order, who declined taking part in
the late war, come forward! your country forgives your timidity, and
demands your influence and advice! Hear her proclaiming, in sighs
and groans, in her governments, in her finances, in her trade, in her
manufactures, in her morals, and in her manners — "the REVOLUTION
IS NOT OVER !"
From •• Address to the People," 1787.
WASHINGTON.
. Lee.
First in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen,
he was second to none in the humble and endearing scenes of private
life. Pious, just, humane, temperate, and sincere; uniform, dignified,
and commanding, his example was as edifying to all around him as
were the effects of that example lasting.
To his equals he was condescending ; to his inferiors kind ; and to
the dear object of his affections exemplarily tender. Correct through-
out, vice shuddered in his presence, and virtue always felt his fostering
hand; the purity of his private character gave effulgence to his public
virtues.
His last scene comported with the whole tenor of his life: although
in extreme pain, not a sigh, not a groan escaped him ; and with undis-
turbed serenity he closed his well-spent life. Such was the man
America has lost! Such was the man for whom our nation mourns !
Methinks I see his august image, and hear, falling from his venerable
lips, these deep-sinking words :
" Cease, sons of America, lamenting our separation : go on, and con-
firm by your wisdom the fruits of our joint counsels, joint efforts, and
common dangers. Reverence religion ; diffuse knowledge throughout
your land; patronize the arts and sciences; let liberty and order be
inseparable companions ; control party spirit, the bane of free govern-
ment ; observe good faith to, and cultivate peace with all nations ; shut
up every avenue to foreign influence ; contract rather than extend
national connection ; rely on yourselves only ; be American in thought
and deed. Thus will you give immortality to that Union, which was
the constant object of my terrestrial labors. Thus will you preserve,
undisturbed to the latest posterity, the felicity of a people to me most
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 139
dear : and thus will you supply (if my happiness is now aught to you)
the only vacancy in the round of pure bliss high Heaven bestows."
From " Eulogy on Washington," 1799.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS TO ENGLAND.
John Randolph.
I acknowledge the influence of a Shakspeare and a Milton upon my
imagination, of a Locke upon my understanding, of a Sidney upon my
political principles, of a Chatham upon qualities which, would to God,
I possessed in common with that illustrious man ! of a Tillotson, a
Sherlock, and a Porteus upon my religion. This is a British influence
which I can never shake off. I allow much to the just and honest
prejudices growing out of the Revolution. But by whom have they
been suppressed, when they ran counter to the interests of my country ?
By Washington. By whom, would you listen to them, are they most
keenly felt? By felons escaped from the jails of Paris, Newgate, and
Kilmainham, since the breaking out of the French revolution ; who, in
this abused and insulted country, have set up for political teachers, and
whose disciples give no other proof of their progress in republicanism,
except a blind devotion to the most ruthless military despotism that the
world ever saw. These are the patriots who scruple not to brand with
the epithet of tory, the men (looking towards the seat of Col. Stewart)
by whose blood your liberties have been cemented. These are they, who
hold in such keen remembrance the outrages of the British armies, from
which many of them are deserters. Ask these self-styled patriots where
they were during the American war (for they are, for the most part,
old enough to have borne arms), and you strike them dumb ; their lips
are closed in eternal silence. If it were allowable to entertain partiali-
ties, every consideration of blood, language, religion, and interest, would
incline us towards England ; and yet, shall they be alone extended to
France and her ruler, whom we are bound to believe a chastening God
suffers as the scourge of a guilty world ! On all other nations he tram-
ples ; he holds them in contempt ; England alone he hates ; he would,
but he cannot despise her ; fear cannot despise ; and shall we disparage
our ancestors ?
From "Speech on the Increase of the Army," 1811.
THE INJURIES OF ENGLAND.
John Randolph.
But the outrages and injuries of England — bred up in the principles
of the revolution, I can never palliate, much less defend them. I well
remember flying with my mother, and her new-born child, from Arnold
140 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
and Phillips — and we -were driven by Tarleton and other British I'an-
dours from pillar to post, while her busband was fighting the battles
of his country. The impression is indelible on my memory ; and yet
(like my worthy old neighbor, who added seven buckshot to every cart-
ridge at the battle of Guilford, and drew a fine sight at his man), 1
must be content to be called a tory by a patriot of the last importation.
Let us not get rid of one evil (supposing it possible), at the expense of
a greater: "mutatis mutandis,'' suppose France in possession of the
British naval power — and to her the trident must pass, should England
be unable to wield it — what would be your condition ''. What would he
the situation of your seaports, and their seafaring inhabitants] Ask
Hamburg, Lubec ! Ask Savannah! What! sir, when their privateers
are pent up in our harbors by the British bull-dogs, when they receive
at our hands every rite of hospitality, from which their enemy is
excluded ; when they capture in our own waters, interdicted to British
armed ships, American vessels ; when such is their deportment towards
you, under such circumstances ; what could you expect if they were
the uncontrolled lords of the ocean ? Had those privateers at Savannah
borne British commissions ; or had your shipments of cotton, tobacco,
ashes and what not, to London and Liverpool, been confiscated, and the
proceeds poured into the English Exchequer — my life upon it, you
would never have listened to any miserable wire-drawn distinctions
bctweeu " orders and decrees affecting our neutral rights," and " muni-
cipal decrees," confiscating in mass your whole property: you would
have had instant war ! The whole land would have blazed out in war.
From u Sjiccch on the Increase of the Army" 1811.
THE CHAKACTER OF LAFAYETTE.
John Qcikcy Adams.
Lafayette discovered no new principle of politics or of morals. He
invented nothing in science. He disclosed no new phenomenon in the
laws of nature. Born and educated in the highest order of feudal
nobility, under the most absolute monarchy of Europe, in possession
of an affluent fortune, and master of himself and of all his capabilities
at the moment of attaining manhood, the principle of republican justice
and of social equality took possession of his heart and mind, as if by
inspiration from above. He devoted himself, his life, his fortune, his
hereditary honors, his towering ambition, his splendid hopes, all to the
cause of liberty. He came to another hemisphere to defend her. He
became one of the most effective champions of our Independence ; but,
that once achieved, he returned to his own country, and thenceforward
took no part in the controversies which have divided us. In the events
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 141
of our Kevolution, and in the forms of policy which we have adopted
for the establishment and perpetuation of our freedom, Lafayette found
the most perfect form of government. He wished to add nothing to it.
He would gladly have abstracted nothing from it. Instead of the
imaginary Republic of Plato, or the Utopia of Sir Thomas More, he
took a practical existing model, in actual operation here, and never
attempted or wished more than to apply it faithfully to his own country.
It was not given to Moses to enter the promised land ; but he saw it
from the summit of Pisgah. It was not given to Lafayette to witness
the consummation of his wishes in the establishment of a Republic, and
the extinction of all hereditary rule in France. His principles were in
advance of the age and hemisphere in which he lived. A Bourbon still
reigns on the throne of France, and it is not for us to scrutinize the
title by which he reigns. The principles of elective and hereditary
power, blended in reluctant union in his person, like the red and white
roses of York and Lancaster, may postpone to aftertime the last conflict
to which they must ultimately come. The life of the Patriarch was
not long enough for the development of his whole political system. Its
final accomplishment is in the womb of time.
From " Address before Congress," 1834.
THE FUTURE GLORY OF AMERICA. .
David Ramsat.
When I anticipate in imagination the future glory of my country,
and the illustrious figure it will soon make on the theatre of the world,
my heart distends with generous pride for being an American. What
a substratum for empire ! compared with which, the foundation of the
Macedonian, the Roman, and the British sink into insignificance.
Some of our large states have territory superior to the island of Great
Britain, whilst the whole together are little inferior to Europe itself.
Our independence will people this extent of country with freemen, and
will stimulate the innumerable inhabitants thereof, by every motive, to
perfect the acts of government, and to extend human happiness.
I congratulate you on our glorious prospects. Having for three long
years weathered the storms of adversity, we are at length arrived in
view of the calm haven of peace and security. We have laid the foun-
dations of a new empire, which promises to enlarge itself to vast
dimensions, and to give happiness to a great continent. It is now our
turn to figure on the face of the earth, and in the annals of the world.
The arts and sciences are planted among us, and, fostered by the auspi-
cious influence of equal governments, are growing up to maturity,
while truth and freedom flourish by their sides. Liberty, both civil
142 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
and religious, in her noontide blaze, shines forth with unclouded Lustre
on all ranks and denominations of men.
Ever since the flood, true religion, literature, arts, empire, and riches
have taken a slow and gradual course from east to west, and are now
about fixing their long and favorite abode in this new western world.
Our sun of political happiness is already risen, and hath lifted its head
over the mountains, illuminating our hemisphere with liberty, light,
and polished life. Our independence will redeem one quarter of the
globe from tyranny and oppression, and consecrate it to the ohosen
seat of truth, justice, freedom, learning, and religion. "NVc are laying
the foundation of happiness for countless millions. Generations yet
unborn will bless us for the blood-bought inheritance we are about to
bequeath them. Oh happy times! Oh glorious days! Oh kind,
indulgent, bountiful Providence, that we live in this highly-favored
period, and have the honor of helping forward these great events, and
of suffering in a cause of such infinite importance!
From " Fourth of July Address," 1778.
CAPITAL PUNISHMENT.
Edwako Livingston.
History presents to us the magic glass on which, by looking at past,
we may discern future events. It is folly not to read ; it is perversity
not to follow its lessons. If the hemlock had not been brewed for
felons in Athens, would the fatal cup have been drained by Socrates?
If the people had not been familiarized to scenes of judicial homicide,
would France or England have been disgraced by the useless murder
of Louis or of Charles? If the punishment of death had not been
sanctioned by the ordinary laws of those kingdoms, would the one have
been deluged with the blood of innocence, of worth, of patriotism, and
of science, in her revolution ? Would the best and noblest lives of the
other have been lost on the scaffold in her civil broils? AVould her
lovely and calumniated queen, the virtuous Malesherbes, the learned
Condorcet — would religion, personified in the pious ministers of the
altar, courage and honor, in the host of high-minded nobles, and
science, in its worthy representative, Lavoisier — would the daily heca-
tomb of loyalty and worth, — would all have been immolated by the
stroke of the guillotine ; or Russell and Sidney, and the long succession
of victims of party and tyranny, by the axe? The fires of Smithfield
would not have blazed, nor, after the lapse of ages, should we yet
shudder at the name of St. Bartholomew, if the ordinary ecclesiastical
law had not usurped the attributes of divine veDgeance, and, by the
sacrilegious and absurd doctrine, that offences against the Deity were
to be punished with death, given a pretext to these atrocities. Nor, in
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 143
the awful and mysterious scene on Mount Calvary, would that agony
have been inflicted, if by the daily sight of the cross, as an instrument
of justice, the Jews had not been prepared to make it one of their
sacrilegious rage. But there is no end of the examples which crowd
upon the memory, to show the length to which the exercise of this
power, by the law, has carried the dreadful abuse of it, under the
semblance of justice. Every nation has wept over the graves of patriots,
heroes, and martyrs, sacrificed by its own fury. Every age has had
its annals of blood.
JUDGES AMONG MEN.
Tristam Btoges.
Judges, we are told, sir, are to learn by travel. Whither, how, and
addressing themselves to whom ? Not to visit law schools, or colleges
of civilians ; not as the Solons or Platos of antiquity travelled, to consult
the Initiati of Sais, the Sanhedrim of Palestine, or the disciples of the
Persian Zoroaster. They must, however, have the benefit of travel ;
and, if so, in the common method in coaches, wagons, solos, gigs,
carryalls ; in steamboats, packet-boats, and ferry-boats ; receiving the
full benefit in eating-houses, taverns, boarding-houses, and bar-rooms,
of the conversation of learned tapsters, stewards, and stage-coach
drivers. No man, I must own, who travels in the ordinary method—
and judges can hardly afford to travel in different style — will lose any
portion of these several sorts of accommodation and instruction. Judges
will, in serious truth it is said, by travel, mingle with the people, and
often come in contact with them. Will they mingle with the poor, the
ordinary ? With mechanical men ; with middling interest men ; with
the great community of toil, and sinew, and production? No, sir, they
can do no such thing. Let them have the humility of Lazarus, and
the versatile affability of Alcibiades, and they can do no such thing.
There is to such men, as it was once said of a learned judge — than
whom no man ever bore his honors more meekly — there is, I say, to the
feelings of such men, around a judge, a kind of repulsive atmosphere.
They stand aloof, and give him large room. They bow, not, indeed,
with servility, but with profound respect; and look towards him with
a kind of hallowed reverence, as one set apart, and consecrated to the
service, and surrounded by the ritual of justice. With all these men,
the judge can hold no tangible communion. The assurance of wealth,
the confidence of rank, office, power, will press through this medium,
and come hand to hand with him. Do the gentlemen, sir, mean to say
that, for such purposes, judges should mingle with the people?
From " Speech in the Senate on the Judiciary," 1825.
144 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
THE CONGRESS OF 177''.
"William Wirt.
What was the state of things under which the Congress of 1776
assembled, when Adams and Jefferson again met? It was, as you
know, in this Congress, that the question of American Independence
came, for the first time, to be discussed ; and never, certainly, has a
more momentous question been discussed, in any age or in any country,
for it was fraught, not only with the destinies of this wide-extended
continent, but, as the event has shown, and is still showing, with the
destinies of man all over the world.
How fearful that question then was, no one can tell but those who,
forgetting all that has since past, can transport themselves back to the
time, and plant their feet on the ground which those patriots then
occupied. " Shadows, clouds, and darkness" then covered all the
future, and the present was full only of danger and terror. A more
unequal contest never was proposed. It was, indeed, as it was then
said to be, the shepherd boy of Israel going forth to battle against the
giant of Gath ; and there were yet among us, enough to tremble when
they heard that giant say, " Come to me, and I will give thy flesh to
the fowls of the air and the beasts of the field." But there were those
who never trembled — who knew that there was a God in Israel, and
who were willing to commit their cause "to his even-handed justice/ 7
and his almighty power. That their great trust was in Him, is mani-
fest from the remarks that were continually breaking from the lips of
the patriots. Thus, the patriot Hawley, when pressed upon the ine-
quality of the contest, could only answer, "We must put to sea —
Providence will bring us into port ;" and Patrick Henry, when urged
upon the same topic, exclaimed, " True, true ; but there is a God above,
who rules and overrules the destinies of nations."
From " Eulogy on Jefferson and Adams," 1826.
ADDRESS TO A JURY.
David Paul Browx.
The prisoner is in your hands, I ask no mercy for him. I had almost
said I disdain it: — but be merciful to yourselves. By his conviction, it
is true you abridge his sufferings, but may you not promote and aggra-
vate your own. Can you reflect upon such a verdict, without being
hereafter haunted by the " compunctious visitings of conscience." If
you think you can, why strike at once his unit out of the sum of life.
And when, after your labors are terminated, you return again to your
firesides to enjoy the charms of your domestic circle — the blessings of
your household gods, then tell your anxious wives and children, who
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 145
assemble around you, while you relate the lamentable history of this
trial — tell them of " one who loved not wisely — but too well ;" tell
them of the pollution of female innocence — the betrayal of confiding
friendship — tell them of the prisoner's blighted hopes — his wounded
honor — his ruined fortunes and his shattered reason — tell them how he
trusted, and how he was deceived ; and when your hearers, with tear-
ful eyes and trembling lips, earnestly inquire what relief you afforded
for all these monstrous and most unheard of wrongs — tell them — if you
dare, that, to requite him for all these sufferings, for these shames, you !
you ! ! — consigned him to a felon's ignominious grave.
From "A Forensic Argument," Philadelphia, 1S59.
THE BANNER OF UNION.
Franklin Pierce.
If we are true to ourselves ; if we revere the memory, or appreciate
the services of our fathers, we shall forget, in the exigency of this
crisis, that there is, or ever has been, such thing as party, in the ordi-
nary acceptation of the term. At all events, we will forget it, until,
through our steady, united efforts, we see the authority of the Constitu-
tion vindicated, and the Union reposing again securely upon its old
foundations.
You are right in assuming that this is no time for hesitancy ; no time
for doubting, halting, half-way professions, or, indeed, for mere profes-
sions of any kind. It is a time for resolute purpose, to be followed by
decisive, consistent action.
Shall the fundamental law of the land be obeyed, not with evasive
reluctance, but in good fidelity ? Have we the power to enforce obedi-
ence to it, and will we exercise that power ? If so, then may we con-
tinue to enjoy the multiplied and multiplying blessings of the peerless
inheritance which has been transmitted to us. If otherwise, fanaticism
has not mistaken the significance of its emblem, — the national flag with
"the union doivn." That flag has waved through three foreign wars,
with the union up, cheering the hearts of brave men, on sea and land,
wherever its folds have unrolled in the smoke of battle ! How many
of our countrymen, as they have seen it floating from the mast-head in
a foreign port, or giving its ample sweep to the breeze over a consular-
office, have proudly and exultingly exclaimed: "I am an American
citizen, and there is the ensign which commands for me respect and
security, wherever throughout the wide world I may roam, or wherever
I may choose temporarily to dwell!" How one would shut his eyes,
and cover his face in shame and sorrow, if he believed he were destined
to see the day when that flag will float no more ! And yet if agitators
13 R
146 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
and conspirators can have their way, it must go cIowji in darkness and
blood. In a republic like ours, law alone upholds it; and when that
loses its power, all human power to save is lost. If such overwhelm-
ing disaster to humanity is to overtake us, I, for one, will not try to
peer through the darkness and blackness, or to foreknow the end.
From " Letter read at Faneuil Hall Meeting," 1859.
AMERICAN POLICY.
De Witt Clinto.v.
If I were called upon to prescribe a course of policy most important
for this country to pursue, it would be to avoid European connections
and wars. The time must arrive when we will have to contend with
some of the great powers of Europe, but let that period be put off as
long as possible. It is our interest and our duty to cultivate peace,
with sincerity and good faith. As a young nation, pursuing industry
in every channel, and adventuring commerce in every sea, it is highly
important that wo should not only have a pacific character, but that
we should really deserve it. If we manifest an unwarrantable ambition,
and a rage for conquest, we unite all the great powers of Europe against
us. The security of all the European possessions in our vicinity, will
eternally depend, not upon their strength, but upon our moderation
and justice. Look at the Canadas ; at the Spanish territories to the
south ; at the British, Spanish, French, Danish, and Dutch West India
Islands, at the vast countries to the west, as far as where the Pacific
rolls its waves. Consider well the eventful consequences that would
result, if we were possessed by a spirit of conquest. Consider well the
impression which a manifestation of that spirit will make upon those
who would be affected by it. If we are to rush at once into the territory
of a neighboring nation, with fire and sword, for the misconduct of a
subordinate officer, will not our national character be greatly injured ?
Will we not be classed with the robbers and destroyers of mankind?
Will not the nations of Europe perceive in this conduct the germ of a
lofty spirit, and an enterprising ambition, which will level them to the
earth, when age has matured our strength, and expanded our powers
of annoyance, unless they combine to cripple us in our infancy? May
not the consequences be, that we must look out for a naval force to
protect our commerce, that a close alliance will result, that we will be
thrown at once into the ocean of European politics, where every wave
that rolls, and every wind that blows, will agitate our bark ? Is this a
desirable state of things? Will the people of this country be seduced
into it by all the colorings of rhetoric, and all the arts of sophistry — by
vehement appeals to their pride, and artful addresses to their cupidity?
No, sir. Three-fourths of the American people, I assert it boldly and
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 147
without fear of contradiction, are opposed to this measure. And would
you take up arms with a mill-stone hanging round your neck ? How
would you bear up, not only against the force of the enemy, but against
the irresistible current of public opinion ? The thing, sir, is impossible ;
the measure is worse than madness ; it is wicked, beyond the powers
of description.
From "Speech on the Navigation of the Mississippi," 1803.
THE VALUE OF A NAVY.
James A. Bayard.
God has decided that the people of this country should be a commer-
cial people. You read that decree in the sea-coast of seventeen hundred
miles which he has given you ; in the numerous navigable waters which
penetrate the interior of the country ; in the various ports and harbors
scattered along your shores ; in your fisheries ; in the redundant pro-
ductions of your soil ; and more than all, in the enterprising and
adventurous spirit of your people. It is no more a question whether
the people of this country shall be allowed to plough the ocean, than it is
whether they shall be permitted to plough the land. It is not in the
power of this government, nor would it be if it were as strong as the
most despotic upon the earth, to subdue the commercial spirit, or to
destroy the commercial habits of the country.
Young as we are, our tonnage and commerce surpass those of every
nation upon the globe but one, and if not wasted by the deprivations to
which they were exposed by their defenceless situation, and the more
ruinous restrictions to which this government subjected them, it would
require not many more years to have made them the greatest in the
world. Is this immense wealth always to be exposed as a prey to the
rapacity of freebooters ? Why will you protect your citizens and their
property upon land, and leave them defenceless upon the ocean ? As
your mercantile property increases, the prize becomes more tempting
to the cupidity of foreign nations. In the course of things, the ruins
and aggressions which you have experienced will multiply, nor will
they be restrained while we have no appearance of a naval force.
You must and will have a navy ; but it is not to be created in a day,
nor is it to be expected, that in its infancy, it will be able to cope foot
to foot with the full-grown vigor of the navy of England. But we are
even now capable of maintaining a naval force formidable enough to
threaten the British commerce, and to render this nation an object of
more respect and consideration.
From " Speech in the United States Senate," 1810.
148 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
WAR IN SELF-DEFENCE.
John Randolph.
For my part, I never will go to war but in self-defence. I havo do
desire for conquests — no ambition to possess. Nova Scotia — I hold the
liberties of this people at a higher rate. Much more am 1 indisposed
to Avar, when among the first means for carrying it on, I see gentlemen
propose the confiscation of debts due by government to individuals.
Does a bona fide creditor know who holds his paper? Dare any honest
man ask himself the question? "lis hard to say whether such prin-
ciples arc more detestably dishonest, than they are weak and foolish.
What, sir ; will you go about with proposals for opening a loan in one
hand, and a sponge for the national debt in the other? If, on a late
occasion, you could not borrow at a less rate of interest than eight per
cent., when the government avowed that they would pay to the last
shilling of the public ability, at what price do you expect to raise
money with an avowal of these nefarious opinions? — God help you ! if
these are your ways and means for carrying on war — if your finances
are in the hands of such a chancellor of the exchequer. Because a
man can take an observation, and keep a log-book and a reckoning ;
can navigate a cock-boat to the West Indies, or the East ; shall he
aspire to navigate the great vessel of state — to stand at the helm of
public councils ? " Ne sutor ultra crepidam." What are you going to
war for? For the carrying trade. Already you possess seven-eighths
of it. What is the object in dispute? The fair, honest trade, that
exchanges the produce of our soil for foreign articles for home con-
sumption ? Not at all.
From ,; Speech in the House <>f Representatives," 1806.
THE EXCISE SYSTEM.
Joun Randolph.
These taxes, however, it seems, are voluntary, " as being altogether
upon consumption." By a recent speech on this subject, the greater
part of which I was so fortunate as to hear, I learn that there have
been only two hundred capital prosecutions in England, within a given
time, for violations of the revenue laws. Are we ready, if one of us,
too poor to own a saddle-horse, should borrow a saddle, and clap it on
his plough-horse, to ride to church or court, or mill, or market, to be
taxed for a surplus saddle-horse, and surcharged for having failed to
list him as such ? Are gentlemen aware of the inquisitorial, dispens-
ing, arbitrary, and almost papal power of the commissioners of excise?
I shall not stop to go into a detail of them ; but I never did expect to
hear it said, on this floor, and by a gentleman from Kentucky too, that
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 149
the excise system was a mere scare-crow, a bug-bear ; that the sound
of the words constituted all the difference between a system of excise
and a system of customs ; that both meant the same thing : " Write
them together ; yours is as fair a name ; sound them ; it doth become
the mouth as well ;" here, sir, I must beg leave to differ ; I do not
think it does : " Weigh them ; it is as heavy ;" that I grant — " conjure
with them ;" — excise " will start a spirit as soon as" customs. This I
verily believe, sir, and I wish, with all my heart, if this bill is to pass,
if new and unnecessary burdens are to be wantonly imposed upon the
people, that we were to return home with the blessed news of a tax or
excise, not less by way of " minimum," than fifty cents per gallon upon
whiskey. And here, if I did not consider an exciseman to bear, accord-
ing to the language of the old law books, "caput lupinum," and that
it was almost as meritorious to shoot such a hell-hound of tyranny, as
to shoot a wolf or a mad-dog ; and if I did not know that anything like
an excise in this country is in effect utterly impracticable, — I myself,
feeling, seeing, blushing for my country, would gladly vote to lay an
excise on this abominable liquor, the lavish consumption of which
renders this the most drunken nation under the sun ; and yet we have
refused to take the duties from wines, from cheap French wines par-
ticularly, that might lure the dog from his vomit, and lay the founda-
tion of a reformation of the public manners.
From " Speech in the House of Representatives" 1824.
THE EXCISE SYSTEM IMPOSSIBLE IN AMERICA.
John Randolph.
Sir, an excise system can never be maintained in this country.
I had as lief be a tithe proctor in Ireland, and met on a dark night
in a narrow road by a dozen White-boys, or Peep-of-day Boys, or
Hearts of Oak, or Hearts of Steel, as an excise man in the Alleghany
Mountains, met in a lonely road, or by-place, by a backwoodsman,
with a rifle in his hand. With regard to Ireland, the British chan-
cellor of the exchequer has been obliged to reduce the excise in
Ireland on distilled spirits, to comparatively nothing to what it was
formerly, in consequence of the impossibility of collecting it in that
country. Ireland is, not to speak with statistical accuracy, about
the size of Pennsylvania, containing something like twenty-five thou-
sand square miles of territory, with a population of six millions of
inhabitants, nearly as great a number as the whole of the white popu-
lation of the United States ; with a standing army of twenty thousand
men ; with another standing army, composed of all those classes in
civil life, who, through the instrumentality of that army, keep the
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150 THE SELECT ACADBMIC SPEAKER.
wretched people in subjection: under all theso circumstances, even in
Ireland, the excise cannot be collected. I venture to say that no army
that the earth has ever seen; not such a one as that of Bonaparte,
which inarched to the invasion of Russia, would be capable of collect-
ing an excise in this country ; not Buch a one (if* you will allow me to
give some delightful poetry in exchange for very wretched prose) as
Milton has described —
•• Snob forces m< I oot, aor so \\ ide a camp,
When Agrioan, with all bis northern powers,
Besieged Albraooa, m romances tell,
The city of Calliphrone, ('nun vrhenoe to win
The fairest of her Bex, Angelica,
lli< daughter, Bought by many prowesl knights,
Both Paynim and the peers of Charlemagne ;"
not such a force, nor even the troops with which he compares them,
which were no less than " the legend fiends of hell," could collect an
excise hero. If any officer of our government were to take the field a
still-hunting, as they call it in Ireland, among our southern or western
forests and mountains, I should like to see the throwing off of the
hounds. I have still SO much of the sportsman about me, that 1 should
like to see the breaking cover, and, above all, I should like to be in at
the death.
From " Speed i in the House of Representatives," 1824.
AMERICAN VALOR.
Lewis Cass.
There is one point, sir, where we can all meet, and that is the gal-
lantry and good conduct of our country. This is one of the high
places to which we can come up together, and laying aside our party
dissension, mingle our congratulations that our country has had such
sons to go forth to battle, and that they have gathered such a harvest
of renown in distant fields. The time has been, and there are those
upon this floor who remember it well, when our national flag was said
to be but striped bunting, and our armed vessels but fir-built frigates.
The feats of our army and navy, in our last war with England,
redeemed us from this reproach, the offspring of foreign jealousy ; and
had they not, the events of the present war would have changed these
epithets into terms of honor ; for our flag has become a victorious
standard, borne by marching columns, over the hills and valleys, and
through the cities, and towns, and fields of a powerful nation, in a
career of success of which few examples can be found in ancient or
modern warfare.
The movement of our army from Puebla was one of the most roman-
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 151
tic and remarkable events •which ever occurred in the military annals
of any country. Our troops did not indeed burn their fleet, like the
first conquerors of Mexico, for they needed not to gather courage from
despair, nor to stimulate their resolution by destroying all hopes of
escape. But they voluntarily cut off all means of communication with
their own country, by throwing themselves among the armed thousands
of another, and advancing with stout hearts but feeble numbers into
the midst of a hostile country. The uncertainty which hung over the
public mind, and the anxiety everywhere felt, when our gallant little
army disappeared from our view, will not be forgotten during the pre-
sent generation. There was universal pause of expectation — hoping,
but still fearing ; and the eyes of twenty millions of people were
anxiously fixed upon another country which a little band of its armed
citizens had invaded. A veil concealed them from our view. They
were lost to us for fifty days ; for that period elapsed from the time
when we heard of their departure from Puebla till accounts reached
us of the issue of the movement. The shroud which enveloped them
gave way, and we discovered our glorious flag waving in the breezes of
the capital, and the city itself invested by our army.
From " Speech in the, Senate" 1848.
BARBAROUS WARFARE.
Lord Chatham.
But, my lords, who is the man, that in addition to these disgraces
and mischiefs of our army, has dared to authorize and associate to our
arms the tomahawk and scalping-knife of the savage? To call into
civilized alliance, the wild and inhuman savage of the woods ; to dele-
gate to the merciless Indian, the defence of disputed rights, and to
wage the horrors of his barbarous war against our brethren ? My
lords, these enormities cry aloud for redress and punishment. Unless
thoroughly done away, it will be a stain on the national character. It
is a violation of the constitution. I believe it is against law. It is not
the least of our national misfortunes, that the strength and character
of our army are thus impaired. Infected with the mercenary spirit
of robbery and rapine ; familiarized to the horrid scenes of savage
cruelty, it can no longer boast of the noble and generous principles
which dignify a soldier ; no longer sympathize with the dignity of the
royal banner, nor feel the pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious
war, " that make ambition virtue !" What makes ambition virtue? —
the sense of honor. But is the sense of honor consistent with a spirit
of plunder, or the practice of murder? Can it flow from mercenary
motives, or can it prompt to cruel deeds? Besides these murderers
152 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
and plunderers, let me ask our ministers, what other allies have they
acquired ? What other powers have they associated to their cause ?
Have they entered into alliance with the king of the gypsies? Nothing,
my lords, is too low or too ludicrous to be consistent with their coun-
sels.
From Ci Speech on Address to the Throne."
ENGLAND AND HER CHILDREN.
Edmund Burke.
A noble lord, who spoke some time ago, is full of the fire of ingenu-
ous youth ; and when he lias modelled the ideas of a lively imagination
by further experience, he will be an ornament to his country in either
house. He has said, that the Americans are our children, and how
can they revolt against their parent? He says, that if they arc not
free in their present state, England is not free ; because Manchester,
and other considerable places, arc not represented. So, then, because
some towns in England are not represented, America is to have no
representative at all. They are "our children;" but when children
ask for bread, we are not to give a stone. Is it because the natural
resistance of things, and the various mutations of time, hinder our
government, or any scheme of government, from being any more than
a sort of approximation to the right, is it therefore that the colonies
are to recede from it infinitely? When this child of ours wishes to
assimilate to its parent, and to reflect with a true filial resemblance the
beauteous countenance of British liberty ; are we to turn to them the
shameful parts of our constitution ? are we to give them our weakness
for their strength? our opprobrium for their glory ; and the slough of
slavery, which we are not able to work off, to serve them for their
freedom ?
From '•' Speech on American Taxation."
MILTON AND "THE
T. Eeskine.
It is said by the author of the " Age of Reason/' that the Christian
fable is but the tale of the more ancient superstitions of the world, and
may be easily detected by a proper understanding of the mythologies
of the heathens. — Did Milton understand those mythologies? — Was
he less versed than Mr. Paine in the superstitions of the world? No,
— they were the subject of his immortal song; and though shutout
from all recurrence to them, he poured them forth from the stores of
a memory rich Avith all that man ever knew, and laid them in their
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 153
order as the illustration of real and exalted faith, the unquestionable
source of that fervid genius which has cast a kind of shade upon all
the other works of man —
He passed the bounds of flaming space,
Where angels tremble while they gaze —
He saw, — till blasted with excess of light,
He closed his eyes in endless night.
But it was the light of the body only that was extinguished : " The
celestial light shone inward, and enabled him to justify the ways
of God to man." — The result of his thinking was nevertheless not quite
the same as the author's before us. The mysterious incarnation of our
blessed Saviour (which this work blasphemes in words so wholly unfit
for the mouth of a Christian, or for the ear of a court of justice, that I
dare not, and will not, give them utterance), Milton made the grand
conclusion of his Paradise Lost, the rest from his finished labors, and
the ultimate hope, expectation, and glory of the world.
A Virgin is his Mother, but his Sire
The power of the Most High ; — he shall ascend
The throne hereditary, and bound his reign
With earth's wide bounds, his glory with the heavens.
From " Speech on the Age of Reason."
THE EAST INDIAN GOVEENMENT.
Edmund Burke.
In India, all the vices operate by which sudden fortune is acquired ;
in England are often displayed by the same persons, the virtues which
dispense hereditary wealth. Arrived in England, the destroyers of the
nobility and gentry of a whole kingdom will find the best company in
this nation, at a board of elegance and hospitality. Here the manufac-
turer and husbandman will bless the just and punctual hand that in
India has torn the cloth from the loom, or wrested the scanty portion
of rice and salt from the peasant of Bengal, or wrung from him the
very opium in which he forgot his oppressions and his oppressor. They
marry into your families ; they enter into your senate ; they ease your
estates by loans ; they raise their value by demands ; they cherish and
protect your relations, which lie heavy on your patronage ; and there
is scarcely a house in the kingdom that does not feel some concern and
interest that makes all reform of our eastern government appear
officious and disgusting ; and, on the whole, a most discouraging-
attempt. In such an attempt you hurt those who are able to return
kindness, or to resent injury. If you succeed, you save those who
cannot so much as give you thanks. All these things show the diffi-
154 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
culty of the work we have on hand : but they show its necessity too.
Our Indian government is, in its best state, a grievance. It is aeoet-
sary that the correctives should be uncommonly vigorous; and the
work of men, sanguine, warm, and even impassioned in the cause.
But it is an arduous thing to plead against abuses of a power which
originates from your own country, and affects those whom we are used
to consider as strangers.
From " Speech on Mr. Fox's East India Bill."
FRENCH LEGITIMACY.
Charles Phillips.
You have forced upon France a family to whom misfortune could
teach no mercy, or experience wisdom ; vindictive in prosperity, servile
in defeat, timid in the field, vacillating in the cabinet ; suspicion
amongst themselves, discontent amongst their followers; their memories
tenacious but of the punishments they had provoked ; their piety active
but in subserviency to their priesthood ; and their power passive but
in the subjugation of their people ! Such are the dynasties you have con-
ferred on Europe. In the very act, that of enthroning three individuals
of the same family, you have committed in politics a capital error. But
Providence has countermined the ruin you were preparing; and whilst
the impolicy prevents the chance, their impotency precludes the danger
of a coalition. As to the rest of Europe, how has it been ameliorated ?
What solitary benefit have the "deliverers" conferred? They have
partitioned the states of the feeble to feed the rapacity of the powerful ;
and after having alternately adored and deserted Napoleon, they have
wreaked their vengeance on the noble, but unfortunate fidelity that
spurned their example. Do you want proofs ; look to Saxony, look to
Genoa, look to Norway, but, above all, to Poland ! that speaking monu-
ment of regal murder and legitimate robbery:
Oh ! bloodiest picture in the book of time —
Sarmatia fell — unwept — without a crime !
Here was an opportunity to recompense that brave, heroic, generous,
martyred, and devoted people ; here was an opportunity to convince
Jacobinism that crowns and crimes were not, of course, co-existent, and
that the highway rapacity of one generation might be atoned by the
penitential retribution of another !
From " Speech at Liverpool."
DECLAMATIONS IX PROSE. 155
LAFAYETTE IN AMERICA.
T .: )MAS H. Bestos.
The Puke of Orleans., a brave general in the republican armies, at
the commencement of the Revolution. was handed to the throne by
Lafayette, and became the " citizen king, surrounded by republican
institutions." And in this Lafayette was consistent and sincere. He
was a republican himself, but deemed a constitutional monarchy the
proper government for France, and labored for that form in the person
if Lc ais XVI. as well as in that of Louis Philippe.
Loaded with honors, and with every feeling of his heart gratified in
the noble reception he had met in the country of his adoption, Lafayette
returned to the country of his birth the following summer, still as the
guest of the United States, and under its flag. He was carried back in
a national ship of war, the new frigate Brandywine — a delicate com-
pliment (in the name and selection of the ship) from the new president,
Mr. Adams. Lafayette having wet with his blood the sanguinary battle-
field which takes its name from the little stream which gave it first to
the field, and then to the frigate. Mr. Monroe, then a subaltern in the
ice of the United States, was wounded at the same time. How
honorable to themselves and to the American people, that nearly fifty
ye its afterwards, they should again appear together, and in exalted
station; one as president, inviting the other to the great republic, and
signing the acts which testified a nation's gratitude; the other as a
patriot hero, tried in the revolutions of two countries, and resplendent
in the glory of virtuous and consistent fame.
From. '■' Benton's Thirty Tears' flew."
THE CEDED LANDS.
Joss M. Beeeisn.
Whew, in obedience to the will of the legislature of Georgia, her
chief magistrate had communicated to the president his determination
:: survey the ceded territory, his right to do so was admitted. It vras
declared by the president that the act would be " wholly" on the
responsibility of the government of Georgia, and that '"the government
of the United States would not be in any manner responsible for any
consequences which might result from the measure." When his will-
ingness to encounter this responsibility was announced, it was met by
the declaration that the president would " not permit the survey to be
made.'*' and he was referred to a major-general of the army of the United
States, and one thousand regulars.
The murder of Mcintosh — the defamation of the chief magistrate of
Georgia — the menace . : military force to coerce her to submission —
were followed by the traduction of two of her cherished citizens, em-
156 TUB SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
ployed as the agents of the general government in negotiating the
treatj — gentlemen whose integrity will not Bhrink from a comparison
with that of the proudest and loftiest of their accusers. Then the
sympathies of the people of the Union were excited in behalf of "the
children of the forest," who were represented as indignantly spurning
the gold which was ottered to entice them from the graves of their
fathers, and resolutely determined never to abandon them. The inci-
dents of the plot being thus prepared, the affair hasten to its con-
Bummation. A new treaty is negotiated here — a pure and spottest
treaty. The rights of Georgia and of Alabama arc sacrificed; the
United States obtain a part of the land-, and pay double the amount
Stipulated by the old treaty; and those poor and noble, and unsophis-
ticated Bons of the forest, having succeeded in imposing on the simplicity
of this government, next concert, under its eve, and with its knowL
the means of defrauding their own constituents, the chiefs and warriors
of the Creek nation.
' </V Thirty )'
THE PROTECTIVE SYSTEM.
Geoiig!: McDcffie.
The days of Roman liberty were numbered when the people consented
to receive bread from the public granaries. From that moment it was
not the patriot who had shown the greatest capacity and made the
greatest sacrifices to serve the republic, but the demagogue wdio would
promise to distribute most profusely the spoils of the plundered
vinces, that was elevated to office by a degenerate and mercenary
populace. Everything became venal, even in the country of Fabricius,
until finally the empire itself was sold at public auction ! And what,
sir, is the nature and tendency of the system we are discussing? It
bears an analogy, but too lamentably striking, to that which corrupted
the republican purity of the Roman people. God forbid that it should
consummate its triumph over the public liberty, by a similar catastrophe,
though even that is an event by no means improbable, if we continue
to legislate periodically in this way, and to connect the election of our
chief magistrate with the question of dividing out the spoils of certain
states — degraded into Roman provinces — among the influential capi-
talists of the other states of this Union ! Sir, when I consider that, by
a single act like the present, from five to ten millions of dollars may be
transferred annually from one part of the community to another ; when
I consider the disguise of disinterested patriotism under which the
basest and most profligate ambition may perpetrate such an act of
injustice and political prostitution, I cannot hesitate, for a moment, to
pronounce this very system of indirect bounties the most stupendous
instrument of corruption ever placed in the hands of public functionaries.
From '• Benton's Thirty T^ar.<' FSpw."
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 157
THE CHARTER OF BITNNYMEDB.
Lord Chatham.
My lords, I have better hopes of the constitution, and a firmer con-
fidence in the wisdom and constitutional authority of this house. It
is to your ancestors, my lords, it is to the English barons, that we are
indebted for the laws and constitution we possess. Their Yirtues were
rude and uncultivated, but they were great and sincere. Their under-
standings were as little polished as their manners, but they had hearts
to distinguish right from wrong ; they had heads to distinguish truth
from falsehood ; they understood the rights of humanity, and they had
spirit to maintain them.
My lords, I think that history has not done justice to their conduct,
when they obtained from their sovereign, that great acknowledgment of
national rights contained in Magna Charta : they did not confine it to
themselves alone, but delivered it as a common blessing to the whole
people. They did not say, these are the rights of the great barons, or
these are the rights of the great prelates : — No, my lords ; they said, in
the simple Latin of the times, nullus liber homo, and provided as care-
fully for the meanest subject as for the greatest. These are uncouth
words, and sound but poorly in the ears of scholars ; neither are they
addressed to the criticism of scholars, but to the hearts of free men.
These three words, nullus liber homo, have a meaning which interests
us all : they deserve to be remembered — they deserve to be inculcated
in our minds — they are worth all the classics. Let us not, then,
degenerate from the glorious example of our ancestors. Those iron
barons (for so I may call them when compared with the silken barons
of modern days) were the guardians of the people ; yet their virtues,
my lords, were never engaged in a question of such importance as the
present. A breach has been made in the constitution — the battlements
are dismantled — the citadel is open to the first invader — the walls
totter — the constitution is not tenable. What remains, then, but for
us to stand foremost in the breach, to repair it, or perish in it?
From '''Speech on the Address to the Throne," 1770.
THE FRENCH REVOLUTION.
Sir James IIcIxtosh.
The French revolution began with great and fatal errors. These
errors produced atrocious crimes. A mild and feeble monarchy was
succeeded by bloody anarchy, which very shortly gave birth to military
despotism. France, in a few years, described the whole circle of human
society.
All this was in the order of nature. When every principle of autho-
14
158 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
rity and civil discipline, when every principle which enables some men
to command and disposes others to obey, was extirpated from the mind
by atrocious theories, and still more atrocious examples ; when every
old institution was trampled down with contumely, and every new
institution covered in its cradle with blood; when the principle of
property itself, the sheet-anchor of society, was annihilated ; when in
the persons of the new possessors, whom the poverty of language
obliges us to call proprietors, it was contaminated in its source by
robbery and murder, and it became separated from that education and
those manners, from that general presumption of superior knowledge
and more scrupulous probity which form its only liberal titles to
respect; when the people were taught to despise everything old, and
compelled to detest everything new ; there remained only one principle
strong enough to hold society together, a principle utterly incompati-
ble, indeed, with liberty, and unfriendly to civilization itself, a tyran-
nical and barbarous principle; but, in that miserable condition of
human affairs, a refuge from still more intolerable evils. I mean the
principle of military power, which gains strength from that confusion
and bloodshed in which all the other elements of society are dissolved,
and which, in thc<e terrible extremities, is the cement that preserves it
from total destruction.
From " Speech on the Trial of Peltier.''
AMERICAN PETITIONS.
Lord Chatham.
WnEx your lordships look at the papers transmitted us from
America ; when you consider their decency, firmness, and wisdom,
you cannot but respect their cause and wish to make it your own. For
myself, I must declare and avow, that in all my reading and observa-
tion — and it has been my favorite study — I have read Thucydides, and
have studied and admired the master states of the world — that for
solidity of reasoning, force of sagacity, and wisdom of conclusion,
under such a complication of difficult circumstances, no nation, or body
of men, can stand in preference to the General Congress at Philadel-
phia. I trust it is obvious to your lordships, that all attempts to
impose servitude upon such men, to establish despotism over such a
mighty continental nation, must be vain, must be fatal. We shall be
forced ultimately to retract ; let us retract while we can, not when we
must. I say we must necessarily undo these violent oppressive acts ;
they must be repealed — you will repeal them ; I pledge myself for it,
that you will in the end repeal them ; I stake my reputation on it — I
will consent to be taken for an idiot, if they are not finally repealed.
Avoid, then, this humiliating, disgraceful necessity. With a dignity
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 159
becoming your exalted situation, make the first advances to concord, to
peace and happiness ; for that is your true dignity, to act with pru-
dence and justice. That you should first concede, is obvious, from
sound and rational policy. Concession comes with better grace and
more salutary effect from superior power. It reconciles superiority of
power with the feelings of men, and establishes solid confidence on the
foundations of affection and gratitude.
From " Speech on Removing the Troops from Boston" 1770.
THE EXILE'S FATE.
KlCHAKD LALOR SHEIL.
The prison of this town will present, on Monday next, a very afflicting
spectacle. Before the prisoner ascends the vehicle which is to convey
him for transportation to Cork, he will be allowed to take leave of his
wife and children. She will cling to his bosom; and while her arms are
folded round his neck — while she sobs, in the agony of anguish, on his
breast — his children, who used to climb his knees in playful emulation
for his caresses *__*_*_—*** I will not go on with this dis-
tressing picture — your own emotions will complete it. The pains of
this poor man will not end at the threshold of his prison. He will be
conveyed in a vessel, freighted with affliction, across the ocean, and
will be set on the lonely and distant land from which he will depart no
more : the thoughts of home will haunt him, and adhere with a deadly
tenacity to his heart. He will mope about in a deep and settled sor-
row — he will have no incentive to exertion, for he will have bidden fare-
well to hope. The instruments of labor will hang idly in his hands —
he will go through his task without a consciousness of what he is doing.
Thus every day will go by, and at its close, his sad consolation will be
to stand on the shore, and, fixing his eyes in that direction in which he
will have been taught that his country lies, if not in the language, he
will, at least, exclaim, in the sentiments which have been so simply and
so pathetically expressed in the song of exile : —
" Erin, my country, though sad and forsaken,
In dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten shore ;
But, alas ! in far foreign lands I awaken,
And sigh for the friends that can meet me no more.
"Where is my cabin-door, fast by the wild wood,
Sisters and sire, did you weep for its fall,
Where is the mother that looked on my childhood,
And where is the bosom-friend dearer than all ?"
From " Speech at the Clonmel Aggregate Meeting," 1829.
100 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
RELIGIOUS CHARITY.
Riciiard L.u.on Srinit.
Let there be an end to national animosities AS well as to sectarian
detestations. Perish the bad theology, which, with an impious con-
e, makes God according to man's image, and with infernal passions
tills the heart of man ! Perish the had, the narrow, the pemicions
sentiments, which, for the genuine love of country, institutes a feeling
of despotic domination upon your part, and of provincial turbulence
upon ours; — and while upon pseudo-religion and pseudo-patriotism I
pronounce my denunciation, live (let me be permitted to pray) the
spirit of philanthropic, forbearing, forgiving Christianity amongst us!
and, combined with it, live the lofty love of country, which associates
the welfare of both islands with the glory of this majestic empire —
which, superior to the small passions that ought to be as ephemeral as
the incidents of which they were born, acts in conformity with the
imperial policy of William Pitt, and the marvellous disc ivery of James
Watt — sees the legislation of the one ratified by the science of the
other, and, of the project of the son of Chatham, in the invention of
the mighty mechanist, beholds the consummation.
From " Speech on the Irish Reform Bill," 1836.
DEFENCE OF JOIIN O'CONNELL.
Richard Lalor Sheil.
You will not consign him to the spot to which the attorney-general
invites you to surrender him. When the spring shall have come again,
and the winter shall have passed — when the spring shall have come
again, it is not through the windows of a prison-house that the father
of such a son, and the son of such a father, shall look upon those green
hills on which the eyes of many a captive have gazed so wistfully in
vain, but in their own mountain home again they shall listen to the
murmurs of the great Atlantic ; they shall go forth and inhale the
freshness of the morning air together ; " they shall be free of mountain
solitudes ;" they will be encompassed with the loftiest images of liberty
upon every side ; and if time shall have stolen its suppleness from the
father's knee, or impaired the firmness of his tread, he shall lean on
the child of her that watches over him from heaven, and shall look out
from some high place far and wide into the island whose greatness and
whose glory shall be for ever associated with his name. In your love
of justice — in your love of Ireland — in your love of honesty and fair
play — I place my confidence. I ask you for an acquittal, not only for
the sake of your country, but for your own. Upon the day when this
trial shall have been brought to a termination, when, amidst the hush
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 161
of public expectancy, in answer to the solemn interrogatory which
shall be put to you by the officer of the court, you shall answer, " Not
guilty," with what a transport will that glorious negative be welcomed !
How will you be blest, adored, worshipped ; and when retiring from
this scene of excitement and of passion, you shall return to your own
tranquil homes, how pleasurably will you look upon your children, in
the consciousness that you will have left them a patrimony of peace by
impressing upon the British cabinet, that some other measure besides
a state prosecution is necessary for the pacification of your country !
From " Speech in the, Court of Queen's Bench," 1843.
IRON LINKS.
Rufus Choate.
One splendid effort has been made to lay hold of the West and
North-west. One more may be undertaken, and there is no more
afterwards to be made. Sir, if the East, if Maine, if that large but
desert territory away up under the North Star, her coast iron bound,
her soil sterile, her winters cold — if Maine needs two ocean communi-
cations, do you think that the Great West will not pay for two only ?
Yet two are all that can be considered practicable. And the last of
these two is to be accomplished by you, or not at all. These are the
opportunities that make me regret my want of participation in public
life.
" Non equidem invideo, miror magis."
You remember that passage in which a great English statesman, on
the verge of the grave, so pertinently expressed himself, that he " would
not give a peck of refuse wheat for all that there is of fame or honor
in this world." That sentiment may be a true one. But to connect
ourselves with an act of public utility, to do an act that shall stand out
clear and distinct among all the aggregate of acts that have made
Massachusetts what she has become, to rivet one more chain that
shall bind the East to the free North-west for ever, to contribute to a
policy that shall make it quite certain that if the great Central Con-
stellation is to be placed over the sky, New England shall claim its
share in the brightness — this is worth far more than all for which
ambition has ever sighed ; and this, Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen, is
permitted to-day to you.
From " Speech in a Railroad Case," 1850.
14* L
162 THE SELECT ACADEMIC BPEAKER.
THE LBABNING FOR A JUDGE.
IATB.
The good judge should be profoundly learned in all the learning of
the law, and he must know h<>\\ to use that Learning. Will any one
stand up here to deny this? In this day, boastful, glorious lor its
advancing popular, professional, scientific, and all education, will any
one disgrace himself by doubting the necessity of deep and continued
studies, and various and thorough attainments, to tin- bench? II' 1 i-
to know not merely the law which yon make and the Legislature ma
not constitutional and statute law alone, but that other, ampler, that
boundless jurisprudence, the common law. which tin' successive gene-
rations of the state have silently built up; that old code of freedom
which we brought with us in the Mayflower and Arabella, but which
in the progress of centuries we have ameliorated and enriched and
adapted wisely to the necessities of a busy, prosperous, and wealthy
community, — that he must know. And where to find it'.' In volumes
which you must count by hundreds, by thousands; filling Libraries;
exacting long Labors; the labors of a lifetime, abstracted from busi-
ness, from politics; but assisted by taking part in an active judicial
administration ; Buch labors a- produced the wisdom and won the fame
of Parsons, and Marshall, ami Kent, and Story, and Holt, and .Man-
field. If your system of appointment and tenure does not present a
motive, a help for such labors and such learning; it" it discourage-, if
it disparages them, in so far it is a failure.
From ' (ton."
THE INCORRUPTIBLE JUDGE.
Hit us Cuoate.
Ix the next place, he must be a man, not merely upright, not merely
honest and well-intentioned — this of course— but a man who will not
respect persons in judgment. And does not every one here agree to
this also ? Dismissing, for a moment, all theories about the mode of
appointing him, or the time for which he shall hold office, sure I am,
we all demand, that as far as human virtue, assisted by the best con-
trivances of human wisdom, can attain to it, he shall not respect persons
in judgment. He shall know nothing about the parties, everything about
the ease. He shall do everything for justice, nothing for himself, nothing
for his friend, nothing for his patron, nothing for his sovereign. If on
the one side is the executive power, and the legislature, and the people —
the sources of his honors, the givers of his daily bread — and on the other,
an individual nameless and odious, his eye is to see neither great nor
small : attending only to the " trepidations of the balance. " If a law
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 163
is passed by a unanimous legislature, clamored for by the general voice
of the public, and a cause is before him on it in which the whole com-
munity is on one side, and an individual nameless or odious on the
other, and he believes it to be against the Constitution, he must so
declare it, or there is no judge. If Athens comes there to demand that
the cup of hemlock be put to the lips of the wisest of men, and he
believes that he has not corrupted the youth, nor omitted to worship the
gods of the city, nor introduced new divinities of his own, he must deliver
him, though the thunder light on the unterrified brow.
From " Speech in Massachusetts Convention.''
STATES PEOTECTED BY THE GENERAL GOVERNMENT.
T. F. Marshall,
The exterior states are the bulwarks of her safety — the impregnable
fortresses which break the storm of war, and keep far distant from her
borders its ravage and its horrors. She views them as such, and regards
their rights, their safety, and their liberty as her own. She is one of a
system of nerves which vibrate at the least touch from without from the
remotest extremity to the centre. The frontier of New York is her
frontier ; the Atlantic seaboard is her seaboard ; and the millions ex-
pended in fortifying the one or the other, she regards as expended for
her defence. A blow aimed at New York is a blow aimed at herself; an
indignity or an outrage inflicted upon any state in this Union, is inflicted
upon the whole and upon each. To submit to such were to sacrifice
her independence and her freedom — to make all other blessings value-
less, all other property insecure. Not all the unsettled domain of the
Union, in full property and jurisdiction, could bribe her to such a
sacrifice. The blood she has shed on the snows of Canada and in the
swamps of Louisiana, give ample testimony to her readiness to meet
danger at a distance. She seeks no separate destiny ; she feels no
interest alien from the common country. She wants this money to
strengthen herself, and, by strengthening herself, to make the whole
country stronger and better able to maintain any future conflict in
which its interests or its safety may involve it.
From '•' Speech on the Land Bffl ; " 1841.
MODERN TOLERATION.
T. F. Marshall.
Men have been known to fight for their religion and their franchises.
John Huss was an obscure professor in a German university. The
Emperor Sigismund, when he burnt him at Constance, little dreamed
164 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
that from the ashes of the friendless martyr there would rise the flamea
of a war in Bohemia which would shake the Austrian power, and deso-
late Germany through long years of suffering and of blood. If the
persecuting temper of the sixteenth century is to be renewed here, if
American Protestantism so far forgets its genius and its mission, u to
aid in rekindling the religious wars of that terrible period in quest of
vengeance for the gone centuries of wrong, religion will suffer most.
True Christianity will veil her face and seek the shade, till better
times. Men will be divided between a sullen and sordid fanaticism
on the one side, and a scoffing infidelity on the other. Our national
characteristics will be lost. American civilization will have changed
its character. Our Federal Union will have sacrificed its distinctive
traits, and we shall have exhibited a failure in the principles with
which our government commenced its career, at which hell itself might
exult in triumph.
From".tye>< . A'y," 1855.
STATE LAWS.
Alexander Hamilton.
There is one transcendent advantage belonging to the province of
state governments, which alone suffices to place the matter in a clear
and satisfactory light — I mean the ordinary administration of criminal
and civil justice. This, of all others, is the most powerful, most uni-
versal, and most attractive source of popular obedience and attachment.
It is this, which, being the immediate and visible guardian of life and
property ; having its benefits and its terrors in constant activity before
the public eye ; regulating all those personal interests, and familiar
concerns, to which the sensibility of individuals is more immediately
awake ; contributes, more than any other circumstance, to impress upon
the minds of the people affection, esteem, and reverence towards the
government. This great cement of society, which will diffuse itself
almost wholly through the channels of the particular governments,
independent of all other causes of influence, would insure them so
decided an empire over their respective citizens, as to render them at
all times a complete counterpoise, and not unfrequent dangerous rivals
to the power of the union.
From " Tfte Federalist."
THE CONSTITUTION A BILL OF EIGHTS.
Alexander Hamilton.
The constitution is itself, in every rational sense, and to every useful
purpose, a bill of rights. The several bills of rights in Great Britain,
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 165
form its constitution, and conversely the constitution of each state is its
bill of rights. In like manner the proposed constitution, if adopted,
will be the bill of rights of the Union. Is it one object of a bill of
rights to declare and specify the political privileges of the citizens in the
structure and administration of the government? This is done in the
most ample and precise manner in the plan of the convention ; com-
prehending various precautions for the public security, which are not to
be found in any of the state constitutions. Is another object of a bill
of rights to define certain immunities and modes of proceeding, which
are relative to personal and private concerns ? This we have seen has
also been attended to, in a variety of cases, in the same plan. Advert-
ing therefore to the substantial meaning of a bill of rights, it is absurd
to allege that it is not to be found in the work of the convention. It
may be said that it does not go far enough, though it will not be easy
to make this appear ; but it can with no propriety be contended that
there is no such thing. It certainly must be immaterial what mode is
observed as to the order of declaring the rights of the citizens, if they
are provided for in any part of the instrument which establishes the
government : whenco it must be apparent, that much of what has been
said on this subject rests merely on verbal and nominal distinctions,
entirely foreign to the substance of the thing.
From " The Federalist."
THE POWEE OF THE CONSTITUTION.
James Madison.
If the new constitution be examined with accuracy and candor, it
will be found that the change which it proposes, consists much less in
the addition of new powers to the Union than in the invigoration of its
original powers. The regulation of commerce, it is true, is a new
power ; but that seems to be an addition which few oppose, and from
which no apprehensions are entertained. The powers relating to war
and peace, armies and fleets, treaties and finance, with the other more
considerable powers, are all vested in the existing Congress by the Arti-
cles of Confederation. The proposed change does not enlarge these
powers ; it only substitutes a more effectual mode of administering
them. The change relating to taxation may be regarded as the most
important ; and yet the present Congress have as complete authority to
require of the states indefinite supplies of money for the common
defence and general welfare, as the future Congress will have to require
them of individual citizens ; and the latter will be no more bound than
the states themselves have been, to pay the quotas respectively taxed on
them. Had the states complied punctually with the Articles of Confed-
eration, or could their compliance have been enforced by as peaceable
1GG THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
means as may bo used with Bucoess towards single persons, <>ur past
experience is very far from countenancing an opinion, thai the state
governments would have lost their constitutional powers, and have
gradually undergone an entire consolidation. To maintain thai such
an event would have ensued, would be, to say at once, thai the existence
of the state governments is incompatible with any Bystem whatever, that
accomplishes the essential purposes of the Union.
From " The FedcraUttr
EULOGY ON FRANKLIN.
Abb£ Facchet.
Franklin did not omit any of the means of being useful to men, or
serviceable to society. He spoke to all conditions, to both sexes, to
every age. This amiable moralist descended, in his writings, to tin-
most artless details ; to the most ingenuous familiarities; to the first
ideas of a rural, a commercial, and a civil life; to the dialogues of old
men and children ; full at once of all the verdure and all the maturity
of wisdom. In short, the prudent lessons arising from the exposition
of those obscure happy, easy virtues, which form BO many links in the
chain of a good man's life, derived immense weight from that reputa-
tion for genius which he had acquired, by being one of the first natural-
ists and greatest philosophers in the universe.
At one and the same time, he governed nature in the heavens and in
the hearts of men. Amidst the tempests of the atmosphere, he directed
the thunder ; amidst the storms of society, he directed the passions.
Think, gentlemen, with what attentive docility, with what religious
respect, one must hear the voice of a simple man, who preached up
human happiness, when it was recollected that it was the powerful
voice of the same man who regulated the lightning.
He electrified the consciences, in order to extract the destructive fire
of vice, exactly in the same manner as he electrified the heavens, in
order peaceably to invite from them the terrible fire of the elements.
Venerable old man ! august philosopher ! legislator of the felicity of
thy country, prophet of the fraternity of the human race, what ecstatic
happiness embellished the end of thy career ! From thy fortunate
asylum, and in the midst of thy brothers who enjoyed in tranquillity
the fruit of thy virtues, and the success of thy genius, thou hast sung
songs of deliverance. The last looks, which thou didst cast around
thee, beheld America happy ; France, on the other side of the ocean,
free, and a sure indication of the approaching freedom and happiness
of the world.
Pronounced in Paris, 1790.
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 167
THE AMERICAN MOTIVE TO WAR.
Charles James Fox,
Every blow you strike in America is against yourselves ; it is against
all idea of reconciliation, and against your own interest, though you
should be able, as you never will be, to force them to submit. Every
stroke against France is of advantage to you : America must be con-
quered in France ; France never can be conquered in America.
The war of the Americans is a war of passion ; it is of such a nature
as to be supported by the most powerful virtues, love of liberty and of
their country ; and, at the same time, by those passions in the human
heart which give courage, strength, and perseverance to man ; the
spirit of revenge for the injuries you have done them; of retaliation
for the hardships you have inflicted on them ; and of opposition to the
unjust powers you have exercised over them. Everything combines to
animate them to this war, and such a war is without end ; for whatever
obstinacy, enthusiasm ever inspired man with, you will now find in
America. No matter what gives birth to that enthusiasm ; whether
the name of religion or of liberty, the effects are the same ; it inspires
a spirit which is unconquerable, and solicitous to undergo difficulty,
danger, and hardship : and as long as there is a man in America, a
being formed such as we are, you will have him present himself against
you in the field.
From " Speech in Parliament," 1778.
THE REIGN OF TERROR.
Lord Brougham.
The Reign of Terror, under which no life was secure for a day ; the
wholesale butcheries, both of the prisoners in September, and by the
daily executions that soon followed ; the violence of the conscription,
which filled every family with orphans and widows ; the profligate des-
potism and national disasters under the Directory ; the military tyranny
of Napoleon ; the sacrifice of millions to slake his thirst of conquest ;
the invasion of France by foreign troops — pandours, hussars, cossacks,
twice revelling in the spoils of Paris ; the humiliating occupation of
the country for five years by the allied armies, and her ransom by the
payment of millions ; — these were the consequences, more or less re-
mote, of the Reign of Terror, which so burnt into the memory of all
Frenchmen the horrors of anarchy, as to make an aversion to change
for a quarter of a century the prevailing characteristic of a people not
the least fickle among the nations, and to render a continuance of any
yoke bearable, compared with the perils of casting it off. All these
evils were the price paid by the respectable classes of France, but espe-
1G8 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
cially of Paris, for their unworthy dread of resisting the clubs and the
mob in 1792.
From " Eminent Statesmen."
DENUNCIATION OF LORD CASTLEREAGH.
Lord BROCQnAM.
My lasting sorrow for the loss we have sustained is made deeper, by
the regret that those lamented friends live DOt to witness the punish-
ment of that foul conduct which they solemnly denounced. The petty
tyrant, to whom the noble lord delivered over that ancient and gallant
people, almost as soon as they had, at his call, joined the standard of
national independence, has since subjected them to the most rigOTOQI
provisions <>f his absurd code; a code directed especially against the
commerce of this country, and actually less unfavorable to France.
Thus, then, it appears that after all, in public as well as in private,
in state affairs as well as in the concerns of the most humble indivi-
duals, the old maxim cannot Bafely be forgotten, that "honesty i- the
best policy." In vain did the noble lord ilatter himself that his sub-
serviency to the unrighteous system of the Congress would secure him
the adherence of the courts whom he made his idols. If he had aban-
doned that false, foreign system, if he had acted upon the principles
of the nation whom he represented, and stood forward as the advocate
of the people, the people would have becu grateful. He preferred the
interests and wishes of the courts; and by the courts he is treated with
their wonted neglect. To his crimes against the people, all over Eu-
rope ; to his invariable surrender of their cause; to his steady refusal
of the protection which they had a right to expect, and which they did
expect, from the manly and generous character of England, it is owing,
that if at this moment you traverse the Continent, in any direction
whatever, you may trace the noble lord's career in the curses of the
nations whom he has betrayed, and the mockery of the courts who have
inveigled him to be their dupe.
From " Speech in Parliament."
THE VALOR OF THE IRISH ALIENS.
R. L. Sheil.
There is, however, one man of great abilities, not a member of this
house (Lord Lyndhurst), but whose talents and whose boldness have
placed him in the topmost place in his party — who, disdaining all
imposture, and thinking it the best course to appeal directly to the reli-
gious and national antipathies of the people of this country — abandon-
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 169
ing all reserve, and flinging off the slender veil by which his political
associates affect to cover, although they cannot hide, their motives —
distinctly and audaciously tells the Irish people that they are not enti-
tled to the same privileges as Englishmen ; and prononnces them, in
any particular which could enter his minute enumeration of the circum-
stances by which fellow-citizenship is created, in race, identity, and
religion — to be aliens — to be aliens in race — to be aliens in country —
to be aliens in religion. Aliens! good God! was Arthur, Duke of
"Wellington, in the House of Lords, and did he not start up and exclaim,
" Hold ! I have seen the aliens do their duty" ? The Duke of Welling-
ton is not a man of an excitable temperament. His mind is of a cast
too martial to be easily moved ; but, notwithstanding his habitual
inflexibility, I cannot help thinking that when he heard his Roman
Catholic countrymen (for we are his countrymen) designated by a
phrase as offensive as the abundant vocabulary of his eloquent con-
federate could supply — I cannot help thinking that he ought to have
recollected the many fields of fight in which we have been contributors
to his renown. "The battles, sieges, fortunes that he has passed,"
ought to have come back upon him. He ought to have remembered that,
from the earliest achievement in which he displayed that military
genius which has placed him foremost in the annals of modern war-
fare, down to that last and surpassing combat which has made his
name imperishable — from Assaye to Waterloo — the Irish soldiers, with
whom your armies are filled, were the inseparable auxiliaries to the
glory with which his unparalleled successes have been crowned. Whose
were the arms that drove your bayonets at Vimiera through the pha-
lanxes that never reeled in the shock of war before ? What desperate
valor climbed the steeps and filled the moats at Badajos? All his
victories should have rushed and crowded back upon his memory —
Vimiera, Badajos, Salamanca, Albuera, Toulouse, and, last of all the
greatest . Tell me, for you were there — I appeal to the gallant
soldier before me (Sir Henry Hardinge,) from whose opinions I differ,
but who bears, I know, a generous heart in an intrepid breast ; — tell
me, for you must needs remember — on that day when the destinies of
mankind were trembling in the balance — while death fell in showers
— when the artillery of France was levelled with a precision of the
most deadly science — when her legions, incited by the voice, and
inspired by the example of their mighty leader, rushed again and
again to the onset — tell me if, for an instant, when, to hesitate for an
instant was to be lost, the " aliens" blenched ? And when at length
the moment for the last and decisive movement had arrived, and the
valor which had so long been wisely checked, was at last let loose —
when, with words familiar, but immortal, the great captain com-
manded the great assault — till me, if Catholic Ireland, with less heroic
15
170 Tin: SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
valor than the natives of this your own uiitry. pr<
herself upon the foe? The 1.1 S land, and of Ireland,
flowed in the & an, and drenched th< ■'• n the
chill morning dawned, their dead lay oold an r ; — in x 1 i *-
same deep pit their bodies were deposited — t! rn of sprii
now breaking from their commingled <lu-t — the dew falls from hi
upon their union in -the grave. Partakers in every peril — in the glory
-hall we not be permitted to participate; and shall we he told, M ■
requital, that we are estranged from the noble country for whose salva-
tion our life-blood was poured out'.'
From " Speech on Vu. Irish Municipal Bill."
RETIREMENT FROM THE SENATE.
Hexbt Clat.
Allow me, Mr. President, to announce, formally and officially,
my retirement from the Senate of the United State.-, and to pr
the last motion which I shall ever make within this body; but,
before making that motion, I trust I shall be pardoned for availing
!f of this occasion to make a fa i my
entry into this body, which took place in December, l v 1 r warded
it, and still regard it, as a body which may be compared, without
disadvantage, to any of a similar character which has exi.-ted in ancient
or modern times ; whether we look at it in reference to its dignit
powers, or the mode of its constitution ; and I will also add, whether
it be regarded in reference to the amount of ability which I shall leave
behind me when I retire from this chamber. In instituting a compa-
rison between the Senate of the United States and similar political
institutions, of other countries, of France and England, for example,
I am sure the comparison might be made without disadvantage to
the American Senate. In respect to the constitution of these bodies:
in England, with only the exception of the peers from Ireland and
Scotland, and in France with no exception, the component parts, the
members of these bodies, hold their places by virtue of no delegated
authority, but derive their powers from the crown, either by ancient
creation of nobility transmitted by force of hereditary descent, or by
new patents as occasion required an increase of their numbers. But
here, Mr. President, we have the proud title of being the representa-
tives of sovereign states or commonwealths. If we look at the powers
of these bodies in France and England, and the powers of this Senate,
we shall find that the latter are far greater than the former. In both
those countries they have the legislative power, in both the judicial
with some modifications, and in both perhaps a more extensive judicial
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 171
power than is possessed by this Senate; but then the vast and unde-
fined and undefinable power, the treaty-making power, or at least a
participation in the conclusions of treaties with foreign powers, is
possessed by this Senate, and is possessed by neither of the others.
Another power, too, and one of infinite magnitude, that of distributing
the patronage of a great nation, which is shared by this Senate with
the executive magistrate. In both these respects we stand upon ground
different from that occupied by the Houses of Peers of England and
of France. And I repeat, that with respect to the dignity which
ordinarily prevails in this body, and with respect to the ability of its
members during the long period of my acquaintance with it, without
arrogance or presumption, we may say, in proportion to its numbers,
the comparison would not be disadvantageous to us compared with any
Senate either of ancient or modern times.
From '■' Benton's Thirty Years' View."
THE DEEDS OF GENERAL TAYLOR.
Jefferson Davis.
Sir, it was not alone in the United States that the military move-
ments and achievements on the Rio Grande were viewed with admira-
tion. The greatest captain of the age, the Duke of Wellington, the
moment he saw the positions taken and the combinations made upon
the Rio Grande, — the moment he saw the communication opened
between the depot at Point Isabel and the garrison at Fort Brown, by
that masterly movement of which the battles of Palo Alto and Resaca
de la Palma were a part, — exclaimed, that General Taylor is a general
indeed. And yet, sir, all history is to be rewritten, all the rapture and
pride of the country at the achievements upon those bloody fields are
to disappear, and the light of science to pale before the criticism of that
senator by whom we are told that a little band of mounted riflemen
could have done that which cost so many American lives and hecatombs
of Mexicans.
I have spoken thus as a simple duty, not from any unkindness to the
senator, but that I might do justice to many of my comrades, whose
dust now mingles with the earth upon which they fought — that I might
not leave unredressed the wrongs of the buried dead. I have endeavored
to suppress all personal feeling, though the character of the attack upon
my friend and general might have pardoned its indulgence. It is true
that sorrow sharpens memory, and that many deeds of noblest self-
sacrifice, many tender associations, rise now vividly before me. I
remember the purity of his character, his vast and varied resources ;
and I remember how the good and great qualities of his heart were
172 THE BELBi C ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
equally and jointly exhibited when he took the immense responsibility
under which he acted at the battle of Baena Vista, foughl after he had
been recommended by his to Monterey.
Arouud him stood those whose lives were in his charge, whose
mothers, fathers, wives, and children would look to him for their
return: those were there who had shared his fortunes on other fields ;
Home who, never having seen a battle, were eager for the combat,
without knowing how direful it would be; immediately about him
those loving and beloved, and reposing Buch confidence in their com-
mander that they hut waited his heck and will to do and dare. On
him, and on him alone, rested the responsibility. It was in his power
to avoid it by retiring to Monterey, there to he invested and captured,
and then justify himself under his instructions. He would not do it.
but cast all upon the die, resolved to maintain his country's honor, and
save his country's flag from trailing in the dust of the enemy he had 90
often beaten, or close the conqueror's career as became the soldier. His
purpose never wavered, hie determination never faltered: his country's
honor to be untarnished, his country's Hag to triumph, or for himself
to find an honorable grave, was the only alternative he considi
Under these circumstances, on the morning of the 213(1 of February,
that glorious but bloody conflict commenced. It won for him a chaplet
that it would be a disgrace for an American to mutilate, and which it
were an idle attempt to adorn. I leave it to a grateful country, which
i> conscious of his services, and possesses a discrimination that is not
to be confounded by the assertions of any, however high their position.
From '• Speech in the & note."
CONSTITUTIONAL KESPOXSIBILITY.
Stephex A. Douglas.
All officers and magistrates, under the federal and state govern-
ments, — executive, legislative, judicial, and ministerial, — arc required
to take an oath to support the constitution, before they can enter upon
the performance of their respective duties. Every person born under
the constitution owes allegiance to it ; and every naturalized citizen
takes an oath to support it. Fidelity to the constitution is the only
passport to the enjoyment of rights under it. When a senator elect
presents his credentials, he is not allowed to take his seat until he
places his hand upon the holy evangelists, and appeals to his God for
the sincerity of his vow to support the constitution. He who does this
with a mental reservation, or secret intention to disregard any provi-
sion of the constitution, commits a double crime — is morally guilty of
perfidy to his God and treason to his country.
DECLAMATIONS IN PILOSE. 173
If the constitution of the United States is to be repudiated upon the
ground that it is repugnant to the divine law, where are the friends of
freedom and Christianity to look for another and a better ? Who is to
be the prophet to reveal trie will of God and establish a theocracy
for us ?
I will not venture to inquire what are to be the form and principles
of the new government, or to whom is to be intrusted the execution of
its sacred functions ; for, when we decide that the wisdom of our revo-
lutionary fathers was foolishness, and their piety wickedness, and
destroy the only system of self-government that has ever realized the
hopes of the friends of freedom, and commanded the respect of man-
kind, it becomes us to wait patiently until the purposes of the latter
day saints shall be revealed unto us.
For my part, I am prepared to maintain and preserve inviolate the
constitution as it is, with all its compromises ; to stand or fall by the
American Union, clinging with the tenacity of life to all its glorious
memories of the past and precious hopes of the future.
From " Original Sermons."
THE FKENCH WAE.
J. J. Crittenden.
Thank God, the danger of this war has passed by, and we have, as
I believe, an almost certain assurance of reconciliation and peace with
France. Such an issue of this controversy cannot be regarded other-
wise than as a matter of public congratulation. If war had been its
result, I should have contributed all that was in my humble power to
render my country successful in that war. War of itself would have
been a sufficient reason for me to take my country's side, without
reference to its cause. But, sir, I must confess that I should have been
most loth to witness any such war as that with which we have been
threatened.
A war with whom, and for what ? A war with France, our first, our
ancient ally, whose blood flowed for us, and with our own, in the great
struggle that gave us our freedom and made us a nation. A war for
money ! a petty, paltry sum of money ! I know of no instance, cer-
tainly none among the civilized nations of modern times, of a war
waged for such an object; and if it be among the legitimate causes of
war, it is surely the most inglorious of them all. It can afford but
little of that generous inspiration which in a noble cause gives to war
its magnanimity and its glory. War for money must ever be an igno-
ble strife. On its barren fields the laurel cannot flourish. In the sordid
contest but little honor can be won, and Victory herself is almost
despoiled of her triumph.
15*
174 CHB SELE< I AOADBMIC SPEAKER.
If we should attempt by war to compel France to pay the money in
question, none who know the two n;iii OS ran doubt but the <•
would be fierce, bloody, and obstinate. Suppose, however, thai our
success is such as finally to enable us to*dictate terms to France, and
to oblige her to pay the money. Imagine, Mr. President, that the
little purse, the prise of war and carnage, is at Last obtained. There it
r, stained with the blond of Americans, and of Frenchmen, their
ancient friends. Could you, sir, behold or pocket that bloodrstained
purse without some emotions of pain and
JEWISH DISABILITY.
You say that the legislature ought to be a Christian legislature j
that the parliament ought to be a Christian parliament; but do you
not say that the nation is a Christian nation, and that the British
people arc a Christian people? Why, in the same sense in which you
Bay that the nation te a Christian nation, though there may be thirty
thousand .Jews among them, you might say that the parliament was a
Christian parliament, although, among the six hundred and fifr.
members of the House of Commons, there might be si - pro-
ng the Jewish religion. I therefore wish that this ground of
argument were not taken by those whose object it is to prevent the
Jews entering into parliament ; because the general character of the
parliament must depend, now, as in former times, on the sentiments
of the people at large, and on the sentiments of those who represent
them ; and it is not by inserting seven words in an act of parliament, —
it is not by a mechanical contrivance of this kind, — that you can secure
religious obligation.
If I am asked what are the prevailing reasons for the motion that I
propose, I appeal, in the first place, to the constitution of these realms ;
I appeal to that constitution which is intended to give to every man
those rewards, that honor, that estimation to which his character and
talents may entitle him. I appeal to that constitution which is the
enemy of restriction or disqualification ; to that constitution which, by
the abrogation of the laws existing a few years ago, has put an end
even to those cases of exception which our ancestors thought, upon the
ground of imminent danger to the state and church, they were justified
in imposing. I ask you, in the name of that constitution, to take away
this last remnant of religious persecution, to show that you are not
influenced by the numbers or terrors that might make that which was
an act of political justice, an act of political necessity. I ask you, in
the name of that constitution, to admit the Jews to all the privileges,
to all the rights, of which those who are not excluded from them, are
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 175
so justly proud ; and, let me tell you, that you cannot judge of the
feelings of those who are excluded, by the number of those who might
wish for seats in parliament, or who might aspire to hold office under
the crown. Many a man who would not seek for either, would be
content to pass his days in obscurity, and would wish for no other
advantages than those of private life ; but he feels the galling degra-
dation, the brand that is imposed upon him, when he is told that men
of all other classes, men of the Established Church, Protestant dissent-
ers and Roman Catholics, may all enter within these walls, may all
enjoy those advantages; but that he belongs to a sect which, by the
law and constitution, is proscribed and degraded.
But I would make a still higher appeal. I would make an appeal to
the principles of that Christianity which has so long been the law of
the land. I appeal to you, then, in the name of that religion which is
a religion of charity and love, "to do unto others as you would they
should do unto you." — I ask you why it is, that, when we are taught
by examples and parables, that we ought to love our neighbors, it is
not priests or Levites who are singled out as instances for our approba-
tion and admiration ; but it is one of a proscribed sect, — one who
belonged to what was then the refuse of all nations ? I ask why is it
that we are taught that all men are brothers, — that there is no part of
the human race, however divided from us by feelings or color, that
ought to be separated from us ? but that all belong to the family of
man, and ought to be loved as brothers. I ask you, therefore, in the
name of that constitution which is the constitution of freedom, of
liberty, and of justice, — I ask you in the name of that religion which
is the religion of peace and good will towards men, — to agree to the
motion which I have the honor to make, " That the House should
resolve itself into a committee on the removal of the civil and political
disabilities affecting her Majesty's Jewish subjects.-"
From " Speech in Parliament."
AID TO HUNGARY.
Kossuth.
I believe there is the hand of God in history. You assigned a
place in this hall of freedom to the memory of Chatham, for having
been just to America, by opposing the stamp act, which awoke your
nation to resistance.
Now the people of England thinks as once Pitt, the elder, thought,
and honors, with deep reverence, the memory of your Washington.
But suppose the England of Lord Chatham's time had thought as
Chatham did: and his burning words had moved the English aristoc-
17G Till: BELE< X ACADEMIC SPEAKER
racy to be jus! towards the colonies; those four men there, bad not
signed your country's independence; Washington were perhaps ;i
name ''unknown, anhonored, and unsung;" and this proud constella-
tion of your glorious stars, had perhaps not yet risen on mankind's
sky, — instead of being now about b the sun of freedom. Ii is
thus Providence
Let me hope. Bir, that Hungary's unmerited fate was necessary in
order that your stars Bhould become such B sun.
Sir, I stand, perhaps, upon the very spot where your Washington
i. — a Becond Cincinnatus, consummating the greatest act of his
life. The walls which now listen to my humble words, Listened
to the words of his republican virtue, immortal by their very mo I
Let me, upon this .-acred spot, express my confident belief that if he
stood here now, he would tell you that his prophecy is fulfilled; that
you are mighty enough to defy any p *wer on earth, in a just cause ;
and he w old tell you that there never was, and never will be, a cause
more just than the cause of Bungary, being, as it is, the causi
Oppressed humanity.
Sir. I thank the Senate of -Maryland, in my country's name, for t!.''
honor of your generous welcome. Sir, I entreat the Senate kindly to
remember my downtrodden fatherland. Sir, I bid you farewell, feeling
heart and soul purified, and the resolution of my desires strengthened,
by the very air of this ancient city.
THE LIMIT OF INTERVENTION.
JUDOB I
There are special reasons why we should unite in praise and honor
to our illustrious guest. All who have studied his actions and his
speeches, and who have formed a right estimate of his character, will
concede this to be true. This estimate must not be founded on a partial
view. All his titles to approbation must be united. He must not
simply be regarded as the bold and wise asserter of his country's
freedom. Neither his affection, nor his hopes, are limited to his own
country. He is devoted to the cause of the people against their op-
pressors, — deeply impressed with the necessity of raising his people
politically and socially. He is a republican ; and even in England, he
frankly avowed himself to be such. His speeches and proclamations
at home, — and, above all, his magnificent discourses delivered in
England, conclusively prove that he is endowed with all the attributes
of an orator and a statesman. He is fitted by his knowledge, and his
wisdom, to sway the councils and rule the destinies of a nation.
Nor is this all. These all prove that he is, in the best sense of the
word, a conservative statesman, — that he is resolved to maintain those
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 177
time-hallowed institutions on which the peace of society depends. He
is a republican: — but he is not a Jacobin, — not a socialist. He is a
republican of the true color. — the color of our boundless skies and a
protecting heaven, — not of the red of France, reminding us of a Marat,
a Danton, or a Robespierre. He sees and he condemns the abuses that
exist under the old monarchies of Europe ; and he must know that,
until these forms be changed, those abuses must still exist. He is
equally a foe to those insane theories which seek to destroy the institu-
tions of society, — property, marriage, and all the relations of home.
His principles are not those of socialism ; — and it is a calumny to say
they are. I have studied his actions and his speeches ; and if there is
truth in man, his mind is not only very profoundly philosophical, but
deeply religious. The assertions to the contrary ought to be repelled,
as the vilest calumny.
The freedom he seeks to establish is that which we enjoy, — the
freedom of a well-balanced representative democracy. In short, the
freedom that he values is that which it is the paramount duty of your
judges to watch over and preserve. Here it is proper their voices
should be heard in the national chorus of applause that has greeted
his arrival, — a chorus that, I hope, each hour will contribute to swell.
It is the voice of a nation that has welcomed him to our shores. It has
been a chorus of perfect unanimity ; for the exceptions had been too
few to deserve a notice. — The moderation he has shown, the construc-
tive wisdom, as well as the ardor he has displayed, and the admirable
sentiments of his discourse, — it is these that have impressed on the
minds of the people a deep conviction of his moral elements and his
intellectual power.
I feel bound to say, however, to prevent misconstruction on my own
behalf as well as that of a large number of my brethren of the bench
and the bar, — that I must not be understood as assenting, or wish to
be understood as assenting, to the sentiments our guest has submitted
in regard to the policy of our government. Nothing has struck me
with so much admiration as his noble frankness. I feel that the same
frankness is due in return. I venture to say, that, if I cannot be heard,
mischief has been already done, and Americans could not be listened
to. It is not my purpose to enter upon any discussion of debatable
questions. I wish only to say that the questions which the sentiments
of our guest suggest, are regarded by many as the most deeply in-
teresting of any that have ever been raised since the foundation of our
government. And many of us doubt whether it is safe that such
propositions should be first submitted to popular assemblies, — when
reasons only on one side are heard. They involve a sudden and a
violent departure from the settled policy of our government, — a policy
not founded on a temporary expediency, but on the principles of our
M
178 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAK-ER.
v , m
constitution. Such propositions ought not to be adopted iffptil-myler-
stood in all their consequences, — until subjected to a thorough diacus-
sion.
From "Speech at the Dinner given by the Bar to Kossuth."''
THE CAUSE OF HUNGARY.
K. M. T. IIl/NTER.
When I first heard, sir, that the Hungarian patriots had been forced
to take refuge with the Turk, and seek at his hands tin- charity <>!' an
asylum which Christendom refused them, 1 could but recall the day
when that country was the bulwark of Christendom against the [nfidel,
and Hunniades made good its title to that debatable land between the
Crescent and tfa When 1 saw who the oppressor was, whose
foot was upon the neck of bleeding Hungary, I could but recur to the
time when a noble ancestress of his, who to the loveliness of woman
added the soul of a Caesar, threw herself upon those people for succor
and protection. The scene arose before me, as it appears on the pic-
tured page of Macaulay, in which she is represented upon horseback,
weak from recent suffering, yet strong in will, flushed under the weight
of St. Stephen's iron crown, and after a fashion of her race, which
would have been deemed extravagant by any but an Oriental imagina-
tion, waving the sword of state to the four quarters of the heavens,
and bidding defiance to the earth.
But hard as has been the lesson taught the Hungarian in his recent
struggles, it would do no good for foreign powers to interpose in his
favor, and give him armed assistance; still less would it be of any avail
to offer him such a resolution of sympathy as this. There is not, sir,
on the page of history, an instance of a nation which has maintained
its liberty by foreign aid ; for the moment the protecting hand is with-
drawn, it must fall, unless it has some internal resources — some means
within itself of maintaining its independence, and for self-defence. I
have said, sir, that this resolution of sympathy will do the Hungarian
cause no good. But is that enough to say? Is there no danger that it
may do that brave but unfortunate people some harm ? It has been
said, by wise and observing men, that the final catastrophe of Poland
was probably hastened by imprudent speeches made in the British
House of Commons and the French Chamber of Deputies. It is said
that those imprudent but sympathizing speeches awakened false hopes
in Poland, and led to unwise movements there.
Is there no danger that such a course of action as is proposed here
might give rise to unfounded hopes in Hungary, or increase, perhaps,
their sufferings by irritating those who govern them ? But, sir, be that
as it may with regard to Hungary, I am not prepared to take this step
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 179
from considerations of what is due to my own country. I give Hungary
rny best wishes, my earnest sympathy ; but I prefer my own country
to "any other, and I cannot sacrifice its interests fo* those of another.
I was sent here to legislate, not for foreign nations, but my own. I
will not abandon my own duties in the attempt to discharge those of
another. It would doubtless be pleasing to any generous mind to
indulge the demands of sympathy ; yet, sir, truth and justice are of
higher obligation, and ought to be of higher consideration still.
From "Speech in the Senate."
CATILINE DENOUNCED.
Cicero.
You see this day, Romans, the republic, and all your lives, your
goods, your fortunes, your wives and children, this home of most illus-
trious empire, this most fortunate and beautiful city, by the great love
of the immortal gods for you, by my labors and counsels and dangers,
snatched from fire and sword, and almost from the very jaws of fate,
and preserved and restored to you.
And if those days on which we are preserved are not less pleasant
to us, or less illustrious, than those on which we are born, because the
joy of being saved is certain, the good fortune of being born uncertain,
and because we are born without feeling it, but we are preserved with
great delight; ay, since we have, by our affection and by our good
report, raised to the immortal gods that Romulus who built this city,
he, too, who has preserved this city, built by him, and embellished as
you see it, ought to be held in honor by you and your posterity ; for we
have extinguished flames which were almost laid under and placed
around the temples and shrines, and houses and walls of the whole
city ; we have turned the edge of swords drawn against the republic,
and have turned aside their points from your throats. And since all
this has been displayed in the senate, and made manifest, and detected
by me, I will now explain it briefly, that you, citizens, that are as
yet ignorant of it, and are in suspense, may be able to see how great
the danger was, how evident and by what means it was detected and
arrested. First of all, since Catiline, a few days ago, burst out of the
city, when he had left behind the companions of his wickedness, the
active leaders of this infamous war, I have continually watched and
taken care, Romans, of the means by which we might be safe amid
such great and such carefully concealed treachery.
From " Third Oration against Catiline."
ISO THK SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
EXPUNGING RESOLUTION.
JOHM C. CALHOl \.
Talk to me of the voice of the people! No, sir. It is the combi-
nation of patronage and power to coerce this body into a gross and
palpable violation of the constitution. Some individuals, I perceive,
think to escape through the particular form in which this act is to he
perpetrated, They tell us that the resolution on your reoords is not to
be expunged, hut is only to be endorsed "Expunged." Really, sir, I
do not know how to argue against such contemptible sophistry. The
occasion is too solemn lor an argument of this sort. Sou an- going to
violate the constitution, and you get rid of the infamy by a falsehood.
You yourselves say that the resolution is expunged by your order. Yet
you Bay it is not expunged. You pui your act in express words. You
record it, and th.cn turn round ami deny it.
But why do 1 waste my breath? I know it is all utterly vain. The
day is gone; night approaches, and night is suitable to the dark deed
we meditate. There is a sort of destiny in this thing. The act must
be performed ; and it is an act which will tell on the political history
of this country for ever. Other preceding violations of the constitution
(and they have been many and great) filled my bosom with indigna-
tion, but this tills it only with grief. Others were done in the heat of
party. Power was, as it were, compelled to support itself by seizing
upon new instruments of influence and patronage; and there were
ambitious and able men to direct the process. Such was the removal
of the deposits, which the president seized upon by a new and unpre-
cedented act of arbitrary power ; an act which gave him ample means
of rewarding friends and punishing enemies. Something may, perhaps,
be pardoned to him in this matter, on the old apology of tyrants — the
plea of necessity. But here there can be no such apology. Here no
necessity can so much as be pretended. This act originates in pure,
unmixed, personal idolatry. It is the melancholy evidence of a broken
spirit, ready to bow at the feet of power. The former act was such a
one as might have been perpetrated in the days of Pompey or Caesar;
but an act like this could never have been consummated by a Romau
Senate until the times of Caligula and Nero.
From " Speech in the Senate on the Expunging Resolutions:'
HISTORICAL, BIOGRAPHICAL, AND
DESCRIPTIVE.
HISTORY PROPERLY WRITTEN".
Lord Macaotay.
The instruction derived from history properly written would be of a
vivid and practical character. It would be received by the imagination
as well as by the reason. It would be not merely traced on the mind,
but branded into it. Many truths, too, would be learned, which can be
learned in no other manner. As the history of states is generally writ-
ten, the greatest and most momentous revolutions seem to come upon
them like supernatural inflictions, without warning or cause. But the
fact is, that such revolutions are almost always the consequence of
moral changes, which have gradually passed on the mass of the com-
munity, and which ordinarily proceed far before their progress is indi-
cated by any public measure. An intimate knowledge of the domestic
history of nations is therefore absolutely necessary to the prognosis of
political events. A narrative defective in this respect is as useless as a
medical treatise which should pass by all the symptoms attendant on
the early stage of a disease, and mention only what occurs when the
patient is beyond the reach of remedies.
An historian, such as we have been attempting to describe, would
indeed be an intellectual prodigy. In his mind, powers, scarcely com-
patible with each other, must be tempered into an exquisite harmony.
We shall sooner see another Shakspeare, or another Homer. The
highest excellence to which any single faculty can be brought would
be less surprising than such a happy and delicate combination of
qualities. Yet the contemplation of imaginary models is not an un-
pleasant or useless employment of the mind. It cannot indeed produce
perfection, but it produces improvement, and nourishes that generous
and liberal fastidiousness, which is not inconsistent with the strongest
sensibility to merit, and which, while it exalts our conceptions of the
art, does not render us unjust to the artist.
From ■'•' Essay on History."
16 (181)
182 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
CIVIL AND RELIGIOUS LIBERTY.
William Smyth.
Mark the difference between Europe and Asia. What U it, what
has it ever been? Slavery in the one, and freedom in the other. Take
another view, more modern and more domestic. Mi<t is in the valley,
and sterility is on the mountain of the Highlander ; his land is the land
of tempest and of gloom, but there is intelligence in his looks and glad-
ness in his song. On the contrary, incense is in the gale, and the
laughing light of Nature is in the landscape of the Grecian island ; but
" Why <1" ite tuneful echoes Languish,
Mute but to the roioe of anguish V
Yet where was it that once flourished the heroes, the sages, and the
orators of antiquity? What is there of sublimity and beauty in our
moral feelings, or in our works of art, that is not stamped with the
impression of their genius?
(live civil and religious liberty, you give everything, — knowledge
and science, heroism and honor, virtue and power. Deny them, and
you deny everything: in vain are the gifts of nature: there is no
harvest in the fertility of the soil ; there is no cheerfulness in the radi-
ance of the sky ; there is no thought in the understanding of man ; and
there is in his heart no hope : the human animal sinks and withers;
abused, disinherited, stripped of the attributes of his kind, and no
longer formed after the image of his God.
From " Historical Lectures at Cambridge."
ENGLAND AND AMERICA.
William Smvth.
I know not how any friend to his species, much less any English-
man, can cease to wish with the most earnest anxiety for the success
of the great experiment to which I have alluded, for the success of the
constitution of America. I see not, in like manner, how any friend to
his species, much less any American, can forbear for a moment to wish
for a continuance of the constitution of England, — that the Revolution
of 1688 should for ever answer all its important purposes for England,
as the Revolution of 1776 has hitherto done for America. What efforts
can be made for the government of mankind so reasonable as these, — a
limited monarchy and a limited republic ? Add to this that the success
of the cause of liberty in the two countries cannot but be of the greatest
advantage to each, — a limited monarchy and a limited republic being
well fitted, by their comparison and separate happiness, each to correct
the peculiar tendencies to evil which must necessarily be found in the
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 183
other. Successful, therefore, be both, and while the records of history-
last, be they both, successful ! that they may eternally hold up to man-
kind the lessons of practical freedom, and explain to them the only
secret that exists of all national prosperity and happiness, the sum and
substance of which, must for ever consist in mild government and tole-
rant religion, — that is, rationally understood, in civil and religious
liberty.
From " Historical Lectures at Cambridge."
addison's hymns.
W. M. Thackeray.
When - Addison looks from the world whose weaknesses he describes
so benevolently, up to the heaven which shines over us all, I can
hardly fancy a human face lighted up with a more serene rapture : a
human intellect thrilling with a purer love and adoration than Joseph
Addison's.
It seems to me his verses shine like the stars. They shine out of a
great deep calm. When he turns to heaven, a Sabbath comes over
that man's mind : and his face lights up from it with a glory of thanks
and prayer. His sense of religion stirs through his whole being. In
the fields, in the town : looking at the birds in the trees : at the children
in the streets : in the morning or in the moonlight : over his books in
his own room : in a happy party at a country merry-making or a toAvn
assembly, good-will and peace to God's creatures, and love and awe of
Him who made them, fill his pure heart and shine from his kind face.
If Swift's life was the most wretched, I think Addison's was one of the
most enviable. A life prosperous and beautiful — a calm death — an
immense fame and affection afterwards for his happy and spotless
name.
From "English Humorists.
FIELDING'S FAME.
W. M. Thackeray.
Richardson's sickening antipathy for Harry Fielding is quite as
natural as the other's laughter and contempt at the sentimentalist. I
have not learned that these likings and dislikings have ceased in the
present day: and every author must lay his account not only to mis-
representation, but to honest enmity among critics, and to being hated
and abused for good as well as for bad reasons. Richardson disliked
Fielding's works quite honestly : Walpole quite honestly spoke of them
as vulgar and stupid. Their squeamish stomachs sickened at the
184 THE SELECT ACADEMIC BPEAKBR.
rough fare and the rough guests assembled at Fielding's jolly rarel.
Indeed the cloth might have been cleaner: and the dinner and the
pany were Bcaroe Bueb as Buited a dandy. The kind and wise old
Johnson would not -it down with him. But a greater Bcholar than
Johnson oould afford to admire that astonishing genius of Harry
Fielding: and we all know the lofty panegyric which Cribbon wrote of
him, and which remains a towering monument to the great novelist's
memory. "Our immortal Fielding," Gibbon writes. " was of the
younger branch of the Marls of Denbigh, who drew their origin from
the Counts of Bapsburgh. The successors of Charles V. may disdain
their hrethren of England: but the romance of 'Tom -Jones,' that
exquisite picture of human manners, will outlive the palace of the
Escurial and the Imperial Eagle of Austria." There can be no gain-
Baying the Bentenoe of this great judge. To have your name mentioned
by Gibbon, is like having it written on the dome of St. Peter's. Pil-
grims from all the world admire and behold it.
From "H rittl."
JOHN LOCKE AND WILLIAM PENN.
(iEor.fiE Bancroft.
Locke says plainly, that, but for rewards and punishments beyond
the grave, " it is certainly right to eat and drink, and to enjoy what we
delight in ;" Penn, like Plato and Fenelon, maintained the doctrine so
terrible to despots, that God is to be loved for his own sake, and virtue
practised for its intrinsic loveliness. Locke derives the idea of infinity
from the senses, describes it as purely negative, and attributes it to
nothing but space, duration, and number; Penn derived the idea from
the soul, and ascribed it to truth, and virtue, and God. Locke declares
immortality a matter with which reason has nothing to do, and that
revealed truth must be sustained by outward signs and visible acts of
power ; Penn saw truth by its own light, and summoned the soul to
bear witness to its own glory. Locke believed "not so many men in
wrong opinions as is commonly supposed, because the greatest part have
no opinions at all, and do not know what they contend for ;" Penn like-
wise vindicated the many, but it was truth was the common inheritance
of the race. Locke, in his love of tolerance, inveighed against the
methods of persecution as " Popish practices ;" Penn censured no sect,
but condemned bigotry of all sorts as inhuman. Locke, as an American
lawgiver, dreaded a too numerous democracy, and reserved all power to
wealth and the feudal proprietors ; Penn believed that God is in every
conscience, his light in every soul ; and, therefore, stretching out his
arms, he built — such are his own words — " a free colony for all man-
kind." This is the praise of William Penn, that, in an age which had
DECLAMATIONS IN PEOSE. 185
seen a popular revolution shipwreck popular liberty among selfish
factions ; which had seen Hugh Peters and Henry Vane perish by the
hangman's cord and the axe ; in an age when Sidney nourished the
pride of patriotism rather than the sentiment of philanthropy, when
Kussell stood for the liberties of his order, and not for new enfranchise-
ments, when Harrington, and Shaftesbury, and Locke, thought govern-
ment should rest on property, — Penn did not despair of humanity, and,
though all history and experience denied the sovereignty of the people,
dared to cherish the noble idea of man's capacity for self-government.
Conscious that there was no room for its exercise in England, the pure
enthusiast, like- Calvin and Descartes, a voluntary exile, was come to
the banks of the Delaware to institute " the Holy Experiment."
From " History of the United States."
MILTON AND DKYDEN.
Lord Macaulay.
"We are, on the whole, inclined to regret that Dryden did not accom-
plish his purpose of writing an epic poem. It certainly would not
have been a work of the highest rank. It would not have rivalled the
Iliad, the Odyssey, or the Paradise Lost ; but it would have been
superior to the productions of Apollonius, Lucan, or Statius, and not
inferior to the Jerusalem Delivered. It would probably have been a
vigorous narrative, animated with something of the spirit of the old
romances, enriched with much splendid description, and interspersed
with fine declamations and disquisitions. The danger of Dryden would
have been from aiming too high ; from dwelling too much, for example,
on his angels of kingdoms, and attempting a competition with that
great writer, who in his own time had so incomparably succeeded in
representing to us the sights and sounds of another world. To Milton,
and to Milton alone belonged the secrets of the great deep, the beach
of sulphur, the ocean of fire ; the palaces of the fallen dominations,
glimmering through the everlasting shade, the silent wilderness of
verdure and fragrance where armed angels kept watch over the sleep
of the first lovers, the portico of diamond, the sea of jasper, the
sapphire pavement empurpled with celestial roses, and the infinite
ranks of the Cherubim, blazing with adamant and gold. The council,
the tournament, the procession, the crowded cathedral, the camp, the
guard-room, the chaise, were the proper scenes for Dryden.
From " Essay on Dryden."
16*
Till; SBLBCT ACADEMIC SPEAKER,
WONDERS OF ENGLISH RULE IX INDIA.
If in some fairy tale or supernatural legend we were to read of an
island, Beated far in the northern seas, so ungenial in its climate and
BO barren to its BOil that no richer fruits than sloes or blackber
its aboriginal growth, — whose tribes of paint
dwell in huts of sedge, or, at best, pile together altars of n
ffcer other nations widely
achieved wondrous works "f sculpture and design, the j rock-
templee of Ellora, the Btoried obelisks of Thebes, or the lion-cret
- : Mj sense; if it were added, that this island had after*
bj skill and industry attained the highest degree of artificial fertility,
and combined in its luxury the fruits of every clime, that the
. 1 of remaining it- barrier, had become almost a part <>f it< empire,
that its inhabitants were DOW amongst the : f the earth in
lerce and in freedom, in arts and in arms, that their indomitable
_v had subdued, across fit'- land miles of ocean, a land ten
time- more extensive than their own, that in this territory they now
igned over one hundred and twenty millions of snbjecl
lant-, — the race of the builders of Ellora, and the heirs of the
Great Mogul! — If, further still, we were told that in this it the
rule of all other conquests had been reversed; that the reign of the
strangers, alien in blood, in language, and in faith, had been h>
any other in that region fraught with blessings, that humanity and
justice, the security of life and property, tie f improvement
and instruction, were far greater under the worst of the f
vernors than under the best of the native princes; — with what -
might we not be tempted to fling down the lying scroll, — exclaiming
that even in fiction there should be some decent bounds of probability
observed ; that even in the Arabian Nights no such prodigies are
wrought by spells or talismans, — by the lamp of Aladdin or the seal of
Solomon !
From '• Histrrry of England."
THE BLACK HOLE OF CALCUTTA.
Lord Mahox.
The prisoners had been left at the disposal of the officers of the guard,
who determined to secure them for the night in the common dungeon
of the fort, a dungeon known to the English by the name of " the Black
Hole," — its size only eighteen feet by fourteen ; its airholes only two
small windows, and these overhung by a low veranda. Into this cell,
hitherto designed and employed for the confinement of some half dozen
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 187
malefactors at a time, was it now resolved to thrust an hundred and
forty-five European men and one Englishwoman, some of them suffer-
ing from recent wounds, and this in the night of the Indian summer
solstice, when the fiercest heat was raging ! Into this cell accordingly
the unhappy prisoners, in spite of their expostulations, were driven at
the point of the sabre; the last, from the throng and narrow space, being
pressed in with considerable difficulty, and the doors being then by
main force closed and locked behind them.
Of the doleful night that succeeded, narratives have been given by
two of the survivors, Mr. Holwell and Mr. Cooke. The former, who
even in this extremity was still in some degree obeyed as chief, placed
himself at a window, called for silence, and appealed to one of the
Nabob's officers, an old man, who had shown more humanity than the
rest, promising him a thousand rupees in the morning if he would find
means to separate the prisoners into two chambers. The old man went
to try, but returned in a few minutes with the fatal sentence that no
change could be made without orders from the Nabob, — that the Nabob
was asleep, — and that no one dared to disturb him.
Meanwhile within the dungeon the heat and stench had become
intolerable. It was clear to the sufferers themselves that, without a
change, feiv, if any, amongst them would see the light of another day.
Some attempted to burst open the door; others, as unavailingly, again
besought the soldiers to unclose it. As their dire thirst increased,
amidst their struggles and their screams, "Water! Water!" became the
general cry. The officer, to whose compassion Mr. Holwell had lately
appealed, desired some skins of water to be brought to the window ;
but they proved too large to pass through the iron bars, and the sight
of this relief, so near and yet withheld, served only to infuriate and
well-nigh madden the miserable captives; they began to fight and
trample one another down, striving for a nearer place to the windows,
and for a few drops of the water. These dreadful conflicts, far from
exciting the pity of the guards, rather moved their mirth; and they
held up lights to the bars, with fiendish glee, to discern the amusing
sight more clearly. On the other hand, several of the English, frantic
with pain, were now endeavoring by every term of insult and invective
to provoke these soldiers to put an end to their agony by firing into the
dungeon. "Some of our company," says Mr. Cooke, "expired very
soon after being put in ; others grew mad, and, having lost their senses,
died in a high delirium." At length, and by degrees, these various
outcries sunk into silence — but it was the silence of death. When the
morning broke, and the Nabob's order came to unlock the door, it
became necessary first to clear a lane, by drawing out the corpses, and
piling them in heaps on each side, when, walking one by one through
the narrow outlet, of the one hundred and forty-six persons who had
188 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
entered the cell the evening before, only twenty-three came forth; the
ghastliest forms, says Mr. Orme, that were ever seen alive.
from •• Hillary <>/ England."
macaulay's oratory.
Mr. M.u.u i.w's delivery waa always awkward, and bia appearance
remarkably strange. Usually dreaaed in a green frock coat, light waist-
coat, and -lark trow* entered the House, unmindful
of all around, ami made Btraight "r appeared to on uncon-
sciously t«> his seat, between Lord John Russell and Mr. Labouchere.
There, with his arma unfolded, and a Puritan determination of look,
he sat, wrapped in abstraction. When be .~i^ke, which waa rarely, it
waa generally — unlike the other prominent men, who never rise until
a late huur at night — early in the evening, before dinner, with the
object of preserving his memory fresh and his brain unclouded. Ho
generally bolted Btraight to the table, and, without any exordium,
plunged into the midst of his argument, pouring forth arguments and
illustrations, and images, as if an engine was working inside, and
throwing them up in profusion from some huge laboratory. His voice
waa shrill, or rather hard, exhibiting no passion or feeling, and his
intonation monotonous, rushing on like the sound of a rapid stream.
His conversation had the same fault. lie had no winningness of man-
ner, and no graceful ease of direction or deference to others, but poured
out sentence upon sentence, until you were gorged and sickened with
their riches. His conversation at Brookes' every evening at four
o'clock, was an essay, not conversation. Men gathered round to listen,
as they do here to a lecture, and those not present always asked in the
evening, " Well, what did Macaulay speak about to-day Y* As Sydney
Smith wittily remarked, " How charming Macaulay would be if be
had but a few brilliant flashes of silence !"
From '•' New York Daily Timet," 1856.
THE WOUNDED AFTER A BATTLE.
It was agonizing to see the wounded men who were lying there
under a broiling sun, parched with excruciating thirst, racked with
fever, and agonized with pain — to behold them waving their caps
faintly or making signals towards our lines, over which they could see
the white flag waving, and not to be able to help them. They lay
where they fell, or had scrambled into the holes formed by shells ; and
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 189
there they had been for thirty hours — oh ! how long and how dreadful
in their weariness ! An officer told me that one soldier who was close
to the abatis, when he saw a few men come out of an embrasure, raised
himself on his elbow, and, fearing he should be unnoticed and passed
by, raised his cap on a stick and waved it till he fell back exhausted.
Again he rose, and managed to tear off his shirt, which he agitated in
the air till his strength failed him. His face could be seen through a
glass, and my friend said he never could forget the expression of resig-
nation and despair with which the poor fellow at last abandoned his
useless efforts, and folded his shirt under his head to await the mercy
of Heaven. Whether he was alive or not when our men went out, I
cannot say ; but five hours of thirst, fever, and pain under a fierce sun,
would make awful odds against him. The red-coats lay sadly thick
over the broken ground in front of the abatis of the Redan, and blue
and gray coats were scattered about or lay in piles in the rain-courses
before the Malakoff.
From "London Times.
ARCHITECTURE IN VENICE.
John Rusrin.
When sensuality and idolatry had done their work, and the religion
of the empire was laid asleep in a glittering sepulchre, the living light
rose upon both horizons, and the fierce swords of the Lombard and
Arab were shaken over its golden paralysis.
The work of the Lombard was to give hardihood and system to the
enervated body and enfeebled mind of Christendom ; that of the Arab
was to punish idolatry, and to proclaim the spirituality of worship.
The Lombard covered every church which he built with the sculptured
representations of bodily exercises, hunting and war. The Arab
banished all imagination of creature from his temples, and proclaimed
from their minarets, " There is no God but God." Opposite in their
character and mission, alike in their magnificence of energy, they came
from the north and from the south, the glacier torrent and the lava
stream ; they met and contended over the wreck of the Roman Empire ;
and the very centre of the struggle, the point of pause of both, the dead
water of the opposite eddies, charged with embayed fragments of the
Roman wreck, is Venice.
The Ducal Palace of Venice contains the three elements in exactly
equal proportions — the Roman, Lombard, and Arab. It is the central
building of the world.
From " The Stones of Venice."
190 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAK BR.
THE EXECUTION OF ANDRE.
The procession wound slowly up a moderately-rising ground, about
a quarter of a mile to the west. On the top was a field without any
enclosure; and on this was a very high gallows, made by Betting up
two poles or crotchets, and laying a pole on the top.
The wagon that contained the coffin was drawn directly under the
gallows. In a short time Andre stepped into the hind end of the
wagon, then on his coffin, took off his hat, and laid it down; then
placed his hands upon his hip-, and walked very uprightly back and
forth, as far as the length of the wagon would permit, at the aame time
casting his eyes up to the pole Over hifl head, and the whole scenery
by which he was Burrounded.
He \\a- dressed in a complete British uniform. His coat was of the
brightest scarlet, faced and trimmed with the most beautiful green.
His under-clothes, vest, and breeches were bright huff; he had a long
and beautiful head of hair, which, agreeably to the fashion, was wound
with a black ribbon, and hung down his back.
Not many minutes after he took his stand upon the coffin, the execu-
tioner stepped into the wagon with a halter in his hand, on one end of
which was what the soldiers in those days called "a hangman's knot,"
which he attempted to put over the head and around the neck of Andre" ;
but by a sudden movement of his hand this was prevented.
Andr6 now took off the handkerchief from his neck, unpinned his
shirt-collar, and deliberately took the cord of the halter, put it over his
head, and placed the knot directly under his right ear, and drew it
very snugly to his neck. He then took from his coat-pocket a hand-
kerchief, and tied it before his eyes. This done, the officer who com-
manded spoke in rather a loud voice, and said :
" His arms must be tied."
Andre at once pulled down the handkerchief which he had just tied
over his eyes, and drew from his pocket a second one, which he gave to
the executioner, and then replaced his handkerchief.
His arms at this time were tied just above the elbow, and behind
the back.
The rope was then made fast to the pole overhead. The wagon was
very suddenly drawn from under the gallows, which, together with the
length of rope, gave him a most tremendous swing back and forth ;
but in a few moments he hung entirely still.
From " Harper's Magazine."
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 191
THE HOSPITAL AT SEBASTOPOL.
Of all the pictures of the horrors of war which have ever been pre-
sented to the world, the hospital of Sebastopol presents the most hor-
rible, heart-rending, and revolting. It cannot be described, and the
imagination of a Fuseli could not conceive anything at all unlike unto
it. How the poor human body can be mutilated and yet hold its soul
within, when every limb is shattered, and every vein and artery is
pouring out the life-stream, one might study here at every step, and
at the same time wonder how little will kill ! The building used as
an hospital is one of the noble piles inside the dock-yard wall, and is
situated in the centre of the row at right angles to the line of the
Kedan. The whole row was peculiarly exposed to the action of shot
and shell bounding over the Eedan, and to the missiles directed at the
Barrack Battery, and it bears, in sides, roofs, windows, and doors, fre-
quent and destructive proofs of the severity of the cannonade.
Entering one of these doors, I beheld such a sight as few men, thank
God, have ever witnessed ! In a long, low room, supported by square
pillars, arched at the top, and dimly lighted through shattered and
unglazed window-frames, lay the wounded Russians, who had been
abandoned to our mercies by their general. The wounded, did I say ?
No, but the dead, the rotten and festering corpses of the soldiers who
were left to die in their extreme agony, untended, uncared for, packed
as close as they could be stowed, some on the floor, others on wretched
trestles and bedsteads, or pallets of straw, sopped and saturated with
blood, which oozed and trickled through upon the floor, mingled with,
the droppings of corruption. Many lay, yet alive, with maggots
crawling about in their wounds. Many, nearly mad by the scenes
around them, or seeking escape from it in their extremest agony, had
rolled -away under the beds, and glared out on the heart-stricken spec-
tators, oh! with such looks. Many, with legs and arms broken and
twisted, the jagged splinters sticking through the raw flesh, implored
aid, water, food, or pity, or, deprived of speech by the approach of
death, or by dreadful injuries on the head or trunk, pointed to the
lethal spot. Many seemed bent alone on making their peace with
Heaven. The attitudes of some were so hideously fantastic as to
appal and root one to the ground by a sort of dreadful fascination.
Could that bloody mass of clothing and white bones ever have been a
human being, or that burnt black mass of flesh have ever had a human
soul? It was fearful to think what the answer must be. The bodies
of numbers of men were swollen and bloated to an incredible degree,
and the features distended to a gigantic size, with eyes protruding
from the sockets, and the blackened tongue lolling out of the mouth,
compressed tightly by the teeth which had set upon it in the death-
192 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
rattle, made one shudder and reel round. In the midst of one of these
"chambers of horror" — for there were many of them — were found
some dead and some living English soldiers, and among them | r
Captain Vaughan, of the 90th, who has since succumbed to his wounds.
I confess, it was impossible for me to stand at the Bight which horri-
fied our most experienced surgeons — the deadly, clammy stench, the
6mell of the gangrened wounds, of corrupt blood, of rotting flesh,
were intolerable and odious beyond endurance. But what must the
wounded have felt who were obliged to endure all this, and who ps
away without a hand to give them a cup of water, or a voice to say
one kindly word to them !
From •• Tl« London Tinus."
BYRON AND BURNS.
Thomas Caiilyle.
The words of Milton are true in all times, and were never truer
than in this: "He who would write heroic poems, must make hia
whole life an heroic poem." If he cannot first so make his life, then
let him hasten from this arena; for neither its lofty glories, nor its
fearful perils, arc for him. Let him dwindle into a modish ballad-
monger; let him worship and be-sing the idols of the time, and the
time will not fail to reward him, — if, indeed, he can endure to live in
that capacity !
Byron and Burns could not live as idol-priests, but the fire of their
own hearts consumed them ; and better it was for them that they
could not. For it is not in the favor of the great, or of the small,
but in a life of truth, and in the inexpugnable citadel of his own
soul, that a Byron's or a Burns's strength must lie. Let the great
stand aloof from him, or know how to reverence him. Beautiful is
the union of wealth with favor and furtherance for literature ; like
the costliest flower-jar enclosing the loveliest amaranth. Yet let not
the relation be mistaken. A true poet is not one whom they can hire
by money or flattery to be a minister of their pleasures, their writer
of occasional verses, their purveyor of table-wit ; he cannot be their
menial, he cannot even be their partisan. At the peril of both parties,
let no such union be attempted ! Will a Courser of the Sun work
softly in the harness of a Dray-horse ? His hoofs are of fire, and his
path is through the heavens, bringing light to all lands ; will he lum-
ber on mud highways, dragging ale for earthly appetites, from door to
door?
From " Essay on Burns."
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 193
THE ASSAULT ON THE MALAKOFF.
At half past ten o'clock General Pelissier and his staff went up to
the French Observatory, on the right. The French trenches were
crowded with men as close as they could pack, and we could see our
men through the breaks in the clouds of dust, which were most irri-
tating, all ready in their trenches. The cannonade languished pur-
posely towards noon; but the Russians, catching sight of the cavalry
and troops in front, began to shell Cathcart's Hill and the Heights, and
disturbed the equanimity of some of the spectators by their shells
bursting with loud " thuds" right over their heads.
A few minutes before twelve o'clock the French, like a swarm of bees,
issued forth from their trenches close to the doomed Malakoff, swarmed
up its face, and were through the embrasures in the twinkling of an eye.
They crossed the seven metres of ground which separated them from the
enemy at a few bounds — they drifted as lightly and quickly as autumn
leaves before the wind, battalion after battalion, into the embrasures,
and in a minute or two after the head of their column issued from the
ditch, the tricolor was floating over the Korniloff bastion. The mus-
ketry was very feeble at first — indeed, our allies took the Russians
quite by surprise, and very few of the latter were in the Malakoff; but
they soon recovered themselves, and, from twelve o'clock till past seven
in the evening, the French had to meet and defeat the repeated attempts
of the enemy to regain the work and the Little Redan, when, weary
of the fearful slaughter of his men, who lay in thousands over the
exterior of the works, the Muscovite general, despairing of success,
withdrew his exhausted legions, and prepared, with admirable skill, to
evacuate the place.
From '■' The London Times," 1855.
THE STRUGGLE IN THE REDAN.
The struggle that took place was short, desperate, and bloody. Our
soldiers, taken at every disadvantage, met the enemy with the bayonet,
too, and isolated combats took place in which the brave fellows, who
stood their ground, had to defend themselves against three or four
adversaries at once. In this meUe, the officers, armed only with their
swords, had little chance ; nor had those who carried pistols much
opportunity of using them in such a rapid contest.
They fell like heroes, and many a gallant soldier with them. The
bodies of the English and Russians, inside the Redan, locked in an
embrace which death could not relax, but had rather cemented all the
closer, lay next day inside the Redan, as evidences of the terrible ani-
17 N
194 THE SELECT ACADEMIC BPEAKER.
mosity of the struggle. But the solid weight of the advancing mass,
urged on, and fed each moment from the rear by company after company,
and battalion after battalion, prevailed at last against the isolated and
disjointed band, who had abandoned the protection of unanimity of
courage, and had Lost the advantages of discipline and obedience.
As though some giant rock had advanced into the sea. and forced
back the -waters that buffeted it, so did the Russian columns prei •
down against the spray of soldiery which fretted their edge with fire
and steel, and contended in vain against their weight. The struggling
band was forced back by the enemy, who moved on, crushing friends
and foe beneath their solid tramp, and, bleeding, panting, and ex-
hausted, our men lay in heaps in the ditch beneath the parapet,
sheltered themselves behind stands, and in bomb-craters in the slope
of the work, or tried to pass back to our advanced parallel and cap,
and had to run the gauntlet of a tremendous fire.
From •• The London Times ," 1855.
NAPOLEON AND JOSEPHINE.
Napoleon's acquaintance with Josephine arose from the impre
made on him by her son, Eugene Beauharnais, then a little boy. He
came to request that his father's sword, which had been delivered up,
might be restored to him. The boy's appearance, the earnestness with
which he urged his request, and the tears which could not be stayed
when he beheld the sword, interested Napoleon so much in his favor,
that not only was the sword given to him, but he determined to become
acquainted with the mother of the boy. He visited her, and soon his
visits became frequent. He delighted to hear the details which she
gave of the court of Louis. "Come," he would say, as he sat by her
si(Je of an evening, " now let us talk of the old court — let us make a
tour to Versailles.'" It was in these frequent and familiar interviews
that the fascinations of Josephine won the heart of Napoleon. "She
is," said he, "grace personified — everything she does is with a grace
and delicacy peculiar to herself."
The admiration and love of such a man could not fail to make
an impression on a woman like Josephine. It has been said that
it was impossible to be in Napoleon's company without being
struck by his personal appearance ; not so much by the exquisite
symmetry of his features, and the noble head and forehead, which
have furnished the painter and the sculptor with one of their finest
models ; nor even by the meditative look, so indicative of intellectual
power ; but the magic charm was the varying expression of counte-
nance, which changed with every passing thought, and glowed with
every feeling. His smile, it is said, always inspired confidence.
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 195
" It is difficult, if not impossible" — so the Duchess of Abrantes writes
— "to describe the charm of his countenance when he smiled — his
soul was upon his lips and in his eyes." The magic power of that
expression at a later period is well known. The Emperor of Kussia
experienced it when he said, " I never loved any one more than that
man." He possessed, too, that greatest of all charms, an harmonious
voice, whose tones, like his countenance, changing from emphatic
impressiveness to caressing softness, found their way to every, heart.
It may not have been those personal and mental gifts alone which won
Josephine's heart ; the ready sympathy with which Napoleon entered
into her feelings, may have been the greatest charm to an affectionate
nature like hers. It was in the course of one of those confidential
evenings, that, as they sat together, she read to him the last letter
which she had received from her husband — it was a most touching
farewell. Napoleon was deeply affected ; and it has been said that
that letter, and Josephine's emotion, as she read it, had a powerful
effect upon his feelings, already so much excited by admiration.
From " Fraser's Magazine."
THE ORATORY OF PITT.
Lord Brougham.
Pitt is to be placed, without any doubt, in the highest class. With
a sparing use of ornament, hardly indulging more in figures, or even
in figurative expression, than the most severe examples of ancient
chasteness allowed — with little variety of style, hardly any of the graces
of manner — he no sooner rose than he carried away every hearer, and
kept the attention fixed and unflagging till it pleased him to let it go ;
and then
" So charming left his voice, that we, awhile,
Still thought him speaking ; still stood fixed to hear."
This magical effect was produced by his unbroken flow, which never
for a moment left the hearer in pain or doubt, and yet was not the
mean fluency of mere relaxation, requiring no effort of the speaker,
but imposing on the listener a heavy task; by his lucid arrangement,
which made all parts of the most complicated subject quit their
entanglement, and fall each into its place ; by the clearness of his
statements, which presented at once a picture to the mind ; by the for-
cible appeals to strict reason and strong feeling, which formed the great
staple of the discourse; by the majesty of the diction ; by the depth
and fulness of the most sonorous voice, and the unbending dignity of
the manner, which ever reminded us that we were in the presence of
more than an advocate or debater — that there stood before us a ruler
of the people. Such were invariably the effects of this singular elo-
196 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
quence ; and they were as certainly produced on ordinary occasions, as
in those grander displays when he rose to the height of BOme
argument; or indulged in vehement invective »me individual,
and variegated his speech with that sarcasm of which he ws
a master, and indeed so little sparing an employer ; although even here
all was uniform and consistent ; nor did anything, in any hhk.i1 of mind,
ever drop from him that was unsuited to the majestic frame of the whole,
or could disturb the serenity of the full and copious Hood rolled along.
Froi>! <<n."
THE CHARACTER OF FOX.
Loud Brougham.
The foolish indulgence of a father, from whom he inherited his
talents certainly, but little principle, put Mr. Fox, while yet a boy, in
the possession of pecuniary resources which cannot safely be trusted to
more advanced stages of youth; and the dissipated habits of the times
drew him, before the age of manhood, into the whirlpool of fashionable
excess. In the comparatively correct age in which our lot is cast, it
would be almost as unjust to apply our more severe standard to him
and his associates, as it would have been for the Ludlows and Hutchin-
sons of the seventeenth century, in writing a history of the Roman
Empire, to denounce the immoralities of Julius Caesar. Nor let it be
forgotten, that the noble heart and sweet disposition of this great man
passed unscathed through an ordeal which, in almost every other
instance, is found to deaden all the kindly and generous affections. A
life of gambling, and intrigue, and faction, left the nature of Charles
Fox as little tainted with selfishness or falsehood, and his heart as little
hardened, as if he had lived and died in a farm-house ; or rather as if
he had not outlived his childish years.
From " Eminent Statesmen/'
THE ELOQUENCE OF BURKE.
Lord Brouoiiam.
It may justly be said, with the second of Attic orators, that sense
is always more important than eloquence ; and no one can doubt that
enlightened men in all ages will hang over the works of Mr. Burke,
and dwell with delight even upon the speeches that failed to command
the attention of those to whom they were addressed. Nor is it by
their rhetorical beauties that they interest us. The extraordinary depth
of his detached views, the penetrating sagacity which he occasionally
applies to the affairs of men and their motives, and the curious felicity
of expression with which he unfolds principles, and traces resemblances
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 197
and relations, are separately the gift of few, and in their union probably
without any example. This must be admitted on all hands ; it is pos-
sibly the last of these observations which will obtain universal assent,
as it is the last we have to offer before coming upon disputed ground,
where the fierce contentions of politicians cross the more quiet path of
the critic.
Not content with the praise of his philosophic acuteness, which all
are ready to allow, the less temperate admirers of this great writer have
ascribed to him a gift of genius approaching to the power of divination,
and have recognised him as in possession of a judgment so acute and
so calm withal, that its decision might claim the authority of infallible
decrees. His opinions upon French affairs have been viewed as always
resulting from general principles deliberately applied to each emer-
gency ; and they have been looked upon as forming a connected system
of doctrines, by which his own sentiments and conduct were regulated,
and from which after times may derive the lessons of practical wisdom.
From " Eminent Statesmen."
Lord Brougham.
"When Lord North found that he could no longer approve the policy
which he was required to pursue, and of course to defend, he was bound
to quit the councils of his obstinate and unreasonable sovereign. Nor can
there be a worse service, either to the prince or his people, than enabling
a monarch to rule in his own person, dictating the commands of his own
violence or caprice, through servants who disapprove of his measures,
and yet suffer themselves to be made instruments for carrying them
into execution. A bad king can desire nothing more than to be served
by such persons, whose opinions he will as much disregard as their
inclinations, but whom he will always find his tools in doing the work
of mischief, because they become the more at the monarch's mercy in
proportion as they have surrendered their principles and their will to his.
Far, then, very far from vindicating the conduct of Lord North in
this essential point, we hesitate not to affirm that the discrepancy
between his sentiments and his measures is not even any extenuation
of the disastrous policy which gave us, for the fruits of a long and dis-
astrous war, the dismemberment of the empire. In truth, what other-
wise might have been regarded as an error of judgment, became an
offence, only palliated by considering those kindly feelings of a personal
kind which governed him, but which every statesman, indeed every one
who acts in any capacity as trustee for others, is imperatively called
upon to disregard.
From " Eminent Statesmen.'"
17*
198 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
THE ADMINISTRATION OF PITT (LORD CHATHAM).
Loan Bbooohuc.
As soon as Mr. Pitt took the helm, the steadiness of the band that
held it was instantly felt in every motion of the vessel. There was no
more of wavering counsels, of torpid inaction, of listless expectancy,
of abject despondency. His firmness gave confidence, his spirit roused
courage, his vigilance secured exertion, in every department under his
sway. Each man, from the first Lord of the Admiralty down to the
most humble clerk in the Victualling Office — each soldier, from the
Commander-in-Chief to the most obscure contractor or commissary —
now felt assured that he was acting or was indolent under the eye of
one who knew his duties and his means as well as his own, and who
would very certainly make all defaulters, whether through misfeasance
or through nonfeasance, accountable for whatever detriment the com-
monwealth might sustain at their hands.
Over his immediate coadjutors his influence swiftly obtained an
ascendant which it ever after retained uninterrupted. Upon his first
proposition for changing the conduct of the war, he stood single among
his colleagues, and tendered his resignation should they persist in their
dissent; they at once succumbed, and from that hour ceased to have an
opinion of their own upon any branch of the public affairs. Xay, so
absolutely was he determined to have the control of those measures, of
which he knew the responsibility rested upon him alone, that he
insisted upon the first Lord of the Admiralty not having the corre-
spondence of his own department ; and no less eminent a naval
character than Lord Anson, as well as his junior Lords, was obliged to
sign the naval orders issued by Mr. Pitt, while the writing was covered
over from their eyes !
From " Eminent Statesmen."
THE HANDWRITING OF JUNIUS.
Lord Bkotjgham.
The comparison of Sir Philip Francis's ordinary hand, which was a
remarkably fine one, with the studiously-feigned hand of Junius's
Letters, and of all his private correspondence, seemed to present many
points of resemblance. But a remarkable writing of Sir P. Francis
was recovered by the late Mr. Daniel Giles, to whose sister he had
many years before sent a copy of verses with a letter written in a
feigned hand. Upon comparing this fiction with the fac-similes pub-
lished by Woodfall of Junius's hand, the two were found to tally
accurately enough. The authorship is certainly not proved by this
resemblance, even if it were admitted to prove that Sir P. Francis had
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 190
been employed to copy the letters. But the importance of the fact as a
circumstance in the chain of evidence is undeniable.
To this may be added the interest which he always took in the work.
Upon his decease, the vellum-bound and gilt copies, which formed the
only remuneration Junius would receive from the publisher, were
sought for in vain among his books. But it is said that the present
which he made his second wife on their marriage was a finely-bound
copy of Junius.
From " Eminent Statesmen."
THE ORATORY OF CANNING.
Lord Brougham.
His declamation, though often powerful, always beautifully ornate,
never deficient in admirable diction, was certainly not of the highest
class. It wanted depth ; it came from the mouth, not from the heart;
and it tickled or even filled the ear rather than penetrated the bosom
of the listener. The orator never seemed to forget himself and be
absorbed in his theme ; he was not carried away by his passions, and
he carried not his audience along with him. An actor stood before us,
a first-rate one, no doubt, but still an actor ; and we never forgot that
it was a representation we were witnessing, not a real scene. The
Grecian artist was of the second class only, at whose fruit the birds
pecked ; while, on seeing Parrhasius's picture, men cried out to have
the curtain drawn aside. Mr. Canning's declamation entertained his
hearers, so artistry was it executed ; but only an inexperienced critic
could mistake it for the highest reach of the rhetorical art. The truly
great orator is he who carries away his hearer, or fixes his whole atten-
tion on the subject — with the subject fills his whole soul — than the
subject, will suffer him to think of no other thing — of the subject's
existence alone will let him be conscious, while the vehement inspira-
tion lasts on his own mind which he communicates to his hearer — and
will only suffer him to reflect on the admirable execution of what he
has heard after the burst is over, the whirlwind has passed away, and
the excited feelings have in the succeeding lull sunk into repose.
From " Eminent Statesnen."
RELICS AT ABBOTSFORD.
Washington Irving.
After dinner we adjourned to the drawing-room, which served also
for study and library. Against the wall on one side was a long writing-
table, with drawers ; surmounted by a small cabinet of polished wood,
with folding doors richly studded with brass ornaments, within which
200 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
Soott kept his most valuable papers. Above the cabinet, in a kind of
niche, was a complete corslet of glittering steel, with a closed helmet
and flanked by gauntlets and battle-axes. Around were hung trophies
and relics of various kinds: a cimeter of Tippoo Saib ; a Highland
broadsword from Floddenficld ; a pair of Rippon spurs from Bannock-
burn ; and above all, a gun which had belonged to Rob Roy, and bore
his initials, R. M. G., an object of peculiar interest to me at the time,
as it was understood Scott was actually engaged in printing a novel
founded on the story of that famous outlaw.
On each side of the cabinet were book-cases, well stored with works
of romantic fiction in various languages, many of them rare and anti-
quated. This, however, was merely his cottage library, the principal
part of his books being at Edinburgh.
From this little cabinet of curiosities, Scott drew forth a manuscript
picked up on the field of Waterloo, containing copies of several -
popular at the time in France. The paper was dabbled with blood —
" The life blood, very possibly," said Scott, " of some gay young officer,
who had cherished these songs as a keepsake from some lady love in
Paris."
From " Crayon Miscellany."
MACHIAVELLI.
Lokd Macaulay.
Mac •iiiavei.li lived long enough to see the commencement of the last
struggle for Florentine liberty. Soon after his death, monarchy was
finally established — not such a monarchy as that of which Cosmo had
laid the foundations deep in the constitution and feelings of his country-
men, and which Lorenzo had embellished with the trophies of every
science and every art ; but a loathsome tyranny, proud and mean,
cruel and feeble, bigoted and lascivious. The character of Machiavelli
was hateful to the new masters of Italy ; and those parts of his theory
which were in strict accordance with their own daily practice, afforded
a pretext for blackening his memory. His works were misrepresented
by the learned, misconstrued by the ignorant, censured by the church,
abused, with all the rancor of simulated virtue, by the minions of a
base despotism, and the priests of a baser superstition. The name of
the man whose genius had illuminated all the dark places of policy,
and to whose patriotic wisdom an oppressed people had owed their last
chance of emancipation and revenge, passed into a proverb of infamy.
For more than two hundred years his bones lay undistinguished. At
length, an English nobleman paid the last honors to the greatest states-
man of Florence. In the church of Santa Croce, a monument was
erected to his memory, which is contemplated with reverence by all
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 201
who can distinguish the virtues of a great mind through the corrup-
tions of a degenerate age ; and which will "be approached with still
deeper homage, when the object to which his public life was devoted
shall be attained, when the foreign yoke shall be broken, when a second
Proccita shall avenge the wrongs of Naples, when a happier Rienzi
shall restore the good estate of Rome, when the streets of Florence and
Bologna shall again resound with their ancient war-cry — Pojpolo ; po-
polo ; muoiano i tiranni !
From " Essay on Machiavelli."
EOBESPIEREE.
Lord Brougham.
Robespierre was, beyond most men that ever lived, hateful, selfish,
unprincipled, cruel, unscrupulous. That he was not the worst of the
Jacobin group may also be without hesitation affirmed. Collot d ; Her-
bois was probably worse ; Billaud Varennes certainly, of whom it was
said by Garat: " II fauche dans les tetes, comme un autre dans les
pres" (he mows down heads as another would grass.) But neither of
these men had the same fixity of purpose, and both were inferior to him
in speech. Both, however, and indeed all the revolutionary chiefs,
were his superiors in the one great quality of courage ; and while his
want of boldness, his abject poverty of spirit, made him as despicable
as he was odious, we are left in amazement at his achieving the place
which he filled, without the requisite most essential to success in times
of trouble, and to regard as his distinguishing but pitiful characteristic
the circumstance which leaves the deepest impression upon those who
contemplate his story, and in which he is to be separated from the com-
mon herd of usurpers, that his cowardly nature did not prevent him
from gaining the prize which, in all other instances, has been yielded
to a daring spirit.
Such was Robespierre — a name at which all men still shudder.
Reader, think not that this spectacle has been exhibited by Providence
for no purpose, and without any use ! It may serve as a warning against
giving way to our scorn of creatures that seem harmless because of the
disproportion between their mischievous propensities and their powers
to injure, and against suffering them to breathe and to crawl till they
begin to ascend into regions where they may be more noxious than in
their congenial dunghill, or native dust !
From " Eminent Statesmen."
202 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
THE COURT OF CHARLES II.
Lord John Russell.
The court of Charles II. carried the dissolution of morals to the
greatest pitch. And the stage at that time united the profligacy of
French with the coarseness of English manners. The king loved to
practise, and was forward to encourage, the most unbounded license in
conversation as well as in conduct. The loosest jest and the most
indecent words were admitted into polished society, and even disgraced
the literature of the day. Nor was it found possible to import the
gallantry and dissipation of other climates without some mixture of
the darker vices. Sir John Denham and Lord Chesterfield have both
been accused of murdering their wives by poison, and the latter is s;iid
to have added deeper horror to his crime by administering death in the
cup of communion. These stories, whether true or false, could only
have found belief in a profligate age. It seemed as if the domestic
character of the nation was about to undergo an alarming change.
But the mass of English gentry did not follow the example of their
sovereign ; and he who examined beneath the surface would have found
the soil rich in honor and virtue. The same age which produced the
poetry of Rochester and the plays of Dryden, gave birth to the writings
of South, Taylor, and Barrow. And whilst the wits of the court were
ridiculing the epic poem of Milton, that sublime work was passing
through the hands of thousands, and obtaining for its author that better
sort of immortality which is gained by uniting the sentiments of a good
man with the inspiration of a great poet.
THE CHARACTER OF JAMES I.
Sanford.
James has been called a " learned fool," and his lucubrations on
government and royal authority, when we consider the position in
which he was he was practically placed, certainly entitle him to the
epithet. Royal despotism seems to have possessed for him all the
attraction of forbidden fruit, and the mortifications which he was con-
stantly compelled to undergo from insolent nobles and presuming
preachers, appear to have had only the effect of impressing more
strongly on his mind a sense of the theoretical irresponsibility of the
crown. His chimerical design was no other than to subvert the con-
stitution of England, and to establish in its place a despotic monarchy.
A dissembler by nature and by long habit, he dissembled badly,
and only succeeded in destroying all confidence in his most solemn
assurances. With all his boasted state-craft, he was never able to con-
ceal his projects until a favorable moment for their execution ; and by
DECLAMATIONS IX PROSE. 203
the pompous language with which he heralded them, called forth an
opposition which stifled them in the birth. He was a coward, both
morally and physically ; and this fact exercised a material influence
on the character of the contest during his life. His vanity led him
continually to assume to himself in words a sovereign power entirely
inconsistent with the constitution, and accommodated to some theory of
his own brain ; while the same love of seeming power induced him fre-
quently to interfere with the privileges of the House of Commons, and
when prompted by his necessities to have recourse to various illegal
means of raising money : but, when called to account for this language
and these proceedings, he gave way, not as Elizabeth, but in a manner
congenial with his own spirit ; a great deal of bluster was always fol-
lowed by an agony of terror and humiliation.
THE POLICY OF QUEEN ELIZABETH.
Lord Macaulat.
If such a man as Charles I. had been in the place of Queen Elizabeth
when the whole nation was crying out against the monopolies, he would
have refused all redress. He would have dissolved the Parliament, and
imprisoned the most popular members. He would have called another
Parliament. He would have given some vague and delusive promises
of relief in return for subsidies. When entreated to fulfil his promises,
he would have again dissolved the Parliament, and again imprisoned
his leading opponents. The country would have become more agitated
than before. The next House of Commons would have been more
unmanageable than that which preceded it. The tyrant would have
agreed to all that the nation demanded. He would have solemnly rati-
fied an act abolishing monopolies for ever. He would have received
a large supply in return for this concession ; and within half a year
new patents, more oppressive than those which had been cancelled,
would have been issued by scores. Such was the policy which brought
the heir of a long line of kings, in early youth the darling of his coun-
trymen, to a prison and a scaffold.
Elizabeth, before the House of Commons could address her, took out
of their mouths the words which they were about to utter in the name
of the nation. Her promises went beyond their desires. Her perform-
ance followed close upon her promise. She did not treat the nation as
an adverse party, as a party which had an interest opposed to hers, as
a party to which she was to grant as few advantages as possible, and
from which she was to extort as much money as possible. Her benefits
were given, not sold ; and, when once given, they were never with-
204 THE SELECT ACADEMIC BPBAKBR.
drawn. She gave them, too, with a frankness, an effusion of heart, a
princely dignity, a motherly tenderness, which enhanced their value.
They were received by the sturdy country gentlemen who bad oome
up to Westminster full of resentment, with tears of joy, and shouts of
" God save the Queen \" Charles the First gave up half the preroga-
tives of his crown to the Commons, and the Commons sent him in
return the Grand Remonstrance.
From •• History of England."
THE CATHEDRAL AT ROUEN.
Dr. Dit.i.in.
Let us enter the gloomy Gothic pile. Our sensations are indescri-
bable. It is not admiration — it is not the religious sentiment, but a
strange astonishment, not unmingled with awe, yet certainly not akin
to reverence. The long ranges of lofty pillars ; the countless sharp
Gothic arches ; the numerous chapels on either side, adorned with pic-
tures and statuary, frequently with candles burning before the image
of the Virgin with the infant Jesus in her arms, all seen in a flood of
Light poured into the church through more than a hundred windows,
w I lose glass is stained with every shade of color, from fiery red to the
soft tints fading into wdiite, until nave, and choir, and aisles seem ma-
gically illuminated ; the silence that reigns in the vast space, broken
only by the occasional footfall of a priest in his long black robe, flitting
along the nave, or entering one of the numerous confessionals, followed
by a penitent; with here and there the form of an aged and decrepit
female kneeling in superstitious reverence before some favorite image ;
all taken together, overpower the eye and the mind of the Protestant
traveller, unaccustomed to such scenes, with strange impressions and
oppressive, feelings, and he retires from his first visit confused and
astonished.
From " Observations in Europe."
ART IN ANTWERP.
Dr. Durbin.
If commerce and wealth have departed from Antwerp, she inherits
an imperishable glory in the fame of her arts. The cradle of the
Flemish school of painting, the home of Rubens, Vandyk, and Teniers,
Antwerp is still the repository of their choicest works, which attract
visiters from all parts of Europe, who are, indeed, the chief support
of the place. Its steamboats, its hotels, its innumerable commission-
ers and valets, all depend upon strangers for their employment.
The Descent from the Cross, the master-piece of Rubens, hangs in
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 205
the Cathedral of N6tre Dame, in which building are also preserved the
Elevation oftJie Cross, the Assumption of the Virgin, and the Resurrec-
tion, all by the same great master, and marked by the boldness of con*
ception and strength of coloring that characterized his genius. The
Descent from the Cross involves in the position of the prominent figures
some of the greatest difficulties of the art, which are admirably sur-
mounted by the painter. The head hanging languidly on the shoulder,
and the sinking of the body on one side, are the impersonation of the
heaviness of death. But the Crucifixion, by Vandyk, preserved in the
Museum, struck me most forcibly ; I could not repress indignation,
sorrow, even tears, as I gazed upon the image of the Crucified stooping
meekly and yielding his bleeding back to the strokes of the scourge,
while the blue marks of the thong verged into blackness, and the dark
blood trickled from the fearful wounds.
From " Observations in Europe."
DOMESTIC COMFORT IN THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY.
Hallam.
If the domestic buildings of the fifteenth century would not seem
very spacious or convenient at present, far less would this luxurious
generation be content with their internal accommodations. A gentle-
man's house containing three or four beds was extraordinarily well
provided ; few probably had more than two. The walls were com-
monly bare, without wainscot, or even plaster, except that some great
houses were furnished with hangings, and that, perhaps, hardly so
soon as the reign of Edward IV. It is unnecessary to add, that neither
libraries of books nor pictures could have found a place among furni-
ture. Silver plate was very rare, and hardly used for the table. A
few inventories of furniture that still remain, exhibit a miserable defi-
ciency. And this was incomparably greater in private gentlemen's
houses than among citizens, and especially foreign merchants. We
have an inventory of the goods belonging to Contarini, a rich Venetian
trader, at his house in St. Botolph's Lane, a. d. 1481. There appear to
have been no less than ten beds, and glass-windows are specially
noticed as movable furniture. No mention, however, is made of
chairs, or looking-glasses. If we compare this account, however
trifling in our estimation, with a similar inventory of furniture in
Skipton Castle, the great honor of the earls of Cumberland, and among
the most splendid mansions of the north, not at the same period, for I
have not found, any inventory of a nobleman's furniture so ancient, but
in 1572, after almost a century of continual improvement, we shall be
astonished at the inferior provision of the baronial residence. There
were not more than seven or eight beds in this great castle, nor had
18
206 THE SELBCT ACADBMIO BPEAKBR.
any of the chambers either chairs, glasses, or carpets. It is in this
. probably, that we must understand /Eneas Sylvius, it' he meant
anything more than to express a traveller 3 int, when he deol
that the kings of Scotland would rejoice I i be as well Lodged a< the
id class of citizens at Nuremberg. Pew burghers of that town had
mansions, I presume, equal to the palaces of Dunfermline or Stirling,
but it is not unlikely that they were better furnished.
In the construction of farm-houses and cottag [ally the latter,
there have probably been fewer changes; and those it would be mure
difficult to follow. Cottages in England .seem to have generally con-
sisted of a Bingle room, without division of stories. Chimneys were
unknown in Buch dwellings till the early part of Elizabeth's reign,
when a very rapid ami sensible improvement took place in tin: comforts
of our yeomanry ami cottaj
Prom " II ■;, .' "'■ M
TACITUS AS A HISTORIAN.
Lord Macaclat.
In the delineation of character, Ta'-it u- i< unrivalled among histo-
rians, ami has very few superiors among dramatists and novelists. By
the delineation of character, we do not mean the practice of drawing
up epigrammatic catalogues of good and had qualities, and appending
them to the names of eminent men. No writer, indeed, has done this
more skilfully than Tacitus: hut this is not his peculiar glory. All the
persons who occupy a large space in his works have an individuality
of character which seems to pervade all their words and actions.
We know them as if we had lived with them. Claudius, Nero, Otho,
both the Agrippinas, are masterpieces. But Tiberius is a still higher
miracle of art. The historian undertook to make us intimately ac-
quainted with a man singularly dark and inscrutable — with a man
Avhose real disposition long remained swathed up in intricate folds of
factitious virtues ; and over whose actions the hypocrisy of his youth,
and the seclusion of his old age, threw a singular mystery. He was to
exhibit the specious qualities of the tyrant in a light which might ren-
der them transparent, and enable us at once to perceive the covering
and the vices which it concealed. He was to trace the gradations by
which the first magistrate of a republic, a senator, mingling freely in
debate, a noble associating with his brother nobles, was transformed
into an Asiatic sultan ; he was to exhibit a character distinguished by
courage, self-command, and profound policy, yet defiled by all
"tk' extravagancy
And crazy ribaldry of fancy."
He was to mark the gradual effect of advancing age and approaching
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 207
tteath on this strange compound of strength and weakness; to exhibit
the old sovereign of the -world sinking into a dotage which, though it
rendered his appetites eccentric, and his temper savage, never impaired
the powers of his stern and penetrating mind, conscious of failing
strength, raging with capricious sensuality, yet to the last the keenest
of observers, the most artful of dissemblers, and the most terrible of
masters. The task was one of extreme difficulty. The execution is
almost perfect.
From " Essay on History."
MONTICELLO.
William Wirt.
The mansion-house at Monticello was built and furnished in the
days of Jefferson's prosperity. In its dimensions, its architecture, its
arrangements, and ornaments, it is such a one as became the character
and fortune of the man. It stands upon an elliptic plain, formed by
cutting down the apex of a mountain ; and, on the west, stretching away
to the north and the south, it commands a view of the Blue Ridge for
a hundred and fifty miles, and brings under the eye one of the boldest
and most beautiful horizons in the world : while, on the east, it pre-
sents an extent of prospect, bounded only by the spherical form of the
earth, in which nature seems to sleep in eternal repose, as if to form
one of her finest contrasts with the rude and rolling grandeur on the
west. In the wide prospect, and scattered to the north and south, are
several detached mountains, which contribute to animate and diversify
this enchanting landscape; and among them, to the south, Will iss'
Mountain, which is so interestingly depicted in his Notes. From this
summit, the Philosopher was wont to enjoy that spectacle, among the
sublimest of nature's operations, the looming of the distant mountains ;
and to watch the motions of the planets, and the greater revolution of
the celestial sphere. From this summit, too, the Patriot could look
down, with uninterrupted vision, upon the wide expanse of the world
around, for which he considered himself born ; and upward, to the open
and vaulted heavens, which he seemed to approach, as if to keep him
continually in mind of his high responsibility. It is indeed a prospect
in which you see and feel, at once, that nothing mean or little could
live. It is a scene fit to nourish those great and high-souled principles
which formed the elements of his character, and was a most noble and
appropriate post for such a sentinel over the rights and liberties of
man.
Approaching the house on the east, the visitor instinctively paused,
to cast around one thrilling glance at this magnificent panorama ; and
then passed to the vestibule, where, if he had not been previously
208 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
informed, he would immediately perceive that he was entering the
house of DO common man. In the spacious and lofty hall which opens
before him, he marks no tawdry and unmeaning ornaments ; but
before, on the right, on the left, all around, the eye is struck and grati-
fied with objects of science and taste, so classed and arranged as to
produce their finest effect. On one side, specimens of sculpture set
out, in such order, as to exhibit at a coup d'ccil the historical pro
of that art, from the first rude attempts of the aborigines of our coun-
try, up to that exquisite and finished bust of the great patriot himself,
from the master hand of Caracci. On the other side, the visitor sees
displayed a vast collection of specimens of Indian art, their paintings,
weapons, ornaments, and manufactures; on another, an array of the
fossil productions of our country, mineral and animal ; the polished
remains of those colossal monsters that once trod our forests, and are
no more; and a variegated display of the branching honors of those
" monarchs of the waste," that still people the wilds of the American
Continent.
From this hall lie was ushered into a noble saloon, from which the
glorious landscape of the west again bursts upon his view ; and which,
within, is hung thick around with the finest productions of the pencil —
historical paintings of the most striking subjects, from all countries,
and all ages ; the portraits of distinguished men and patriots, both of
Europe and America, and medallions and engravings in endless pro-
fusion.
From '• Eulogy on Jefferson and Adams" 1826.
EULOGY ON CALHOUN.
Daxiel Webster.
We are of the same age : I made my first entrance into the House
of Representatives in May, 1813, and there found Mr. Calhoun. lie
had already been in that body for two or three years. I found him then
an active and efficient member of the assembly to which he belonged,
taking a decided part, and exercising a decided influence, in all its
deliberations.
From that day to the day of his death, amidst all the strifes of party
and politics, there has subsisted between us, always and without inter-
ruption, a great degree of personal kindness.
Differing widely on many great questions respecting the institutions
and government of the country, those differences never interrupted our
personal and social intercourse. I have been present at most of the
distinguished instances of the exhibition of his talents in debate. I
have always heard him with pleasure, often with much instruction,
not unfrequently with the highest degree of admiration.
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 209
Mr. Calhoun was calculated to be a leader in whatsoever association
of political friends he was thrown. He was a man of undoubted
genius, and of commanding talent. All the country and all the world
admit that. His mind was both perceptive and vigorous. It was clear,
quick, and strong.
Sir, the eloquence of Mr. Calhoun, or the manner of his exhibition
of his sentiments in public bodies, was part of his intellectual charac-
ter. It grew out of the qualities of his mind. It was plain, strong,
terse, condensed, concise ; sometimes impassioned — still always severe.
Rejecting ornament, not often seeking far for illustration, his power
consisted in the plainness of his propositions, in the closeness of his
logic, and in the earnestness and energy of his manner. These are
the qualities, as I think, which have enabled him, through such a long
course of years, to speak often, and yet always command attention.
His demeanor as a Senator is known to us all — is appreciated, vene-
rated by us all. No man was more respectful to others ; no man
carried himself with greater decorum, no man with superior dignity.
I think there is not one of us but felt when he last addressed us from
his seat in the Senate, his form still erect, with a voice by no means
indicating such a degree of physical weakness as did, in fact, possess
him, with clear tones, and an impressive, and, I may say, an imposing
manner, who did not feel that he might imagine that we saw before us
a Senator of Rome, when Rome survived.
Sir, I have not in public nor in private life known a more assiduous
person in the discharge of his appropriate duties. I have known no
man who wasted less of life in what is called recreation, or employed
less of it in any pursuits not connected with the immediate discharge
of his duty. He seemed to have no recreation but the pleasure of con-
versation with his friends. Out of the chambers of Congress, he was
either devoting himself to the acquisition of knowledge pertaining to
the immediate subject of the duty before him, or else he was indulging
in those social interviews in which he so much delighted.
My honorable friend from Kentucky has spoken in just terms of his
colloquial talents. They certainly were singular and eminent. There
was a charm in his conversation not often found. He delighted, espe-
cially, in conversation and intercourse with young men. I suppose
that there has been no man among us who had more winning manners,
and such an intercourse and conversation, with men comparatively
young, than Mr. Calhoun. I believe one great power of his character,
in general, was his conversational talent. I believe it is that, as well
as a consciousness of his high integrity, and the greatest reverence for
his intellect and ability, that has made him so endeared an object to
the people of the state to which he belonged.
Mr. President, he had the basis, the indispensable basis, of all high
18* O
THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
character; and that was unspotted integrity — unimpeaehed honor and
character. If he had aspirations, they were high, and honorable, and
noble. There was nothing grovelling, or low, or meanly selfish, that
Came near the head or the heart of Mr. Calhoun. Finn in his DOT]
perfectly patriotic and honest, as I am Bure he was in the principles
that ho espoused, and in the measures that he defended, aside from
that large regard for that Bpecies of distinction that conducted him to
eminent stations for the benefit of the republic, I do not believe he had
q Belfish motive, or selfish feeling.
However, sir, he may have differed from others of us in his political
opinions or his political principles, those principles and those opinions
will now descend to posterity, under the sanction of :[ great name
He has Lived long enough, he has done enough, and he has done it bo
well, :o!ly. bo hi Qorably, as to o nnect himself for all time
with the records of his country, lie i- now a historical character.
Those of us who have known him here, will find that he has left upon
our minds and our heart- a Btrong and lasting impression of his person,
his character, and his public performances, which, while we live, will
never 1-- obliterated. We Bhall hereafter, I am sure, indulge in it as a
grateful recollection, that we have lived in his age ; that we have I
his contemporaries, that we have seen him, and heard him, and known
him. We shall delight to speak of him to those who are rising up to
fill our places. And. when the time shall come wdien we ourselves
shall go, one after another, in succession to our graves, we shall carry
with us a deep sense of his genius and character, his honor and integ-
rity, his amiable deportment in private life, and the purity of his
exalted patriotism.
From <; Speech in the Senate," 1850.
MURDER OF THOMAS A BECKET.
A. Tmuir.Y.
Thomas a Becket had just finished his morning repast, and his
servitors were still at the table. He saluted the Normans upon their
entrance, and demanded the object of their visit. After a few minutes
of silence, Reginald Fitz-Urse spoke: — "We have come," said he, "on
the part of the king, to demand that the excommunicated persons shall
be absolved, that the suspended Bishops be re-established, and that
you, yourself, explain your designs against the king." "It is not I,"
answered Thomas, "it is the sovereign pontiff himself who excommu-
nicated the Archbishop of York, and who alone, in consequence, has
the right to absolve him ; as for the rest, I will re-establish them, if they
will make their submission to me." " From whom then do you hold
your Archbishopric?" demanded Reginald ; " from the king, or from the
Pope?" "I hold the spiritual rights from God and the Pope, and the
DECLAMATIONS IN PKOSE. 211
temporal rights from the king." " What ! is it not the king who has
given you everything?" " By no means," answered Becket. Here the
Normans began to bite their gloves, and to express impatience. "I
think you mean to threaten me," said the Primate, " but it is useless ;
if all the swords in England were raised over my head, you would
gain nothing from me." " Well, then, we will do better than threaten,"
cried out Fitz-Urse, rising suddenly ; the others followed him towards
the door, crying out, To arms ! The door of the apartment was closed
immediately behind them. Reginald armed himself in the court-yard,
taking an axe from the hands of a carpenter who was working there.
He struck against the door to open it or break it in ; the people of the
house, hearing the blows of the axe, entreated the Archbishop to take
refuge in the church, which communicated by a gallery with his apart-
ment. He would not. They were going to drag him thither by force,
when one of the assistants remarked that the vesper-bell was ringing.
" Since it is the hour of my duty, I will go to the church," he said ;
and causing them to bear before him the cross, he walked slowly
through the gallery, and then towards the great altar.
Scarcely were his feet upon the steps of the altar, when Reginald
Fitz-Urse appeared at the other end of the church completely armed,
carrying in his hand his two-edged sword, crying out, " Hither! hither!
loyal servants of the king." The other conspirators followed him,
armed cap-a-pie, brandishing their swords. One cried out, " Where is
the traitor?" Becket did not answer. "Where is the Archbishop ?"
"Here," replied Becket; " but there is no traitor here; what are you
doing in the house of God in such armor? what is your purpose?"
" To slay you ! 7; was the answer. " I am resigned," replied the Arch-
bishop, "you will not see me fly from your swords; but, in the name
of the Almighty God, I forbid you to touch one of my companions,
clergy or lay, great or small." At that moment he received from
behind a blow with the flat of the sword on his shoulder, and the person
who struck it, said, "Fly, or you are a dead man." He did not move;
the armed men undertook to drag him outside of the church, being
scrupulous about killing him there ; he struggled with them, declaring
that he would not go out ; that he would compel them to execute upon
that very spot, their intentions or their orders. William de Tracy
raised his sword, and at one blow cut off the hand of a Saxon monk
named Edward Gryn, and wounded Becket on the head. A second
blow, given by another Norman, threw him down with his face against
the ground ; a third clove his skull, and was given with such violence,
that the sword was broken against the pavement. William Mautrait
then pushed the motionless body with his foot, saying, — " Thus perish
the traitor who has disturbed the kingdom, and caused the English to
rebel."
Original translation from " Conquest of England," &c.
212 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
THE COSMOS.
\',\\ LED Tavlui:.
In February, 1827, Humboldt removed from Paris. He did not
proceed directly to Berlin, but joined bis brother's son-in-law, Count
Bulow, who had just been appointed ambassador to England, on a
journey to London. Humboldt's stay in England was short, for in
May we find him permanently settled in Berlin. He found his brother
in Berlin, for he had a residence there, as well as at Tcgcl, and
of his old friends, among others Augustus Schlegel. The kin- received
him with open arms, and conferred upoo him the title of privy
councillor. lie might have been secretary of state, if he had chosen :
indeed, there was no office too good for him, but he loved science too
well to change it for politics. Never enamored of that artful, but
powerful goddess, who, whatever her faults, is sure in the end to
reward her worshippers, he was less likely to be won by her blandish-
ments then, than at any other period of his life. He had a new and
grand scheme on foot, — one that he had pondered over for years. He
thought of it at Paris, in his study among his books and manuscript-,
and in the salons of art and fashion, among the wise and the foolish.
He thought of it in Mexico, as he groped his way in the darkix
the mines, or wandered among the ruins of vanished nations. He
thought of it in Peru, on the rugged sides of Chimborazo and Cotopaxi ;
in the terrible pass of Quindiu ; in the dense forests of the Orinoco, and
at Cumana among the earthquakes. He thought of it on the deck of
the Pizarro in the midst of the sea, and on the crater of Teneriffe in
the illimitable wilderness of air. lie thought of it everywhere, by day
and at night, in his waking moments, and in his dreams. It was
always with him. It was the one thought of his thoughts, his first and
last conception, the most majestic statue of his house of life. It was
" Kosmos." "Its undefined image," he wrote in 1844, "has floated
before my mind for almost half a century."
All the travels that he had undertaken, and all the books that he had
written, related to this great work. It was not as a traveller that he
had crossed the sea, and explored unknown lands : nor yet as a man
of science : but as the traveller, the man of science. He aimed at no
common fame. Indeed, he aimed at none. It was to a nobler object
than " the bauble reputation" that he devoted his life ; it was a thirst
for knowledge, a passion for wisdom, not in one thing, or many things,
but in all things. To be a wise man was not enough ; he would be the
wisest of men. His wisdom was universal, like the Universe to which
it was directed, and which he understood, if ever man did, or can
understand it.
From " Life of Huinboldt.'''
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 213
LA VALETTE AT MALTA.
Prescott.
La Valette was one of those rare men whom Providence seems to
raise up for special occasions, so wonderfully are their peculiar quali-
ties suited to the emergency. To that attachment to his order which
he had in common with his brethren, he united a strong religious
sentiment, sincere and self-sacrificing, which shone through every act
of his life. This gave him an absolute ascendency over his followers,
which he had the capacity to turn to full account. He possessed many
of the requisites for success in action ; great experience, a quick eye,
a cool judgment. To these was united a fixedness of purpose not to
be shaken by menace or entreaty ; and which was only to be redeemed
from the imputation of obstinacy by the extraordinary character of the
circumstances in which" he was placed. The reader will recall a
memorable example, when La Valette insisted on defending St. Elmo
to the last, in defiance not only of the remonstrance, but the resistance
of its garrison. Another equally pertinent is his refusal, though in
opposition to his council, to abandon the town and retire to St. Angelo.
One can hardly doubt that on his decision, in both these cases, rested
the fate of Malta.
La Valette was of a serious turn, and, as it would seem, with a
tendency to sadness in his temperament. In the portraits that remain
of him, his noble features are touched with a shade of melancholy,
which, taken in connection with his history, greatly heightens the
interest of their expression. His was not the buoyant temper, the flow
of animal spirits, which carries a man over every obstacle in his way.
Yet he could comfort the sick, and cheer the desponding; not by
making light of danger, but by encouraging them like brave men
fearlessly to face it. He did not delude his followers by the promises
— after he had himself found them to be delusive — of foreign succor.
He taught them, instead, to rely on the succor of the Almighty, who
would never desert those who were fighting in his cause. He infused
into them the spirit of martyrs, — that brave spirit which, arming the
soul with contempt of death, makes the weak man stronger than the
strongest.
Froia" Philip II."
THE MAHOMETAN CORSAIR.
Prescott.
The corsair's life was full of maritime adventure. Many a tale of
tragic interest was told of his exploits, and many a sad reci elevated by misfortune ; and his final hour displayed — what
seldom graces a public exit from the scene of life — an unaffected
courage, alike removed from weakness or bravado.
Yet time will but confirm the judgment that the men of the Revolu-
tion passed upon Andre. They condemned him, yet they pitied him —
220 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
so we may do — without yielding to the morbid sensibility that can find
a saint and martyr in " the amiable spy," and would sacrifice the fame
of great and just men to his memory.
" The Avarmest panegyrists of Washington," says Lord Mahon,
"sometimes imply that his character was wholly faultless ;" they err
then, — for to be faultless is to be more than human : yet in no other
of the world's heroes is it so difficult to trace the common infirmities
of nature. That, in the transaction here discussed, the " faulty point"
of his character has been laid bare, through the acumen of the English
historian, few will agree with him in thinking. For never was more
manifest, than in the disposal of the case of Andr6, the constant, calm,
and high devotion to duty, that made the life of Washington an example
of as near approach to complete moral greatness as has yet exalted the
dignity of man.
From ' ; Contributions to American History."
WEST POINT.
LOSSING.
In the midst of wild mountain scenery, picturesque but not magni-
ficent when compared with the White Mountains of New Hampshire,
the Adirondack and Catskill range in New York, or the Alleghanies in
Western Pennsylvania and Virginia, is a bold promontory called West
Point, rising more than one hundred and fifty feet above the waters of
the Hudson, its top a perfectly level and fertile plateau, and every rood
hallowed by associations of the deepest interest. West Point! What
a world of thrilling reminiscences has the utterance of that name brought
to ten thousand memories in times past, now, alas! nearly all slum-
bering in the dreamless sleep of the dead ! How does it awaken the
generous emotions of patriotic reverence for the men, and things, and
times of the Revolution, in the bosoms of the present generation ! Nor
is it by the associations alone that the traveller is moved with strong
emotions when approaching West Point ; the stranger, indifferent to
our history and of all but the present, feels a glow of admiration as
he courses along the sinuous channel of the river or climbs the rough
hills that embosom it. The inspiration of nature then takes possession
of his heart and mind, and
" When he treads
The rock-encumbered crest, and feels the strange
And wild tumultuous throbbings of his heart,
Its every chord vibrating with tbe touch
Of the high power that reigns supreme o'er all,
He well may deem that lips of angel-forms
Have breathed to him the holy melody
That fills his o'erfr aught heart."
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 221
The high plain is reached by a carriage-way that winds up the bank
from the landing; the visitor overlooking, in the passage, on the right,
the little village of Camptown, which comprises the barracks of United
States soldiers and a few dwellings of persons not immediately connected
with the military works. On the left, near the summit, is " the Artillery
Laboratory," and near by, upon a little hillock, is an obelisk erected
to the memory of Lieutenant-colonel Wood. On the edge of the cliff,
overlooking the steamboat landing, is a spacious hotel, where I booked
myself as a boarder for a day or two. A more delightful spot, particularly
in summer, for a weary traveller or a professed lounger, cannot easily be
found, than the broad piazza of that public dwelling presents. Breezy
in the hottest weather, and always enlivened by pleasant company, the
sojourner need not step from beneath its shadow to view a most
wonderful variety of pleasing objects in nature and art. Upon the
grassy plain before him are buildings of the military establishment —
the Academic Halls, the Philosophical and Library buildings, the
Observatory, the Chapel, the Hospital, the Barracks and Mess Hall of
the cadets, and the beautifully shaded dwellings of the officers and
professors that skirt the western side of the plateau at the base of the
hills. On the parade, the cadets, in neat uniform, exhibit their various
exercises, and an excellent band of music delights the ear. Lifting the
eyes to the westward, the lofty summit of Mount Independence, crested
by the gray ruins of Fort Putnam, and beyond it the loftier apex of
Redoubt Hill, are seen. Turning a little northward, Old Cro' Nest and
Butter Hill break the horizon nearly half way to the zenith ; and
directly north, over Martelaer's Rock or Constitution Island, through
the magnificent cleft in the chain of hills through which the Hudson
flows, is seen the bright waters of Newburgh Bay, the village glittering
in the sunbeams, and the beautiful cultivated slopes of Dutchess and
Orange. The scenery at the eastward is better comprehended and
more extensive as seen from Fort Putnam, whither we shall presently
climb.
From " Pictorial- Field Book of the Revolution."
THE IMPOSSIBLE.
Robert Dale Owen.
Returned as it were from the dead, survivor of a voyage overhung
with preternatural horrors, his great problem, as in despite of man
and nature, triumphantly resolved, Columbus, the visionary, was wel-
comed as the conqueror ; the needy adventurer was recognised as
Admiral of the Western Ocean and Viceroy of a New Continent ; was
received, in solemn state, by the haughtiest sovereigns in the world,
rising at his approach, and invited (Castilian punctilio overcome by
19*
'222 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
intellectual power) to be seated before them. He told his wondrous
story, and exhibited, as vouchers for its truth, the tawny savages and
the barbaric gold. King, queen, and court sunk on their knees; and
the Te Deum sounded, as for some glorious victory.
That night, in the silence of his chamber, what thoughts may. have
thronged on Columbus's mind ! What exultant emotions must have
swelled his heart ! A past world had deemed the Eastern Hemisphere
the entire habitable earth. Age had succeeded to age, century had
passed away after century, and still the interdict had been acquiesced
in, that westward beyond the mountain pillars it belonged not to man
to explore. And yet he, the chosen of God to solve the greatest of
terrestrial mysteries, affronting what even the hardy mariners of Palos
had regarded as certain destruction, — he, the hopeful one where all
but himself despaired, — had wrested from the Deep its mighty secret,
— had accomplished what the united voice of the Past had declared to
be an impossible achievement.
But now, if, in the stillness of that night, to this man, enthusiast,
dreamer, believer as he was, there had suddenly appeared some Nos-
tradamus of the fifteenth century, of prophetic mind instinct with the
future, and had declared to the ocean-compeller that not four centuries
Avould elapse before that vast intervening gulf of waters — from the
farther shore of which, through months of tempest, he had just groped
back his weary way — should interpose no obstacle to the free commu-
nication of human thought ; that a man standing on the western shore
of Europe should, within three hundred and seventy years from that
day, engage in conversation with his fellow standing on the eastern
shore of the new-found world ; nay, — marvel of all marvels ! — that the
same fearful bolt which, during his terrible voyage, had so often lighted
up the waste of waters around him, should itself become the agent of
communication across that storm-tossed ocean ; that mortal creatures,
unaided by angel or demon, without intervention of heaven or pact
with hell, should bring that lightning under domestic subjection, and
employ it, as they might some menial or some carrier-dove, to bear
their daily messages ; — to a prediction so wildly extravagant, so sur-
passingly absurd, as that, what credence could even Columbus lend ?
What answer to such a prophetic vision may we imagine that he, with
all a life's experience of a man's short-sightedness, would have given ?
Probably some reply like this : that, though in the future many strange
things might be, such a tampering with Nature as that — short of a
direct miracle from God — was impossible !
From "Footfalls on the Boundary of Another World."
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 223
HAVELOCK'S HIGHLANDERS.
W. Brock.
The Highlanders had never fought in that quarter of India before,
and their character was unknown to the foe. Their advance has been
described by spectators as a beautiful illustration of the power of
discipline. With sloped arms and rapid tread, through the broken
and heavy lands, and through the well-directed fire of artilllery and
musketry, linked in their unfaltering lines they followed their mounted
leaders, the mark for many rifles. They did not pause to fire — did not
even cheer ; no sound from them was heard as that living wall came on
and on, to conquer or to die. Now they are near the village ; but their
enemies occupy every house, and from every point a galling fire is
poured on them from the heavy guns. The men lie down till the iron
storm passses over. It was but for a moment. The General gave the
word, " Rise up ! Advance \" and wild cheers rung out from those brave
lines — wilder even than their fatal fire within a hundred yards ; and the
pipes sounded the martial pibroch, heard so often as earth's latest music
by dying men. The men sprung up the hill covered by the smoke of
their crushing volley, almost with the speed of their own bullets ; over,
and through all obstacles, the gleaming bayonets advanced ; and then
followed those moments of personal struggle, not often protracted, when
the Mahratta learned, too late for life, the power of the Northern arm.
The position was theirs. All that stood between them and the guns fled
the field or was cut down. General Havelock was with his men. Excited
by the scene, some letter-writers say that he exclaimed, " Well done,
78th. You shall be my own regiment. Another charge like that
will win the day."
From '■•Life of Havelock."
THE NEWS FROM LEXINGTON.
George Bancroft.
Darkness closed upon the country and upon the town, but it was no
night for sleep. Heralds on swift relays of horses transmitted the
war-message from hand to hand, till village repeated it to village ; the
sea to the backwoods ; the plains to the highlands ; and it was never
suffered to droop, till it had been borne north, and south, and east, and
west, throughout the land. It spread over the bays that receive the
Saco and the Penobscot. Its loud reveille broke the rest of the trap-
pers of New Hampshire, and ringing like bugle-notes from peak to
peak, overleapt the Green Mountains, swept onward to Montreal, and
descended the ocean river, till the responses were echoed from the cliffs
of Quebec. The hills along the Hudson told to one another the tale.
As the summons hurried to the south, it was one day at New York ;
224 THE SELECT ACADEMIC BPBAKBB.
in one more at Philadelphia ; the next it lighted a watchfire at Balti-
more ; thence it waked an answer at Annapolis. Crossing the Poto-
mac near Mount Vernon, it was sent forward without a halt to Wil-
liamsburg. It traversed the Dismal Swamp to Nanseruond, along the
route of the first emigrants to North Carolina. It moved oiw
still onwards, through boundless groves of evergreen, to Newborn and
to Wilmington. '• For God's sake, forward it by night and by day,"
wrote Cornelius Harnett by the express which sped for Brunswick.
Patriots of South Carolina caught up its tones at the border, and
despatched it to Charleston, and through pines and palmettoes and
moss-clad live-oaks, still further to the south, till it resounded among
the New England settlements beyond the Savannah. Hillsborough
and the Mecklenburg district of North Carolina rose in triumph, now
that their wearisome uncertainty had its end. The Blue Ridge took
up the voice and made it heard from one end to the other of the valley
of Virginia. The Alleghanies, as they listened, opened their barriers
that the " loud call" might pass through to the hardy riflemen on the
Ilolston, the Watauga, and the French Broad. Ever renewin.
strength, powerful enough even to create a commonwealth, it breathed
its inspiring word to the first settlers of Kentucky ; so that hunters
who made their halt in the matchless valley of the Elkhorn, commem-
orated the nineteenth day of April by naming their encampment
"Lexington."
From " HiiU/ry of the. UniUd Slates/'
ALLEN S CAPTURE OF TTCOXDEROGA.
Geoege Baxceoft.
Tee men were at once drawn up in three ranks, and as the first
beams of morning broke upon the mountain peaks, Allen addro
them: " Friends and fellow-soldiers: We must this morning quit our
pretensions to valor, or possess ourselves of this fortress ; and inasmuch
as it is a desperate attempt, I do not urge it on. contrary to will. You
that will undertake voluntarily, poise your firelock."
At the word every firelock was poised. " Face to the right," cried
Allen ; and placing himself at the head of the centre file. Arnold keep-
ing emulously at his side, he marched to the gate. It was shut, but the
wicket was open. The sentry snapped a fuzee at him. The Ameri-
cans rushed into the fort, darted upon the guards, and raising the
Indian war whoop, such as had not been heard there since the days of
Montcalm, formed on the parade in hollow square, to face each of the
barracks. One of the sentries, after wounding an officer, and being
slightly wounded himself, cried out for quarter, and showed the way to
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 225
the apartment of the commanding officer. " Come forth instantly, or
I will sacrifice the whole garrison/ 7 cried Ethan Allen, as he reached
the door. At this, Deiaplace, the commander, came out undressed,
■with his breeches in his hand. " Deliver to me the fort instantly/'
said Alien. " By what authority V asked Deiaplace. "In the name
of the great Jehovah, and the Continental Congress!" answered Allen.
Deiaplace began to speak again, but was peremptorily interrupted, and
: sight of Allen's drawn sword near his head, he gave up the garrison,
ordering his men to be paraded without arms.
Thus was Ticonderoga taken in the gray of the morning of the tenth
of May. What cost the British nation eight millions sterling, a suc-
cession of campaigns and many lives, was won in ten minutes by a
few undisciplined men, without the loss of life or limb.
From " History of the United States."
THE DOWNFALL OF NAPOLEON.
Thomas Arnold, D. D.
In 1792 there broke out by far the most alarming danger of univer-
sal dominion, which had ever threatened Europe. The most military
people in Europe became engaged in a war for their very existence.
Invasion on the frontiers, civil war and all imaginable horrors raging
within, the ordinary relations of life went to wrack, and every French-
man became a soldier. It was a multitude numerous as the host of
Persia, but animated by the courage and skill and energy of the old
Romans. One thing alone was wanting, that which Pyrrhus said the
Romans wanted, to enable them to conquer the world, a general and a
ruler like himself. There was wanted a master hand to restore and
maintain peace at home, and to concentrate and direct the immense
military resources of France against her foreign enemies. And such
a one appeared in Napoleon. Pacifying La Vendee, receiving back
the emigrants, restoring the church, remodelling the law, personally
absolute, yet carefully preserving and maintaining all the great points
which the nation had won at the revolution, Napoleon united in him-
self not only the power but the whole will of France, and that power
and will were guided by a genius for war such as Europe had never
seen since Ciesar. The effect was absolutely magical. In November,
1799, he was made First Consul; he found France humbled by defeats,
his Italian conquests lost, his allies invaded, his own frontier threat-
ened. He took the field in May, 1800, and in June the whole fortune
of the war was changed, and Austria driven out of Lombardy by the
victory of Marengo. Still the flood of the tide rose higher and higher,
and every successive wave of its advance swept awav a kingdom.
P
22G THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
Earthly state has never reached a prouder pinnacle, than when Napo-
leon in June, 1812, gathered his army at Dresden, that mighty host,
unequalled in all time, of 450,000, not men merely, hut effective sol-
diers, and there received the homage of subject kings. And now what
was the principal adversary of this tremendous power? by whom was
it checked, and resisted, and put down? By none, and by nothing,
but the direct and manifest interposition of God. I know of no lan-
guage so well fitted to describe that victorious advance to Moscow, and
the utter humiliation of the retreat, as the language of the prophet
with respect to the advance and subsequent destruction of the host of
Sennacherib. " When they arose early in the morning, behold they
were all dead corpses," applies almost literally to that memorable
night of frost in which twenty thousand horses perished, and the
strength of the French army was utterly broken. Human instruments
no doubt were employed in the remainder of the work, nor would I
deny to Germany and to Prussia the glories of that great year 1813,
nor to England the honor of her victories in Spain, or of the crowning
victory of Waterloo. But at the distance of thirty years, those who
lived in the time of danger, and remember its magnitude, and now
calmly review what there was in human strength to avert it, must
acknowledge, I think, beyond all controversy, that the deliverance of
Europe from the dominion of Napoleon was effected neither by Russia,
nor by Germany, nor by England, but by the hand of God alone.
From "Lectures on Modern Ilislory."
ISABELLA OF SPAIN AND ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND.
Prescott.
The feature of bigotry, which has thrown a shade over Isabella's
otherwise beautiful character, might lead to a disparagement of her
intellectual power compared with that of the English queen. To esti-
mate this aright, we must contemplate the results of their respective
reigns. Elizabeth found all the materials of prosperity at hand, and
availed herself of them most ably to build up a solid fabric of national
grandeur. Isabella created these materials. She saw the faculties of
her people locked up in a death-like lethargy, and she breathed into
them the breath of life for those great and heroic enterprises which ter-
minated in such glorious consequences to the monarchy. It is when
viewed from the depressed position of her early days, that the achieve-
ments of her reign seem scarcely less than miraculous. The masculine
genius of the English queen stands out relieved beyond its natural
dimensions by its separation from the softer qualities of her sex.
While her rival's, like some vast, but symmetrical edifice, loses in
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 227
appearance somewhat of its actual grandeur from the perfect harmony
of its proportions.
The circumstances of their deaths, which were somewhat similar,
displayed the great dissimilarity of their characters. Both pined
amidst their royal state, a prey to incurable despondency rather than
any marked bodily distemper. In Elizabeth it sprung from wounded
vanity, a sullen conviction that she had outlived the admiration on
which she had so long fed, — and even the solace of friendship and the
attachment of her subjects. Nor did she seek consolation, where alone
it was to be found, in that sad hour. Isabella, on the other hand, sunk
under a too acute sensibility to the sufferings of others. But, amidst
the gloom which gathered around her, she looked with the eye of faith
to the brighter prospects which unfolded of the future ; and when she
resigned her last breath, it was amidst the tears and universal lamen-
tations of her people.
From " Ferdinand and Isabella"
VENICE.
G-. S. HlIXARD.
In external Venice there are but three things to be seen ; the sea,
the sky, and architecture. There are no gardens, no wide spaces over
which the eye may range ; no landscapes, properly so called. There
are no slopes, no gradations, no blending of curved lines. What is not
horizontal is perpendicular: where the plane of the sea ends, the
plumb-line of the facade begins. It is only by climbing some tower or
spire, and looking down, that we can see things massed and grouped
together. The streets are such passages as would naturally be found
in a city where there were no vehicles, and where every foot of earth is
precious. They are like lateral shafts cut through a quarry of stone.
In walking through them, the houses on either hand can be touched.
The mode of life on the first floor is easily visible, and many agreeable
domestic pictures may be observed by a not too fastidious eye. These
streets, intersected by the smaller canals, are joined together by bridges
of stone, and frequently expand into small courts, in the middle of
which is generally found a well, with a parapet, or covering, of stone,
often curiously carved. Here, at certain seasons of the day, the people
of the neighborhood collect together to draw water, gossip, and make
love ; and here the manners and life which are peculiar to Venice may
be studied to advantage. Goethe complains of the dirt which he found
in the streets. Time and the xiustrians have remedied that defect, and
they are now quite clean. But nowhere else have I heard the human
voice so loud. Whether this arises from the absence of all other sounds,
or whether these high and narrow streets multiply and reverberate
228 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
every tone, 1 cannot say, but everybody seems to be putting forth the
utmost capacity of his lungs. I recall a sturdy seller of vegetables in
Shylock's Rialto — which is not the bridge so called, but a square near
it — whose voice was like the voice of three, aud who seemed to take as
much pleasure in his explosive cries, as a boy in beating his first drum.
From " Six Months in Italy."
SPRING.
Hawthorne.
Thank Providence for Spring! The earth — and man himself, by
sympathy with his birth-place — would be far other than wc find them,
if life toiled wearily onward, without this periodical infusion of the
primal spirit. Will the world ever be so decayed, that spring may not
renew its greenness? Can man be so dismally age-stricken, that no
faintest sunshine of his youth may revisit him once a year? It is im-
possible. The moss on our time-worn mansion brightens into beauty ;
the good old pastor, who once dwelt here, renewed his prime, regained
his boyhood, in the genial breezes of his ninetieth spring. Alas for
the worn and heavy soul, if, whether in youth or age, it have outlived
its privilege of spring-time sprightliness ! From such a soul the world
must hope no reformation of its evil — no sympathy with the lofty faith
and gallant struggles of those who contend in its behalf. Summer
works in the present, and thinks not of the future ; Autumn is a rich
conservative ; Winter has utterly lost its faith, and clings tremulously
to the remembrance of what has been ; but Spring, with its outgushing
life, is the true type of the Movement !
From " Mosses from an Old Manse"
SCANDINAVIAN AMAZONS.
II. WnXATOX.
Scandinavian women of illustrious birth sometimes became pirates
and roved the seas. More frequently, however, they shared the toils
and dangers of land-battles. These Amazons were called Skjold-
meyar, or virgins of the shield. The romantic Sagas are filled with
the most striking traits of their heroic bearing. In the Volsungasaga
we have the romantic tale of Alfhilda, daughter of Sigurdr, king of
the Ostrogoths, who was chaste, brave, and fair. She was always
veiled from the gaze of vulgar curiosity, and lived in a secluded bower,
where she was guarded b} T two champions of prodigious strength and
valor. Sigurdr had proclaimed that whoever aspired to his daughter's
hand, must vanquish the two gigantic champions, — his own life to be
the forfeit if he failed in the perilous enterprise. Alf, a young sea-
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 229
king, who had already signalized himself by his heroic exploits, en-
countered and slew the two champions ; but Alf hilda herself was not
disposed to surrender tamely. She boldly put to sea with her female
companions, all clothed, like herself, in male attire, and completely
armed for war. They fell in with a fleet of Vikingar, who, having just
lost their chieftain, elected the intrepid heroine for his successor. She
continued thus to rove the Baltic Sea, at the head of this band of
pirates, until the wide-spread fame of her exploits came to the ear of
Alf, her suitor, who gave chase to her squadron, and pursued it into
the Gulf of Finland. The brave Alfhilda gave battle. Alf boarded
the bark of the princess, who made a gallant and obstinate resistance,
until her helmet being cloven open by one of his champions, disclosed
to their astonished view the fair face and lovely locks of his coy mis-
tress, who, being thus vanquished by her magnanimous lover, no
longer refuses him the hand he had sought, whilst his gallant cham-
pion espouses one of her fair companions.
From :: History of the Northmen."
CHRISTMAS IN ST. PETERS.
G. S. HlLLARD.
At an early hour on that day I found the church already occupied by
a great crowd. A double row of soldiers stretched from the entrance
to the altar, around which the Pope's guards, in their fantastic uniform,
looking like the knaves in a pack of cards, were stationed ; while a
series of seats on either side were filled by ladies dressed in black and
wearing veils. The foreign ambassadors were in a place appropriated
to them in the tribune. Among the spectators were several in military
uniforms. A handsome young Englishman, in a rich hussar dress, of
scarlet and gold, attracted much attention. In a recess, above one of
the great piers of the dome, a choir of male singers was stationed,
whose voices, without any instrumental accompaniment, blended into
complete harmony, and gave the most perfect expression to that difficult
and complicated music which the church of Rome has consecrated to
the use of its high festivals. We waited some time for the advent of
the Pope, but, with such objects around us, were content to wait. The
whole spectacle was one of animated interest and peculiar beauty.
The very defects of the church — its gay, secular, and somewhat theatri-
cal character — were, in this instance, embellishments which enhanced
the splendor of the scene. The various uniforms, the rich dresses, the
polished arms of the soldiery, were in unison with the marble, the
stucco, the bronze, and the gilding. The impression left upon the mind
was not that of sacredness ; that is, not upon a mind that had been
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230 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
formed under Protestant and Puritan influences ; but rather of a gorge-
ous ceremonial belonging to some "gay religion, full of pomp and gold."
But we travel to little purpose if we carry with us the standard which
is formed at home, and expect the religious sentiment to manifest itself
at all times, and in all places, in the same manner. The Scotch Cove-
nanter upon the hillside, the New England Methodist at a camp-meet-
ing, worship God in spirit and in truth ; but shall we presume to say
that the Italian is a formalist and a hypocrite, because his devotion
requires the aid of music, painting, and sculpture, and, without visible
symbols, goes out like a flame without air ?
In due season the Pope appeared, seated in the " sedia gestatoria," a
sort of capacious arm-chair, borne upon men's shoulders, flanked on
either side by the enormous fan of white peacock feathers. He was
carried up the whole length of the nave, distributing his blessing with
a peculiar motion of the hand upon the kneeling congregation. It
seemed by no means a comfortable mode of transportation, and the
expression of his countenance was that of a man ill at ease, and sensible
of the awkwardness and want of dignity of his position. His dress
was of white satin, richly embroidered with gold ; a costume too gaudy
for daylight, and by no means so becoming as that of the cardinals,
whose flowing robes of crimson and white produced the finest and
richest effect. The chamberlains of the Pope, who attended on this
occasion in considerable numbers, wear the dress of England in the
time of Charles I., so well known in the portraits of Vandyke. It looks
better in pictures than in the life, and shovrs so much of the person
that it requires an imposing figure to carry it off. A commonplace
man, in such a costume, looks like a knavish valet who has stolen his
master's clothes.
High mass was said by the Pope in person, and the responses were
sung by the choir. He performed the service with an air and manner
expressive of true devotion ; and, though I felt that there was a chasm
between me and the rite which I witnessed, I followed his movements
in the spirit of respect, and not of criticism. But one impressive and
overpowering moment will never be forgotten. When the tinkling of
the bell announced the elevation of the Host, the whole of the vast
assemblage knelt or bowed their faces. The pavement was suddenly
strewn with prostrate forms. A silence like that of death fell upon the
church — as if some celestial vision had passed before the living eyes,
and hushed into stillness every pulse of human feeling. After the
pause of a few seconds, during which every man could have heard the
beating of his own heart, a band of wind instruments near the entrance,
of whose presence I had not been aware, poured forth a few sweet and
solemn strains, which floated up the nave and overflowed the whole
interior. The effect of this invisible music was beyond anything I have
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 231
ever heard or ever expect to hear. The air seemed stirred with the
trembling of angelic wings ; or, as if the gates of heaven had been
opened, and a " wandering breath" from the songs of seraphs had been
borne to the earth. How fearfully and wonderfully are we made ! A
few sounds, which, under ordinary circumstances, would have been
merely a passing luxury to the ear, heard at this moment, and beneath
this dome, were like a purifying wave, which, for an instant, swept over
the soul, bearing away with it all the soil and stains of earth, and
leaving it pure as infancy. There was, it is true, a refluent tide ; and
the world displaced by the solemn strain came back with the echo ; but
though we " cannot keep the heights we are competent to gain/' we are
the better for the too brief exaltation.
From " Six Months in Italy."
WASHINGTON AT GERMANTOWN.
Sidney G. Fisher.
In 1793, whilst the yellow fever was in Philadelphia, Washington
resided in Germantown. He lived in the house on the south-west side
of the main street below Schoolhouse Lane, then the property of Isaac
Franks, now owned and occupied by the family of the late estimable
and respected Samuel B. Morris. It is a large and comfortable man-
sion, old-fashioned in its style of architecture, but in better taste than
many modern houses of more pretension. There Washington dwelt ;
and every day his stately and graceful form was seen in the street and
lanes, on foot and on horseback, returning with grave courtesy the
salutations of the people ; conversing with the humblest and the highest
with unaffected kindness and simplicity, mingled with native dignity ;
and inspiring in the hearts of all, veneration and love by his aspect
and manner, as well as by his achievements and character. No man
depended less for the respect of others upon the adventitious and the
external. Not to what he had, of station or power or wealth, but to
what he was, to what he did daily, to what he had done through life,
was the spontaneous homage of men rendered, whenever he could be
seen among them. There was nothing brilliant or dazzling in his
character. He was not a genius, in the sense that implies great powers
of original or subtle thought or creative imagination. He was neither
a philosopher, a poet, nor an orator. Even in war, there are names
whose Plutonian splendors eclipse his own. His mind was distin-
guished by large, sound, practical good sense, inspired and elevated by
noble sentiment. His sagacity was of that high kind that perceives
intuitively the great laws that control the action of society, and could
neither be deceived by visionary dreams of ideal good, nor degraded to
serve the low interests of the passing hour. His views were broad and
THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
general, comprehending the necessities of the present and the hopes
of the future; but they were attainable, and contemplated the actual
government of human society, not Utopian republics of impossible hap-
piness and virtue. His qualities in action were similar. Judgment,
prudence, unwearied fortitude and perseverance, bold and prompt deci-
sion, all directed tojust and moderate ends, and these gained, satisfied;
not sighing for fresh fields of enterprise, and other worlds to conquer.
No temptation could have made him cross a Rubicon ; no Moscow could
lone allured him to empire or ruin. He had no selfish designs either
of gain or glory ; no private purposes. The freed. mi and independ-
ence of his country were the objects to which he devoted himself,
and to these only because they Averc in themselves jusl and right. He
had all
u The king-becoming graces :
As justice, verity, temperance, stableness,
Bounty, perseverance, meroy, Lowliness,
Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude."
From " Address al Germantoum," 1860.
MANHATTAN IN THE OLDEN TIME.
W. Ir\ in i,
In this dulcet period of my history, when the beauteous island of
Mauna-hata presented a scene, the very counterpart of those glowing
pictures drawn of the golden reign of Saturn, there was, as I have
before observed, a happy ignorance, an honest simplicity prevalent
among its inhabitants, which, were I even able to depict, would be but
little understood by the degenerate age for which I am doomed to write.
Even the female sex, those arch innovators upon the tranquillity, the
honesty, and gray-beard customs of society, seemed for a while to con-
duct themselves with incredible sobriety and comeliness.
Their hair, untortured by the abominations of art, was scrupulously
pomatumed back from their foreheads with a candle, and covered with
a little cap of quilted calico, which fitted exactly to their heads. Their
petticoats of linsey-woolsey were striped with a variety of gorgeous
dyes — though I must confess these gallant garments were rather short,
scarce reaching below the knee ; but then they made up in the number,
which generally equalled that of the gentlemen's small clothes ; and
what is still more praiseworthy, they were all of their own manufacture
— of which circumstance, as may well be supposed, they were not a
little vain.
These were the honest days, in which every woman stayed at home,
read the Bible, and wore pockets — ay, and that too of a goodly size,
fashioned with patchwork into many curious devices, and ostentatiously
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 233
worn on the outside. These, in fact, were convenient receptacles, where
all good housewives carefully stored away such things as they wished
to have at hand ; by which means they often came to be incredibly
crammed — and I remember there was a story current when I was a
boy, that the lady of Wouter Van Twiller once had occasion to empty
her right pocket in search of a wooden ladle, when the contents filled
a couple of corn baskets, and the utensil was discovered lying among
some rubbish in one corner — but we must not give too much faith to all
these stories ; the anecdotes of those remote periods being very subject
to exaggeration.
Besides these notable pockets, they likewise wore scissors and pin-
cushions suspended from their girdles by red ribands, or among the
more opulent and showy classes, by brass, and even silver chains —
indubitable tokens of thrifty housewives and industrious spinsters. I
cannot say much in vindication of the shortness of the petticoats ; it
doubtless was introduced for the purpose of giving the stockings a
chance to be seen, which were generally of blue worsted with magnifi-
cent red clocks — or perhaps to display a well-turned ankle, and a neat,
though serviceable foot, set off by a high-heeled leathern shoe, with a
large and splendid silver buckle. Thus we find that the gentle sex in
all ages have shown the same disposition to infringe a little upon the
laws of decorum, in order to betray a lurking beauty, or gratify an
innocent love of finery.
From " Knickerbocker 's History of New York."
FASHIONABLE PAETIES IN NEW NETHERLANDS.
W. Irving.
In those happy days a well-regulated family always rose with the
dawn, dined at eleven, and went to bed at sunset. Dinner was inva-
riably a private meal, and the fat old burghers showed incontestable
signs of disapprobation and uneasiness at being surprised by a visit
from a neighbor on such occasions. But though our worthy ancestors
were thus singularly averse to giving dinners, yet they kept up the
social bands of intimacy by occasional banquetings, called tea-parties.
These fashionable parties were generally confined to the higher
classes, or noblesse, that is to say, such as kept their own cows, and
drove their own wagons. The company commonly assembled at three
o'clock, and went away about six, unless it was in winter time, when
the fashionable hours were a little earlier, that the ladies might get
home before dark. The tea-table was crowned with a huge earthen
dish, well stored with slices of fat pork, fried brown, cut up into morsels,
and swimming in gravy. The company being seated round the genial
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23 I THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
board, and each furnished with a fork, evinced their dexterity in
launching at the fattest pieces in this mighty dish — in much the same
manner as sailors harpoon porpoises at sea, or our Indiana spear salmon
in the lakes. Sometimes the table was graced with immense apple
pies, or saucers full of preserved peaches and pears ; but it was always
sure to boast an enormous dish of halls of sweetened dough, fried in
hog's fat, and called doughnuts, or olykoeks — a delicious kind of cake,
at present scarce known in this city, except in genuine Dutch families.
The tea was served out of a majestic delft tea-pot, ornamented with
paintings of fat little Dutch shepherds and shepherdesses tending pigs
— with boats sailing in the air, and houses built in the clouds, and
sundry other ingenious Hutch fantasies. The beaux distinguished
themselves by their adroitness in replenishing this pot from a huge
copper tea-kettle, which would have made the pigmy macaronies of
these degenerate days sweat merely to look at it. To sweeten the
beverage, a lump of sugar was laid beside each cup — and the company
alternately nibbled and sipped with great decorum, until an improve-
ment was introduced by a shrewd and economic old lady, which was to
suspend a large lump directly over the tea-table, by a string from the
ceiling, so that it could be swung from mouth to mouth — an ingenious
expedient, which is still kept up by some families in Albany; but which
prevails without exception in Communipaw, Bergen, Flatbush, and all
our nncontaminated Dutch villages.
At these primitive tea-parties the utmost propriety and dignity of
deportment prevailed. Xo flirting nor coquetting — no gambling of old
ladies nor hoyden chattering and romping of young ones — no self-satis-
fied struttings of wealthy gentlemen, with their brains in their pockets
— nor amusing conceits, and monkey divertisements, of smart young
gentlemen, with no brains at all. On the contrary, the young ladies
seated themselves demurely in their rush-bottomed chairs, and knit
their own woollen stockings ; nor ever opened their lips excepting to
say yah Mynheer, or yah ya Vromo, to any question that was asked
them ; behaving, in all things, like decent, well-educated damsels. As
to the gentlemen, each of them tranquilly smoked his pipe, and seemed
lost in contemplation of the blue and white tiles with which the fire-
places were decorated ; wherein sundry passages of Scripture were
piously portrayed — Tobit and his dog figured to great advantage ;
Ham an swung conspicuously on his gibbet, and Jonah appeared most
manfully bouncing out of the whale, like Harlequin through a barrel
of fire.
The parties broke up without noise and without confusion. They
were carried home by their own carriages, that is to say, by the vehicles
nature had provided them, excepting such of the wealthy as could afford
to keep a wagon. The gentlemen gallantly attended their fair ones to
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 235
their respective abodes, and took leave of them with a hearty smack at
the door : which, as it was an established piece of etiquette, done in
perfect simplicity and honesty of heart, occasioned no scandal at that
time, nor should it at the present — if our great-grandfathers approved
of the custom, it would argue a great want of reverence in their de-
scendants to say a word against it.
From " Knickerbockfj-'s History of New TorkP
SHERIDAN'S CLASSICAL POWERS.
Anonymous.
Sheridax commanded the whole Anthology ; and was not always
satisfied with that. On one occasion, his antagonist on the Treasury
bench had made a quotation from a Greek dramatist that quite startled
from its aptness. It was the end of a peroration, too, and the house
was on the point of dividing, when Sheridan started up, with apparent
warmth, and taxed the right honorable gentleman opposite with hav-
ing uncandidly stopped short in his quotation ; for that, if he had con-
tinued it to the close, he must have announced a principle and an
illustration wholly subversive of the first proposition — a pernicious
hypothesis, merely put forward in order to be demolished by the se-
quel. He then delivered a number of Greek lines, without any
apparent effort of memory ; and so perfectly in accordance with his
assertion, that the minister admitted the application, and declared that
he really had forgotten the solution which Mr. Sheridan supplied.
This incident balked the expectation of the ministry on division ; and
being questioned by some classical friend, who had vainly referred to
his library for the lines, Sheridan confessed that he had improvisated
the verses he professed to supply in continuation.
IRVING's WASHINGTON.
G. W. Greene.
We regard the brilliant success of these volumes as an occasion of
joyful congratulation to the citizens of our republic. Irving' s Life of
Washington is eminently a national work, upon which they can all
look with unmingled pride. It has not merely enriched our literature
with a production of rare beauty, but has given new force to those
local associations which bind us, as with hallowed ties, to the spots
where great men lived and great things were done. Few will now
cross the Delaware without remembering that Christmas night of tem-
pest and victory. Who can look upon the heights of Brooklyn without
23G THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
fancying that, as he gazes, the spires and streets fade from his view,
while in their stead stern and anxious faces rise through the misty air,
and amid them the majestic form of Washington, with a smile of tri-
umph just lighting for a moment his care-worn features, at the thought
of the prize he has snatched from the grasp of a proud and exulting
enemy? And Princeton, and Valley Forge, and Monmouth, and the
crowning glory of Yorktown, — how do they live anew for us! "With
what perennial freshness will their names descend to posterity ! And
those two noble streams that flow to the sea through alternations of
pastoral beauty and rugged grandeur, — the lovely Potomac, the majes-
tic Hudson, — how have they become blended by these magic pages in
indissoluble association ! The one the cherished home of Washington,
the scat of his domestic joys, his rural delights ; looked to with eager
yearning from the din of camps anil battle-fields ; sighed for with
-weary longing amid the pomp and pageantry of official greatness; to
which he returned so gladly when his task had been accomplished ;
and which, dying with the serenity of Christian resignation, he conse-
crated by the holiest of all associations, the patriot's grave ; — the other
the scene of cares and triumphs ; on whose banks he had passed slow
days of hope deferred ; whose waters had borne him to and fro through
checkered years of dubious fortune ; and had witnessed the touching
sublimity of his farewell to his companions in arms, and the simple
grandeur of his reception as first President of the country he had
saved ! How meet was it that, while his ashes repose beside the waters
of the Potomac, his life should have been written on the banks of the
Hudson !
From " Biographical Studies."
COMMON CONVERSATION.
BULVTEU.
Hesitating, Humming, and Drawling, are the three Graces of our
conversation.
We are at dinner: a gentleman, — " a man about town," — is inform-
ing us of a misfortune that has befallen his friend : " No — I assure
you — now — er — er — that — er — it was the most shocking accident pos-
sible — er — poor Chester was riding in the park — er — you know that
gray — er — (substantive dropped, hand a little flourished instead), — of
his — splendid creature ! — er — well, sir, and by Jove — er — the — er —
(no substantive, — flourish again), — took fright, and — e — er" — here the
gentleman throws up his chin and eyes, sinks back, exhausted, into his
chair, and, after a pause, adds, " Well, they took him into — the shop
— there — you know — with the mahogany sashes — just by the park —
er — and the — er — man there — set his — what d'ye call it — er — collar
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 237
bone; but he was — er — ter — ri — bly — terribly" — a full stop. The
gentleman shakes his head; and the sentence is suspended to eternity.
Another gentleman takes up the wondrous tale, thus, logically:
" Ah ! shocking, shocking! — but poor Chester was a very agreeable —
er" — full stop.
" Oh ! very gentlemanlike fellow ! — quite shocking ! — quite — did you
go into the — er — to-day?"
" No, indeed ; the day was so un — er — May I take some wine with
you ?"
The ladies usually resort to some pet phrases that, after the fashion
of short-hand, express as much as possible in a word: "What do you
think of Lady 's last novel ?"
" Oh ! they say 'tis not very natural. The characters, to be sure,
are a little overdrawn ; and then the style — so — so — I don't know what
— you understand me ; — but it's a dear book altogether ! Do you know
Lady ?"
" Oh dear ! yes ; nice creature she is I"
" Very nice person, indeed."
" What a dear little horse that is of poor Lord 's !"
" He is very vicious."
" Is he really ? — nice little thing !"
"Ah ! you must not abuse poor Mrs. ; to be sure, she is very
ill-natured, and they say she's so stingy ! but then she really is such a
dear "
" Nice" and " dear" are the great To Prepon and To Kalon of femi-
nine conversational moralities.
But, perhaps, the genius of our conversation is most shown in the
art of explaining.
" Were you in the House last night?"
"Yes — er — Sir Robert Peel made a splendid speech !"
" Ah ! and how did he justify his vote ? I've not seen the papers."
" Oh, I can tell you exactly — ahem — he said, you see, that he dis-
liked the ministers, and so forth — you understand — but that — er — in
these times, and so forth, — and with this river of blood — oh ! he was
very fine there ! — you must read it — well, sir ; and then he was very
good against O'Connell — capital ! — and all this agitation going on —
and murder, and so forth ; — and then, sir, he told a capital story about
a man and his wife being murdered, and putting a child in the fire-
place — you see — I forget now— »but it was capital : and then he wound
up with — a — with — a — in his usual way, in short. Oh! he quite justi-
fied himself — you understand — in short, you see, he could not do other-
wise."
Caricatured as this may seem to others, it is a picture from actual
life : the explainer, too, is reckoned a very sensible man ; and the
listener saw nothing; inconclusive in the elucidation.
238 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
THE COUNSEL OF QUEEN CAROLINE.
Dr. ]»
Mr. Brougham entered on the queen's defence in a speech "I" great
boldness and power. The sentiments put forth in that oration would
probably not be endorsed now by Lord Brougham. He declared, too,
that nothing should prevent him from fulfilling his duty, and that
he would recriminate upon the king if he found it necessary to do BO.
The threat gave some uneasiness to ministers, but they trusted, never-
theless, to the learned counsel's discretion. He would have born
justified in the public mind if he had realized his promise. The
popular opinion, however, hardly supported him in what followed,
when he declared that an English advocate could look to nothing but
the rights of his client, and that even if the country itself should
suffer, his feelings as a patriot must give way to his professional obli-
gations. This was oidy one of many instances of the abuse of the
very extensively abused, and widely misunderstood maxim of Fiat
justitia mat actum.
Mr. Denman, the queen's solicitor-general, was not less legally
audacious, if one may so speak, than his great leader. In a voice of
thunder, and in presence of the assembled peerage of the realm, he
denounced one of the king's brothers as a calumniator. Mr. Rush,
who was present on the occasion, says, " the words were ' Come forth,
thou slanderer !' — a denunciation," he goes on to say, " the more
severe from the sarcasm with which it was done, and the turn of his
eye towards its object." That object was the Duke of Clarence; and
in reference to the exclamation, and the fierce spirit of the hour,
generally, Mr. Rush says: — "Even after the whole trial had ended,
Sir Francis Burdett, just out of prison for one libel, proclaimed aloud
to his constituents, and had it printed in all the papers, that the minis-
ters all deserved to be hanged. This tempest of abuse, incessantly
directed against the king and all who stood by him, was borne during
several months, without the slightest attempt to check or punish it ;
and it is too prominent a fact to be left unnoticed, that the same advo-
cate, who so fearlessly uttered the above denunciation, was made
attorney-general when the prince of the blood who was the object of
it, sat upon the throne ; and was subsequently raised to the still higher
dignity of lord chief justice."
From " Lives of the Queens of England."
RELIGIOUS, MORAL, AND DIDACTIC,
THE VOICE OF THE PREACHEE.
J. Q. Adams.
Who is it that, with the voice of a Joshua, shall control the course
of nature herself in the perverted heart, and arrest the luminaries of
wisdom and virtue in their rapid revolutions round this little world of
man? It is the genuine orator of heaven, with a heart sincere, up-
right, and fervent ; a mind stored with universal knowledge required
as the foundation of the art ; with a genius for the invention, a skill for
the disposition, and a voice for the elocution of every argument to con-
vince, and of every sentiment to persuade. If, then, we admit that
the art of oratory qualifies the minister of the gospel to perform, in
higher perfection, the duties of his station, we can no longer question
whether it be proper for his cultivation. It is more than proper ; it is
one of his most solemn and indispensable duties.
From "Lectures on Rhetoric and Oratory."
THE QUEEN OF ENGLAND AT HEE ACCESSION.
Sydney Smith.
A young queen, at that period of life which is commonly given up
to frivolous amusement, sees at once the great principles by which she
should be guided, and steps at once into the great duties of her station.
The importance of educating the lower orders of the people is never
absent from her mind ; she takes up this principle at the beginning of
her life, and in all the change of servants, and in all the struggle of
parties, looks to it as a source of permanent improvement. A great
object of her affections is the preservation of peace ; she regards a state
of war as the greatest of all human evils, thinks that the lust of con-
quest is not a glory but a bad crime ; despises the folly and miscalcu-
lations of war, and is willing to sacrifice everything to peace, but the
clear honor of her land.
The patriot queen, whom I am painting, reverences the national
church — frequents its worship, and regulates her faith by its precepts ;
but she withstands the encroachments, and keeps down the ambition
natural to establishments, and, by rendering the privileges of the
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240 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
church compatible with the civil freedom of all sects, confers strength
upon, and adds duration to, that wise and magnificent institution.
And then this youthful monarch, profoundly but wisely religious,
disdaining hypocrisy, and far above the childish follies of* false piety,
casts herself upon God, and seeks from the gospel of his blessed Son a
path for her steps and a comfort for her soul. Here is a picture which
warms every English heart, and would bring all this congregation
upon their bended "knees before Almighty God to pray it may be
realized. What limits to the glory and happiness of our native land,
if the Creator should, in his mercy, have placed in the heart of this
royal woman the rudiments of wisdom and mercy; and if, giving them
time to expand, and to bless our children's children with her goodness,
He should grant to her a long sojourning upon earth, and leave her to
reign over us till she is well stricken in years? AVlrat glory! what
happiness! what joy! what bounty of God! I of course can only
expect to see the beginning of such a splendid period ; but when I do
see it, I shall exclaim with the Psalmist: " Lord, now lettest thou thy
servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation. "
From " Sermon on the Duties of the Qw< //.''
THE OFFICE OF A JUDGE.
Syd.vey Smith.
• He who takes the office of a judge, as it now exists in this country,
takes in his hands a splendid gem, good and glorious, perfect and
pure. Shall he give it up mutilated, shall he mar it, shall he darken
it, shall it emit no light, shall it be valued at no price, shall it excite
no wonder ? Shall he find it a diamond, shall he leave it a stone ?
What shall we say to the man who would wilfully destroy with fire
the magnificent temple of God, in which I am now preaching ? Far
worse is he who ruins the moral edifices of the world, which time and
toil, and many prayers to God, and many sufferings of men, have
reared ; who puts out the light of the times in which he lives, and
leaves us to wander amid the darkness of corruption and the desola-
tion of sin. There may be, there probably is, in this church, some
young man who may hereafter fill the office of an English judge, when
the greater part of those who hear me are dead, and miDgled with the
dust of the grave. Let him remember my words, and let them form
and fashion his spirit ; he cannot tell in what dangerous and awful
times he may be placed ; but as a mariner looks to his compass in the
calm, and looks to his compass in the storm, and never keeps his eyes
off his compass, so, in every vicissitude of a judicial life, deciding for
the people, deciding against the people, protecting the just rights of
kings, or restraining their unlawful ambition, let him ever cling to
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 241
that pure, exalted, and Christian independence which towers over the
little motives of life ; which no hope of favor can influence, which no
effort of power can control.
From K Sermon at the Assizes."
THE ABUSE OF CONSCIENCE.
Lauxexce Sterne.
A max shall be vicious in his principles ; exceptionable in his conduct
to the world : shall live shameless, — in the open commission of a sin
which no reason nor pretence can justify ; — a sin, by which, contrary
to all the workings of humanity within, he shall ruin for ever the
deluded partner of his guilt ; — rob her of her best dowry ; — and not
only cover her own head with dishonor, but involve a whole virtuous
family in shame and sorrow for her sake. — Surely, — you'll think, con-
science must lead such a man a troublesome life : — he can have no rest
night nor day from its reproaches.
xllas ! Conscience had something else to do all this time than break
in upon him : as Elijah reproached the god Baal, this domestic god
was either talking, or pursuing, or teas in a journey, or, per adventure, he
slept, and could not be awoke. Perhaps he was gone out in company
with Honor, to fight a duel ; — to pay off some debt at play ; — or dirty
annuity, the bargain of his lust. — Perhaps Conscience all this time
was engaged at home, talking aloud against petty larceny, and execu-
ting vengeance upon some such puny crimes as his fortune and rank
in life secured him against all temptation of committing: — so that he
lives as merrily, — sleeps as soundly in his bed ; — and, at the last, meets
death with as much unconcern, — perhaps much more so, than a much
better man.
A third is crafty and designing in his nature. — View his whole life, —
'tis nothing else but a cunning contexture of dark arts and inequitable
subterfuges, basely to defeat the true intent of all laws, plain dealing,
and the safe enjoyment of our several properties. — You will see such a
one working out a frame of little designs upon the ignorance and per-
plexities of the poor and needy man : — shall raise a fortune upon the
inexperience of a youth, — or the unsuspecting temper of his friend,
who would have trusted him with his life. When old age comes on,
and repentance calls him to look back upon this black account, and
state it over again with his conscience — Conscience looks into the
Statutes at Large, — finds perhaps no express laic broken by what he has
done ; — perceives no penalty or forfeiture incurred : — sees no scourge
waving over his head, — or prison opening its gate upon him. — What is
there to affright his conscience ? — Conscience has got safely entrenched
behind the letter of the law, sits there invulnerable, fortified with cases
21 Q
242 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
and reports so strongly on all sides — that 'tis not preaching can dis-
possess it of its hold.
From " Sermons."
REFLECTION.
Coleridge.
Header ! — You have been bred in a land abounding with men, able
in arts, learning, and knowledges manifold, this man in one, this in
another, few in many, none in all. But there is one art, of which
every man should be master, the art of reflection. If you are not a
thinking man, to what purpose are you a man at all? In like manner,
there is one knowledge, which it is every man's interest and duty to
acquire, namely, self-knowledge : or to what end was man alone, of
all animals, indued by the Creator with the faculty of self-conscious-
ness? Truly said the Pagan moralist, E ccelo descendi, Tviofti leaozov.
But you are likewise born in a christian land : and Revelation has
provided for you new subjects for reflection, and new treasures of
knowledge, never to be unlocked by him who remains self-ignorant.
.Self-knowledge is the key to this casket; and by reflection alone can
it be obtained. Reflect on your own thoughts, actions, circumstances,
and — which will be of especial aid to you in forming a habit of reflec-
tion — accustom yourself to reflect on the words you use, hear, or read,
their birth, derivation, and history. For if words are not things, they
are living powers, by which the things of most importance to man-
kind are actuated, combined, and humanized. Finally, by reflection
you may draw from the fleeting facts of your worldly trade, art, or
profession, a science permanent as your immortal soul ; and make
even these subsidiary and preparative to the reception of spiritual
truth, "doing as the dyers do, who, having first dipt their silks in
colors of less value, then give them the last tincture of crimson in
grain."
From Preface of " Aids to Reflection."
LIFE.
ARCnBISHOP Leiguton.
" We are always resolving to live, and yet never set about life in
good earnest." Archimedes was not singular in his fate ; but a great
part of mankind die unexpectedly, while they are poring upon the
figures they have described in the sand. wretched mortals ! who,
having condemned themselves, as it were, to the mines, seem to make
it their chief study to prevent their ever regaining their liberty.
Hence, new employments are assumed in the place of old ones ; and,
as the Roman philosopher truly expresses it, " one hope succeeds
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 243
another, one instance of ambition makes way for another ; and we
never desire an end of our misery, but only that it may change its
outward form." When we cease to be candidates, and to fatigue our-
selves in soliciting interest, we begin to give our votes and interest to
those who solicit us in their turn. When we are wearied of the trouble
of prosecuting crimes at the bar, we commence judges ourselves ; and
he who is grown old in the management of other men's affairs for
money, is at last employed in improving his own wealth. At the age
of fifty, says one, I will retire, and take my ease ; or, the sixtieth year
of my life shall entirely disengage me from public offices and business.
Fool ! art thou not ashamed to reserve to thyself the last remains and
dregs of life ? Who will stand surety that thou shalt live so long ?
And what immense folly is it, so far to forget mortality, as to think of
beginning to live at that period of years, to which a few only attain !
SUFFERING- ENHANCES VIRTUE.
Barrow.
We might allege the suffrages of eminent philosophers, persons
esteemed most wise by improvement of natural light, who have de-
clared that perfection of virtue can hardly be produced or expressed
otherwise than by undergoing most sharp afflictions and tortures ; and
that God therefore, as a wise Father, is wont with them to exercise
those whom He best loveth : we might also produce instances of divers
persons, even among Pagans, most famous and honorable in the judg-
ment of all posterity for their singular virtue and wisdom, who were
tried in this furnace, and thereby shone most brightly ; their suffering,
by the iniquity and ingratitude, by the envy and malignity of their
times, in their reputation, liberty, and life ; their undergoing foul
slanders, infamous punishments, and ignominious deaths, more than
any other practices of their life, recommending them to the regard and
admiration of future ages ; although none of them, as our Lord, did
suffer of choice, or upon design to advance the interests of goodness,
but upon constraint, and irresistible force put on them ; none of them
did suffer in a manner so signal, with circumstances so rare, and with
events so wonderful ; yet suffering as they did was their chief glory ;
whence it seemeth that even according to the sincerest dictates of
common wisdom this dispensation was not so unaccountable; nor ought
the Greeks, in consistency with themselves, and in respect to their own
admired philosophy, to have deemed our doctrine of the cross foolish,
or unreasonable.
244 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
THE GREAT ASSIZE.
i.KY.
How beautiful are the feet of those who arc sent by the wise and
gracious providence of God, to execute justice on earth, to defend the
injured and punish the wrong-doer ! Are they not the ministers of God
to us for good, the grand supporters of the public tranquillity, the
patrons of innocence and virtue, the security of all our temporal bless-
ings? And does not every one of these represent not only an earthly
prince, but the Judge of the earth'/ Him, whose "name is written
upon His thigh; King of kings, and Lord of lords?" Oh that all these
sons of the right hand of the Most High, may be holy as He is holy !
Wise with the wisdom that sitteth by His throne: like Him who is the
eternal Wisdom of the Father ! No respecter of persons, as He is none ;
but rendering to every man according to his works: like Him inflexibly,
inexorably just, though pitiful and of tender-mercy! So shall they be
terrible, indeed, to them that do evil, as not bearing the sword in vain.
So shall the laws of our land have their full use and due honor, and the
throne of our King be still established in righteousness.
Ye truly honorable men whom God and the king have commissioned,
in a lower degree, to administer justice, may not ye be compared to
those ministering spirits who will attend the Judge coming in the
clouds? May you not like them burn with love to God and man?
May you not love righteousness and hate iniquity? May ye all minister
in your several spheres (such honor hath God given you also !) to them
that shall be heirs of salvation, and to the glory of your great Sove-
reign ! May ye remain the establishes of peace, the blessing and
ornaments of your country, the protectors of a guilty land, the guardian
angels of all that are round about you !
MODERN INFIDELITY.
Robert Hall.
In those conjunctures which tempt avarice or inflame ambition,
when a crime flatters with the prospect of impunity, and the certainty
of immense advantage, what is to restrain an atheist from its commis-
sion ? To say that remorse will deter him is absurd ; for remorse, as
distinguished from pity, is the sole offspring of religious belief, the
extinction of which is the great purpose of the infidel philosophy.
The dread of punishment or infamy from his fellow-creatures will be
an equally ineffectual barrier ; because crimes are only committed under
such circumstances as suggest the hope of concealment ; not to say
that crimes themselves will soon lose their infamy and their horror
under the influence of that system which destroys the sanctity of virtue,
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 245
by converting it into a low calculation of worldly interest. Here the
sense of an ever-present Ruler, and of an avenging Judge, is of the
most awful and indispensable necessity ; as it is that alone which
impresses on all crimes the character of folly, shows that duty and
interest in every instance coincide, and that the most prosperous career
of vice, the most brilliant successes of criminality, are but an accumu-
lation of wrath against the clay of 'wrath.
The efforts of infidels to diffuse the principles of infidelity among
the common people is another alarming symptom peculiar to the present
time. Hume, Bolingbroke, and Gibbon, addressed themselves solely to
the more polishecTclasses of the community, and would have thought
their refined speculations debased by an attempt to enlist disciples from
among the populace. Infidelity has lately grown condescending ; bred
in the speculations of a daring philosophy, immured at first in the
cloisters of the learned, and afterward nursed in the lap of voluptuous-
ness and of courts ; having at length reached its full maturity, it boldly
ventures to challenge the suffrages of the people, solicits the acquaint-
ance of peasants and mechanics, and seeks to draw whole nations to its
standard.
It is not difficult to account for this new state of things. While
infidelity was rare, it was employed as the instrument of literary vanity;
its wide diffusion having disqualified it for answering that purpose, it
is now adopted as the organ of political convulsion. Literary distinc-
tion is conferred by the approbation of a few ; but the total subversion
and overthrow of society demands the concurrence of millions.
THE MINISTEY OF THE SCIENCES.
W. B. Stevens, D. D.
It is pleasant to know that the more perfect a science becomes the
more it accords with the Bible. In the youth of every science there is
a period when, like the prodigal in the parable, it leaves its father's
house, and goes into a far country and wastes its substance in sceptical
babbling : but ere long it tires of its husks and its exile, and growing
wiser and more reflective, it comes back and asks to be received " as a
hired servant" of the God of knowledge ; and the God of knowledge,
honoring a science which honors him, puts upon it the tokens of a
father's love, and permits it to minister before him. And though a
surly scepticism, like an " elder son," shall become angry, and refuse
to go into the house of wisdom, yet neither the taunts of infidelity nor
the scoffs of the profane shall hush one note of that song of gladness
which religion shall yet sing over every returning science as it conies
21*
246 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
back to its father's house : — " This my son was dead and is alive again
was lust and is found."
And what a beautiful ministry will that be, when the great sciences
of earth shall eome like the twelve Apostles of nature, to worship and
kneel before him " in whom are hid all the treasures of wisdom and
knowledge I" For come they assuredly will. Nothing is more clearly
discerned by the observant eye than the fact that, every step which
science takes in advance, is a step towards revelation ; and this must
of necessity be so ; for as science is but knowledge, as all human know-
ledge is confined to God's works, so must a deeper knowledge of God's
works become more accordant with God's words, "For they have one
author, — the God of truth. It is only a shallow science, that babbles
because it is shallow, that talks with braggart tongue against the Bible.
It is only a vain philosophy, puffed up with its own windiness, that
rails at the religion of Jesus. It is only the would-be wise men, with
a smattering of scientific terms upon their lips, and real ignorance in
their minds, who lift up their vaunting voice in the exclamation of a
heathen king, " Who is the Lord that I should serve him ; I know not
the Lord, neither will I obey his voice."
From "Sermon on flic Religious Teachings <>f Medical Science"
MAN JUSTIFIED.
Martin Luther.
Here again comes forth reason, our reverend mistress, seeming to be
marvellously wise, but who indeed is unwise and blind, gainsaying her
God, and reproving Him of lying; being furnished with her follies and
feeble honor, to wit, the light of nature, free will, the strength of
nature ; also with the books of the heathen and the doctrines of men,
contending that the works of a man not justified, are good works, and
not like those of Cain, yea, and so good that he that worketh them is
justified by them ; that God will have respect, first to the works, then
to the worker. Such doctrine now bears the sway everywhere in
schools, colleges, monasteries wherein no other saints than Cain was,
have rule and authority. Now from this error comes another: they
which attribute so much to works, and do not accordingly esteem the
worker, and sound justification, go so far that they ascribe all merit
and righteousness to works done before justification, making no account
of faith, alleging that which James saith, that without works faith is
dead. This sentence of the Apostle they do not rightly understand ;
making but little account of faith, they always stick to works, whereby
they think to merit exceedingly, and are persuaded that for their work's
sake they shall obtain the favor of God : by this means they continually
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 247
disagree with God, showing themselves to be the posterity of Cain.
God hath respect unto man, these unto the works of man ; God alloweth
the work for the sake of him that worketh, these require that for the
work's sake the worker may be crowned.
SAFETY OF GOD'S CHILDREN.
Melancthon.
Our pains are best assuaged when something good and beneficial,
especially some help toward a happy issue, presents itself. All other
topics of consolation, such as men borrow from the unavoidableness of
suffering, and the examples of others, bring us no great alleviation.
But the Son of God, our Lord Jesus Christ, who was crucified for us
and raised again, and now sits at the right hand of the Father, offers
us help and deliverance, and has manifested this disposition in many
declarations. I will now speak of the words, "No man shall pluck
My sheep out of My hands." This expression has often raised me up
out of the deepest-sorrow, and drawn me, as it were, out of hell.
The wisest men in all times have bewailed the great amount of
human misery which we see with our eyes before we pass into eternity
— diseases, death, want, our own errors by which we bring harm and
punishment on ourselves, hostile men, unfaithfulness on the part of
those with whom we are closely connected, banishment, abuse, deser-
tion, miserable children, public and domestic strife, wars, murder, and
devastation. And since such things appear to befall good and bad
without distinction, many wise men have inquired whether there were
any Providence, or whether accident brings everything to pass inde-
pendently of a Divine purpose. But we in the Church know that the
first and principal cause of human woe is this, that on account of sin
man is made subject to death and other calamity, which is so much
more vehement in the Church, because the devil, from hatred toward
God, makes fearful assaults on the Church and strives to destroy it
utterly. Therefore it is written, "I will put enmity between the
serpent and the seed of the woman." And Peter says, "Your adver-
sary, the devil, goeth about as a roaring lion and seeketh whom he may
devour."
HEAVENLY GLORY.
A. Carson.
Speak, ye thrones of this world, tell us the glory of your dignity.
Is it comparable to that of the meanest saint in heaven ? Speak ye of
248 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
being born of the mighty of many generations? No more ; the Chris-
tian is a son and heir of God. Boast ye of your vast dominions and
the power of your empires? Be silent; the Christian is to reign with
Christ over all worlds.
Ye conquerors, come forward with all your dazzling glories, that we
may view your honors in contrast with those of the Christian. You
have triumphed, and now inherit a deathless name. The history of the
nations is the record of your exploits ; the children of all countries are
familiar with your names; learning, and genius, and power unite in
raising your temples, and burning incense on your altars. And what
can the imagination conceive more glorious on earth ? Thrones and
kingdoms could not purchase the glory of Wellington. Illustrious
man ! When we speak of worldly glory, thou standest at the head of
the human race. Compared with thine, the glory of kings is but a
vulgar glory. Who would not rather enjoy the glories of thy name
than sway the most powerful sceptre in the world ? Every age pro-
duces a multitude of kings ; but ages pass away without conferring thy
fame on an individual of the human race. Y r et all this honor is fading ;
the glory of the most obscure of the children of God is infinitely to be
preferred. The Christian conqueror is to sit down on the throne of
Christ, as He has conquered and sat down upon the throne of His
Father.
THE FEW CHOSEN.
Joiix Baptist Massillon.
Follow, from age to age, the history of the just ; and see if Lot con-
formed himself to the habits of Sodom, or if nothing distinguished him
from the other inhabitants ; if Abraham lived like the rest of his age ;
if Job resembled the other princes of his nation ; if Esther conducted
herself, in the court of Ahasuerus, like the other women of that prince ;
if many widows in Israel resembled Judith ; if, among the children of
the captivity, it is not said of Tobias alone that he copied not the con-
duct of his brethren, and that he even fled from the danger of their
commerce and society. See, if in those happy ages, when Christians
were all saints, they did not shine like stars in the midst of the cor-
rupted nations ; and if they served not as a spectacle to angels and
men, by the singularity of their lives and manners. If the pagans did
not reproach them for their retirement, and shunning of all public
theatres, places, and pleasures. If they did not complain that the
Christians affected to distinguish themselves in everything from their
feilow-citizens ; to form a separate people in the midst of the people ;
to have their particular laws and customs; and if a man from their
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 249
side embraced the party of the Christians, they did not consider him as
for ever lost to their pleasures, assemblies, and customs. In a word,
see, if in all ages the saints whose lives and actions have been trans-
mitted down to us, have resembled the rest of mankind.
John Knox.
As the skilful mariner (being master), having his ship tossed with
a vehement tempest, and contrary winds, is compelled oft to traverse,
lest that, either by too much resisting to the violence of the waves, his
vessel might be overwhelmed ; or by too much liberty granted, might
be carried whither the fury of the tempest would, so that his ship
should be driven upon the shore, and make shipwreck ; even so doth
our prophet Isaiah in this text, which now you have heard read. For
he, foreseeing the great desolation that was decreed in the council of
the Eternal, against Jerusalem and Judah, namely, that the whole
people that bare the name of God should be dispersed ; that the holy
city should be destroyed ; the temple wherein was the ark of the cove-
nant, and where God had promised to give His own presence, should
be burned with fire ; and the king taken, his sons in his own presence
murdered, his own eyes immediately after be put out; the nobility,
some cruelly murdered, some shamefully led away captives ; and finally
the whole seed of Abraham rased, as it were, from the face of the earth
— the prophet, I say, fearing these horrible calamities, doth, as it were,
sometimes suffer himself, and the people committed to his charge, to be
carried away with the violence of the tempest, without further resist-
ance than by pouring forth his and their dolorous complaints before
the majesty of God, as in the thirteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth
verses of this present text we may read. At other times he valiantly
resists the desperate tempest,, and pronounces the fearful destruction
of all such as trouble the Church of God ; which he pronounces that
God will multiply, even when it appears utterly to be exterminated.
But because there is no final rest to the whole body till the Head return
to judgment, He exhorts the afflicted to patience, and promises a visita-
tion whereby the wickedness of the wicked shall be disclosed, and finally
recompensed in their own bosoms.
250 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
THE KING'S POWER Continued.
JOHH Knox.
Wouldst thou, Scotland ! have a king to reign over thee in justice,
equity, and mercy? Subject thou thyself to the Lord thy God, obey
His commandments, and magnify thou the Word that calleth unto thee,
" This is the way, walk in it;" and if thou wilt not, flatter not thyself;
the same justice remains this day in God to punish thee, Scotland, and
thee Edinburgh especially, which before punished the land of Judab
and the city of Jerusalem. Every realm or nation, saith the prophet
Jeremiah, that likewise offendcth, shall bo likewise punished, but if
thou shalt see impiety placed in the seat of justice above thee, so that
in the throne of God (as Solomon complains) reigns nothing but fraud
and violence, accuse thine own ingratitude and rebellion against God ;
for that is the only cause why God takes away " the strong man and
the man of war, the judge and the prophet, the prudent and the aged,
the captain and the honorable, the counsellor and the cunning artificer ;
and I will appoint, saith the Lord, children to be their princes, and
babes shall rule over them. Children are extortioners of my people,
and women have rule over them."
If these calamities, I say, apprehend us, so that we see nothing but
the oppression of good men and of all godliness, and that wicked men
without God reign above us; let us accuse and condemn ourselves, as
the only cause of our own miseries. For if we had heard the voice of
the Lord our God, and given upright obedience unto the same, God
would have multiplied our peace, and would have rewarded our obedi-
ence before the eyes of the world. But now let us hear what the pro-
phet saith further : " The dead shall not live," saith he, "neither shall
the tyrants, nor the dead arise, because Thou hast visited and scattered
them, and destroyed all their memory."
MORAL COURAGE.
Henry A. Boaedman, D.D.
Moral courage dares to do its duty under all circumstances, and
looks not to man but to God for its reward. Founded, as it is, upon
Christian principle, it is, in its better manifestations, combined with
the other Christian graces. When we hear of " courage/' we are apt
to think of a character that is somewhat harsh and violent ; and these
attributes may certainly coexist even with that admirable endowment
of which I am speaking. But they are so far from being of its essen-
tial elements, that they uniformly detract from its real worth. Nothing
is more remarkable in the conduct of these three young Jews than
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 251
their modesty. Their reply to the king is a model of blended humility
and firmness. History presents no finer model. There is no bluster-
ing, no ostentatious proclamation of their creed or their readiness to
suffer for it, no effort either to awaken sympathy or to insult their
royal persecutor. They announce in the simplest words, their deter-
mination not to comply with the imperial edict. And this calm dignity
is the proper concomitant of true heroism. " It vaunteth not itself, and
is not puffed up." It is neither clamorous nor dictatorial. It is the
little heroes who boast much ; great ones can afford to let their works
praise them. The twittering swallow that skims the surface of the
earth, and bolts the insects for his evening repast, makes far more ado
over his achievements than the eagle who seizes a lamb with his huge
talons and soars away with it on majestic wing to his lofty eyrie. Both
have their archetypes. There are men whose twitter is as constant as
the swallow's ; and over achievements perhaps of the same relative
calibre ; men who are constantly crying with Jehu, " Come with me,
and see my zeal for the Lord." And there are others whose lives are
read, not in the jubilation of their own trumpets, but in the track of
light which marks their footsteps. The image suggested by the
spectacle of a truly great mind contending with difficulties in the meek
and lofty spirit of these Jews, is that of a massive and polished ma-
chine, which moves with tranquil dignity and strength, unimpeded by
obstacles, and never swerving from its prescribed sphere.
From " Sermon before the Young Men's Cliristian Asso. of Philadelphia."
THE INFLUENCE OF LITERATURE.
Aloxzo Potter, D.D.
Our literature is wielding a mighty power alike over the many and
over the few. It penetrates everywhere, under the guidance of the
press, and of popular education ; and it speaks with a directness and
force which have rarely been surpassed. It deals too with the most
momentous social and political problems, and discusses them often
with a reckless and ignorant audacity. Let us at the same time
acknowledge, that, in its better forms, it breathes a spirit of more
genial humanity, and manifests a truer reverence for the moral and
spiritual capabilities of our race, than it once did. Even its poetry
and fiction now plead for social amelioration. Its daily labors send
light into the dark places of crime and immorality, and it causes its
voice to be heard as it cries aloud in behalf of the poor and down-trod-
den. Would that we could see in it a due appreciation of the origin
and causes of those ills under which mankind still groan. Would
that it dealt more wisely and anxiously with the reconstruction of
institutions on which it draws a displeasure that may prove simply
252 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
destructive; that it probed with searching hand the great spiritual
disease that affects our whole race; and that it saw with earnest heart
and taught with impressive power, the utter insufficiency of all social
palliatives and all political reforms, which do not include as their
ground and ultimate aim, repentance towards God and faith in our
Lord Jesus Christ.
From " Discourses, Addresses," &c.
BISHOP WHITE.
Alonzo Potter, D. D.
No monument of stone or brass can worthily commemorate the ser-
vices of Bishop White. No care, however pious or affectionate, can
guard his memory or honor his services too well. Thanks then to the
godly women who in all meekness, but with indomitable patience, have
striven through five long years to provide here a lasting and mosl
appropriate memorial. In a church, the scats of which are to be
always free, and which is to open its doors alike to poor and rich, they
would remember the destitute and needy, and they would remember
him, too, who through all his useful life was distinguished by devotion
to their wants. The sick, the indigent, the vicious, the ignorant and
neglected, the prisoner in his cell, and those bereaved from birth of
the most important organs and faculties, ever found in William White
a frieud and benefactor. May the mantle of his benevolence and
meek wisdom descend on those who survive or follow him. May the
example of pious zeal and of gratitude to his memory, which our
sisters have given us, be gladly imitated ; may we take shame to our-
selves that this good work has been so long delayed, and may we
resolve — would that this resolution could be adopted by every house-
hold in our communion in this city, — may we resolve that we will each
of us bear some part, however humble, in its early consummation.
From " Discourses, Addresses," &c.
PENN'S MOTIVE.
Alonzo Potteb, D.D.
That trust in God, that simple love of Jesus and of those for whom
he died, which prompted William Penn to come out to this new land,
that he might make what he calls "the holy experiment," setting "an
example to the nations of a just and righteous government," that
spirit of true and universal brotherhood which drew from him, as he
stood unarmed and undefended under the great elm at Shakamaxon,
and saw, "as far as his eyes could carry/' the painted and plumed
children of the forest gazing upon him as a new and strange ruler ;
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 253
that love to God and man, which then impelled his great heart to say
to them, " I will not call you brothers or children, but you shall be to
me and mine as half of the same body •" which two years later, when
he left for England, prompted him to send to this city of brotherly
love, which he had founded, the message, " And thou, Philadelphia,
virgin of the province, my soul prays for thee, that faithful to the God
of thy mercies in the life of righteousness, thou mayest be preserved
unto the end :" — And again, when he wrote replying to the charge,
that he had manifested, while here, restless ambition and lust of gain,
and made this memorable prediction: "If friends here (i. e. in Penn-
sylvania) keep to God, and in the justice, mercy, equity, and fear of
the Lord, their enemies will be their footstool; if not, their heirs and
my heirs too, will lose all." Brethren ! Has our course as a people,
been thus loyal to God ? Has it been true to this, our beginning —
faithful to justice, mercy, and the fear of the Lord ? If not, we may
plume ourselves upon our wealth and enterprise, upon our far-reaching
domain, upon our achievements in arts or in arms ; but we should
tremble, when we remember with whom, as a nation, we are to reckon.
We should tremble, when we consider that his retribution is unerring
for nations as for individuals, and that, while in the case of indi-
viduals, just punishment may wait to another life, in the case of
nations it must fall here.
From <• Discourses, Addresses '," &c.
LIFE IS AN EDUCATION.
F. W. KOBEItTSON.
Life is an education. The object for which you educate your son is
to give him strength of purpose, self-command, discipline of mental
energies ; but you do not reveal to your son this aim of his education ;
you tell him of his place in his class, of the prizes at the end of the
year, of the honors to be given at college.
These are not the true incentives to knowledge ; such incentives are
not the highest — they are even mean, and partially injurious ; yet
these mean incentives stimulate and lead on, from day to day, and
from year to year, by a process the principle of which the boy himself
is not aware of. So does God lead on, through life's unsatisfying and
false reward, ever educating : Canaan first ; then the hope of a Re-
deemer ; then the millennial glory. Now, what is remarkable in this
is, that the delusion continued to the last ; they all died in faith, not
having received the promises ; all were hoping up to the very last, and
all died in faith — not in realization ; for thus God has constituted the
human heart. It never will be believed that this world is unreal.
God has mercifully so arranged it that the idea of delusion is incredible.
254 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
You may tell the boy or girl, as you will, that life is a disappointment ;
yet, however you may persuade them to adopt your tone, and catch the
language of your sentiment, they are both looking forward to ■
bright distant hope — the rapture of the next vacation, or the unknown
joys of the next season — and throwing into it an energy of expectation
which a -whole eternity is only worth. You may tell the man who has
received the heart-shock, from which in this world he will not recover,
that life has nothing left; yet the Stubborn heart still hopes On, 6TW
near the prize, — " wealthiest when most undone;" he has reaped the
whirlwind, but he will go on still, till life is over, sowing the wind.
THE SOPHISTRY OF INFIDELS.
Robert Hall.
Tiie infidels of the present day are the first sophists who have
presumed to innovate in the very substance of morals. The dispute
moral questions hitherto agitated among philosophers have respected
the grounds of duty, not the nature of duty itself; or they have been
merely metaphysical, and related to the history of moral sentiments in
the mind, the sources and principles from which they were most easily
deduced; they never turned on the quality of those dispositions and
actions which were to be denominated virtuous. In the firm persuasion
that the love and fear of the Supreme Being, the sacred observation of
promises and oaths, reverence to magistrates, obedience to parents,
gratitude to benefactors, conjugal fidelity, and parental tenderness were
primary virtues, and the chief support of every commonwealth, they
were unanimous. The curse denounced upon such as remove ancient
landmarks, upon those who call good evil, and evil good, put light for
darkness, and darkness for light, who employ their faculties to subvert
the eternal distinctions of right and wrong, and thus to poison the
streams of virtue at their source, falls with accumulated Aveight on the
advocates of modern infidelity, and on them alone.
RIGHTEOUSNESS EXALTETH A NATION.
W. B. Stkysns, D. D.
Young men, God has given you a good land, and has laid upon you
responsibilities in connection with this land at once vast and solemn.
The future of this land will be what the young men of this land shall
make it.
The Psalmist, in one of his magnificent passages, calls upon the
pious Israelite to " walk about Zion and go round about her, tell the
towers thereof, mark ye well her bulwarks, consider her palaces, that
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 255
ye may tell it to the generation following, for this God is our God for
ever and ever." So, young men, I call upon you to walk about our
American Zion and go round about her, tell the towers of her strength,
mark the bulwarks which support her freedom, consider the palaces of
her glory: and were I called upon, on this day of our nation's Inde-
pendence, to indicate the towers, the bulwarks, the palaces which
give to our land strength, beauty, glory, I should not point to our pub-
lic buildings, magnificent as they are ; nor to our army and navy, gal-
lant and covered with laurels as they are ; nor to our territorial vast-
ness, embracing as it does almost a continent ; nor to our commerce,
our manufactures, our railroads, marvellous as these are, — but I would
point you to the open Bible, the open door of the church, the open door
of the school-house, the sacred ministry, the ordinances of grace, the
wonderful power of the religious press, the banded associations of reli-
gion and benevolence, the unfettered right of conscience, and the
reverence which, as a people, we pay to the Christian Sabbath ; these
are the towers, the bulwarks, the palaces which confer on us a strength,
a glory, and an influence such as God has given to no other nation
under the whole heaven. Would you preserve and exalt this nation,
send abroad the Bible, build up the church of the living God, infuse
the principles of divine truth into every school, academy, and univer-
sity, sustain the institution of the ministry, scatter the products of your
religious press as so many leaves from the tree of life, conduct with
vigor the great schemes of associated benevolence, preserve intact the
rights of conscience, and keep holy the Sabbath day. Do these things,
and our nation will have a righteous government, a righteous system
of education, a righteous judiciary, a righteous literature, a righteous
commerce, and in the individual man, the family group, the social
circle, the civic community, the state, and the nation, there will prevail
truth, to the exclusion of falsehood and error ; peace, to the exclusion
of „revenge, bloodshed, and war ; love, to the exclusion of personal and
national animosities and strifes ; holiness, to the exclusion of every sin ;
justice, to the exclusion of all oppression; the Christian graces, Faith,
Hope, and Charity, more beautiful than the fabled graces of classic
mythology ; and the Christian virtues, more lovely than the muses of
Grecian song, would adorn each heart, beautify each face, beam out
from each eye, Paradise would almost be restored to earth, and God
would again come down in the cool of the day to walk with redeemed
and sanctified men.
From " The Trite Glory of a Nation.'"
256 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
THE GLORY OF CHRISTIANITY.
JOHH Ml I.vritiN.
Christianity communicates a glory to all other objects, according
as they have any relation to it. It adorns the universe; it give- B
lustre to nature, and to Providence; it is the greatesl glory of this
lower world, that its Creator was for awhile its inhabitant. A poor
landlord thinks it a lasting honor to his cottage, that lie has i
lodged a prince or emperor. With how much more reason may our
poor cottage, this earth, be proud of it. that the Lord of glory w;i ■
tenant from His birth to His death I yea, that lie rejoice 1 in the habit-
able parts of it before it had a beginning, even from everlasting]
It is the glory of the world that He who formed it, dwelt on it ; of
the air, that He breathed in it ; of the sun, that it shone on Him ; of
the ground, that it bore Him ; of the sea, that He walked on it; of the
elements, that they nourished Him ; of the waters, that they refreshed
Him; of us men, that He lived and died among us, yea, that He lived
and died for us; that he assumed our flesh ami blood, and carried it
to the highest heavens, where it shines as the eternal ornament and
wonder of the creation <>(' <!'>d. It gives also a lustre to Providence.
It is the chief event that adorns the records of time, and enlivens the
history of the universe. It is the glory of the various great lines of
Providence, that they point at this as their centre; that they prepared
the way for its coining ; that after its coming they are subservient to
the ends of it, though in a way indeed to us at present mysterious and
unsearchable. Thus we know that they either fulfil the promises of
the crucified Jesus, or His threatenings ; and show either the happiness
of receiving Him, or the misery of rejecting Him.
THE HOUR AND THE EVENT AT ALL TIME.
Hugh Blair.
Wiiat magnanimity in all His words and actions on this great occa-
sion ! The court of Herod, the judgment-hall of Pilate, the hill of
Calvary, were so many theatres prepared for His displaying all the
virtues of a constant and patient mind. When led forth to suffer, the
first voice which we hear from Him is a generous lamentation over the
fate of His unfortunate though guilty country; and to the last moment
of His life we behold him in possession of the same gentle and benevo-
lent spirit. No upbraiding, no complaining expression escaped from
His lips during the long and painful approaches of a cruel death. He
betrayed no symptom of a weak or a vulgar, of a discomposed or impa-
tient mind. With the utmost attention of filial tenderness He com-
mitted His aged mother to the care of His beloved disciple. With all
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 257
the dignity of a sovereign, He conferred pardon on a penitent fellow-
sufferer. With a greatness of mind beyond example, He spent His
last moments in apologies and prayers for those who were shedding
His blood.
By wonders in heaven, and wonders on earth, was this hour distin-
guished. All nature seemed to feel it ; and the dead and the living
bore witness of its importance. The veil of the temple was rent in
twain. The earth shook. There was darkness over all the land. The
graves were opened, and "many who slept arose, and went into the
holy city." Nor were these the only prodigies of this awful hour.
The most hardened hearts were subdued and changed. The judge
who, in order to gratify the multitude, passed sentence against Him,
publicly attested His innocence. The Roman centurion who presided
at the execution, "glorified God," and acknowledged the Sufferer to be
more than man. " After he saw the things which had passed, he said,
Certainly this was a righteous person : truly this was the Son of God/'
The Jewish malefactor who was crucified with Him addressed Him as
a King, and implored His favor. Even the crowd of insensible spec-
tators, who had come forth as to a common spectacle, and who began
with clamors and insults, "returned home smiting their breasts."
Look back on the heroes, the philosophers, the legislators of old. View
them in their last moments. Recall every circumstance which distin-
guished their departure from the world. Where can you find such an
assemblage of high virtues, and of great events, as concurred at the
death of Christ ? Where so many testimonials given to the dignity of
the dying person by earth and by heaven ?
THE EXPULSIVE POWER OF A NEW AFFECTION".
Thomas Chalmers.
Conceive a man to be standing on the margin of this green world,
and that, when he looked toward it, he saw abundance smiling upon
every field, and all the blessings which earth can afford, scattered in
profusion throughout every family, and the light of the sun sweetly
resting upon all the pleasant habitations, and the joys of human com-
panionship brightening many a happy circle of society — conceive this
to be the general character of the scene upon one side of his contem-
plation, and that on the other, be} r ond the verge of the goodly planet
on which he was situated, he could descry nothing but a dark and
fathomless unknown. Think you that he would bid a voluntary adieu
to all the brightness and all the beauty that were before him upon
earth, and commit himself to the frightful solitude away from it?
Would he leave its peopled dwelling-places, and become a solitary
22* R
258 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
wanderer through the fields of nonentity? If space offered him nothing
but a wilderness, would he for it abandon the home-bred scenes of Life
and of cheerfulness that lay so near, and exerted Buch u power of
urgency to detain him? Would not he cling to the regions of -
and of life, and of society? — and shrinking away from the desolation
that was beyond it. would not he be glad to keep his firm footing on
the territory of this world, and to take shelter under the silver canopy
that was stretched over it?
But if, during the time of his contemplation, some happy island "f
the blest had floated by, and there had burst upon bis senses the light
of its surpassing glories, and its Bounds of sweeter melody, and he
clearly saw that there a purer beauty rested upon every field, ami a
more heartfelt joy spread itself among all the families, and he could
discern there a peace, and a piety, and a benevolence which put a
moral gladness into every bosom, and united the whole society in one
rejoicing sympathy with each other, and with the beneficent Father of
them all. Could he further see that pain and mortality were there
unknown, and above all, that signals of welcome were hung out, and
an avenue of communication was made for him — perceive you not that
what was before the wilderness, would become the land of invita-
tion, and that now the world would be the wilderness? What unpeo-
pled space could not do, can be done by space teeming with beatific
scenes, and beatific society. And let the existing tendencies of the
heart be what they may to the scene that is near and visible around
as, —till if another stood revealed to the prospect of man, either through
the channel of faith, or through the channel of his senses — then, with-
out violence done to the constitution of his moral nature, may he die
unto the present world, and live to the lovelier world that stands in the
distance away from it.
THE VOICE OF SCRIPTURE.
Edward Irving.
Oh! if books had but tongues to speak their wrongs, then might
this Book well exclaim — Hear, heavens ! and give ear, earth ! I
came from the love and embrace of God, and mute Nature, to whom I
brought no boon, did me rightful homage. To men I come, and my
words were to the children of men. I disclosed to you the mysteries
of hereafter, and the secrets of the throne of God. I set open to you
the gates of salvation, and the way of eternal life, hitherto unknown.
Nothing in heaven did I withhold from your hope and ambition ; and
upon your earthly lot I poured the full horn of Divine providence and
consolation. But ye requited me with no welcome, ye held no festivity
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 259
on my arrival : ye sequester me from happiness and heroism, closeting
me with sickness and infirmity : ye make not of me, nor use me for,
your guide to wisdom and prudence, put me into a place in your last
of duties, and withdraw me to a mere corner of your time ; and most
of ye set me at naught and utterly disregard me. I come, the fulness
of the knowledge of God ; angels delighted in my company, and desired
to dive into my secrets. But ye, mortals, place masters over me, sub-
jecting me to the discipline and dogmatism of men, and tutoring me in
your schools of learning. I came not to be silent in your dwellings,
but to speak welfare to you and to your children. I came to rule, and
my throne to set up in the hearts of men. Mine ancient residence
was the bosom of Gocl ; no residence will I have but the soul of an
immortal; and if you had entertained me, I should have possessed you
of the peace which I had with God, " when I was with Him and was
daily His delight, rejoicing always before Him. Because I have called
you and ye have refused, I have stretched out my hand and no man
regarded ; but ye have set at naught all my counsel, and would none
of my reproof; I also will laugh at your calamity, and mock when your
fear cometh as desolation, and your destruction cometh as a whirlwind,
when distress and anguish cometh upon you. Then shall they cry
upon me, but I will not answer ; they shall seek me early, but they
shall not find me."
THE VOICE OF SCRIPTURE — -Continued.
Edward Irving.
Go visit a desolate widow with consolation, and help, and fatherhood
of her orphan children — do it again and again, and your presence, the
second of your approaching footstep, the soft utterance of your voice,
the very mention of your name, shall come to dilate her heart with a
fulness which defies her tongue to utter, but speaking by the tokens
of a swimming eye, and clasped hands, and fervent ejaculations to
Heaven upon your head ! No less copious acknowledgment of God,
the Author of our well-being, and the Father of our better hopes, ought
we to feel when His Word discloseth to us the excess of His love.
Though a veil be now cast over the Majesty which speaks, it is the
voice of the Eternal which we hear, coming in soft cadences to win our
favor, yet omnipotent as the voice of the thunder, and overpowering as
the rushing of many waters. And though the veil of the future inter-
vene between our hand and the promised goods, still are they from
His lips who speaks and it is done, who commands, and all things
stand fast. With no less emotion, therefore, should this Book be
opened, than if, like him in the Apocalypse, you saw the voice which
2G0 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
spake ; or, like him in the trance, you were into the third heaven trans-
lated, company and communing with the realities of glory which eye
hath not seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man conceived.
DAVID'S SIN.
Bishop Whiti.
It sometimes happens in a human government that, in the adminis-
tration of its powers, there is expected to be kepi in view some proraii
nent object, connected perhaps with local interests, or perhaps with a
certain cast of national character, associated in idea with former events,
and with reverence of the wisdom of former times. In estimating the
merits of the chief ruler of such a country, we Bhould contemplate him
with Borne reference to the peculiarities of his station, not to th<
cusing of bim from the law of mural right, suited to all persons, and
places, and times; but to the making of favorable allowances mi the
Bcore of his sacred regard to the principles of the constitution. In the
theocracy administered by David, the highest duty lying on him was
tle> sustaining of the prerogative of the Great King under whose dele-
gated authority he reigned. In either of the eases stated, our com-
mendations of the ruler in his public acts are not to be tested exclu-
sively by the rule of moral right, and without regard to the claim- of
official character. It was on a different ground that he stood account-
able at the bar of God.
BELIEF IN GOD'S EXISTENCE.
Never be tempted to disbelieve the existence of God, when every-
thing around you proclaims it in a language too plain not to be under-
stood. Never cast your eyes on creation without having your souls
expanded with this sentiment," There is a God!" When you survey
this globe of earth, with all its appendages — when you behold it in-
habited by numberless ranks of creatures, all moving in their proper
spheres, all verging to their proper ends, all animated by the same
great source of life, all supported at the same great bounteous table;
when you behold not only the earth, but the ocean and the air, swarm-
ing with living creatures, all happy in their situation — when you behold
yonder sun darting a vast blaze of glory over the heavens, garnishing
mighty worlds, and waking ten thousand songs of praise — when you
behold unnumbered systems diffused through vast immensity, clothed
in splendor, and rolling in majesty — when you behold these things,
your affections will rise above all the vanities of time, your full souls
will struggle with ecstasy, and your reason, passions, and feelings, all
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 261
united, will rush up to the skies, with a devout acknowledgment of the
wisdom, existence, power, and goodness of God. Let us behold Him,
let us wonder, praise, adore. These things will make us happy. They
will wean us from vice, and attach us to virtue.
As a belief of the existence of God is a fundamental point of salva-
tion, he who denies it runs the greatest conceivable hazard. He resigns
the satisfaction of a good conscience, quits the hope of a happy immor-
tality, and exposes himself to destruction. All this for what? for the
short-lived pleasure of a riotous, dissolute life. How wretched when
he finds his atheistical confidence totally destroyed ! Instead of his
beloved sleep and insensibility, with which he so fondly flattered him-
self, he will find himself still existing after death, removed to a strange
place ; he will then find there is a God, who will not suffer his rational
beings to fall into annihilation as a refuge from the just punishment
of their crimes ; he will find himself doomed to drag on a wretched
train of existence in unavailing woe and lamentation. Alas ! how
astonished will he be to find himself plunged into the abyss of ruin
and desperation ! God forbid that any of us should act so unwisely as
to disbelieve, when everything around us proclaims His existence !
THE GOSPEL FOR THE POOR.
John M. Mason.
Frou the remotest antiquity there have been, in all civilized nations,
men who devoted themselves to the increase of knowledge and happi-
ness. Their speculations were subtile, their arguings acute, and many
of their maxims respectable. But to whom were their instructions
addressed ? To casual visiters, to selected friends, to admiring pupils,
to privileged orders ! In some countries, and on certain occasions,
when vanity was to be gratified by the acquisition of fame, their ap-
pearances were more public. For example, one read a poem, another
a history, and a third a play, before the crowd assembled at the Olympic
games. To be crowned there, was, in the proudest period of Greece,
the summit of glory and ambition. But what did this, what did the
mysteries of pagan worship, or what the lectures of pagan philosophy,
avail the people ? Sunk in ignorance, in poverty, in crime, they lay
neglected. Age succeeded age, and school to school ; a thousand sects
and systems rose, flourished, and fell ; but the degradation of the multi-
tude remained. Not a beam of light found its way into their darkness,
nor a drop of consolation into their cup. Indeed a plan of raising them
to the dignity of rational enjoyment, and fortifying them against the
disasters of life, was not to be expected : for as nothing can exceed the
contempt in which they were held by the professors of wisdom ; so any
2G2 TIIE SELECT ACAD KM It' BPBAKBB.
human device, however captivating in theory, would have been worth-
less in fact. The most sagacious heathen could Imagine do better
means of improving them than the precepts of his philosophy. Now,
supposing it to be ever so salutary, its benefits must have been confined
to a very few; the notion that the bulk of mankind may become philo-
sophers, being altogether extravagant. They ever have been, and, in
the nature of things, ever must be, unlearned. Besides, the grovelling
superstition and brutal manners of the heathen, presented insuperable
obstacles. Had the plan of their cultivation 1 n even - , espe-
cially if it comprehended the more abject of the species, it would have
been universally derided, and would have merited derision, no less than
the dreams of modern fully about the perfectibility of man.
TIIE SOCIETY OF HEAVEN.
Orecjoky T. Bedell.
What a glorious Bocietyl Innumerable company of angels, arch-
angels, cherubim, Beraphim ! Thousands of thousands ministered unto
Him, and ten thousand times ten thousand stoo I before Him. This is
a part of the society. The spirits of just men made perfect; believers
made perfect ; their labors finished ; their trials over : their race run ;
the goal reached ; the prize obtained ; the crown won ; the general
assembly and Church of the first-born.
What a glorious society! Saints who have served the Lord during
every successive period of the world, from righteous Abel to the very
last of those who, when the Lord shall come a second time, shall be
caught up to meet Him in the air, and so to be ever with the Lord.
There is a degree of melancholy grandeur in the idea of a heathen of
old, who, amid all the darkness, and ignorance, and superstition in
which he lived, could compose his mind to death in the supposition
that, in the Elysian fields of his mythology, he should meet with Plato,
and with Socrates, and with Homer, and with Hesiod, and a host of
other illustrious worthies, and spend his eternity with them in a philo-
sophy refined from the grossness of earth. Miserable comfort ! his
Elysian fields were fables, not even cunningly devised. " But we know
that if our earthly house of this tabernacle were dissolved, we have a
building of God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens ;"
and in those mansions of eternal glory are to be found the martyred
Abel ; that patriarch who walked with God, and was translated with-
out tasting death ; that father of the faithful, Abraham, with Isaac and
Jacob, Moses, Joshua, prophets, priests and kings, apostles, martyrs,
and innumerable servants of the Lord less distinguished ; thousands of
thousands, gathered out of every tribe, and kindred, and people, and
from every age and generation of the world.
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 263
INFLUENCE OF HEAVENLY GLIMPSES.
H. Melvill.
It were a strange thought, that a glimpse of heaven will make one
less alive to the afflictions of earth. Shall the having gazed, though
but for an instant, on what is pure, and peaceable, and bright, diminish
his sensibility to the pollution and turmoil of the scene in which he
still dwells ? Shall he, when he returns from his lofty flight, and comes
down from his splendid excursion, to engage once more in the business
of probation, and be again occupied with keeping under the body, and
disciplining unruly passions — shall he, think you, feel less than before
the irksomeness of the combat with corruption, or be more at home in
the wilderness through which his path lies ? Oh, it is not the view of
heaven which will lighten the burden laid on us by our sinfulness. I
had almost said, it will increase that burden. Indeed, it is not possible
that a believer should have gazed on the fair spreadings of the saint's
home, and contemplated, however distantly, what God hath prepared
for him as a member of his Son, and not have strengthened in the feel-
ing, that heaven is worth all his strivings, and in the resolve, that he
will wrestle for its happiness. But I cannot think that he will be
more at ease than before in a world which will only seem drearier by
contrast. I cannot think that the having listened to the harpings of
angels will make the storm and the discord sound less offensively. I
cannot think that because he has tasted the fresh waters of the river
of life, he will find less bitterness in the wormwood which sin will yet
infuse into his cup. I cannot think that, with the earnests in posses-
sion, he will be other than more intense in his longings for the perfect
fruition. And therefore do I believe that, the richer his anticipations
of heaven, the deeper will be his cry, " that I had the wings of a
dove ! for then would I flee away and be at rest." So that an apostle,
and that apostle, St. Paul, who had actually trodden the firmament,
and seen what saints enjoy, and heard what seraphs sing, was of all
others the most likely to feel the pressure of spiritual anxieties, and to
sigh for deliverance ; and who then shall wonder at his using language
which shows that he included himself, and other true believers, in his
description of a groaning and waiting creation, " The earnest expecta-
tion of the creature waiteth for the manifestation of the sons of God?"
From " Sermons."
THE IMPORTANT TRUTH.
H. Mel-^ll.
If there be a cause of exultation, a motive for rejoicing, to a fallen
creature, must it not be that he is still dear to his Maker, that notwith-
standing all which he hath done to provoke Divine wrath, and make
264 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
condemnation inevitable, he is regarded with unspeakable tenderness
by the Almighty, watched over with a solicitude, and provided for at
a cost, which could not he exceeded if he were the noblest and purest
of the beings that throng the intelligent universe? Teach me this,
and yon teaeh me everything. And this I learn from Christ crucified.
I learn it indeed in a measure from the sun as he walks the firmament,
and warms the earth into fertility. 1 learn it from tin- moon, ai
gathers the stars into her train, and throws over creation her robe of -..ft
light. I gather it from the various operations and provisions of nature,
from the faculties of the mind, from the capacities of the BOul. Hut if
1 am taught by these, the beaching after all is but imperfect and partial :
they do indeed give testimony that man i- not forgotten of God; but
the testimony would l.e equally given, were there the power of receiving
it, to tin 1 brute creation, to the innumerable animated tribes which are
to perish at death. It i> not a testimony, at least not a direct testimony,
that we are cared for BS immortal being8, and can he pardoned as sinful.
It is not a testimony that lie who is of purer eyes than to look upon
iniquity, can receive into favor even the vilest of those who
thrown oil' allegiance, and manifest such an exuberance of loving-
kindness towards the guilty, as will not leave the worst case without
hope and without succor. Show US what will give such testimony as
this, and sun. and moon, and the granaries of nature, ami the workings
of intellect, will drop, in comparison, their office of instructor.
From " Sermons."
CHRISTIANITY IN AMERICA.
R. J. Brfxkexridge.
All the immense problems on whose solution the destiny of man
depends — and chief among these, the nature, the position, and the
efficacy of all religious institutions — are presented among us in a light
altogether singular. Here, for the first time, religion is absolutely free;
and having been corrupted everywhere else by its union with the civil
power, or pressed everywhere else under the iron hand of persecution,
its sublime mission among us is to make manifest its capacity to be at
once free and efficacious in the bosom of a people at once great and
free. Moreover, the people among whom this vast experiment is to
have free scope, differ most remarkably from all others precisely in
those respects in which religion might be supposed most capable of
being affected for good or ill, by other absorbing interests of man.
Here there is cast loose upon society — wholly disconnected with reli-
gion, and, therefore, available against it as well as for it — a larger
proportion of educated intellect has never before existed in any com-
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 265
munity ; a greater mass which must needs be influenced, and, when
influenced either way, correspondingly powerful ; a mass stimulated
throughout every portion of it to a degree never witnessed before in
any age of the world. Can the religion of Christ establish its dominion,
by its own power, over such hearts ? Can it maintain supreme sway
over such minds by its own simple and divine force? It is a singular
proof of its wonderful hold upon the human soul, that, so far from being
shaken loose, it has constantly augmented its influence throughout the
terrific agitations of the human race during the whole career of our
country. It has survived the midnight of the world ; and its last office
is to preside over the noon of human grandeur. Let us do our part
toward the accomplishment of this sublime destiny.
SCIENCE AND RELIGION.
M. Hopkins.
That onward movement in the march of creation, how grand it is !
how mysterious in its origin ! How inscrutable, how utterly beyond
the scope of science are its issues ! Only after the dethronement of
chaos, and during the first epoch in which there were orderly arrange-
ments and recurrent movements, was science possible. Then she might
have pitched her tent, and polished her glasses, and built her labora-
tory, and have begun her observations and her records. She might
have counted every scale on the placoids, and every spot on the lichens,
and every ring on the graptolites, and have analyzed the fog from every
standing pool ; and so have gone on thousands of years, feeling all the
time that her tent was a house with stable foundations, and her recur-
ring movements an inheritance for ever. " Do you suppose," she might
have said, "that this fixed order will be broken up?" "Do you not
see that since the fathers fell asleep all things continue as they were V
But that epoch came to its close. The placoids, and lichens, and grap-
tolites, and all the science connected with them, were whelmed beneath
the surface, to be known no more except as they might leave their
record there. Then again, in the second period, science might have
gone the same round, and fallen into the same infidelity. And, indeed,
from her own stand-point alone, how could she do otherwise ? The
circular movement cannot speak of that which is to end it. And so it
has been through the epochs.
According to its own records, the coming up of the creation out of
the past eternity has been as the march of an army that should move
on by separate stages with recruits of new races and orders at the
opening of each encampment. During those long days of God there
was scope for science, and for a new one in each. In each, science
23
2GG THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
oould pitch the tent, and forage, and perfect the arrangement for the
encampment j but she could not tell when the tents were to be struck,
or where tin' army would march next. And so the movement has been
onward till our epoch has come, and wc have Kc. mi called in as recruits.
And now again science is busy with her fixed arrangements and recur-
ring movements ; but knows just as little as before of the rectilinear
movement — of the direction and termination of this mighty march.
It is within thi* movement, and not in the 8pher< ofsciena (hat our great
interest lies. Belonging to arrangements and movements in this world,
science can do much for us in this world, hut she cannot regenerate the
world, she cannot secure the interests which lie only in the rectilineal
line of movement, and which are " the one thing needful." Of that
movement we can know nothing except through faith. Through that
we may know. Wc believe then: is one who has marshalled the hosts
of this moving army, and who has the ordering of them, and that he
has told us bo much of this onward movement as we need to know;
and here it is that we find that sphere of faith which we say is distinct
from science, but not opposed to it.
man's love to god.
J. McClintock.
At every stage of life, man seeks for love. Yet he finds none that
endures. What affections are not blasted by sin, by the world's sad
changes, by the treachery of feeble natures, by the destroying forces
of ambition or of avarice, — those, I say, that are proof against all
these — and ! how Jew these are, the bitter experience of life has
convinced us all — what becomes of them? Buried, too often, in the
graves of those that gave and received them. Who among us has not
felt his own love — that went forth warm and gushing — falling back in
an Alpine torrent upon his heart, as he has seen the dull earth close
upon remains dearer to him than life !
But has God given us these affections, and are they never to be satis-
fied? Is there no object toward which they can be turned, that shall
not change ? Here, brethren, it is that Religion offers to fill this deepest
craving of our nature. She offers to us an object worthy of our highest,
purest love in the infinite and unchangeable God. She offers to us the
"One altogether lovely," and tells us that lie will accept our love, and
treasure it up so that it shall never fail us. And she wooes us to
bestow our affection thus, by showing us that God is not only so infinite
in goodness as to be willing to receive our love, but that, in his
unbounded condescension, he has sought us by pouring out the riches
of his own infinite affection upon us ! And she tells us, that this
DECLAMATIONS IN PBOSE. 267
supreme affection will not only have permanence in itself, but will also
so sanctify and transfigure all our lower affections as to endow them
with its own immortality, that our love for children, parents, husband,
wife, or friend, need not perish with them, but may bloom for ever, in
the paradise of God. In this sense, we may take as entirely true the
beautiful language of Southey :
" They sin, who tell us love can die !
With life all other passions fly,
All others are but vanity.
Earthly, these passions of the earth,
They perish where they had their birth ;
But love is indestructible,
Its holy flame for ever burneth —
From heaven it came, to heaven returneth."
KELIGIONISTS.
F. D. Huntington.
You have seen the religionist of mere passion. That impulsive tem-
perament is doubtless capable of good services to the master. But, to
that end, the master must have the reforming of it. That unsteady
purpose must be made steadfast through a thoughtful imitation of the
constancy, that said, "Behold, I go up to Jerusalem to be crucified."
That fluctuating wing of worship, must be poised by some influence
from those hills, where whole nights were not too long for a Kedeemer's
prayers. That inexpert swimmer in the sea of life, now rising, now
sinking, and now noisily splashing the waters, must be schooled by
sober experience to glide onward with a firmer and stiller stroke.
Ardor must be matched with consistency. You are not to be carried to
heaven by a fitful religion, periodically raised from the dead at seasons
of social exhilaration ; not by a religion alive at church, but stagnant
in the streets and in the market-places ; not by a religion kindling at
some favored hour of sentimental meditation, only to sink and flicker
in the drudgery of common work. It is to little purpose that we read,
and circulate, and preach the Bible, except all our reading and all our
living gain thereby a more biblical tone. And it is quite futile that
our breasts glow with some fugitive feeling in the house of God, unless
that feeling dedicates our common dwellings to be all houses of God.
So have you seen the religious legalist. In business, in the street, in
sanctuaries, at home, you have seen him. In business, measuring off
his righteousness by some sealed measure of public usage, as mechani-
cally as his merchandise, and making a label or a dye-stuff his cunning
proxy to tell the lie that some judicial penalty had frightened from his
tongue ; disowning no patent obligation, but cheating the customer, or
oppressing the weak, in secret. In the street, wearing an outside of
THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
genial manners, with a frosty temper under it. or a cloak of pro]
with a heart of Bin; in the sanctuary, purchasing, with formal profes-
sions, one day, the privilege of an untroubled Belftseekii rsix,
or possibly opening the p 1 the prayer-book here to-day, with
ante hand that will wronj rrow; and at home,
practising that reluctant virtue that would hardly ugad affec-
tion but for the marriage-bond, and that, by I rted to another
continent, would find a Parisian atmosphi . at of all it- scruple*.
descending, al present, to the depth of depravity, be certainly
never pure pietj . R Imirable traits
you -ee in him, you miss that distinctive mark which i
knowledge of as a spiritual consecration.
Engraft, now. on that "wild olive" Btock, the sweet j I 'hri>-
tian Love, drawn from their original Btocs in Bethlehem, "of th<
of David and the root of Ji ften that hard integrity by Christian
charity: in place of duty done from Bheer compulsion, put duty i
from a willing, eager, and believing heart. I>» this, and thou -halt live.
DUELLING.
Eliphaux Xott.
Absubd as duelling is, were it absurd only, though we might smile
at the weakness and pity the folly of it* -. there would I
riously attacking them. But, to what has been -aid, I
add, that duelling is bash and presumptuous. Life is the gift of God,
and it was never bestowed to be sported with. To each, the e ivereign
of the univer.se has marked out a sphere to move in, and assigned a
part to act. This part respects ourselves not only, but others also.
Each lives for the benefit of all. As in the system of nature the sun
shines, not to display its own brightness, and answer its own conve-
nience, but to warm, enlighten, and bless the world ; so in the sy
of animated beings, there is a dependence, a correspondence and a
relation through an infinitely extended, dying, and reviving universe,
in which no man livelh to himself, and no man dieth to himself. Friend
is related to friend ; the father to his family ; the individual to com-
munity. To every member of which, having fixed his station and
assigned his duty, the God of nature says, " Keep this trust — defend
this post." For whom? For thy friends — thy family — thy country.
And having received such a charge, and for such a purpose, to desert it-
is rashness and temerity.
Since the opinions of men are as they are, do you ask, how you shall
avoid the imputation of cowardice, if you do not fight Avhen you are
injured ? Ask your family how you will avoid the imputation of cruelty
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 269
—ask your conscience how you will avoid the imputation of guilt — ask
God how you will avoid his malediction if you do. These are previous
questions. Let these first be answered, and it will be easy to reply to
any which may follow them. If you only accept a challenge, when you
believe in your conscience that duelling is wrong, you act the coward.
The dastardly fear of the world governs you. Awed by its menaces,
you conceal your sentiments, appear in disguise, and act in guilty con-
formity to principles not your own, and that, too, in the most solemn
moment, and when engaged in an act which exposes you to death.
But if it be rashness to accept, how passing rashness is it, in a sinner,
to give a challenge ? Does it become him, whose life is measured out
by crimes, to be extreme to mark, and punctilious to resent whatever is
amiss in others? Must the duellist, who now, disdaining to forgive, so
imperiously demands satisfaction to the uttermost — must this man,
himself trembling at the recollection of his offences, presently appear a
suppliant before the mercy-seat of God ? Imagine this, and the case is
not imaginary, and you cannot conceive an instance of greater incon-
sistency or of more presumptuous arrogance. Wherefore, avenge not
yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath; for vengeance is mine, I will
repay it, saith the Lord.
THE CHEERFULNESS OF PIETY.
Br, DtTRBis.
The good man only is rationally and permanently cheerful. No
cheerfulness but his is beyond the power of fortune, or the influence of
earthly events. If prosperity smile on him, and he and his country are
full to overflowing, he does not become proud and vain in his heart, and
forget his God. His devotion becomes more intense and uniform by
the addition of a large amount of gratitude ; and, instead of using the
power which the abundance of his wealth gives him, to do harm, he
uses it, and his wealth also, to diffuse relief and joy among the afflicted,
and thus disposes a thousand hearts to rise up and bless him.
Besides this, he has the pleasure of the consciousness of doing good,
and being good — a pleasure, beyond a doubt, the purest and highest a
human heart can feel on earth, except the pleasure of a consciousness
of sin forgiven, and of the favor of God. Moreover, I may add, he is in
haste to do all the good he can, during his prosperity, for he knows not
but that he may be quickly deprived of the power to do good, by some
sudden reverse of fortune. He seizes quickly the opportunity of
" laying up for himself a good foundation against the time to come,"
that his Saviour may say to him, with others : " Come, ye blessed of my
Father, inherit the kingdom ; for I was hungry, and ye fed me ; thirsty,
23*
270 TIM iC kDEMIC BPB u.
and ye gave me drink; naked, and ye clothed me; sick, and in pi
and ye visited me ; for, inasmuch b done ii unto one of the
least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me." With
exalted end in view, he hastens to do all the good he can during
prosperity .
But Bhould he be a child of adversity, from Id- youth up. or should
he experience the deepest reverses of fortune; do riches \ - and
flyaway; do friends forsake; does health Tail: does In- stand like -
blasted tree, on the bleak mountain peak, -tripped of all it- branches,
and Scathed with the storms ami Lightning ; has the
genius of det lation and Borrow taken him into captivity — under any
or all those circumstances, he does not, like the ungodly man too fre-
quently, throw away his life foolishly, in a lit of de-pair: hut with a
firmness and resignation peculiar to a go »d man. he bows to the awful
dispensations of his ( h>d, and repeats, with a chastened smile, "Thy
will be done !" and though that will is awfully mysterious at the pn
time, yet he IS sure its issues will he best. Of such an one, under
Buch ciroumstfl may well say, with the poet:
"Like some tall cliff, that lifts lii- awful form,
Swells from the vale, ami midway leaves the storm;
Though clouds and tempests round it- | read,
oal sunshine settles on its hi
DUTY AND PRAISE.
J. B. Kerfoot.
How much of any good deed has Bprung from love of praise, or how
far it would have been changed if no such reward had been in view, is
not an easy thing for any one to decide. How far virtue carries us,
and where love of praise takes us up, would often be a wholes
inquiry. Here is peril — all the greater from the fact, that it is right
to desire the regards of the virtuous. God implants the desire in us as
a help to duty : but it must not be the motive or the measure of duty.
Conscience must be cultivated so as to be able to decide and impel
without any such aid. Otherwise our virtue will become less real —
more hollow every day. We will allow ourselves to receive more
credit than is our due. We will gradually forget how little our due is.
Weakening principle and growing vanity will be the result. A most
subtle selfishness and cowardice will grow up. Appearances will be
maintained, but reality will die out. An exterior, felt by us to be un-
fair, will be more carefully regarded than that honest reality of prin-
ciple within, which only can make us good men, useful men, and true
men. The remed3 r is this. Let God and your own consciences be the
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 271
judges to which you make your hourly appeals. Keep all other appeals
in the background. Try yourselves more by your private life — that
which no one else knows, than by that which others judge by. Bishop
Jeremy Taylor says, truly — " He that does as well in private, between
God and his own soul, as in public, in pulpits, in theatres and market-
places, hath given himself a good testimony that his purposes are full
of honesty, nobleness, and integrity." " The breath of the people," he
adds, " is but air, and that not often wholesome." Nor is it — real
virtue stifles and grows faint if it breathe it too much. It may exhilar-
ate for a time, but it leaves afterwards the sickening sense of a hollow
hypocrisy, for which the honest man will loathe himself in secret.
Live, then, before your conscience. Let conscience people your area
of action with the spectators whose applause you seek. The great
philosopher as well as orator of Rome, may have felt the truth of his
words all the more because of his own vanity, when he wrote " Nullum
theatrum virtuti conscientia majus est" — "Virtue can have no theatre
greater than conscience." I may add, that there is no theatre besides
in which our deeds and words will not become too much the acting of a
player's part.
From " College, of St. James Commencement Addresses."
THE CONFIRMATION OF FAITH.
Rt. Rev. Wm. White, D. D.
In regard to the confirming of our faith, there is weighty evidence
in this consent of prophecy and history, and of prophecies and events
of different ages, in a long succession, respectively answering to one
another. Here is an extraordinary series, which, like that of the for-
tunes of the seed of Abraham, is addressed to all ages. Our Saviour,
having read in a synagogue, from the Prophet Isaiah, a description of
the character in which he was at that moment manifesting himself,
made the appeal to their senses and to their understandings — " This
day is this Scripture fulfilled in your ears." But in the present sub-
ject, we have the detail of successive prophecies, which have been
fulfilling through many ages ; which, in this, our day, are going on in
their fulfilment, and which will continue to be fulfilled, in what
remains of time. Balanced with this evidence, how light are difficul-
ties lying on the face of detached parts of the Christian system ; the
meaning of which we may have mistaken ; while this sentiment, per-
vading it, may be made luminous to every understanding ! a senti-
ment, which a succession of impostors would have found it impossible
to sustain through a long tract of time, as it would also have been for
them, had they so continued it, to have brought the state of the world,
and the conduct, as well of enemies as of friends, to correspond with
272 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
the extraordinary scheme, thus supposed to have been contrived.
What then should be the result, but oat being rendered by it the hum-
ble disciples of the blessed Person who once "tabernacled among men,"
ami who is now exulted far above "all principality and power, and
might, and dominion, and every mime that U named, Dot only in this
world, but also in that which i- to come."
From '• Mi* vwu-ij S>:riwn."
THE BEAUTY OF GOODNESS.
.'. li. Ki nrooT.
I know do! bow 1 can better conclude this address to you all, young
gentlemen— especially to you who have now i be our pupils —
than by proposing as it^ title "in- of the most expressive words with
which your Greek studies have familiarized you. I tried to think of
Bome one w<>rd in our own language which would express my idea, but
none occurr< d to me. I wished to impress the thought of virtue beau-
tiful because of Us reality; lovely in appearance because real in its
nature. Kalozayabta — beauty anl goodness inseparably united; spring-
ing each from the other — the moral state and appearance of the upright
man. KaXoxayaBia seems to me the very word needed, lie who
exhibits virtue in a graceless form, beli arccly less than he
who puts show in the place of reality. Goodness and loveliness belong
together ; neither can exist apart from the other. Moral goodness must
always be beautiful. Moral beauty can never clothe anything but
moral goodness. Bend your efforts to the reality, and the loveliness
which belongs to it will appear of itself. Desire to exhibit the loveli-
ness of goodness, not for your own sake or praise, but for the sake of
virtue and of her One Fountain, and you will avoid needless offences.
But feel it to be a degradation to wish to appear, or to consent to
appear, in any matter better than you are. Yet rebel not against the
exactions of your place and circumstances. They require high virtue
and its good name. Concentrate your thoughts upon the former; the
latter, the good name, will not fail to come with it. Make yourself
xa?MxayaOoq — xaXoq /.at o.yo.Ooc. Seek what I now earnestly com-
mend to you all — y.aloy.aYo.O'.a — and do it, in the only true and sure
way, by seeking till you find that which has so often been commended
to you in a place and on occasions more sacred than this, and in the
words of Divine origin — " The Beauty of Holiness I"
From " College of St. James Commencement Addresses."
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 273
THE RESURRECTION.
Bishop McIlvaine.
Already had the Disciples learned, by painful experience, that it
was through much tribulation they were to share in his kingdom ; but
such trials had not shaken their faith. Accustomed to behold him
despised, persecuted, and rejected of men, their confidence was con-
tinually sustained, as they heard him speak " as never man spake/'
and with an authority that controlled the sea and raised the dead.
But now, deep tribulation, such as they had not known before, had
overtaken them. What darkness had come upon their faith ! He, who
was once so mighty to give deliverance to the captive, had himself been
taken captive and bound to the cross. He, who with a word raised the
dead, had been violently, wickedly, put to an ignominious death. He,
whom they expected to reign as King of kings, and to subdue all
nations, had been brought under the dominion of his own nation, and
shut up in the sepulchre, and all the people of Israel were now boast-
fully confident that the death of the cross had proved him a deceiver.
0, indeed, it was a season of great heaviness, and dismay, and trial,
those days and nights in which their beloved Master was lying in death !
The great stone which his enemies had rolled to the door of the sepul-
chre, lest his disciples should go by night and take away the body, was
expressive of the cold, dead weight, which that death and burial had
laid upon their hearts. That sepulchre seemed as the tomb of all their
hopes. All was buried with Jesus. "For, as yet (it is written), they
knew not the Scripture, that he must rise again from the dead."
(John, xx. 9.) Had they understood what he had often told them, they
would have known " that thus it behooved (the) Christ to suffer, and to
rise from the dead the third day."
The third day was now come. The Jewish Sabbath was over. The
first day of the week was breaking. While it is yet dark, faithful women
repair to the sepulchre with spices for the embalming. They find the
stone rolled away. Wondering at this, they enter the tomb. The body
is not there. Enemies have taken it away, is their first thought. Mary
Magdalene hastens to say to Peter and John, "they have taken away
the Lord out of the sepulchre, and we know not where they have laid
him." Angels appear to the women in their alarm, saying, " He is not
here, but is risen." "With fear," and yet "with great joy," they ran
"to bring his disciples word." But to the latter, " their words seemed
as idle tales, and they believed them not." Peter and John had now
reached "the place where the Lord lay," and entering in, they found
the grave-clothes remaining, but otherwise an empty sepulchre. " They
saw and believed." After a little, came Mary Magdalene to the other
disciples, and " told them she had seen the Lord," and what things he
S
274 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
had spoken unto her. Still, "they believed not." It seemed too good
to be true. Bow was it that they did not remember hie words, which
even the chief priests and Pharisees repeated to Pilate, as a reason for
posting a guard around the tomb, "After three days, I will rise again."
The terrible Bhock of the crucifixion must have bo stunned their faith,
and distracted their thoughts, that what they afterward remembered
so clearly, was either forgotten, or not comprehended.
THE PURPOSES OF CHRISTIANITY.
F. Wmjumv.
Oi'R object will not have been accomplished till the tomahawk shall
be buried forever, ami the tree of peace spread its broad branches from
the Atlantic to the Pacific; until a thousand smiling villages shall be
reflected from the waves of the Missouri, and the distant valleys of the
West echo with the song of the reaper; till the wilderness and the
solitary place shall have been glad for us, and the desert has rejoiced
and blossomed afl the rose. Our labors are not to cease until Africa
shall have been enlightened and redeemed, and Ethiopia, from the
Mediterranean to the Cape, shall have stretched forth her hand unto
God.
How changed will then be the face of Asia! Brahmins, and sooders,
and castes, and Bhasters, will have passed away, like the mist which
rolls up the mountain's side before the rising glories of a summer's
morning; while the land on which it rested, shining forth in all its
loveliness, shall, from its numberless habitations, send forth the high
praises of God and the Lamb. The Hindoo mother will gaze upon her
infant with the same tenderness which throbs in the breast of any
Christian mother ; and the Hindoo son will pour into the wounded
bosom of his widowed parent the oil of peace and consolation.
In a word, point us to the loveliest village that smiles upon a Scottish
or New England landscape, and compare it with the filthiness and
brutality of a Caffrarian kraal, and we tell you that our object is to
render that Caffrarian kraal as happy and as gladsome as that Scottish
or New England village. Point us to the spot on the face of the earth,
where liberty is best understood and most perfectly enjoyed, where
intellect shoots forth in its richest luxuriance, and where all the kind-
lier feelings of the heart are constantly seen in their most graceful
exercise ; point us to the loveliest and happiest neighborhood in the
world on which we dwell ; and we tell you that our object is to render
this whole earth, with all its nations, and kindreds, and tongues, and
people, as happy, nay, happier than that neighborhood.
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 275
CHRISTIAN MOTIVES.
George F. Pierce.
The relative duties of life are performed not to gratify a native
generosity, or eke out a dubious popularity, but as part of the service
and homage due his Maker. Over the whole circumference of his
engagements — in the bosom of his family — the busy marts of trade —
the retirement of the closet — the worship of the sanctuary — the citizen-
ship of the world — there presides a solemn recognition of the divine
presence, his being and his empire, and every step is taken in reference
to him as a witness and a judge. I know that many profess and seem
to be religious on lower principles. Public opinion — consistency — ease
of conscience, to shun hell, to gain heaven, all operate, and they super-
sede and dethrone the higher law in the text. Not that these motives
are illegitimate, but partial and inferior. They ought not to become
principal and paramount ; and they cannot without a deleterious unhinge-
ment of character, and a transfer of our duty from the ground of what
is divine and authoritative, to that which is human and self-pleasing.
•The motive in the text is comprehensive, embracing all lower ends —
harmonizes all, yet subordinates them all to its own sovereign sway.
Like a conqueror at the head of his battalions, it marches forth to
subdue the insurgent elements that would dispute its dominion. It is
the " stronger man" keeping his goods in peace. Without it, there can
be no consecration, and with it no compromise of duty. The failure to
recognise and adopt this great principle of morality, has fearfully
diluted the experience of the church, and embarrassed every department
of Christian service. " I will run in the way of thy commandments,
when thou shalt enlarge my heart," said the Psalmist. No man can
rise above the constraining considerations which spring from interest,
feeling, safety, pleasure, in reference to all minor questions of duty,
save as he resolves religion into some great general principles and
purposes, from the decisions of which there is no appeal.
SONGS IN THE NIGHT.
C. H. Spurgeon.
The world hath its night. It seemeth necessary that it should have
one. The sun shineth by day, and men go forth to their labors ; but
they grow weary, and nightfall cometh on, like a sweet boon from heaven.
The darkness draweth the curtains, and shutteth out the light, which
might prevent our eyes from slumber ; while the sweet, calm stillness
of the night permits us to rest upon the lap of ease, and there forget
awhile our cares, until the morning sun appeareth, and an angel puts
his hand upon the curtain, and undraws it once again, touches our eye-
276 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
lids, and bida us rise, and proceed to the labors of the day. Night is
one of the greatest men enjoy; we have many reasoi
thank God for it. Vet nigb.1 i- to manj a gloomy season. There is
"the pestilence that walketh in darkness;" there is "the terror by
night;" there is the dread of robbers and of fell disease, with all I
fears that the timorous know, when they have no light wherewith they
can discern object8. Ir i- then they fancy that spiritual creatures walk
the earth; though, if they knew rightly, they would find it to he true,
that
"Millions of spiritual creatures walk this earth,
Unseen, both when we sleep, and when we wake/'
and that at all times they arc round about us — not more by night than
by day. Nighl i^ the Beason of terror and alarm to most men. Yet
even night hath it- - DgS. Have you never stood by the seaside at
night, and heard the pebbles Bing, and the waves chant God's glories t
Or have you never risen from your couch, and thrown up the window
of your chamber, and listened there? Listened to what? Silence —
Bave now and then a murmuring sound, which seems sweet music then.
And have you not fancied that you heard the harp of God playing in
heaven? Did you not conceive, that yon stars, that those eye- of God,
looking down on you, were also mouth- of gong — that every star was
singing God's glory, singing, as it shone, its mighty .Maker, and his
lawful, well-deserved praise? Night hath it- Bongs. We need not
much poetry in our spirit, to catch the song of night, and hear the
spheres as they chant praises which are loud to the heart, though they
be silent to the ear — the praises of the mighty God, who hears np the
unpillared arch of heaven, and moves the stars in their courses.
THE DAXGER OF DELAY.
J. C. Young.
The danger of deferring the service of God is further evinced by the
fact, that, the imjjressions produced upon you, by his truths, have a
natural tendency to become weaker. They become weaker, in accordance
with the general laws .of our nature. Thus we find, that impunity, in
any course, produces in us insensibility to its danger. The young
soldier, when, for the first time, he enters the field of battle, is almost
always agitated and alarmed ; when he first hears the shock, the
shout, the groans of war, his heart sinks within him. But each succes-
sive conflict, from which he escapes unharmed, hardens his heart
against fear ; and when he has become a veteran — when he has been
long accustomed to such sights and sounds, the roar of artillery, the
flash of sabres, and the clash of bayonets, cease to produce their former
DECLAMATIONS IN PEOSE. 277
impressions upon his mind. Even so it is with the soul, in view of
those truths which God presents before us in his word, to alarm us, and
urge us to repentance. Their tendency to impress us and awe us from
ways of sin, is diminished by each successive presentation, when that
presentation fails to produce in us any amendment. Even in diseases
of the body, we usually find, that the more frequently a remedy is
applied to a disorder, without effecting a decided and favorable change,
the less prospect there is of its ultimate success. The remedy seems to
become weaker on each successive application. The system appears
to gain, from every failure, a greater capacity of resisting its effects.
Thus we find it to be with the soul, in its resistance to these truths,
which are furnished to us, by God, as the remedies for the disease of
sin. When they are often presented without producing a change of
life, they become familiar, and cease to excite any emotion. Are they
denunciations of the wrath of God against sin, or descriptions of the
woes to be endured in the dungeons of despair ? They are heard, as
we hear the howlings of a stormy blast, from which we apprehend no
personal danger. Are they proclamations of mercy — invitations from
our heavenly Father, to us wandering and needy prodigals, to return
and enjoy the rich blessings he is ever ready to bestow ; or are they
descriptions of the love, the sufferings, and the glory of our divine, yet
condescending Redeemer? They are listened to, as we "listen to the
song of one that hath a pleasant voice, and playeth well upon an instru-
ment i" or perhaps the tale has been so often heard, that all its novelty
and interest are gone, and it falls upon dull and listless ears.
From " Sermon before the Judges."
THE UNIVEKSAL EMPIEE OF DEATH.
D. S. DOGGETT.
Contemplate for a moment the nature of that event which puts the
limit to human life, whether conditionally or otherwise. And, here, we
cannot forbear a reflection, upon the universality of this awful curse.
It has smitten with blasting and mildew every earthly object. The
whole assemblage of living beings, originally designed to luxuriate in
the vigor, and to sparkle in the glories of uninterrupted existence, is
doomed to die. The glow-worm must extinguish his little spark in the
night of death. The myriads of insects that crawl upon the earth, or
float upon the atmospheric wave, must die. Quadrupeds, fishes, fowls,
must die. Vegetation must die. And, last of all, man himself must
die: and the world, instead of being a living temple, animated and
adorned with harmonious orders of rejoicing creatures, must become
their common vortex, one vast sepulchre, the tomb of all that hath life.
24
278 THE .SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
Sere, death reigns in dark and dismal dignity, from age to age, and
from pole to pole. In all probability, ours is the only Bpot Over which
his dread dominion extends. In other places, existence, beyond a
doubt, yet glitters in primeval beauty. The angel of death has never
visited their healthful abodes, to pour his vial on the air, to -cutter over
them the seeds of consumption, and to wake from their happy popula-
tion the wail of lamentation and of woe. Here we breathe the infected
atmosphere of a loathsome hospital, and while we witness the havoc
which appals us, we expire in our turn.
From" A Sermon."
NATIONAL ERROR.
T. P. Akers.
Whatever may be the lot of those to whom error is an inheritance,
woe be to the people by whom it is an adoption. If America, free
above all nations, sustained amidst the trials which have covered the
earth with burning and slaughter, and enlightened by the fullest know-
ledge of the Divine will, refuse fidelity to the compact by which those
matchless privileges have been given, her condemnation will neither
be distant nor delayed. But, if she faithfully repel this deepest of all
crimes, and refuse to place Popery, side by Bide, with Christianity,
there may be no bound to the sacred magnificence of her preservation.
The coming terrors and tribulations of the earth may but augment her
glory. Even in the midst of thunderings and lightnings, which appal
the tribes of earth, she may be led up, like the prophet, to the Mount,
only to behold the Eternal Majesty ; and when the visitation has past,
the world may see her coming forth from the cloud, her brow blazing,
and her hands holding the " commandments' , of mankind.
THE GREAT PRICE.
J. n. Newman.
Christ died, not in order to exert a peremptory claim on the divine
justice, if I may so speak, — as if He were bargaining in the market-
place or pursuing a plea in a court of law, — but in a more loving,
generous, munificent way, He shed that blood, which was worth ten
thousand lives of men, worth more than the blood of all the sons of
Adam heaped together, in accordance with His Father's will, who, for
wise reasons unrevealed, exacted it as the condition of their pardon.
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 279
Nor was this all ; — one drop of His blood had been sufficient to satisfy
for our sins ; He might have offered His circumcision as an atonement,
and it would have been sufficient ; one moment of His agony of blood,
had been sufficient ; one stroke of the scourge might have wrought a
sufficient satisfaction. But neither circumcision, agony, nor scourging
was our redemption, because He did not offer them as such. The price
He paid was nothing short of the whole treasure of His blood, poured
forth to the last drop from His veins and sacred heart. He shed His
whole life for us ; He left Himself empty of His all. He left His throne
on high, He gave up His home on earth ; He parted with His Mother,
He gave His strength and His toil, He gave His body and soul, He
offered up His passion, His crucifixion, and His death, that man should
not be bought for nothing. This is what the Apostle intimates in say-
ing that we are " bought with a great price ;" and the Prophet, while he
declares that " with the Lord there is mercy, and with Him a copious"
or " plenteous redemption/'
From " Newman's Sermons."
THE ENDURANCE OF FAITH.
J. H. Newman.
Faith alone reaches to the end, faith only endures. Faith and prayer
alone will endure in that last dark hour, when Satan urges all his
powers and resources against the sinking soul. What will it avail us
then to have devised some subtle argument, or to have led some bril-
liant attack, or to have mapped out the field of history, or to have
numbered and sorted the weapons of controversy, and to have the
homage of friends and the respect of the world, for our successes, —
what will it avail to have had a position, to have followed out a work,
to have reanimated an idea, to have made a cause to triumph, if after
all we have not the light of faith to guide us on from this world to the
next ? how fain shall we be in that day to change our place with
the humblest, and dullest, and most ignorant of the sons of men, rather
than to stand before the judgment-seat in the lot of him who has received
great gifts from God, and used them for self and for man, who has shut
his eyes, who has trifled with truth, who has repressed his misgivings,
who has been led on by God's grace, but stopped short of its scope, who
has neared the land of promise, yet not gone forward to take possession
of it!
From " Newman's Sermcms."
280 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
THE MILLENNIUM.
Arciii.. SHOP Wfl \tf:lt.
It is a great consolation to as to look forward, as J think we are
authorized to do, to a time when not only the knowledgt of the g<
will be greatly extended, but also the influence of the gospel on
Christians' hearts, and tempers, and lives — "the knowledge and love
of God," and the "fruits of his Spirit," — will be still much more
increased ; — when those who are Christians in name, Avill be much
less disposed to content themselves with the name, — much more
careful to be Christians in principle and in conduct, than the far
greater part of them are now: — when Christians, generally, will not
look, as they arc apt to do now, on the apostles and others of the early
Church whom it is usual to distinguish by the title of saint, as possess-
ing a degree and a kind of Christian excellence which it would be
vain and presumptuous for ordinary Christians to think of equalling;
but will consider and practically remember, that all Christians are
" called [to be] Saints/' and endued with the Holy Spirit of God ; not
indeed to inspire them with a new revelation, or to confer any miracu-
lous gifts (which do not either prove, or make, the possessor the more
acceptable in God's sight), but to enable them to purify their own
hearts and lives. The wicked Balaam was a prophet ; and the traitor
Judas worked miracles. These extraordinary powers, therefore, arc
neither any proof of superior personal holiness, nor any substitute for
it in God's sight. Nor is the absence of these miraculous gifts in our-
selves, any argument that a less degree of Christian virtue will suffice
for our salvation, than was required of the apostles.
Let us hope that the time will come when Christian privileges and
duties shall be generally viewed in this manner, and when such views
shall be acted upon. Whether any of us shall live to see the begin-
ning of such a change, is more than we can tell. Nay, we cannot tell
whether each of us may not even be enabled, by his own example, and
his own exertions in enlightening and improving others, to do some-
thing towards bringing about this change. But this we do know most
certainly ; that each of us is bound, in gratitude for Christ's redeeming
mercy ; — in prudent care for his own immortal soul, — to labor earnestly
for such a change in his own life and heart. We are, each of us, bound,
at his own peril, to think, and live, and act, in such a manner, as would,
if all Christians were to do the same, bring about, and indeed constitute,
this Millennium of Christian zeal and holiness. And each of us who
does this, whether others follow his example or not, " shall in no wise
lose his own reward."
From "A Vieiv of the Scripture Revelations concerning a Future Stale."
DECLAMATIONS IN PROSE. 281
PATRIOTISM A CHRISTIAN VIRTUE.
Huntington.
Patriotism, that is, when it is a principle, and not a mere blind
instinct of the blood, is an outgrowth and a part of the faith and honor
of the Almighty. Analyze it, and you will see it so. For patriotism
is only disinterested devotion to the justice, the power, the protection,
the right, embodied, after a certain fashion and degree, in the state and
its subjects. It is not attachment to the parchment of a constitution,
to the letter of an instrument, to the visible insignia of authority, to a
strip of painted cloth at a masthead, to a mass of legal precedents and
traditions, nor always to the person of the sovereign. It is not a
personal interest in the people of the nation, for the most of one's fellow-
citizens are unknown, and the few that are met may awaken no special
regard. Instituted ideas,— as justice, power, protection, — organized
into a national government, and lifted up for the defence of the country,
are what inspire an intelligent loyalty, and the same ideas have their
perfect embodiment in the person of God. On the other hand, religion,
veneration for the Creator, involves a consistent regard for the welfare
of great bodies of his family. By the laws of the human nature he has
fashioned, this will mount to enthusiasm, as our relations to any one
body grow intimate, or look back to an antiquity, or own a history of
common sufferings. Less elevated elements may intermix. But which-
ever you take first, — the feeling for the state, or for the God of states,
— the other clings to it, and comes logically with it.
KIND LISTENERS.
F. W. Faber.
There is a grace of kind listening, as well as a grace of kind speak-
ing. Some men listen with an abstracted air, which shows that their
thoughts are elsewhere. Or they seem to listen, but, by wide answers
and irrelevant questions, show that they have been occupied with their
own thoughts, as being more interesting, at least in their own estima-
tion, than what you have been saying. Some listen with a kind of
importunate ferocity, which makes you feel that you are being put
upon your trial, and that your auditor expects beforehand that you are
going to tell him a lie, or to be inaccurate, or to say something which
he will disapprove, and that you must mind your expressions. Some
interrupt, and will not hear you to the end. Some hear you to the end,
and then forthwith begin to talk to you about a similar experience
which has befallen themselves, making your case only an illustration
of their own. Some, meaning to be kind, listen \jith such a deter-
mined, lively, violent attention that you are at once made uncomfort-
able, and the charm of conversation is at an end. Many persons,
24*
283 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
-whoso manners will stand the test of speaking, break down under the
trial of listening. But all these things should be brought under the
sweet influences of religion. Kind listening is often an act of the most
delicate interior mortification, and is a great assistance toward kind
speaking. Those who govern others must take care to be kind listen-
er-, or else they will soon offend God and fall into secret Bine.
i UK DESIBE OF DEATH.
j- . w. I
From the fear of death let us turn to the desire of it. What wo
have said of the fear of death we may Bay also of the desire of death,
only we should say it still more emphatically, that the desire which is
part of holiness must he rather a desire of God than a desire of death.
World-weariness is a blessed thingin its way, but it falls short of being
a -race. To be weary of the world is very far from being detached
from it. I am not sure that there i< not a weariness of the world
which is itself a form of worldliness. World-wearied men often think
and speak of death in a ] tical, voluptuous way, which is most un-
godly. They talk as if the turf of the churchyard were a bed of down,
as if the grassy ridge wore a pillow on which to lay our tired 1.
and slumber, and as if the grave were a cradle in which we should be
rocked to sleep as the earth swayed, and unconsciously
through space, like a sleeping child in a ship at sea. None but athe-
ists could speak thus of death, if those who so speak really weighed their
words. Such men habitually regard death as an end, and not
beginning. It has been observed of intellectual men, that such talk-
ing of death is often a symptom of incipient mental aberration. It is
certainly true that happy men more often desire death than unhappy
men, and desire it more strongly, and that their desire is more truthful
and more holy. An unhappy man desires death rather than God. He
desires it with a kind of heathen despondency. He quotes the Od;
and the JEneid. The pathetic imagery of those poems is more conge-
nial to him than the straightforward realities of Christian theology.
He fixes his eye morbidly on death ; but he is anxious it should not
look over death and beyond it. Whereas a happy, light-hearted, sunny-
spirited Christian man, who has no quarrel with life except its possi-
bilities of sinning, somehow feels its burden more than the unhappy
man, who clings to life with a sort of morose, sulky enjoyment. Yet,
while the happy man feels its burden, his happiness inclines him to
be eager for beginnings rather than to be impatient for conclusions.
Thus death is to him less the end of life than the beginning of eter-
nity. He desires God rather than death ; for it is the gift of a joyous
heart to find short ways to God from the most unlikely places.
From i: Spiritual Coherences."
PAET II.
RECITATIONS IN POETRY.
EPIC, LYRIC, AND DESCRIPTIVE.
HUMAN LIFE.
J. R. Lowell.
Over his keys the musing organist,
Beginning doubtfully and far away,
First lets his fingers wander as they list,
And builds a bridge from Dreamland for his lay :
Then, as the touch of his loved instrument
Gives hope and fervor, nearer draws his theme,
First guessed by faint auroral flushes sent
Along the wavering vista of his dream.
Not only around our infancy
Doth heaven with all its splendors lie ;
Daily, with souls that cringe and plot,
We Sinais climb and know it not.
Over our manhood bend the skies ;
Against our fallen and traitor lives
The great winds utter prophecies ;
With our faint hearts the mountain strives,
Its arms outstretched, the druid wood
Waits with its benedicite ;
And to our age's drowsy blood
Still shouts the inspiring sea.
Earth gets its price for what Earth gives us ;
The beggar is taxed for a corner to die in,
The priest hath his fee who comes and shrives us,
We bargain for the graves we lie in ;
At the devil's booth are all things sold,
Each ounce of dross costs its ounce of gold ;
(283)
284 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
I' or B cap and bells our lives we pay.
Bubbles we buy with a whole sc.nl'- tasking:
'Tie heaven alone that is L r i\en away,
'Tia only God may be had for the asking,
\ ■ r on the lavish summer;
June may be had by the poorest comer.
And what is bo rare as a day in dune?
Then, if ever, come perfect day--.
Then heaven tries the earth if it be in tune,
\ )fUy her warm car la\ - ;
Whether we look, or whether we listen,
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten ;
Every clod feela a stir of might,
An instinct within it that reaches and towel
And. groping blindly above it for light,
Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers;
The flush of life may well be -
Thrilling back over hills and valleys;
The cowslip startles in meadows green,
The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice,
And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean
To be some happy creature's palace ;
The little bird sits at his door in the sun,
Atilt like a blossom among the leaves,
And lets his illumined being o'errun
With the deluge of summer it receives ;
His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings,
And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings ;
He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest, —
In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best?
From " The Vision of Sir Launfal."
CHANGES OF HOME.
W. G. SIMM8.
Well may we sing her beauties, this pleasant land of ours,
Her sunny smiles, her golden fruits, and all her world of flowers ;
The young birds of her forest-groves, the blue folds of her sky,
And all those airs of gentleness, that never seem to fly ;
They wind about our forms at noon, they woo us in the shade,
When panting, from the summer's heats, the woodman seeks the glade
They win us with a song of love, they cheer us with a dream,
That gilds our passing thoughts of life, as sunlight does the stream;
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 285
And well would they persuade us now, in moments all too dear,
That, sinful though our hearts may be, we have our Eden here.
Ah, well has lavish nature, from out her boundless store,
Spread wealth and loveliness around, on river, rock, and shore :
No sweeter stream than Ashley glides — and, what of southern France ? —
She boasts no brighter fields - than ours, within her matron glance ;
Our skies look down in tenderness from out their realms of blue,
The fairest of Italian climes may claim no softer hue ;
And let them sing of fruits of Spain, and let them boast the flowers,
The Moors' own culture they may claim, no dearer sweet than ours —
Perchance the dark-haired maiden is a glory in your eye,
But the blue-eyed Carolinian rules, when all the rest are nigh.
And none may say, it is not true, the burden of my lay,
T is written, in the sight of all, in flower and fruit and ray ;
Look on the scene around us now, and say if sung amiss,
The song that pictures to your eye a spot so fair as this :
Gay springs the merry mocking-bird around the cottage pale, —
And. scarcely taught by hunter's aim, the rabbit down the vale ;
Each boon of kindly nature, her buds, her blooms, her flowers,
And, more than all, the maidens fair that fill this land of ours,
Are still in rich perfection, as our fathers found them first,
But our sons are gentle now no more, and all the land is cursed.
Wild thoughts are in our bosoms and a savage discontent ;
We love no more the life we led, the music, nor the scent ;
The merry dance delights us not, as in that better time,
When, glad, in happy bands we met, with spirits like our clime.
And all the social loveliness, and all the smile is gone,
That linked the spirits of our youth, and made our people one.
They smile no more together, as in that earlier day,
Our maidens sigh in loneliness, who once were always gay ;
And though our skies are bright, and our sun looks down as then —
Ah, me ! the thought is sad I feel, we shall never smile again.
THE SKIES.
Maey E. Lee.
The skies ! the festal skies
Of a laughing summer's morn !
Some love the dazzling glory
That with their lis;ht is born,
286 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKBB.
And gaze, with ravished sense, upon
The shadowless expanse,
Where not one tissued cloud is seen
To dim its radiance.
While others joy to catch
The fulness of its smile,
When at his evening portal,
The Day God restfi awhile,
To tint with matchless coloring
The ether's fluid tide,
That round this prison sphere of ours
Floods out on either Bide.
And midnight's solemn sky,
Like a blue curtain hung,
And studded with bright star-gems,
As diamonds yet unstrung,
Is filled through its wide concave
With echoes of the strain,
Breathed out by hosts of worshippers
From earth's extended fane.
Each has its charm, but oh !
Not such, not such for me ;
Morn's skies reveal a brightness
That wakes too much of glee ;
Eve's firmament too holy seems
For unison with earth,
And oft beneath still midnight's vault,
Wild, startling thoughts have birth.
Oh ! rather would I choose,
If but the choice were mine,
Those skies, where cloud and sunshine
In fitfulness combine,
Where midday's glare is softened, as
By sudden phantom-wings,
And through night's net-work veil, the stars
Look down, like loving things.
The heart ! the human heart !
How, everywhere, it turns
To drink in blessed sympathy
From nature's mystic urns ;
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 287
And ah ! methinks no emblem
Is fitter found for life,
With all its changes, than a sky
Where light and shade hold strife.
WESTMINSTER ABBEY.
Thomas Miller.
Tread lightly here ! this spot is holy ground,
And every footfall wakes the voice of ages :
These are the mighty dead that hem thee round,
Names that still cast a halo o'er our pages :
Listen ! 'tis Fame's loud voice that now complains,
" Here sleeps more sacred dust, than all the world contains."
Thou mayst bend o'er each marble semblance now :
That was a monarch, — see how mute he lies !
There was a day when, on his crumbling brow,
The golden crown flashed awe on vulgar eyes ;
That broken hand did then a sceptre sway,
And thousands round him kneeled his mandates to obey,
Turn to the time, when he thus low was laid
Within this narrow house, in proud array ;
Dirges were sung, and solemn masses said,
And high-plumed helms bent o'er him as he lay ;
Princes and peers were congregated here,
And all the pomp of death assembled round his bier.
Then did the mid-night torches flaming wave,
And redly flashed athwart the vaulted gloom ;
And white-robed boys sang requiems o'er his grave ;
And muttering monks kneeled lowly round his tomb ;
And lovely women did his loss deplore,
And, with their gushing tears, bathed the cold marble floor.
See ! at his head, a rude-carved lion stands,
In the dark niche where never sunbeams beat ;
And still he folds his supplicating hands :
A watchful dragon crouches at his feet, —
How oddly blended ! — He all humble lies,
While they defiance cast from their fierce stony eyes.
288 J in: BBLBi r ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
Here sleeps another, clothed in scaly mail ;
Battle's red field was when- he loved to be;
Oft ha- hi- banner rustled in the
In all the pomp of blazing heraldry !
Where are his bowmen now, his shield, and spear,
His steed, and battle axe, and all he one held dear?
HI- banner wasted on the castle wall,
His hd'ty turrets sunk bj slow decay ;
His bowmen in the beaten field did fall,
His plated annur, ru-t hath Bwepf away;
Hi- plumes ail- scattered, and his helmet cleft,
And this Blow-crumbling tomb is all he now hath left.
Ami this is fame! Fur this he fought and hied !
See his reward! — \ > matter; let him rest;
Vacant and dark is now his ancient bed,
The dust of ages dims his marble breasi ;
And, in that tomb, what thinkest thou remain-.''
Dust! 'tis tlie only glory, that on earth man gains.
An 1 kings, and queens, here slumber, side by side,
Their quarrels hushed in the embrace of death ;
All feelings calmed of jealousy or pride,
Once fanned to flame by Slander'.- burning breath ;
Even the crowns they wear from cares are free,
As those on children's heads, who play at royalty.
And awful Silence here does ever linger ;
Her dwelling is this many-pillared dome ;
On her wan lip she plants her stony finger,
And, breath-hushed, gazes on her voiceless home ;
Listening, she stands, with half averted head,
For echoes never heard among the mute-tongued dead.
From "Friendship's Offering."
DOX GAPwZIA.
IlvGEHS.
Among those awful forms, in elder time
Assembled, and through many an after-age
Destined to stand as genii of the Place
Where men most meet in Florence, may be seen
His who first played the tyrant. Clad in mail,
But with his helmet off — in kingly state,
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. . 289
Aloft he sits upon his horse of brass ;
And they, that read the legend underneath,
Go and pronounce hirn happy. Yet, methinks,
There is a chamber that, if walls could speak,
Would turn their admiration into pity.
Half of what passed died with him ; but the rest,
All he discovered when the fit was on,
All that, by those who listened, could be gleaned
From broken sentences and starts in sleep,
Is told, and by an honest chronicler.
Two of his sons, Giovanni and Garzia,
(The eldest had not seen his nineteenth summer,)
Went to the chase ; but only one returned.
Giovanni, when the huntsman blew his horn
O'er the last stag that started from the brake,
And in the heather turned to stand at bay,
Appeared not, and at close of day was found
Bathed in his innocent blood. Too well, alas !
The trembling Cosmo guessed the deed, the doer ;
And, having caused the body to be borne
In secret to that chamber, at an hour
When all slept sound, save she who bore them both,
Who little thought of what was yet to come,
And lived but to be told — he bade Garzia
Arise and follow him. Holding in one hand
A winking lamp, and in the other a key,
Massive and dungeon-like, thither he led ;
And, having entered in, and locked the door,
The father fixed his eyes upon the son,
And closely questioned him. No change betrayed,
Or guilt, or fear. Then Cosmo lifted up
The bloody sheet. " Look there ! Look there I" he cried,
" Blood calls for blood — and from a father's hand !
Unless thyself will save him that sad office.
What \" he exclaimed, when, shuddering at the sight,
The boy breathed out, "I stood but on my guard."
"Darest thou then blacken one who never wronged thee,
Who would not set his foot upon a worm ?
Yes, thou must die, lest others fall by thee,
And thou shouldst be the slayer of us all."
Then from Garzia' s belt he drew the blade,
That fatal one which spilt his brother's blood ;
And, kneeling on the ground, " Great God \" he cried,
" Grant me the strength to do an act of justice.
25 T
290 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
Thou knowest what it costs me; but, alas!
How can I sparc myself, sparing none else?
Grant mc the Btrengtb, the will — and oh ! forgive
The sinful soul of a most wretched son.
"Tis a most wretched father who implores it."
Long on Garzia's neck be hong and wept,
Long pressed bim to his bosom tenderly;
And then, but while he held him by the arm,
Thrusting him backward, turned away his face,
And stabbed him t.> the heart.
Well might a youth,
Studious of men, anxious to ham and know,
When in the train of some great embassy
He came, a visitant, to Cosmo's court,
Think on the pas! ; and. as he wandered through
The ample spaces of an ancient house,
Silent, deserted — stop awhile to dwell
Upon two portraits there, drawn on the wall
Together, as of Two in bonds of love,
Those of the unhappy brothers, and conclude,
From the sad looks of him who could have told
The terrible truth. Well might he heave a sigh
For poor humanity, when he beheld
That very Cosmo shaking o'er his fire,
Drowsy, and deaf, and inarticulate,
Wrapped in his night-gown, o'er a sick man's mess,
In the last stage — death-struck and deadly pale,
His wife, another, not his Eleanor,
At once his nurse and his interpreter.
REQUIEM.
Julia R. McMasters.
Lowly, shining head, where we lay thee down
With the lowly dead, droop thy golden crown !
Meekly, marble palms, fold across the breast,
Sculptured in white calms of unbreaking rest !
Softly, starry eyes, veil your darkened spheres,
Nevermore to rise in summershine or tears !
Calmly, crescent lips, yield your dewy rose
To the wan eclipse of this pale repose !
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 291
Slumber, aural shells ! No more dying Even
Through your spiral cells weaveth gales of heaven.
Stilly, slender feet, rest from rosy rhyme,
With the ringing sweet of her silver clime !
Holy smile of God, spread the glory mild
Underneath the sod on this little child !
ADDRESS TO LIGHT.
Hail holy light ! offspring of heaven first-born ;
Or of th' Eternal, co-eternal beam
May I express thee unblamed ? since God is light.
And never but in unapproached light
Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee,
Bright effluence of bright essence increate.
Or hearest thou rather pure ethereal stream,
Whose fountain who shall tell ? before the sun,
Before the heavens thou wert, and at the voice
Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest
The rising world of waters dark and deep,
Won from the void and formless infinite.
Thee I revisit now with bolder wing,
Escaped the Stygian pool, though long detained
In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight
Through utter and through middle darkness borne,
With other notes, than to th' Orphean lyre,
I sung of Chaos and eternal Night,
Taught by the heavenly Muse to venture down
The dark descent, and up to reascend,
Though hard and rare : thee I revisit safe,
And feel thy sov'reign vital lamp ; but thou
Revisit'st not these eyes, that roll in vain
To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn ;
So thick a drop serene hath quenched their orbs,
Or dim suffusion veiled. Yet not the more
Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt
Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill,
Smit with the love of sacred song ; but chief,
Thee Sion, and the flowery brooks beneath,
That wash thy hallowed feet, and warbling flow,
Nightly I visit ; nor sometimes forget
Those other two equalled with me in fate,
Milton.
909 THE SELECT \> \ i: \ K i. i;.
Sow I [nailed with them in renown,
Blind Thamyris and blind M
And ind Phineus prophets old.
Then feed on tfa >ughts, that rolunts
Harmonious aambers; as the wakeful bird
Sings darkling, and in ahadieet coTert hid
Tan turiKil note : thus with I
return, but not to m<
Day, or i : ; proach of even <>r mum,
Or sight of vernal bloom, or sunn:
Or flocks, or herd.-, or human face dirim
Hut oloud instead, and erer-during dark
Surrounds mo, from the cheerful men
Tut off. and fa- the book of knowledge fair
Presented with a anrrersal blank
Of nature's works to me expunged and i
And wisdom at cue entranos quite shut out
So much the rather thou celestial I.
Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers
Irradiate: there plant Byes, all mist from thence
Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell
Of things invisible to mortal sight.
From "I\iradi*t Lost:
ETERNAL TRUTH.
Co\rpnL
Ait, truth is from the sempiternal source
Of Light Divine. But Egypt, Greece, and Rome
Drew from the stream below. More favored, we
Drink, when we choose it, at the fountain head.
To them it flowed much mingled and defiled
With hurtful error, prejudice, and dreams
Illusive of philosophy, so called,
But falsely. Sages after sages strove
In vain to filter off a crystal draught
Pure from the lees, which often more enhanced
The thirst than slaked it, and not seldom bred
Intoxication and delirium wild.
In vain they pushed inquiry to the birth
And springtime of the world ; asked, "Whence is man ?
Why formed at all? and wherefore as he is?
Where must he find his Maker ? with what rites
Adore him? Will he hear, accept, and bless?
RECITATIONS IX POETRY. 293
Or does he sit regardless of his works ?
Has man within him an immortal seed ?
Or does the tomb take all ? If he survive
His ashes, where ? and in what weal or woe ?
Knots worthy of solution, which alone
A Deity could solve. Their answers, vague
And all at random, fabulous and dark,
Left them as dark themselves. Their rules of life,
Defective and unsanctioned, proved too weak
To bind the roving appetite, and lead
Blind nature to a God not yet revealed.
'Tis Revelation satisfies all doubts,
Explains all mysteries, except her own,
And so illuminates the path of life,
That fools discover it, and stray no more.
Xow tell me, dignified and sapient sir,
My man of morals, nurtured in the shades
Of Academus — is this false or true ?
Is Christ the abler teacher, or the schools ?
If Christ, then why resort at every turn
To Athens or to Rome, for wisdom short
Of man's occasions, when in him reside
Grace, knowledge, comfort — an unfathomed store?
How oft, when Paul has served us with a text,
Has Epictetus, Plato, Tully, preached !
Men that, if now alive, would sit content
And humble learners of a Saviour's worth,
Preach it who might. Such was their love of truth,
Their thirst of knowledge, and their candor too !
COUNTRY AND TOWN.
COWPEB.
God made the country, and man made the town.
What wonder then that health and virtue, gifts
That can alone make sweet the bitter draught
That life holds out to all, should most abound
And least be threatened in the fields and groves ?
Possess ye. therefore, ye who, borne about
In chariots and sedans, know no fatigue
But that of idleness, and taste no scenes
But such as art contrives, possess ye still
Your element ; there only can ye shine ;
25*
204 THE SELECT ACADEMIC BPE \Kl.i:.
There only minds 1 i k o yours can do no harm.
Our groves were planted to console at noon ;
The pensive wanderer in their Bhades. At eve
The moonbeam, sliding softly in between
The sleeping leaves, u all the light they wish,
Birds warbling all the masio. We can spare
The Bplendor of your lamps : they but Soli]
Oar softer satellite. Your t and
Our more harmonious i thrush departs
1. and tli Le is mute.
There is ;i public I your mirth;
It plagues your country. Polly such as yours,
Graced with a sword, and worthier of ■ fan,
Has made, what enemies could ne'er have <lone,
Our arch of empire, Bteadfast but for you,
A mutilated structure, Boon to fall.
THE BULL-FIGHT.
Hi - , d ifi 1 1 • eds,
With milk-whi ild-spnr, and 11. I lance,
Four cavaliers prepare for venturoue deeds,
And lowly bending to tlie lists advance;
Rich are their scarfs, their chargers f'eatly prance:
If in the dangerous game they shine to-day,
The crowd's loud shout and ladies' lovely glance,
Best prize of better acts, they bear away,
And all that kings or chiefs e'er gain their toils repay.
In costly sheen and gaudy cloak arrayed,
But all afoot, the light-limbed Matadore
Stands in the centre, eager to invade
The lord of lowing herds ; but not before
The ground, with cautious tread, is traversed o'er,
Lest aught unseen should lurk to thwart his speed :
His arms a dart, he fights aloof, nor more
Can man achieve without the friendly steed —
Alas ! too oft condemned for him to bear and bleed.
Thrice sounds the clarion ; lo ! the signal falls,
The den expands, and Expectation mute
Gapes round the silent circle's peopled walls.
Bounds with one lashing spring the mighty brute,
Byro.x.
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 295
And, wildly staring, spurns, with sounding foot,
The sand, nor blindly rushes on his foe ;
Here, there, he points his threatening front, to suit
His first attack, wide waving to and fro
His angry tail ; red rolls his eye's dilated glow.
Sudden he stops ; his eye is fixed : away,
Away, thou heedless boy ! prepare the spear :
Now is thy time, to perish, or display
The skill that yet may check his mad career.
With well-timed croupe the nimble coursers veer ;
On foams the bull, but not unscathed he goes ;
Streams from his flank the crimson torrent clear :
He flies, he wheels, distracted with his throes ;
Dart follows dart ; lance, lance ; loud bellowings speak his woes.
Again he comes ; nor dart nor lance avail,
Nor the wild plunging of the tortured horse ;
Though man, and man's avenging arms assail,
Vain are his weapons, vainer is his force.
One gallant steed is stretched a mangled corse ;
Another, hideous sight ! unseamed appears,
His gory chest unveils life's panting source ;
Though death-struck, still his feeble frame he rears,
Staggering, but stemming all, his lord unharmed he bears.
Foiled, bleeding, breathless, furious to the last,
Full in the centre stands the bull at bay,
'Mid wounds, and clinging darts, and lances brast,
And foes disabled in the brutal fray ;
And now the Matadores around him play,
Shake the red cloak, and poise the ready brand :
Once more through all he bursts his thundering way :
Vain rage ! the mantle quits the conynge hand,
Wraps his fierce eye — 'tis past — he sinks upon the sand !
Where his vast neck just mingles with the spine,
Sheathed in his form the deadly weapon lies.
He stops — he starts — disdaining to decline :
Slowly he falls, amidst triumphant cries,
Without a groan, without a struggle, dies.
The decorated car appears — on high
The corse is piled — sweet sight for vulgar eyes —
Four steeds that spurn the rein, as swift as shy,
Hurl the dark bulk along, scarce seen in dashing by.
2% THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
THE COLISEUM.
Bthoh.
A riin — yet what ruin! from its mass
Walls, palaces, half-cities have been reared;
Yet oft the enormou
And marvel where the spoil could have appe
Hath it indeed been plundered, or but oleare
Alas ! developed, opens the d
When th< rm i- near*
It will not bear the brightness of the d
Which Streams too much on all year-, man, have reft away.
But when the rising moon begins to climb
lt> topmost arch, and gently pauses there;
When the Btars twinkle through the loops of time,
And the low night-breeze waves along the air
The garland-forest, which the gray wails wear,
Like laurels on the bald first C;e»ar's head;
When the tight -bines serene but doth not glare,
Then in this magic circle raise the dead :
Heroes have trod this spot — 'tis on their dust ye tread.
"While stands the Coliseum, Home shall stand ;
When falls the Coliseum, Rome shall fall ;
And when Rome fall — the World.*'' From our own land
Thus spake the pilgrims o'er this mighty wall
In Saxon times, which we arc wont to call
Ancient ; and these three mortal things are still
On their foundations, and unaltered all ;
Rome and her Ruin past Redemption's skill,
The World, the same wide den — of thieves, or what ye will.
Simple, erect, severe, austere, sublime —
Shrine of all saints and temple of all gods,
From Jove to Jesus — spared and blest by time ;
Looking tranquillity, while falls or nods
Arch, empire, each thing round thee, and man plods
His way through thorns to ashes — glorious dome !
Shalt thou not last? Time's scythe and tyrant's rods
Shiver upon thee — sanctuary and home
Of art and Piety — Pantheon ! — pride of Rome !
RECITATIONS DJ POETRY. 297
THZ DESHJSY IT AMEBIGA.
Bryant.
Here th free j f mankind, at length,
Throws its I $1 Fetters off; and who shall place
A limit to the giant's unchained strength,
Or curb his swiftness in the forward race ?
I i like Hie : Hnefs way through infinite space.
stehes the long untravelled path of light,
Inf the lepths of ages: we may trace,
K tant the hi i > b E ening glory of its flight,
Till the receding rays are lost to human sight.
Euro] 7 is given a prey to sterner fates,
A d 1 writhes in shackles : strong the arms that chain
I : earth fa a ata ailing multitude of states ;
She too is strong, and might not chafe in vain
Against Eh i : shake off the Tampyre train
Thai 1 litem m her blood, and break their net.
£ - ye shall look on brighter days, and gain
The meed of worthier deeds ; the moment set
_ i ! is in I raise up, draws near — but is not yet.
But thou, my country, thou shalt never fall,
Z if with Ehy children — thy maternal care,
Ehy lavish Love, Ehy blessings showered on all —
These are Ehy letters — ; eas and stormy air
Aj :- Efae -ride barrier of thy borders, where
Among thy gallant sons that guard thee well,
Fhc i laugh's! at enemies: who shall then declare
The date of thy deep-founded strength, or tell
How happy, in thy lap, the sons of men shall dwell ?
From " The Ages"
BELIGION.
TO-CNG.
Beligiox's all. Descending from the skies
To wretched man, the goddess in her left
Holds out this world, and in her right the next.
B : . _:;n ! the sole voucher man is man ;
Sup_: jrtei sole »f man above himself:
Even in this night of frailty, change and death,
She gives the soul a soul that acts a God.
Relig::^ ! Providence! an after-state
298 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
Here is firm footing ; here is solid rock;
This can Bupport us; all is sea besides;
Sinks under us ; bestorms, and then devours.
His hand the good man fastens OD the skies,
And bids earth roll, D.OT feels her idle whirl.
Religion! thou the soul of bappini
And groaning Calvary, of thee ! There shine
The noblest truths ; ther motives sting;
There, saered violenoe assaults the bouI ;
There, nothing but compulsion IS forborne.
Can love allure u-^ ? or can terror awe?
He weeps! — the falling drops put out the sun:
lie sighs! — the Bigh earth's deep foundation shakes.
If, in his love, bo terrible, what then
Bis wrath inflamed? his tenderness on fire;
Like soft, smooth oil, outblazing other fires?
Can prayer, ran praise avert it? — Thou, my all !
My theme ! my inspiration ! and my crown !
My strength in age ! my rise in low estate !
My soul's ambition, pleasure, wealth ! — my world!
My light in darkness ! and my life in death !
My boast through time! bliss through eternity!
Eternity, too short to speak Thy praise !
Or fathom Thy profound of love to man !
To man, of men the meanest, even to me ;
My Sacrifice ! my God ! — what things are these !
From "Night Thoughts:
TO THE PAST.
Brtaitt.
Thou unrelenting Past !
Strong are the barriers round thy dark domain,
And fetters, sure and fast,
Hold all that enter thy unbreathing reign.
Far in thy realm withdrawn
Old empires sit in sullenness and gloom,
And glorious ages gone,
Lie deep within the shadow of thy womb.
Childhood, with all its mirth,
Youth, Manhood, Age, that draws us to the ground,
RECITATIONS IX POETRY. 299
And last, Man's Life on earth,
Glide to thy dim dominions, and are bound.
Thou hast my better years,
Thou hast my earlier friends — the good — the kind,
Yielded to thee with tears —
The venerable form — the exalted mind.
My spirit yearns to bring
The lost ones back — yearns with desire intense,
And struggles hard to wring
Thy bolts apart, and pluck thy captives thence.
In vain — thy gates deny
All passage save to those who hence depart ;
Nor to the streaming eye
Thou givest them back — nor to the broken heart.
In thy abysses hide
Beauty and excellence unknown — to thee
Earth's wonder and her pride
Are gathered, as the waters to the sea.
Labors of good to man,
Unpublished charity, unbroken faith, —
Love, that midst grief began,
And grew with years, and faltered not in death.
Full many a mighty name,
Lurks in thy depths, unuttered, unrevered,
With thee are silent fame,
Forgotten arts, and wisdom disappeared.
Thine for a space are they —
Yet shalt thou yield thy treasures up at last.
Thy gates shall yet give way,
Thy bolts shall fall, inexorable Past !
All that of good and fair
Has gone into thy womb from earliest time,
Shall then come forth, to wear
The glory and the beauty of its prime.
They have not perished — no !
Kind words, remembered voices once so sweet,
300 THE 9BLB01 ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
Smiles, radiant long
And I'.'ininv-, the greai - >ul'a apparenf
All Bhall come back, each tie
Of pure affection shall be knit again ;
Alone shall Evil die,
And Sorrow dwell a prisoner in thy reif
And then shall I behold
Him, by whose kind paternal Bide r sprung,
And her, who still and cold,
Fills the next grave— the beautiful and young.
Here pause: kh an; all t u yet
To have ontgrown the Borrow which
Its charge to each ; and if the seal is B et,
Here, on one fountain of a mourning mind,
k it not thon I too sorely shalt thou find
Thine own well full, if thon return
Of tears and gall. IV m the world's bitter wind
Seek shelter in the Bhadow of the tomb.
What Adonais is, why fear we to become?
The One remains, the many change and pass ;
Heaven's light for ever Bhines, Earth's shadows fly;
Life, like a dome of many-colored glass,
Stains the white radiance of Eternitv,
Until Death tramples it to fragments.— Die,
If thou wouldst be with that which thou dost seek !
Follow where all is fled !— Rome's azure sky,
Flowers, ruins, statues, music, words are weak
The glory they transfuse with fitting truth to speak.
Why linger, why turn back, why shrink, my Heart ?
Thy hopes are gone before : from all things here
They have departed ; thou shouldst now depart !
A light is past from the revolving year,
And man, and woman ; and what still is dear
Attracts to crush, repels to make thee wither.
The soft sky smiles,— the low wind whispers near :
'Tis Adonais calls ! oh, hasten thither,
No more let Life divide what Death can join together.
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 301
That light whose smile kindles the Universe,
That Beauty in which all things work and move,
That Benediction which the eclipsing Curse
Of birth can quench not, that sustaining Love
Which through the web of being blindly wove
By man and beast and earth and air and sea,
Burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of
The fire for which all thirst, now beams on me,
Consuming the last clouds of cold mortality.
The breath whose might I have invoked in song
Descends on me ; my spirit's bark is driven
Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng
Whose sails were never to the tempest given ;
The massy earth and sphered skies are riven !
I am borne darkly, fearfully afar ;
Whilst burning through the inmost veil of Heaven,
The soul of Adonais, like a star,
Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are.
THE OCCULTATION OF ORION,
I saw, as in a dream sublime.
The balance in the hand of Time.
O'er East and West its beam impended ;
And day, with all its hours of light,
Was slowly sinking out of sight,
While, opposite, the scale of night
Silently with the stars ascended.
Like the astrologers of eld,
In that bright vision I beheld
Greater and deeper mysteries.
I saw, with its celestial keys,
Its chords of air, its frets of fire,
The Samian's great iEolian lyre,
Rising, through all its sevenfold bars,
From earth unto the fixed stars.
And through the dewy atmosphere,
Not only could I see, but hear,
Its wondrous and harmonious strings,
In sweet vibration, sphere by sphere,
Longfellow.
26
302 ] in; SBLBOT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
Prom Dian's circle lighl And Dear,
Onward to vaster and wider rings,
Where, chanting through bis beard of snows,
Majestic, mournful, Saturn g
And d ro n tin' sunless realm -
Reverberates the thunder of bis bass.
Beneath the sky's triumphal arch
This music sounded like a inarch,
And with it- chum- seemed I
Preluding tl tragedy,
Sirius wae rising in the i
And, slow ascending one bj
The kindling c mstellations Bhone.
irt with many a blazing star,
Stood the ( • Algebar,
Orion, hunter of the beasl I
Hi- sword him- gleaming by hi- side.
And, 0D his arm, the lion's hide
midnight air
The golden radiance of its hair.
The moon was pallid, but not faint;
A:. 1 beautiful as some fair saint,
Serenely moving on her way
In hours of trial ami dismay.
As if she heard the voice of God,
Unharmed with naked feet she trod
Upon the hot and burning stars,
As on the glowing coals and bars
That were to prove her strength, and try
Her holiness and her purity.
Thus moving on, with silent pace,
And triumph in her sweet pale face,
She reached the station of Orion,
Aghast he stood in strange alarm !
And suddenly from his outstretched arm
Down fell the red skin of the lion
Into the river at his feet.
His mighty club no longer beat
The forehead of the bull ; but he
Reeled as of yore beside the sea,
When, blinded by (Enopion,
He sought the blacksmith at his forge,
RECITATIONS lis POETRY. 303
And, climbing up the mountain gorge,
Fixed his blank eyes upon the sun.
Then, through the silence overhead,
An angel with a trumpet said,
" For evermore, for evermore,
The reign of violence is o'er I"
And, like an instrument that flings
Its music on another's strings,
The trumpet of the angel cast
Upon the heavenly lyre its blast,
And on from sphere to sphere the words
Re-echoed down the burning chords, —
" For evermore, for evermore,
The reign of violence is o'er !
THE BUILDERS.
All are architects of Fate,
Working in these walls of Time ;
Some with massive deeds and great,
Some with ornaments of rhyme.
Nothing useless is, or low ;
Each thing in its place is best ;
And what seems but idle show
Strengthens and supports the rest.
For the structure that we raise,
Time is with materials filled ;
Our to-days and yesterdays
Are the blocks with which we build.
Truly shape and fashion these ;
Leave no yawning gaps between ;
Think not, because no man sees,
Such things will remain unseen.
In the elder days of Art,
Builder wrought with greatest care
Each minute and unseen part ;
For the Gods see everywhere.
Longfellow.
304 TH] DEMIl BPEAKER.
Let us Jo our work as well,
Both the unseen and the
Make the house, where Gods may dwell,
utiful, entire, and clean.
hit lives are incomplete,
Standing in these walls of Time,
Broken stairways, where the
Stumble as they seek to climb.
Build to-day, then, strong and sure,
With a firm and ample 1
And ascendii are
Slmll to-morrow find it-* place.
Thus alone can we attain
those turrets, where the eye
- the world as one vast plain,
I one boundless reach of sky.
SAX J) OF THE DESERT IX AX BOUB-GL
LOSGF£LLOW.
A HANDFUL of red sand, from the hot clime
I »: Arab deserts brought,
Within this gls Lthe spy of Time,
The minister of Thought.
How many weary centuries has it been
About those deserts blown !
How many strange vicissitudes has seen,
How many histories known ! "
Perhaps the camels of the Ishmaelite
Trampled and passed it o'er,
When into Egypt from the patriarch's sight
His favorite son they bore.
Perhaps the feet of Moses, burnt and bare,
Crushed it beneath their tread ;
Or Pharaoh's flashing wheels into the air
Scattered it as they sped ;
Or Mary, with the Christ of Nazareth
Held close in her caress,
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 305
Whose pilgrimage of hope and love and faith
Illumed the wilderness ;
Or anchorites beneath Engaddi's palms
Pacing the Dead Sea beach,
And singing slow their old Armenian psalms
In half-articulate speech ;
Or caravans, that from Bassora's gate
With westward steps depart ;
Or Mecca's pilgrims, confident of Fate,
And resolute in heart !
These have passed over it, or may have passed !
Now in this crystal tower
Imprisoned by some curious hand at last,
It counts the passing hour.
And as I gaze, these narrow walls expand ;
Before my dreamy eye
Stretches the desert with its shifting sand,
Its unimpeded sky.
And, borne aloft by the sustaining blast,
This little golden thread
Dilates into a column high and vast,
A form of fear and dread.
And onward, and across the setting sun,
Across the boundless plain,
The column and its broader shadow run,
Till thought pursues in vain.
The vision vanishes ! These walls again
Shut out the lurid sun,
Shut out the hot, immeasurable plain :
The half-hour's sand is run !
THE TEMPTATION" OF CHRIST.
Our Saviour lifting up his eyes beheld
In ample space under the broadest shade
A table richly spread, in regal mode,
With dishes piled, and meats of noblest sort
26* U
Milton.
THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
And tsts of chase* or fowl of game,
In pastry built, or from the spit, or 1 »< »i led,
Grie-amber Bteamed ; all fish from s< a or shore,
Freshet or purling bT hell or fin,
And exquisites! name, for which was drained
Pontus, and Lucrine bay, and Afric coast.
Alas how simple, to the mpared,
Was that crude apple that diverted I
And at a stately Bide-board by the wine
That fragranl smell diffused, in order stood
Tall stripling youths rich clad, of fairer hue
Than Ganymed or Hylas; distant more
Under the trees now tripped, now BOlemn -tood
ma's train, and Wii
With fruits and flowers from Amalthea's horn,
And ladies of the II' bj erides, that seemed
Fairer than feigned of old, or fabled since
Of fairy damsels met iii forest wide
By knights of Log nes,
Lancelot, or Pelleas, or Pellenore;
And all the while harmonious airs were heard
Of chiming Btrings or charming pipes, and winds
Of gentlest gale Arabian odors fanned
From their soft wings, and Flora's earliest smells.
Such was the splendor, and the tempter now
His invitation earnestly renewed.
What doubts the Son of God to sit and eat?
These are not fruits forbidden ; no interdict
Defends the touching of these viands pure ;
Their taste no knowledge works at least of evil,
But life preserves, destroys life's enemy,
Hunger, with sweet restorative delight.
All these are spirits of air, and woods, and springs,
Thy gentle ministers, who come to pay
Thee homage, and acknowledge thee their lord :
What doubt'st thou, Son of God? sit down and eat.
From '• Paradise Regained."
THE MINSTREL'S FAREWELL TO HIS HARP.
Scott.
Harp of the North, farewell ! The hills grow dark,
On purple peaks a deeper shade descending ;
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 397
In twilight copse the glow-worm lights her spark ;
The deer, half seen, are to the covert wending.
Resume thy wizard elm ! the fountain lending,
And the wild breeze, thy wilder Minstrelsy ;
Thy numbers sweet with nature's vespers blending,
With distant echo from the fold and lea,
And herd-boy's evening pipe, and hum of housing bee.
Yet, once again, farewell, thou minstrel Harp ;
Yet, once again, forgive my feeble sway,
And little reck I of the censure sharp,
May idly cavil at an idle lay.
Much have I owed thy strains on life's long way,
Through secret woes the world has never known,
When on the weary night dawned wearier day,
And bitterer was the grief devoured alone.
That I o'erlive such woes, Enchantress ! is thine own.
Hark ! as my lingering footsteps slow retire —
Some Spirit of the Air has waked thy string ;
'Tis now a Seraph bold, with touch of fire,
'Tis now the brush of Fairy's frolic wing.
Receding now, the dying numbers ring
Fainter and fainter down the rugged dell,
And now the mountain breezes scarcely bring
A wandering witch-note of the distant spell —
And now, 'tis silent all ! Enchantress, fare thee well !
THE, HIGHLAND CHASE.
The Stag at eve had drunk his fill,
Where danced the moon on Monan's rill,
And deep his midnight lair had made
In lone Glenartney's hazel shade ;
But, when the sun his beacon red
Had kindled on Benvoirlich's head,
The deep-mouthed bloodhound's heavy bay
Resounded up the rocky way,
And faint, from further distance borne,
Were heard the clanging hoof and horn.
As chief who hears his warder call,
(i To arms ! the foemen storm the wall," —
Scott.
308 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
The antlered monarch of the -waste
Sprung from his heathery couch in haste.
Bat, e'er his fleet career he took,
The dew-drops from his flanks he shook ;
Like crested leader proud and high,
Tossed hie beamed frontlet to the sky;
A moment gazed adowo the dale,
A moment Bnnffed the tainted gale,
A moment listened to the cry,
That thickened as the ohase drew nigh ;
Then, as the headmost foes appeared,
With one brave bound the o >pse lie cleared,
And, stretching forward free and far,
Sought the wild heaths of Uam-Yar.
Yelled on the view the opening pack,
Ilock, glen and cavern paid them back;
To many a mingled sound at once
The awakened mountain gave response.
A hundred dogs bayed deep and strong,
Clattered a hundred steeds along,
Their peal the merry horns rung out,
A hundred voices joined the shout:
With hark and whoop, and wild halloo,
No rest Benvoirlich's echoes knew.
Far from the tumult fled the roe,
Close in her covert cowered the doe,
The falcon, from her cairn on high,
Cast on the rout a wondering eye,
Till far beyond her piercing ken
The hurricane had swept the glen.
Faint, and more faint, its failing din
Returned from cavern, cliff, and linn,
And silence settled, wide and still,
On the lone wood and mighty hill.
THE CLOUD.
I brixg fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
From the seas and the streams ;
I bear light shades for the leaves when laid
In their noon-day dreams.
SHELLEY.
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 309
From my wings are shaken the dews that waken
The sweet buds every one,
When rocked to rest on their mother's breast,
As she dances about the sun.
I wield the flail of the lashing hail,
And whiten the green plains under,
And then again I dissolve it in rain,
And laugh as I pass in thunder.
I sift the snow on the mountains below,
And their great pines groan aghast ;
And all the night 'tis my pillow white,
While I sleep in the arms of the blast.
Sublime on the towers of my skyey bowers,
Lightning my pilot sits,
In a cavern under is fettered the thunder,
It struggles and howls at fits ;
Over earth and ocean with gentle motion,
This pilot is guiding me,
Lured by the love of the genii that move
In the depths of the purple sea ;
Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills,
Over the lakes and the plains,
Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream,
The Spirit he loves remains ;
And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile,
Whilst he is dissolving in rains.
The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes,
And his burning plumes outspread,
Leaps on the back of my sailing rack,
When the morning star shines dead.
As on the jag of a mountain crag,
Which an earthquake rocks and swings,
An eagle alit one moment may sit
In the light of its golden wings.
And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath,
Its ardors of rest and of love,
And the crimson pall of eve may fall
From the depth of heaven above,
With wings folded I rest, on mine airy nest,
As still as a brooding dove.
That orbed maiden, with white fire laden,
Whom mortals call the moon,
310 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor,
By the midnight breezes strewn ;
And wherever the beat of her unseen feet,
Which only the angels hear,
May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof,
The stars peep behind her and peer ;
And I laugh to see them whirl and flee,
Like a swarm of golden bees,
When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent,
Till the calm rivers, hi! as,
Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high,
Are each paved with the moon and these.
I bind the sun's throne with the burning zone,
And the moon's with a girdle of pearl ;
The volcanoes arc dim, and tie; stars reel and swim,
When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl.
From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape,
Over a torrent sea,
Sunbeam-proof, 1 hang like a roof,
The mountains its columns be.
The triumphal arch through which I march,
With hurricane, fire, and -now,
When the powers of the air are chained to my chair,
Is the million-colored bow ;
The sphere-fire above its soft colors wove,
While the moist earth was laughing below.
I am the daughter of earth and water,
And the nursling of the sky :
I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores ;
I change, but I cannot die.
For after the rain, when with never a stain,
The pavilion of heaven is bare,
And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams,
Build up the blue dome of air,
I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,
And out of the caverns of rain,
Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb,
I arise and. unbuild it again.
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 311
SPEED THE PROW.
Not the ship that swiftest saileth,
But which longest holds her way-
Onward, onward, never faileth,
Storm and calm, to win the day ;
Earliest she the haven gains,
"Which the hardest stress sustains.
O'er life's ocean, wide and pathless,
Thus would I with patience steer ;
No vain hope of journeying scathless,
No proud boast to face down fear ;
Dark or bright his Providence,
Trust in God be my defence.
Time there was, — 't is so no longer, —
When I crowded every sail,
Battled with the waves, and stronger
Grew, as stronger grew the gale ;
But my strength sunk with the wind,
And the sea lay dead behind.
There my bark had foundered surely,
But a power invisible
Breathed upon me ; — then securely,
Borne along the gradual swell,
Helm and shrouds, and heart renewed,
I my humbler course pursued.
Now, though evening shadows blacken,
And no star comes through the gloom,
On I move, nor will I slacken
Sail, though verging towards the tomb :
Bright beyond, — on heaven's high strand,
Lo, the lighthouse ! — land, land, land !
Cloud and sunshine, wind and weather,
Sense and sight are fleeing fast ;
Time and tide must fail together,
Life and death will soon be past ;
But where day's last spark declines,
Glory everlasting shines.
Montgomery.
312 Tin: SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
THE FIELD OF THE WORLD.
Sow in tlie morn thy seed,
At eve hold not thine hand ;
To doubt and fear give thou no heed,
Broad-cast it o'er the land.
Beside all waters sow,
The highway furrows stock,
Drop it where thorns and thistles grow,
Scatter it on the rock.
The good, the fruitful ground.
Expect not here nor there ;
O'er hill and dale, by plots, 't is found;
Go forth, then, everywhere.
Thou knowest not which may thrive,
The late or early sown ;
Grace keeps the precious germs alive,
When and wherever strown.
And duly shall appear,
In verdure, beauty, btrength,
The tender blade, the stalk, the ear,
And the full corn at length.
Thou canst not toil in vain ;
Cold, heat, and moist and dry,
Shall foster and mature the grain,
For garners in the sky.
Thence, when the glorious end,
The day of God is come,
The angel-reapers shall descend,
And heaven cry — " Harvest home V
AN INCIDENT AT RATI SB ON.
You know we French stormed Ratisbon :
A mile or so away
On a little mound, Napoleon
Stood on our storming day ;
Browning.
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 313
With neck out-thrust, } r ou fancy how,
Legs wide, arms locked behind,
As if to balance the prone brow
Oppressive with its mind.
Just as perhaps he mused, " My plans
That soar, to earth may fall
Let once my army-leader Lannes
Waver at yonder wall ;"
Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew
A rider, bound on bound
Full-galloping ; nor bridle drew
Until he reached the mound.
Then off there flung in smiling joy,
And held himself erect
Just by his horse's mane, a boy :
You hardly could suspect —
(So tight he kept his lips compressed,
Scarce any blood came through,)
You looked twice e'er you saw his breast
Was all but shot in two.
" Well," cried he, " Emperor, by God's grace
We've got you Ratisbon !
The marshal's in the market-place,
And you'll be there anon
To see your flag-bird flap his vans
Where I, to heart's desire,
Perched him." The chief's eye flashed ; his plans
Soared up again like fire.
The chief's eye flashed ; but presently
Softened itself, as sheathes
A film the mother eagle's eye
When her bruised eaglet breathes :
"You're wounded !" " Nay," his soldier's pride
Touched to the quick, he said ;
" I'm killed, sire !" And, his chief beside,
Smiling, the boy fell dead.
27
314 Till: SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
GINEVRA.
Rd bus.
If ever you should come to Modena,
(Whore among other relies you may see
Tassoni's bucket— but 'tis not the true one)
Stop at a palace near the Reggio-gate,
Dwelt in of old by one of the Donati.
Its noble gardens, terrace above terrace,
And rich in fountains, statues, cypresses,
Will long detain you— but, before you go,
Enter the house — forget it not, 1 pray you —
And look awhile upon a picture there.
"lis of a la lv in her earliest youth,
The last of that illustrious family ;
Done by Zampieri — but by whom I care not.
lie who observes it — ere he passes on,
Gazes his fill, and comes and comes again,
That he may call it 141, when far away.
She sits, inclining forward as to speak,
Her lips half open, and her finger up,
As though she said " Beware !" her vest of gold
Broidered with flowers ami clasped from head to foot,
An emerald stone in every golden clasp ;
And on her brow, fairer than alabaster,
A coronet of pearls.
But then her face,
So lovely, yet so arch, so full of mirth,
The overflowings of an innocent heart —
It haunts me still, though many a year has fled,
Like some wild melody !
Alone it hangs
Over a mouldering heir-loom, its companion,
An oaken-chest, half-eaten by the worm,
But richly carved by Antony of Trent,
With scripture-stories from the Life of Christ ;
A chest that came from Venice, and had held
The ducal robes of some old ancestor —
That, by the way — it may be true or false —
But don't forget the picture ; and you will not,
When you have heard the tale they told me there.
She was an only child — her name Ginevra;
The joy, the pride of an indulgent father;
And in her fifteenth year became a bride,
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 315
Marrying an only son, Francesco Doria,
Her playmate from her birth, and her first love.
Just as she looks there in her bridal dress,
She was all gentleness, all gayety,
Her pranks the favorite theme of every tongue.
But now the day was come, the day, the hour ;
Now, frowning, smiling for the hundredth time,
The nurse, that ancient lady, preached decorum ;
And, in the lustre of her youth, she gave
Her hand, with her heart in it, to Francesco.
Great was the joy ; but at the nuptial feast,
When all sate down, the bride herself was wanting.
Nor was she to be found ! Her father cried,
" ; Tis but to make a trial of our love \"
And filled his glass to all ; but his hand shook,
And soon from guest to guest the panic spread.
'Twas but that instant she had left Francesco,
Laughing and looking back and flying still,
Her ivory tooth imprinted on his finger.
But now, alas ! she was not to be found ;
Nor from that hour could anything be guessed.
But that she was not !
Weary of his life,
Francesco flew to Venice, and, embarking,
Flung it away in battle with the Turk.
Donati lived — and long might you have seen
An old man wandering as in quest of something,
Something he could not find — he knew not what.'
When he was gone, the house remained awhile
Silent and tenantless — then went to strangers.
Full fifty years were past, and all forgotten,
When on an idle day, a clay of search
Mid the old lumber in the gallery,
That mouldering chest was noticed ; and 'twas said
By one as young, as thoughtless as Ginevra,
" Why not remove it from its lurking-place?"
'Twas done as soon as said ; but on the way
It burst, it fell ; and lo, a skeleton,
With here and there a pearl, an emerald-stone,
A golden clasp, clasping a shred of gold.
All else had perished — save a wedding-ring,
And a small seal, her mother's legacy,
Engraven with a name, the name of both,
" Ginevra."
316 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
There then had she found :i grave!
Within that chest had she concealed herself,
Fluttering with joy, the happiest of the happy;
When a spring-lock, that lay in ambush there,
Fastened her down for ever !
THE FOUR ERAS.
The lark has sung his carol in the sky ;
The bees have hummed their noontide harmony ;
Still in the vale the village-bells ring round,
Still in Llewellyn-hall the jests resound :
For now the caudle-cup is circling there,
Now, glad at heart, the gossips breathe their prayer,
And, crowding, stop the cradle to admire
The babe, the sleeping image of his sire.
A few short years — and then these sounds shall hail
The day again, and gladness fill the vale ;
So soon the child a youth, the youth a man,
Eager to run the race his fathers ran.
Then the huge ox shall yield the broad sirloin ;
The ale, now brewed, in floods of amber shine :
And, basking in the chimney's ample blaze,
Mid many a tale told of his boyish days,
The nurse shall cry, of all her ills beguiled,
" 'Twas on these knees he sate so oft and smiled/'
And soon again shall music swell the breeze ;
Soon, issuing forth, shall glitter through the trees
Vestures of nuptial white ; and hymns be sung,
And violets scattered round ; and old and young,
In every cottage porch, with garlands green,
Stand still to gaze, and, gazing, bless the scene ;
While, her dark eyes declining, by his side
Moves in her virgin-veil the gentle bride.
And once, alas ! nor in a distant hour,
Another voice shall come from yonder tower ;
When in dim chambers long black weeds are seen,
And weepings heard where only joy has been ;
When by his children borne, and from his door
Slowly departing to return no more,
He rests in holy earth with them that went before.
Boom*
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 317
TO NIGHT.
Swiftly walk over the western wave,
Spirit of Night !
Out of the misty eastern cave,
"Where all the long and lone daylight,
Thou wo vest dreams of joy and fear,
Which make thee terrible and dear,—
Swift be thy flight !
Wrap thy form in a mantle gray,
Star-inwrought !
Blind with thine hair the eyes of day,
Kiss her until she be wearied out,
Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land,
Touching all with thine opiate wand —
Come, long-sought !
When I arose and saw the dawn,
I sighed for thee ;
When light rode high, and the dew was gone,
And noon lay heavy on flower and tree,
And the weary Day turned to his rest,
Lingering like an unloved guest,
I sighed for thee.
Thy brother Death came, and cried,
Wouldst thou me ?
Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed,
Murmured like a noontide bee.
Shall I nestle near thy side ?
Wouldst thou me ? — and I replied,
No, not thee !
Death will come when thou art dead,
Soon, too soon —
Sleep will come when thou art fled ;
Of neither would I ask the boon
I ask of thee, beloved Night —
Swift be thine approaching flight,
Come soon, soon !
Shelley
27
Till; SELECT ACADEMIC BPE \KKK.
BETTER MOMENTS.
My mother's voice ! how often creeps
Its cadence on my lonely Imurs!
Like healing sent on wings of sleep,
Or dew to the unconscious flowers.
I can forget her melting prayer
While leaping pulses madly fly,
But in the still, unbroken air,
Her gentle tone e<>in<'~ Btealing by —
And years, and sin, and manhood flee,
And leave me at my mother's knee.
I have been out at eventide
Beneath a moonlight sky of spring,
When earth was garnished like a bride,
And night had on her silver wing —
When bursting leaves, and diamond grass,
And waters leaping to the light,
And all that make the pulses pass
With wilder llcetncss, thronged the night-
When all was beaut}- — then have I
With friends on whom my love is flung
Like myrrh on winds of Araby,
Gazed up where evening's lamp is hung,
And when the beautiful spirit there
.Flung over me its golden chain,
My mother's voice came on the ear
Like the light dropping of the rain —
And resting on some silver star
The spirit of a bended knee,
I've poured out low and fervent prayer
That our eternity might be
To rise in heaven, like stars at night,
And tread a living path of light.
I have been on the dewy hills,
When night was stealing from the dawn,
And mist was on the waking rills,
And tints were delicately drawn
In the gray East — when birds were waking,
With a low murmur in the trees,
N. P. Willis.
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 319
And melody by fits was breaking
Upon the whisper of the breeze —
And this when I was forth, perchance
As a worn reveller from the dance —
And when the sun sprang gloriously
And freely up, and hill and river
"Were catching upon wave and tree
The arrows from his subtle quiver —
I say a voice has thrilled me then,
Heard on the still and rushing light,
Or, creeping from the silent glen,
Like words from the departing night,
Hath stricken me, and I have pressed
On the wet grass my fevered brow,
And pouring forth the earliest
First prayer, with which I learned to bow,
Have felt my mother's spirit rush
Upon me as in by-past years,
And, yielding to the blessed gush
Of my ungovernable tears,
Have risen up — the gay, the wild —
Subdued and humble as a child.
DEATH OF GENERAL HARRISON.
N. P. Willis.
Death ! Death in the White House ! Ah, never before,
Trod his skeleton foot on the President's floor I
He is looked for in hovel, and dreaded in hall —
The king in his closet keeps hatchment and pall—
The youth in his birth-place, the old man at home,
Make clean from the door-stone the path to the tomb ;—
But the lord of this mansion was cradled not here —
In a churchyard far off stands his beckoning bier !
He is here as the wave-crest heaves flashing on high—
As the arrow is stopped by its prize in the sky —
The arrow to earth, and the foam to the shore —
Death finds them when swiftness and sparkle are o'er — ■
But Harrison's death fills the climax of story —
He went with his old stride — from glory to glory !
What more ? Shall we on, with his ashes ? Yet, stay !
He hath ruled the wide realm of a king in his day !
120 THE B1LBOT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
At his word, like ;i monarch's, went treasure and land —
The bright gold of thousands has passed through his hand-
la there nothing to show of his glittering hoard?
No jewel to deck the rude hilt of his sword —
No trappings — no horses? — what had he, but now?
On ! — on with his ashes ! — he u i r bi p his ploi qh !
Brave old Cincinnatus! Qnwind ye his sheet !
Let him sleep as he lived — with his purse at Ins feet I
Follow now, as ye li-^t! Tin- first mourner to-day
Is the nation — whose father is taken away !
"Wife, children, and neighbor, may moan at his knell-
He was '• lover and friend" to his country, as well !
For the stars on our banner, grown suddenly dim.
Let us weep, in our darkness — hut weep not for him !
Not for him — who, departing, leaves millions in tear- 1
Not for him — who has died full of honor and years I
Not for him — who ascended Fame's ladder so high
From the round at the top ho has stepped to the sky!
BYMN TO THE FLOWERS.
HORACE .Smith.
DaY-S1 LBS] that ope your eyes with man, to twinkle
From rainbow galaxies of earth's creation,
And dew-drops on her holy altars sprinkle
As a libation.
Ye matin worshippers ! who bending lowly
Before the uprisen sun, God's lidless eyel
Throw from your chalices a sweet and holy
Incense on high.
Ye bright Mosaics ! that with storied, beauty
The floor of nature's temple tesselate
With numerous emblems of instructive beauty,
Your forms create.
'Neath cloistered boughs, each floral bell that swingeth,
And tolls its perfume on the passing air,
Makes Sabbath in the fields, and ever ringeth
A call to prayer.
Not to the domes where crumbling arch and column
Attest the feebleness of mortal hand,
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 321
But to that fane, most catholic and solemn,
Which God hath planned ;
To that cathedral, boundless as our wonder,
Whose quenchless lamps the sun and moon supply ;
Its choir the winds and waves — its organ thunder —
Its dome the sky.
There, as in solitude and shade I wander
Through the green aisles, or stretched upon the sod,
Awed by the silence, reverently ponder
The ways of God.
Your voiceless lips, flowers ! are living preachers,
Each cup a pulpit, and each leaf a book,
Supplying to my fancy numerous teachers
From loneliest nook.
Floral apostles ! that in dewy splendor,
" Weep without woe, and blush without a crime,"
Oh may I deeply learn, and ne'er surrender
Your lore sublime !
" Thou wert not, Solomon ! in all thy glory,
Arrayed," the lilies cry, " in robes like ours ;
How vain your grandeur ! ah, how transitory,
Are human flowers !"
In the sweet scented pictures, heavenly Artist !
With which thou paintest nature's wide-spread hall,
What a delightful lesson thou impartest
Of love to all !
Not useless are ye, flowers ! though made for pleasure,
Blooming o'er field and wave by day and night,
From every source your sanction bids me treasure
Harmless delight.
Ephemeral sages ! what instructors hoary
For such a world of thought could furnish scope ?
Each fading calyx a memento mori,
Yet fount of hope.
Posthumous glories ! angel-like collection !
Upraised from seed or bulb interred in earth,
Ye are to me a type of resurrection,
A second birth.
X
322 Tin: SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
"Were I, God ! in clmrchlcss lands remaining,
Far from all voice of teachers or di
My Bonl would find in flowers of thy ordaining,
Priests, Bermons, Bhrinee '.
TEE MTMMV.
And thou hast walked about— how strange a Btory !
In Thebes's Btreets, three thousand years :i
When the Memnonium was in all its glory,
And time had no1 I iverthrow
I'h >se temples, palaces, and piles Btupend
Of which the very ruins are tremendous !
Speak! — for thou Long enough hast artel dummy,
Thou hast a tongue, — come — let us hear its tune !
'I'h m'rt Btanding on thy legs, above-ground, mummy !
Revi siting the glimpses of the moon, —
Not like thin ghosts or disembodied creatures,
But with thy bones, and flesh, and limbs and features!
Tell us — for doubtless thou can t, —
To whom should we assign the Sphinx's fame? —
Was Cheops, or Oephrenes architect
Of either pyramid that bears his name? —
Is Pompey's pillar really a misnomer? —
Had Thebes a hundred gates, as sung by Ilorncr?
Perhaps thou wert a mason, — and forbidden,
By oath, to tell the mysteries of thy trade :
Then say, what secret melody was hidden
In Memnon's statue, which at sunrise played?
Perhaps thou wert a priest ; — if so, my struggles
Are vain, — for priestcraft never owns its juggles !
Perchance that very hand, now pinioned flat,
Hath hob-a-nobbed with Pharaoh, glass to glass, —
Or dropped a halfpenny in Homer's hat, —
Or doffed thine own, to let Queen Dido pass, —
Or held, by Solomon's own invitation,
A torch, at the great temple's dedication !
I need not ask thee if that hand, when armed,
Has any Roman soldier mauled and knuckled ?
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 323
For thou wert dead, and buried, and embalmed,
Ere Romulus and Remus had been suckled : —
Antiquity appears to have begun
Long after thy primeval race was run.
Thou couldst develop, if that withered tongue
Might tell us what those sightless orbs have seen,
How the world looked when it was fresh and young,
And the great deluge still had left it green ! —
Or was it then so old that history's pages
Contained no record of its early ages ?
Still silent! — Incommunicative elf!
Art sworn to secrecy ? Then keep thy vows !
But, prithee, tell us something of thyself, —
Reveal the secrets of thy prison-house : —
Since in the world of spirits thou hast slumbered,
What hast thou seen — what strange adventures numbered ?
Since first thy form was in this box extended,
We have, above-ground, seen some strange mutations ;
The Roman empire has begun and ended, —
New worlds have risen, — we have lost old nations, —
And countless kings have into dust been humbled,
While not a fragment of thy flesh has crumbled.
Didst thou not hear the pother o'er thy head,
When the great Persian conqueror, Cambyses,
Marched armies o'er thy tomb, with thundering tread,
O'erthrew Osiris, Orus, Apis, Isis, —
And shook the pyramids with fear and wonder,
When the gigantic Memnon fell asunder?
If the tomb's secrets may not be confessed,
The nature of thy private life unfold !
A heart hath throbbed beneath that leathern breast,
And tears adown that dusty cheek have rolled : —
Have children climbed those knees, and kissed that face ?
What was thy name and station, age and race ?
Statue of flesh ! — Immortal of the dead !
Imperishable type of evanescence !
Posthumous man, — who quitt'st thy narrow bed,
And standest undecayed within our presence !
Thou wilt hear nothing till the judgment morning,
When the great trump shall thrill thee with its warning!
324 Till: SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
Why Bhould this worthless tegument endare,
If its undying -nest be lost for ever?
Oh ! let us keep the Bonl embalme 1 Mid pure
In living virtue, — that when both mast
Although corruption may our frame consume,
The immortal spirit in the Bkiefl may bl<
SOXG OF THE STARS.
I Jr. VAST.
When the radiant morn of oreation broke,
And the world in the smile of God awoke,
Ami the empty realms of darkness and death
Were moved through their depths by his mighty breath,
And orbs of beauty and spheres of flame
From the void abyss by myriads came, —
In the joy of youth as they darted away,
Through the widening wastes of space to play,
Their silver voices in chorus rung,
And this was the song the bright ones sung:
" Away, away, through the wide, wide sky, —
The fair blue fields that before us lie, —
Bach sun, with the worlds that around him roll,
Each planet, poised on her turning pole ;
With her isles of green, and her clouds of white,
And her waters that lie like fluid light.
" For the Source of Glory uncovers his face,
And the brightness o'erflows unbounded space ;
And we drink, as we go, the luminous tides
In our ruddy air and our blooming sides :
Lo, yonder the living splendors play ;
Away, on our joyous path, away !
" Look, look, through our glittering ranks afar,
In the infinite azure, star after star,
How they brighten and bloom as they swiftly pass !
How the verdure runs o'er each rolling mass !
And the path of the gentle winds is seen,
Where the small waves dance, and the young woods lean.
" And see, where the brighter day-beams pour,
How the rainbows hang in the sunny shower ;
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 325
Arid the morn and eve, with their pomp of hues,
Shift o'er the bright planets and shed their dews ;
And 'twixt them both, o'er the teeming ground,
With her shadowy cone the night goes round !
"Away, away! in our blossoming bowers,
In the soft air wrapping these spheres of ours,
In the seas and fountains that shine with morn,
See, love is brooding, and life is born,
And breathing myriads are breaking from night,
To rejoice like us, in motion and light.
" Glide on in your beauty, ye youthful spheres,
To weave the dance that measures the years ;
Glide on, in the glory and gladness sent,
To the furthest wall of the firmament, —
The boundless visible smile of Him,
To the veil of whose brow your lamps are dim.
SMALL THLNG-S.
Charles Mackay.
A traveller through a dusty road
Strewed acorns on the lea,
And one took root, and sprouted up,
And grew into a tree.
Love sought its shade at evening time,
To breathe its early vows ;
And age was pleased, in heats of noon,
To bask beneath its boughs.
The dormouse loved its dangling twig,
The birds sweet music bore ;
It stood, a glory in its place —
A blessing evermore.
A little spring had lost its way
Amid the grass and fern —
A passing stranger scooped a well,
Where weary men might turn ;
He walled it in, and hung with care
A ladle at the brink —
He thought not of the deed he did,
But judged that toil might drink.
28
32G Til. ACADEMIC BPB IKER.
He pat ■ i again ; and, lo! tin- well,
1 i \ -Km.;; Iried,
Had c ■ tie 1 ten tli msand parching I
Ami saved :i life beside !
A dreamer dropped a random thou
T vras old, and yet 't was new —
imple fancy "1" tin' brain,
Hut strong in being true ;
It shone upon a genial mind,
A., i. i i] \\ light bee isiic
A lamp of life, a beacon ray,
A monitory flame.
The thought was small — its issues great,
A watch-fire on a hill ;
It sheds its radian sen,
And 'ill.
A nameless man, amid a crowd
That thronged the daily mart,
I. fall a word of hope and 1
Dnstudie 1. from the heart ;
A whi the tumult thrown —
A transitory breath ;
It raised a brother from the dust,
It 8&\ ed a bouI from death.
germ ! fount ! -word of love !
thought at random cast !
Ye were but little at the first,
But mighty at the last.
FORGIVE AND FORGET.
Charles Swaix.
Forgive and forget ! why the world would be lonely,
The garden a wilderness left to deform ;
If the flowers but remembered the chilling winds only,
And the fields gave no verdure for fear of the storm !
Oh, still in thy loveliness emblem the flower,
Give the fragrance of feeling to sweeten life's sway ;
And prolong not again the brief cloud of an hour,
With tears that but darken the rest of the day !
Forgive and forget ! there's no breast so unfeeling
But some gentle thoughts of affection there live ;
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 327
And the best of us all require something concealing,
Some heart that "with smiles can forget and forgive !
Then away with the cloud from those beautiful eyes,
That brow was no home for such, frowns to have met ;
Oh, how could our spirits e'er hope for the skies,
If Heaven refused to Forgive and Forget?
THE FIRST PRAYER.
Tell me, ye stars of night —
In the ages ye have seen,
Aught more gentle, mild, and bright,
Aught more dear to angels' sight,
Hath there been ;
Or more innocent and fair,
Than an infant's earliest prayer?
Tell me, ye flowers that meet
By the valley, or the stream,
Have ye incense half so sweet, —
Fragrance in your rich retreat, —
That ye deem
Half so dear to Heaven's care,
As an infant's quiet prayer?
Speak, and tell me, thou, Time,
From the coming of the Word,
Aught more holy, more sublime,
From the heart of any clime,
Hast thou heard,
Than the voice ascending there,
Than that lowly infant's prayer ?
THE DEEP.
Charles Swain.
Braixerd.
There's beauty in the deep : —
The wave is bluer than the sky ;
And, though the lights shine bright on high,
More softly do the sea-gems glow,
That sparkle in the depths below ;
328 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
The rainbow'a tints are only faiade
When on the waters they arc laid ;
And Bun and moon most sweetly shine
Upon the ocean's level brine.
Thcn-'s beauty in the deep.
There's music in the deep: —
It is qoI in the surfs rough roar.
\ ait ; - - • 1 • ^ 1 1 _- , shelly shore, —
They are but earthly BOUnde, that tell
How little <>f the sea-nymph's shell,
That send- its loud, elear in .t <• abroad,
Or winds it- softness through the flood,
• ■- through groves, with ooral gay,
And dies, on spongy banks, away.
There's music in the deep.
There's quiet in the deep : —
Above, let tides and tempests rave,
And earth-born whirlwinds wake the wave
Above, let care and fear contend
With sin and sorrow, to the end:
Here, far beneath the tainted foam
That frets above our peaceful home ;
We dream in joy, and wake in love,
Nor know the rage that yells above.
There's quiet in the deep.
THE OLD MAN'S CAROUSAL.
Drink ! drink! to whom shall we drink?
To friend or a mistress ? Come, let me think !
To those who are absent, or those who are here ?
To the dead that we loved, or the living still dear ?
Alas ! when I look, I find none of the last !
The present is barren — let's drink to the past.
Come ! here's to the girl with a voice sweet and low,
The eye all of fire and the bosom of snow,
Who erewhile in the days of my youth that are fled,
Once slept on my bosom, and pillowed my head !
Would you know where to find such a delicate prize ?
Go seek in yon churchyard, for there she lies.
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 329
And here's to the friend, the one friend of my youth,
With a head full of genius, a heart full of truth,
Who travelled with me in the sunshine of life,
And stood by my side in its peace and its strife !
Would you know where to seek a blessing so rare ?
Go drag the lone sea, you may find him there.
And here's to a brace of twin cherubs of mine,
With hearts like their mother's, as pure as this wine,
Who came but to see the first act of the play,
Grew tired of the scene, and then both went away.
Would you know where this brace of bright cherubs have hied ?
Go seek them in heaven, for there they abide.
A bumper, my boys ! to a gray-headed pair,
Who watched o'er my childhood with tenderest care,
God bless them, and keep them, and may they look down,
On the head of their son, without tear, sigh, or frown !
Would you know whom I drink to ? go seek mid the dead,
You will find both their names on the stone at their head.
And here's — but alas ! the good wine is no more,
The bottle is emptied of all its bright store ;
Like those we have toasted, its spirit is fled,
And nothing is left of the light that it shed.
Then, a bumper of tears, boys ! the banquet here ends,
With a health to our dead, since we've no living friends.
CHILDREN OF LIGHT.
Bernard Barton.
Walk in the light ! so shalt thou know
That fellowship of love
His Spirit only can bestow,
Who reigns in light above.
Walk in the light ! — and sin, abhorred,
Shall ne'er defile again ;
The blood of Jesus Christ the Lord
Shall cleanse from every stain.
Walk in the light ! — and thou shalt find
Thy heart made truly His,
Who dwells in cloudless light enshrined,
In whom no darkness is.
28*
330 Tin: SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
Walk in tin? light !— and thou shalt own
Thy darkness passed an ay,
Because that light hath on thee .-hone
In w hioh is perfect day.
Walk iii the li,u r lit! — and e'en the tomb
No fearful -hade shall wear ;
Glory shall ohase away it- gli
For Christ hath conquered there !
Walk in the li^ht ! — and thou shalt be
A path, though thorny, bright;
For Gtod, by gra se, shall dweU in thee,
And God himself is light !
THE FOURTH OF JULY.
Tier pont.
l>w of glory! welcome day!
Freedom's banners greet thy im
See! how cheerfully they play
With thy morning breeze,
On the rocks where pilgrims kneeled,
On the heights where squadrons wheeled,
"When a tyrant's thunder pealed
O'er the trembling seas.
God of armies ! did thy " stars
In their courses" smite his cars,
Blast his arm, and wrest his bars
From the heaving tide ?
On our standard, lo ! they burn,
And, when days like this return,
Sparkle o'er the soldiers' urn
"Who for freedom died.
God of peace ! — whose spirit fills
All the echoes of our hills,
All the murmurs of our rills,
Now the storm is o'er ; —
0, let freemen be our sons ;
And let future Washingtons
Rise, to lead their valiant ones,
Till there's war no more.
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 331
By the patriot's hallowed rest,
By the warrior's gory breast, —
Never let our graves be pressed
By a despot's throne ;
By the pilgrims' toils and cares,
By their battles and their prayers,
By their ashes, — let our heirs
Bow to thee alone.
THE TRUE GLORY OF AMERICA.
G. Mellen.
Italia's vales and fountains,
Though beautiful ye be,
I love my soaring mountains
And forests more than ye ;
And though a dreamy greatness rise
From out your cloudy years,
Like hills on distant stormy skies,
Seen dim through Nature's tears,
Still, tell me not of years of old,
Of ancient heart and clime ;
Ours is the land and age of gold,
And ours the hallowed time !
The jewelled crown and sceptre
Of Greece have passed away ;
And none, of all who wept her,
Could bid her splendor stay.
The world has shaken with the tread
Of iron-sandalled crime —
And lo ! o'ershadowing all the dead,
The conqueror stalks sublime !
Then ask I not for crown and plume
To nod above my land ;
The victor's footsteps point to doom,
Graves open round his hand !
Home ! with thy pillared palaces,
And sculptured heroes all,
Snatched, in their warm, triumphal
To Art's high festival ;
Koine ! with thy giant sons of power
Whose pathway was on thrones,
332 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
Who built their kingdoms of an hour
On yet unburied bones, —
I would not have my land like thee,
So lofty — yet so cold !
Be hers a Lowlier majesty,
In yet a nobler mould.
Thy marbles — works of wonder!
In thy victorious da
Whose Lips did Beem to -under
Before the eu tonishe 1 gaze ;
When statue glared on Btatue there,
The Living on the dead, —
And men as silent pilgrims were
Before Borne sainted head !
0, not for faultless marbles yet
Would I the Light f
That beams when other Lights have set,
And Art herself lies low !
0, ours a holier hope shall bo
Than conse (rated bast,
Some loftier mean of memory
To snatch us from the dust.
And ours a sterner art than this,
Shall fix our image here, —
The spirit's mould of loveliness —
A nobler Belvidere !
Then let them bind with bloomless flowers
The busts and urns of old, —
A fairer heritage be ours,
A sacrifice less cold !
Give honor to the great and good,
And wreathe the living brow,
Kindling with Virtue's mantling blood,
And pay the tribute now !
So, when the good and great go down,
Their statues shall arise,
To crowd those temples of our own,
Our fadeless memories !
And when the sculptured marble falls,
And Art goes in to die,
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 333
Our forms shall live in holier halls,
The Pantheon of the sky !
THE SUPPLIANT.
All night the lonely suppliant prayed,
All night his earnest crying made ;
Till, standing by his side at morn,
The Tempter said in bitter scorn : —
" Oh, peace ! — what profit do you gain
From empty words and babblings vain ?
' Come, Lord — oh, come V you cry alway ;
You pour your heart out night and day ;
Yet still no murmur of reply —
No voice that answers, ' Here am I.' "
Then sank that stricken heart in dust
That word had withered all its trust ;
No strength retained it now to pray,
For Faith and Hope had fled away :
And ill that mourner now had fared,
Thus by the Tempter's art ensnared,
But that at length beside his bed
His sorrowing angel stood, and said: —
" Doth it repent thee of thy love,
That never now is heard above
Thy prayer, that now not any more
It knocks at heaven's gate as before ?"
— " I am cast out — I find no place,
No hearing at the throne of grace :
4 Come, Lord — oh, come !' I cry alway ;
I pour my heart out night and day ;
Yet never until now have won
The answer — ' Here am I, my son.' "
— " Oh, dull of heart ! enclosed doth lie,
In each ' Come, Lord/ a ' Here am 1/
Thy love, thy longing, are not thine,
Reflections of a love divine :
Thy very prayer to thee was given,
Itself a messenger from heaven.
Whom God rejects, they are not so ;
Strong bands are round them in their woe
Trench.
334 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPBAKEB.
Their hearts arc bound with Lands of I
That sigh or crying cannot pass.
All treasures did the Lord impart
To Pharaoh, save a contrite heart :
All other gifts unto his Iocs,
He freely gives, nor grudging knows ;
But Love's sweet smart, and costly pain,
A treasure for hi-- friends remain."
WEARY OF LIFE.
I sit beneath the Bun beams' glow,
Their g ilden currents round me flow,
Their mellow kisses warm my brow,
But all the world is dreary.
The vernal meadow round me blooms
And flings to me its faint perfumes;
Its breath is like an opening tomb's —
I'm sick of life, I'm weary I
The mountain brook skips down to me,
Tossing it- silver tresses free,
Humming like one in revery ;
But, ah ! the sound is dreary.
The trilling blue-birds o'er me sail,
There's music in the faint-voiced gale;
All sound to me a mourner's wail —
I'm sick of life, I'm weary.
The night leads forth her starry train,
The glittering moonbeams fall like rain,
There's not a shadow on the plain ;
Yet all the scene is dreary.
The sunshine is a mockery,
The solemn moon stares moodily ;
Alike is day or night to me —
I'm sick of life, I'm weary.
I know to some the world is fair,
For them there's music in the air,
And shapes of beauty everywhere ;
But all to me is dreary.
BOKER.
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 335
I know in me the sorrows lie
That blunt ray ear and dim my eye ;
I cannot weep, I fain would die —
Fm sick of life, I'm weary.
THE CELESTIAL ARMY.
I stood by the open casement
And looked upon the night,
And saw the westward-going stars
Pass slowly out of sight.
Slowly the bright procession
Went down the gleaming arch,
And my soul discerned the music
Of their long triumphal march ;
Till the great celestial army,
Stretching far beyond the poles,
Became the eternal symbol
Of the mighty march of souls.
Onward, for ever onward,
Red Mars led down his clan ;
And the Moon, like a mailed maiden,
Was riding in the van.
And some were bright in beauty,
And some were faint and small,
But these might be in their great height
The noblest of them all.
Downward, for ever downward,
Behind Earth's dusky shore
They passed into the unknown night,
They passed, and were no more.
No more ! Oh, say not so !
And downward is not just ;
For the sight is weak and the sense is dim
That looks through heated dust.
The stars and the mailed moon,
Though they seem to fall and die,
T. B. Read.
336 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
Still sweep with their embattled lines
An endless reach of sky.
And though the hills of Death
May hide the bright array.
The marshalled brotherhood of souls
Still keeps its upward way.
Upward, for ever upward,
I see their march sublime,
And hear the glorious music
Of the conquerors of Time.
And long let me remember,
Thai the palest, fainting one
May to diviner vision be
A bright and blazing sun.
NAPOLEONS EXILE.
Napoleon ! 'twas a high name lifted high !
It met at last God's thunder sent to clear
Our compassing and covering atmosphere,
And open a clear sight, beyond the sky,
Of supreme empire : this of earth's was done —
And kings crept out again to feel the sun.
The kings crept out — the peoples sat at home,
And finding the long-invocated peace
A pall embroidered with worn images
Of rights divine, too scant to cover doom
Such as they suffered, — cursed the corn that grew
llankly, to bitter bread, on Waterloo.
A deep gloom centered in the deep repose —
The nations stood up mute to count their dead —
And he who owned the Name which vibrated
Through silence, — trusting to his noblest foes,
When earth was all too gray for chivalry —
Died of their mercies, ; mid the desert sea.
wild St. Helen ! very still she kept him,
With a green willow for all pyramid, —
Which stirred a little if the low wind did,
Mrs. Brovtni.no.
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 337
A little more, if pilgrims overwept him
Disparting the lithe boughs to see the clay
Which seemed to cover his for judgment-day.
Nay ! not so long! — France kept her old affection,
As deeply as the sepulchre the corse,
Until dilated by such love's remorse
To a new angel of the resurrection,
She cried, " Behold, thou England ! I would have
The dead whereof thou wottest, from that grave."
And England answered in the courtesy
Which, ancient foes turned lovers, may befit, —
" Take back thy dead ! and when thou buriest it,
Throw in all former strifes 'twixt thee and me."
Amen, mine England ! 'tis a courteous claim —
But ask a little room too . . . for thy shame !
Because it was not well, it was not well,
Nor tuneful with thy lofty-chanted part
Among the Oceanides, — that heart
To bind and bare, and vex with vulture fell.
I would, my noble England, men might seek
All crimson stains upon thy breast — not cheek !
SOUTHERN" AUTUMN.
WM. II. TlMROD.
Sleeps the soft South — nursing its delicate breath,
To fan the first buds of the early spring ;
And summer sighing, mourns his faded wreath,
Its many-colored glories withering.
Beneath the kisses of the new-waked North, —
Who yet in storms approaches not, but smiles
On the departing season, and breathes forth
A fragrance as of summer, — till, at whiles,
All that is sweetest in the varying year,
Seems softly blent in one delicious hour,
Waking dim visions of some former sphere
Where sorrows, such as earth owns, had no power
To veil the changeless lustre of the skies,
And mind and matter formed one paradise.
29
T. K. Kkai..
»38 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
EVENING IN WINTER.
Robed like an abbess the snowy earth lies,
While the red Bundown fades out of the sk
Up walks the evening veiled like a mm,
Telling her starry beads one DJ
Where like the billows the shadowy hills lie,
Like a mast the great pine swings against the bright sky.
Down in the valley the distant lights quiver,
(Hiding the bard-frozen face of the river.
When o'er the hilltops the moon pours her ray,
Like sha lows the skaters skirr wildly away ;
Whirling; and gliding, like summer-clouds fleet,
They flash the white lightning from glittering feet.
The icicles hang on the front of the falls,
Like mute hums of silver on shadowy walls;
Horns that the wild huntsman spring shall awake,
Down flinging the loud blast toward river and lake!
TO TIME, "THE OLD TRAVELLER."
Wll. Ii. TlMROD.
They slander thee, old Traveller,
Who say that thy delight
Is to scatter ruin far and wide,
In thy wantonness of might ;
For not a leaf that falleth
Before thy restless wings
But in thy flight thou changest,
To a thousand brighter things.
Thou passest o'er the battle-field
Where the dead lie stiff and stark,
Where nought is heard save the vulture's scream,
And the gaunt wolf's famished bark ;
But thou hast caused the grain to spring
From the blood-enriched clay,
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 330
And the waving corn-tops seem to dance
To the rustic's merry lay :
Thou hast strewn the lordly palace
In ruin o'er the ground,
And the dismal screech of the owl is heard
Where the harp was wont to sound ;
But the self-same spot thou coverest
With the dwellings of the poor,
And a thousand happy hearts enjoy
What one usurped before.
'T is true, thy progress layeth
Full many a loved one low,
And for the brave and beautiful
Thou hast caused our tears to flow ;
But always, near the couch of Death
Nor thou, nor we can stay,
And the breath of thy departing wing
Dries all our tears away.
THE MYSTERY OF SONG.
Whence come ye, saddening chords ?
Thou wailing melody, thou martial strain?
Where is the fountain deep, too deep for words,
Whence gush your ambient waters to the main ?
Art thou a prince, Song ?
Like to the wind-god, or the lightning-king?
Of wayward gentleness, of fierceness strong —
An infant's cry, a seraph's sweeping wing?
Or art thou God's own voice,
Echoing afar through Earth's majestic halls ;
Now caught in whisperings low, when men rejoice,
Now pealed in thunder-bolts and water-falls ?
Poor instruments of Earth
Catch the stray voices circling round the spheres,
With scarce an echo of their heavenly birth ;
And yet, how sadly sweet to mortal ears !
Anonymous.
340 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
Hark ! distant swells of song
Steal o'er the moon-lit waters to my ear ;
And, as the rippling waves their notes prolong,
They bear unto my spirit hope and fear.
Hope, that, o'er moon-lit seas,
Our inner life may catch sweet lingering strains :
Vague fear, lest soul-heard melodies like these
Die in our hearts while memory yet remains.
Where fly ye, touching chords,
Thus speaking tones of heavenly harmony';'
Have ye some cloistered home which Earth affords,
Or course ye back to far Infinity?
Or haply are ye sent
To sink and dwell in hearts of god-like mould?
To give the bright imagination vent,
To regions vast, of melody untold ?
I call — but ye are gone !
A slight vibration moans along the sky,
And seems to whisper, as it circles on,
These saddening words : " Like all things else, we die
Yet, stay ! Can Beauty die ?
Can golden life from Purity be riven ?
List ! list ! the answering strains come floating by :
" The home of all sweet melody is Heaven I"
\n
THE BANNER OF THE CROSS.
In hoc eigno vinces.
High above the conquering march,
Where the Roman cohorts stride ; —
High above triumphal arch,
Under which crowned Caesars ride ; —
Lo ! where once Rome's eagle flew,
Cresting standard, spear and boss,
Bathed in Heaven's own morning dew,
Floats the Banner of the Cross !
Mystic sign, but mighty spell,
Now thy blood-red gonfalon,
Anonymous.
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 341
Fluttering, sees the Infidel
Hide in blood at Ascalon.
Now it falters, — now it flies, —
Now 'tis trailing on the sod, —
Now again its glories rise
O'er the sepulchre of God !
Far it shone, for see ! unfurled
O'er the western surges free,
Now it greets the new-found world —
"Waiting islands of the sea" —
Chanting priests are crowding round,
Dusky forms in wonder stand,
Brothers ! this is " holy ground,"
Given to the Saviour's hand.
Rent by shot and torn by shell,
On thy billows, Trafalgar,
See its flutterings sink and swell,
O'er the lurid clouds of war.
Dark, in storm, it lowers too,
Where the gathering nations met
Him on whom at Waterloo,
Victory's sun for ever set.
Saviour ! in these latter days,
Let no more thy banner fly
Where the fires of battle blaze,
Where the lust of power burns high.
'Neath its folds bid passion cease,
Hush the storms of wrath and fear,
Be it now the flag of Peace —
To the nations everywhere.
And, oh Lord ! when here below,
All our pilgrim work is done ;
Let it lead thy children through
To the Kingdom of thy Son.
Then above that heavenly fane,
Be its glorious station given,
Where to praise "the Lamb once slain,"
Is the " banner cry" of heaven !
29*
342 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
ODE TO DUTY.
o WORTH.
Sterx daughter of the voice of God I
Duty! if that name thou love
Who art a light to guide, a rod
To check the erring, and reprove ;
Thou, who art victory and law
When empty terrors overawe ;
From vain temptations d mi set free;
And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity!
There arc who ask not if thine eye
Be on them ; who, in love and truth,
Where no misgiving is, rely
Upon the genial sense of youth :
Glad hearts ! without reproach or blot ;
Who do thy work and know it not ;
Oh! if through confidence misplaced
They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power! around them cast.
Serene will he our days and bright,
And happy will our nature be,
When love is an unerring light,
And joy its own security.
And they a blissful course may hold
Even now, who. not unwisely bold,
Live in the spirit of this creed ;
Yet find thy firm support, according to their need.
I, loving freedom, and untried ;
No sport of every random gust,
Yet being to myself a guide,
Too blindly have reposed my trust:
And oft, when in my heart was heard
Thy timely mandate, I deferred
The task, in smoother walks to stray ;
But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.
Through no disturbance of my soul,
Or strong compunction in me wrought,
I supplicate for thy control ;
But in the quietness of thought :
Me this unchartered freedom tires ;
I feel the weight of chance-desires :
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 343
My hopes no more must change their name,
I long for a repose that ever is the same.
Stern Lawgiver ! yet thou dost wear
The Godhead's most "benignant grace ;
Nor know we anything so fair
As is the smile upon thy face :
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds ;
And fragrance in thy footing treads ;
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong ;
And the most ancient heavens, through Thee, are fresh and strong.
To humbler functions, awful Power !
I call thee : I myself commend
Unto thy guidance from this hour ;
Oh, let my weakness have an end !
Give unto me, made lowly wise, '
The spirit of self-sacrifice ;
The confidence of reason give ;
And in the light of truth thy bondman let me live !
I GIVE MY SOLDIER BOY A BLADE.
Maginn.
I give my soldier boy a blade,
In fair Damascus fashioned well ;
Who first the glittering falchion swayed,
Who first beneath its fury fell,
I know not, but I hope to know
That for no mean or hireling trade,
To guard no feeling base or low,
I give my soldier boy a blade.
Cool, calm, and clear, the lucid flood
In which its tempering work was done,
As calm, as clear, as cool of mood,
Be thou whene'er it sees the sun ;
For country's claim, at honor's call,
For outraged friend, insulted maid,
At mercy's voice to bid it fall,
I give my soldier boy a blade.
;44 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
The eye which marked its peerless edge,
The hand that weighed its balanced poise,
Anvil and pincers, forge and wedge,
Aiv gone with all their (lame and noise —
And still the gleaming sword remains ;
S i, when in dust 1 hnv am laid.
Remember, by those heart-felt strains,
I gave my Boldier boj a blade.
THE IMLIKXCE OF FAME.
JOA.MRA ltAILLIE.
(), who shall Lightly say that fame
Is nothing but an empty name,
"Whilst in that s;ound there is a charm,
The nerves to brace, the heart to warm ;
As. thinking of the mighty dead,
The young, from slothful couch will start,
And vow, with lifted hands outspread,
Like them to act a noble part ?
0, who shall lightly say that fame
Is nothing but an empty n
When, but for those, our mighty dead,
All ages past a blank would be;
Sunk in oblivion's murky bed —
A desert bare — a shipless sea?
They are the distant objects seen,
The lofty marks of what hath been.
0, who shall lightly say that fame
Is nothing but an empty name,
When memory of the mighty dead
To earth-worn pilgrims' wistful eye
The brightest rays of cheering shed,
That point to immortality?
THE LAST MAN".
All worldly shapes shall melt in gloom,
The Sun himself must die,
Campbell.
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 345
Before this mortal shall assume
Its immortality !
I saw a vision in my sleep,
That gave my spirit strength to sweep
Adown the gulf of Time !
I saw the last of human mould
That shall Creation's death behold,
As Adam saw her prime !
The Sun's eye had a sickly glare,
The Earth with age was wan,
The skeletons of nations were
Around that lonely man !
Some had expired in fight, — the brands
Still rusted in their bony hands ;
In plague and famine some !
Earth's cities had no sound nor tread ;
And ships were drifting with the dead
To shores where all was dumb !
Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood,
With dauntless words and high,
That shook the sere leaves from the wood,
As if a storm passed by,
Saying, We are twins in death, proud Sun !
Thy face is cold, thy race is run,
; T is Mercy bids thee go:
For thou ten thousand thousand years
Hast seen the tide of human tears,
That shall no longer flow.
What though beneath thee man put forth
His pomp, his pride, his skill ;
And arts that made fire, flood, and earth,
The vassals of his will ; —
Yet mourn I not thy parted sway,
Thou dim discrowned king of day :
For all those trophied arts
And triumphs that beneath thee sprang,
Healed not a passion or a pang
Entailed on human hearts.
Go, let Oblivion's curtain fall
Upon the stage of men,
34G THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKEK.
Nor with thy rising beams recall
Life's tragedy again.
Its piteous pageants bring not back,
Nor waken flesh, upon the rack
Of pain anew to writhe ;
Stretched in disease's shapes abhorred,
Or mown in battle by the sword,
Like grass beneath the scythe.
Even I am weary in yon skies
To watch thy facing fire ;
Test of all sumless agonies,
Behold not me expire.
My lips that speak thy dirge of death —
Their rounded gasp and gurgling breath
To see thou shalt not boast.
The eclipse of Nature spreads my pall, — ■
The majesty of darkness shall
Receive my parting ghost !
This spirit shall return to Him
Who gave its heavenly spark;
Yet think not, Sun, it shall be dim
When thou thyself art dark !
No! it shall live again, and shine
In bliss unknown to beams of thine,
By Him recalled to breath,
Who captive led Captivity,
Who robbed the grave of victory, —
And took the sting from Death !
Go, Sun, while Mercy holds me up
On Nature's awful waste
To drink this last and bitter cup
Of grief that man shall taste —
Go, tell the Night that hides thy face,
Thou sawest the last of Adam's race,
On Earth's sepulchral clod,
The darkening universe defy
To quench his Immortality,
Or shake his trust in God !
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 347
FINAL RETURN.
Mrs. Browning.
Napoleon ! he hath come again — borne home
Upon the popular ebbing heart, — a sea
Which gathers its own wrecks perpetually,
Majestically moaning. Give him room! —
Boorn for the dead in Paris ! welcome solemn
And grave deep, 'neath the cannon-moulded column I*
There, weapon spent and warrior spent may rest
From roar of fields : provided Jupiter
Dare trust Saturnus to lie down so near
His bolts ! — And this he may : For, dispossessed
Of any godship, lies the god-like arm —
The goat, Jove sucked, as likely to do harm.
And yet . . . Napoleon ! — the recovered name
Shakes the old casements of the world ! and we
Look out upon the passing pageantry,
Attesting that the Dead makes good his claim
To a Gaul grave, — another kingdom won —
The last — of few spans — by Napoleon.
Blood fell like dew beneath his sunrise — sooth !
But glittered dew-like in the covenanted
And high-rayed light. He was a despot — granted !
But the auro<; of his autocratic mouth
Said yea i' the people's French : he magnified
The image of the freedom he denied.
And if they asked for rights, he made reply,
" Ye have my glory !" — and so, drawing round them
His ample purple, glorified and bound them
In an embrace that seemed identity.
He ruled them like a tyrant — true ! but none
Were ruled like slaves ! Each felt Napoleon !
I do not praise this man : the man was flawed
For Adam — much more, Christ! — his knee, unbent —
His hand, unclean — his aspiration, pent
Within a sword-sweep — pshaw ! — but since he had
The genius to be loved, why let him have
The justice to be honored in his grave.
It was the first intention to bury him under the column.
348 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
I think this nation's tears, poured thus together,
Nobler than shouts: I think this funeral
Grander than crownings, though a Pope bless all:
I think this grave stronger than thrones: But whether
The crowned Napoleon or the buried clay
Be better, I discern not — Angels may.
MY FATHER.
As die the embers on the hearth,
And o'er the floor the Bhadows fall,
And creeps the chirping cricket forth,
And ticks the deathwatch in the wall,
I see a form in yonder chair,
That grows beneath the waning light ;
There are the wan, sad features — there
The pallid brow, and locks of white !
My father! when they laid thee down,
And heaped the clay upon thy breast,
And left thee sleeping all alone
Upon thy narrow couch of rest —
I know not why, I could not weep,
The soothing drops refused to roll —
And oh, that grief is wild and deep
Which settles tearless on the soul !
But when I saw thy vacant chair —
Thine idle hat upon the wall —
Thy book — the pencilled passage where
Thine eye had rested last of all —
The tree beneath whose friendly shade
Thy trembling feet had wandered forth-
The very prints those feet had made,
When last they feebly trod the earth —
And thought, while countless ages fled,
Thy vacant seat would vacant stand,
Unworn thy hat, thy book unread,
Effaced thy footsteps from the sand —
And widowed in this cheerless world,
The heart that gave its love to thee —
Torn, like a vine whose tendrils curled
More closely round the fallen tree ! —
II. k. J
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 349
Oh, father ! then for her and thee
Gushed meam of the pundit or poet ;
Heaven is gracious, and — all's for the best.
All's for the best ! set this in your standard,
Soldier of sadness, or pilgrim of love,
Who to the shores of despair may have wandered,
A way-wearied swallow, or heart-stricken dove ;
All's for the best ! — be man but confiding,
Providence tenderly governs the rest,
And the frail bark of His creature is guiding,
"Wisely and warily, all for the best.
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 359
All's for the best ! Then fling away terrors,
Meet all your fears and your foes in the van,
And in the midst of your dangers or errors,
Trust like a child, while you strive like a man ;
All's for the best ! — unbiassed, unbounded,
Providence reigns from the east to the west ;
And by both wisdom and mercy surrounded,
Hope and be happy that all's for the best.
ECHO AND SILENCE.
Sir Eqerton Brydges.
In eddying course when leaves began to fly,
And Autumn in her lap the store to strew,
As mid wild scenes I chanced the Muse to woo,
Through glens untrod, and woods that frowned on high,
Two sleeping nymphs with wonder mute I spy !
And, lo, she's gone ! — In robe of dark-green hue
'Twas Echo from her sister Silence flew,
For quick the hunter's horn resounded to the sky !
In shade affrighted Silence melts away.
Not so her sister. — Hark ! for onward still,
With far-heard step, she takes her listening way,
Bounding from rock to rock, and hill to hill.
Ah, mark the merry maid in mockful play
With thousand mimic tones the laughing forest fill !
THE FOUR-LEAVED SHAMROCK.
Lover.
I'll seek a four-leaved shamrock in all the fairy dells,
And if I find the charmed leaves, oh, how I'll weave my spells!
I would not waste my magic might on diamond, pearl, or gold,
For treasure tires the weary sense — such triumph is but cold ;
But I would play th' enchanter's part, in casting bliss around, —
Oh ! not a tear, nor aching heart, should in the world be found.
To worth I would give honor ! — I'd dry the mourner's tears,
And to the pallid lip recall the smile of happier years,
And hearts that had been long estranged, and friends that had grown
cold,
Should meet again — like parted streams — and mingle as of old !
Oh ! thus I'd play th' enchanter's part, thus scatter bliss around,
And not a tear, nor aching heart, should in the world be found !
3G0 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
The heart that had been mourning o'er vanished dreams of lovo,
Should see them all returning, — like Xoah's faithful dove,
And Hope should launch her blessed bark on Sorrow's darkening sea,
And Mis'ry's children have an Ark, and saved from sinking be ;
Oh ! thus I'd play th' enchanter's part, thus scatter bliss around,
And not a tear, nor achinjr heart, should in the world be found !
THE BLEST OF EARTH.
Thou sbalt not call him blest,
Though born to high command,
Who sees among his slaves
The nobles of his land ;
Though banners bear his name
On many a shining fold,
Though sparkling gems are his,
And ruddy piles of gold.
Thou sbalt not call him blest,
In lofty wisdom sage,
Whose searching eye has read
Creation's boundless page ; —
Who gathers round his hearth
The wise of ancient days ;
Whose words the learned and great
Of other times shall praise.
But thou shaft call him blest,
Though all unknown to fame,
Whose righteous works adorn
The Christian's sacred name ;
Who loves the toilsome path,
That high Apostles trod ;
Who keeps with humble faith
The just decrees of God.
J. (.iiLBOHNE Lyons.
THE HOMES OF ENGLAND.
The stately homes of England,
How beautiful they stand !
Amidst their tall ancestral trees,
O'er all the pleasant land.
Mrs. IIemans.
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 351
The deer across their greensward bound
Through shade and sunny gleam,
And the swan glides past them with the sound
Of some rejoicing stream.
The merry homes of England !
Around their hearths by night,
What gladsome looks of household love
Meet in the ruddy light !
There woman's voice flows forth in song,
Or childhood's tale is told ;
Or lips move tunefully along
Some glorious page of old.
The blessed homes of England !
How softly on their bowers
Is laid the holy quietness
That breathes from Sabbath hours !
Solemn, yet sweet, the church-bell's chime
Floats through their woods at morn ;
All other sounds, in that still time,
Of breeze and leaf are born.
The cottage homes of England !
By thousands on her plains,
They are smiling o'er the silvery brooks,
And round the hamlet-fanes.
Through glowing orchards forth they peep,
Each from its nook of leaves,
And fearless there the lowly sleep,
As the bird beneath their eaves.
The free, fair homes of England !
Long, long, in hut and hall,
May hearts of native proof be reared
To guard each hallowed wall !
And green for ever be the groves,
And bright the flowery so4,
"Where first the child's glad spirit loves
Its country and its God !
31
302 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
THE MAGNETIC TELEGRAPH.
Lyons.
Along the smooth and Blender wires,
The sleepless heralds run
Fast as the clear and living rays
Go streaming from the sun :
No peals or flashes heard or seen
Their wondrous flight betray,
And yet their words are strongly felt
In cities far away.
Nor summer's heat, nor winter's hail
Can check their rapid coarse; —
They meet unmoved the fierce wind's rage, —
The rough wave's sweeping force: —
In the long night of rain and wrath,
As in the blaze of day,
They rush, with news of weal or woe,
To thousands far away.
But faster still than tidings borne
On that electric cord,
Rise the pure thoughts of him who loves
The Christian's life and Lord, —
Of him who, taught in smiles and tears
With fervent lips to pray,
Maintains high converse here below
With bright worlds far away.
Ay 1 though nor outward wish is breathed,
Nor outward answer given,
The sighing of that humble heart
Is known and felt in Heaven : —
Those long frail wires may bend and break,
Those viewless heralds stray,
But Faith's least word shall reach the throne
Of God, though far away.
MATIN BELLS.
A. C. Coxb.
The Sun is up betimes,
And the dappled East is blushing,
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 363
And the merry matin-chimes,
They are gushing — Christian — gushing !
They are tolling in the tower,
For another day begun ;
And to hail the rising hour
Of a brighter, brighter Sun !
Rise — Christian — rise !
For a sunshine brighter far
Is breaking o'er thine eyes,
Than the bonny morning star !
The lark is in the sky,
And his morning-note is pouring :
He hath a wing to fly,
So he's soaring — Christian — soaring !
His nest is on the ground,
But only in the night ;
For he loves the matin-sound,
And the highest heaven's height.
Hark — Christian — hark !
At heaven-door he sings !
And be thou like the lark,
With thy soaring spirit-wings !
The merry matin-bells,
In their watch-tower they are swinging ;
For the day is o'er the dells,
And they're singing — Christian — singing !
They have caught the morning beam
Through their ivied turret's wreath,
And the chancel-window's gleam
Is glorious beneath :
Go — C h ris tian — go,
For the altar flameth there,
And the snowy vestments glow,
Of the presbyter at prayer !
There is morning incense flung
From the child-like lily-flowers ;
And their fragrant ceuser swung,
Make it ours — Christian — ours !
And hark, the morning hymn,
And the organ-peals we love !
They sound like cherubim
At their orisons above !
304 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
Pray — Christian — pray,
At the bonny peep of dawn,
Ere the dew-drop and t:
That christen it. are gone !
LIGHT.
From the quickened womb of the primal gloom
The ran rolled black and bare.
Till I wove him a Teal for his Ethiop br«.
Of the threads of my golden hair :
And when the broad tent of the firmament
N "ii its airy b\
I pencilled the hue of its matchless blue,
And spangled it round with si
I painted the flowers of the Eden bowers,
And their leaves of living green,
And mine were the dyes in the sinless eyes
Of Eden's virgin queen ;
And when the fiend's art, on her trustful heart,
Had faste rtal spell,
In the silvery sphere of the first-born tear
To the trembling earth I fell.
When the waves that burst o'er a world accursed
Their work of wrath had sped,
And the Ark's lone few, the tried and true,
Came forth among the dead ;
With the wondrous gleams of my braided beams
I bade their terrors cease ;
As I wrote on the roll of the storm's dark scroll
God's covenant of peace.
Like a pall at rest on a pulseless breast,
Night's funeral shadow slept,
Where shepherd swains on the Bethlehem plains
Their lonely vigils kept ;
When I flashed on their sight the heralds bright
Of heaven's redeeming plan,
As they chanted the morn of a Saviour born —
Joy, joy to the outcast man !
W. I' l'ALMER.
RECITATIONS IN POETItY. 365
Equal favor I show to the lofty and low,
On the just and unjust I descend ;
E'en the blind, whose vain spheres roll in darkness and tears,
Feel my smile the best smile of a friend :
Nay, the flower of the waste by my love is embraced,
As the rose in the garden of kings ;
As the chrysalis bier of the worm I appear,
And lo ! the gay butterfly's wings !
The desolate Morn, like a mourner forlorn,
Conceals all the pride of her charms,
Till I bid the bright Hours chase the Night from her bowers,
And lead the young Day to her arms ;
And when the gay rover seeks Eve for his lover,
And sinks to her balmy repose,
I wrap their soft rest by the zephyr-fanned west,
In curtains of amber and rose.
From my sentinel steep, by the night-brooded deep,
I gaze with unslumbering eye,
When the cynosure star of the mariner
Is blotted from the sky ;
And guided by me through the merciless sea,
Though sped by the hurricane's wings,
His compassless bark, lone, weltering, dark,
To the haven-home safely he brings.
I waken the flowers in their dew-spangled bowers,
The birds in their chambers of green,
And mountain and plain glow with beauty again,
As they bask in my matinal sheen.
Or, if such the glad worth of my presence to earth,
Though fitful and fleeting the while,
What glories must rest on the home of the blessed,
Ever bright Avith the Deity's smile !
THE WORSHIP OF NATURE.
Whittier.
The ocean looketh up to heaven,
As 'twere a living thing ;
The homage of its waves is given
In ceaseless worshipping.
31*
3GG THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
They kneel upon the sloping sand,
As bends the human knee,
A beautiful and tireless band,
The priesthood of the sea !
They pour the glittering treasures out
Which in the deep have birth,
And chant their awful hymns about
The watching hills of earth.
The green earth send- it-^ incense up
From every mountain-shrine,
From every flower and dewy cup
That greeteth the sunshine.
The forest-tops are lowly cast
O'er breezy hill and glen,
As if a prayerful spirit passed
On nature as on men.
The clouds weep o'er the fallen world,
E'en as repentant love ;
Ere, to the blessed breeze unfurled,
4 They fade in light above.
The sky is as a temple's arch,
The blue and wavy air
Is glorious with the spirit-march
Of messengers at prayer.
The gentle moon, the kindling suu,
The many stars are given
As shrines to burn earth's incense on,
The altar-fires of Heaven !
FINGAL AT CARRIC-THURA.
Ossiax.
Morning rose in the east ; the blue waters rolled in light. Fingal
bade his sails to rise ; the winds came rustling from their hills. Inis-
tore rose to sight, and Carric-thura's mossy towers ! But the sign of
distress was on their top : the warning flame edged with smoke. The
king of Morven struck his breast: he assumed at once his spear. His
darkened brow bends forward to the coast : he looks back to the lag-
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 367
ging winds. His hair is disordered on his back. The silence of the
king is terrible !
Night came down on the sea : Rotha's bay received the ship. A
rock bends along the coast with all its echoing wood. On the top is
the circle of Loda, the mossy stone of power ! A narrow plain spreads
beneath, covered with grass and aged trees, which the midnight winds,
in their wrath, had torn from their shaggy rock. The blue course of a
stream is there ! the lonely blast of ocean pursues the thistle's beard.
The flame of three oaks arose : the feast is spread round ; but the soul
of the king is sad, for Carric-thura's chief distrest.
The wan cold moon rose in the east. Sleep descended on the
youths ! Their blue helmets glitter to the beam ; the fading fire
decays. But sleep did not rest on the king : he rose in the midst of
his arms, and slowly ascended the hill, to behold the flame of Sarno's
tower.
The flame was dim and distant ; the moon hid her red face in the
east. A blast came from the mountain, on its wings was the spirit of
Loda. He came to his place in his terrors, and shook his dusky spear.
His eyes appear like flames in his dark face ; his voice is like distant
thunder. Fingal advanced his spear in night, and raised his voice on
high.
Son of night, retire ; call thy winds, and fly ! Why dost thou come
to my presence, with thy shadowy arms ? Do I fear thy gloomy form,
spirit of dismal Loda ! Weak is thy shield of clouds ; feeble is that
meteor, thy sword ! The blast rolls them together ; and thou thyself
art lost. Fly from my presence, son of night ! call thy winds, and fly !
Dost thou force me from my place ? replied the hollow voice. The
people bend before me. I turn the battle in the field of the brave. I
look on the nations, and they vanish : my nostrils pour the blasts of
death. I come abroad on the winds ; the tempests are before my face.
But my dwelling is calm, above the clouds ; the fields of my rest are
pleasant.
Dwell in thy pleasant fields, said the king : Let ComhaPs son be for-
got. Do my steps ascend from my hills into thy peaceful plains ? Do
I meet thee with a spear on thy cloud, spirit of dismal Loda ? Why
then dost thou frown on me ? Why shake thine airy spear ? Thou
frownest in vain : I never fled from the mighty in war. And shall the
sons of the wind frighten the king of Morven ? No ! he knows the
weakness of their arms !
Fly to thy land, replied the form : receive thy wind and fly ? The
blasts are in the hollow of my hand ; the course of the storm is mine.
The king of Sora is my son, he bends at the stone of my power. His
battle is around Carric-thura ; and he will prevail ! Fly to thy land,
son of Comhal, or feel my flaming wrath.
368 THE BBLBCT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
He lifted high his Bhadowy spear! B rward hie dreadful
height. Fingal, advancing, drew bis Bword ; the blade of dark-brown
Luno. The gleaming path of the steel winds through the gloomy
ghost. The form fell Bhapeless into the air, like a column of smoke,
which the staff of the boy disturbs a df-extinguished
furnace.
The spirit of Loda shrieked, as, rolled into himself, lie rose on the
wind. Inistore shook at the sound. The waves heard it on the deep.
They stopped in their course with fearj the friends of FingaJ started
at .nice, and took their 1. ITS. They missed the king: they
rose in rage ; all their arms resound !
FORGIVENESS.
A.VOXYMOM.
Man hath two attendant angels
■ waiting at his side,
With him whereso'er he wanders,
Whereso'er his feet abide;
One to warn him when he walketh
An d rebuke him if he stray ;
One to leave him to his nature,
And so let him go his way.
Two recording spirits, reading
All his life's minutest part,
Looking in his soul, and listening
To the beatings of his heart ;
Each, with pen of fire electric,
"Writes the good or evil wrought —
Writes with truth, that adds not, errs not,
Purpose — action — word — and thought.
One, the Teacher and Reprover,
Marks each heaven-deserving deed:
Graves it with the lightning's vigor,
Seals it with the lightning's speed ;
For the good that man achieveth —
Good beyond an angel's doubt —
Such remains for aye and ever,
And cannot be blotted out.
One (severe and silent Watcher !)
Noteth every crime and guile,
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 369
Writes it with a holy duty,
Seals it not, but waits awhile ;
If the evil doer cry not —
" God forgive me !" ere he sleeps,
Then the sad, stern spirit seals it,
And the gentler spirit weeps.
To the sinner, if Repentance
Cometh soon, with healing wings,
Then the dark account is cancelled,
And each joyful angel sings;
Whilst the erring one perceiveth —
Now his troublous hour is o'er —
Music, fragrance wafted to him
From a yet untrodden shore !
Mild and mighty is Forgiveness,
Meekly worn, if meekly won ;
Let our hearts go forth to seek it
Ere the setting of the sun !
Angels wait and long to hear us
Ask it ere the time be flown ;
Let us give it and receive it,
Ere the midnight cometh down !
SONNET.
Ulysses, sailing by the Sirens' isle,
Sealed first his comrades' ears, then bade them fast
Bind him with many a fetter to the mast,
Lest those sweet voices should their souls beguile,
And to their ruin flatter them, the while
Their homeward bark was sailing swiftly past ;
And thus the peril they behind them cast,
Though chased by those weird voices many a mile.
But yet a nobler cunning Orpheus used :
No fetter he put on, nor stopped his ear ;
But ever, as he passed, sang high and clear
The blisses of the gods, their holy joys,
And with diviner melody confused
And marred earth's sweetest music to a noise.
2A
Trench.
370 THE BBLBOT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
THE EXECUTION.
1;.u:ii\m.
The clock strike-. Four !
Round the debtor's door
Are gathered a couple of thousands or more;
As many await
At the press-yard gate,
Till slowly its folding-doors open ; and straight
The dim!) divides; and between their ranks
A wagon comes loaded with posts and with planks.
The clock strikes Five !
The sheriffs arrive,
And the crowd is so great that the street seems alive ;
-* * * ¥■ * #
Sweetly, oh ! sweetly, the morning breaks
With roseate streaks,
Like the first faint blush on a maiden's cheeks;
Seemed as that mild and clear blue sky
Smiled upon all thing* far and nigh, —
All, — save the wretch condemned to die!
Alack ! that ever so fair a sun
As that which its course has now begun,
Should rise on Buch scenes of misery!
Should gild with rays so light and free
That dismal, dark-frowning gallows tree !
And hark ! — a sound comes big with fate,
The clock from St. Sepulchre's tower strikes — Eight !-
List to that low funeral bell :
It is tolling, alas ! a living man's knell !
And see ! — from forth that opening door
They come — he steps the threshold o'er
Who never shall tread upon threshold more. —
God ! 'tis a fearsome thing to see
That pale man's mute agony,
The glare of that wild despairing eye,
Now T bent on the crowd, now turned to the sky,
As though 'twere scanning, in doubt and in fear,
The path of the spirit's unknown career ;
Those pinioned arms, those hands that ne'er
Shall be lifted again, — not even in prayer ;
That heaving chest ! — Enough, 'tis done !—
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 371
The bolt has fallen ! — The spirit is gone —
For weal or for woe is known to but One ! —
Oh ! 'twas a fearsome sight ! Ah me !
A deed to shudder at, — not to see.
THE BRITISH BOW.
Ye spirits of our fathers,
The hardy, bold, and free,
Who chased o'er Oessy's gory field
A fourfold enemy !
From us who love your sylvan game,
To you the song shall flow,
To the fame of your name
Who so bravely bent the bow.
'Twas merry then in England,
(Our ancient records tell,)
With Robin Hood and Little John -
Who dwelt by down and dell ;
And yet we love the bold outlaw
Who braved a tyrant foe,
Whose cheer was the deer,
And his only friend the bow !
; Twas merry then in England
In autumn's dewy morn,
When echo started from her hill
To hear the bugle-horn.
And beauty, mirth, and warrior worth
In garb of green did go
The shade to invade
With the arrow and the bow.
Ye spirits of our fathers !
Extend to us your care,
Among your children yet are found
The valiant and the fair !
'Tis merry yet in Old England,
Full well her archers know,
And shame on their name
Who despise the British bow.
Bishop Hebeb.
372 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
MORNING.
Ih bs of the rich unfolding morn,
That, ere the glorious sun be born,
By some soft touch invisible
Around his path are taught to swell ; —
Thou rustling breeze BO fresh and gay,
That dancest forth at opening day,
And brushing by with joyous wing,
Wakenest each little leaf to sing; —
Ye fragrant fluids of dewy Bteam,
By which deep grove and tangled stream
Pay. for BOft rains in BOaSOD given,
Their tribute to the genial heaven ; —
Why waste your treasures of delight
Upon our thankless, joyless Bight ;
Who day by day to sin awake,
Seldom of Heaven and you partake?
Oh! timely happy, timely wise,
Hearts that with rising morn arise!
Eyes that the beam celestial view,
Which evermore makes all things new !
New every morning is the love
Our wakening and uprising prove ;
Through sleep and darkness safely brought,
Restored to life, and power, and thought.
New mercies, each returning day,
Hover around us wdiile we pray ;
New perils past, new sins forgiven,
New thoughts of God, new hopes of Heaven.
If on our daily course our mind
Be set to hallow all we find,
New treasures still, of countless price,
God will provide for sacrifice.
Old friends, old scenes, will lovelier be,
As more of Heaven in each we see :
Ki:dle.
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 373
Some softening gleam of love and prayer
Shall dawn on every cross and care.
As for some dear familiar strain
Untired we ask, and ask again,
Ever, in its melodious store,
Finding a spell unheard before ;
Such is the bliss of souls serene,
When they have sworn, and steadfast mean,
Counting the cost, in all t' espy
Their God, in all themselves deny.
could we learn that sacrifice,
What lights would all around us rise !
How would our hearts with wisdom talk
Along Life's dullest, dreariest walk !
We need not bid, for cloistered cell,
Our neighbor and our work farewell,
Nor strive to wind ourselves too high
For sinful man beneath the sky :
The trivial round, the common task,
Would furnish all we ought to ask ;
Room to deny ourselves ; a road
To bring us, daily, nearer God.
Seek we no more ; content with these,
Let present Rapture, Comfort, Ease,
As Heaven shall bid them, come and go : — ■
The secret this of Rest below.
Only, Lord, in Thy dear love
Fit us for perfect Rest above ;
And help us, this and every day,
To live more nearly as we pray.
EVENING.
; Tis gone, that bright and orbed blaze,
Fast fading from our wistful gaze ;
Yon mantling cloud has hid from sight
The last faint pulse of quivering light.
Keble.
32
371 Tin: BELBCT ACADEMIC SPEAKER,
In darkness and in wearii
The traveller on his way must pr<
No gleam to watofa on tree or tower,
Wniling away the Lonesome hum-.
Sun of my -will! Thou Saviour dear,
Is it not night if Thou he near:
Oh ! may no earth-born cloud arise
To hide Thee from Thy servant's i
When ronnd Thy wondrous works below
My searching rapturous glance 1 throw,
Tracing out Wisd 'in. Power, and I.
In earth 0/ sky, in stream or grove; —
<»r by the light Thy w< rds disclose
Watch Time's full river ;i - i: Hows,
Scanning Thy gracious Pr vidence,
"\\ here not too deep for mortal sense: —
"When with dear friends sweet talk I hold,
And all the dowers of life unfold;
Let not my heart within me hum,
Except in all 1 Thee discern.
When the soft dews of kindly sleep
My wearied eyelids gently steep,
Be my last thought, how sweet to rest
For ever on my Saviour's breast.
Abide with me from morn till eve,
For without Thee I cannot live :
Abide with me when night is nigh,
For without Thee I dare not die.
Thou Framer of the light and dark,
Steer through the tempest Thine own ark :
Amid the howling wintry sea
We are in port if we have Thee.
The Rulers of this Christian land,
'Twixt Thee and us ordained to stand, —
Guide thou their course, Lord, aright,
Let all do all as in Thy sight.
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 375
Oh ! by Thine own sad burthen, borne
So meekly up the hill of scorn,
Teach Thou Thy Priests their daily cross
To bear as Thine, nor count it loss !
If some poor wandering child of Thine
Have spurned, to-day, the voice divine,
Now, Lord, the gracious work begin ;
Let him no more lie down in sin.
Watch by the sick: enrich the poor
With blessings from Thy boundless store :
Be every mourner's sleep to-night
Like infant's slumbers, pure and light.
Come near and bless us when we wake,
Ere through the world our way we take ;
Till in the ocean of Thy love '
We lose ourselves in heaven above.
THE HAUNTED PALACE.
In the greenest of our valleys,
By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace
(Snow-white palace) reared its head.
In the monarch Thought's dominion
It stood there !
Never seraph spread a pinion
Over fabric half so fair.
Banners, yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow ;
(This, all this, was in the olden
Time, long ago.)
And every gentle air that dallied,
In that sweet day,
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
A winged odor went away.
Wanderers in that happy valley
Through two luminous windows saw
E. A. Poe.
376 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
Spirits moving musically,
To a lute's well-tuned Low ;
Round about a throne, where, sitting
(I'orphyrogene !)
In state his glory well-befitting,
The ruler of the realm was seen.
And all with pearl and ruby glowing
Wat the fair palace-door,
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,
And sparkling evermore,
A troop of echoes, whose sweet duty
Was hut to sing,
In '. beauty,
The wit and wisdom of their king.
But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
Assailed the monarch's high estate ;
(All ! let us mourn, for never morrow
Shall dawn upon him. desolate!)
And round about his home the glory-
That blushed and bloomed,
Is but a dini-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
And travellers now within that valley,
Through the red-litten windows see
Vast forms, that move fantastically
To a discordant melody ;
While, like a rapid, ghastly river,
Through the pale door,
A hideous throng rush out for ever,
And laugh — but smile no more.
STAND LIKE AX ANVIL.
Bishop Doaxe.
" Stand, like an anvil," when the stroke
Of stalwart men falls fierce and fast :
Storms but more deeply root the oak,
"Whose brawny arms embrace the blast.
' Stand, like an anvil," when the sparks
Fly, far and wide a fiery shower ;
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 377
Virtue and truth must still be marks,
Where malice proves its want of power.
" Stand, like an anvil/' when the bar
Lies, red and glowing, on its breast :
Duty shall be life's leading star,
And conscious innocence its rest.
" Stand, like an anvil," when the sound
Of ponderous hammers pains the ear :
Thine, but the still and stern rebound
Of the great heart that cannot fear.
" Stand, like an anvil ;" noise and heat
Are born of earth, and die with time :
The soul, like God, its source and seat,
Is solemn, still, serene, sublime.
LIFE IN" THE AUTUMN WOODS.
P. Pendleton Cooke.
Summer has gone,
And fruitful autumn has advanced so far
That there is warmth, not heat, in the broad sun,
And you may look, with naked eye, upon
The ardors of his car ;
The stealthy frosts, whom his spent looks embolden,
Are making the green leaves golden.
What a brave splendor
Is in the October air ! How rich, and clear,
And bracing, and all-joyous ! we must render
Love to the spring-time, with its sproutings tender,
As to a child quite dear ;
But autumn is a thing of perfect glory,
A manhood not yet hoary.
I love the woods,
In this good season of the liberal year ;
I love to seek their leafy solitudes,
And give myself to melancholy moods,
With no intruder near,
And find strange lessons, as I sit and ponder,
In every natural wonder.
31*
378 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
But not alone,
As Shakspeare'a melanoholy courtier loved Ardennes,
Love I the browning forest; and I own
I would not oft have mused, as he, but flown
To hunt with Amiens —
And little thought, as up the buhl deer bounded,
Of the sad creature wounded.
What passionate
And keen delight is in the proud swift chase!
Go out what time the lark at heaven's red gate
Soars joyously Binging — quite infuriate
With the high pride of his place ;
What time the unrisen sun arrays the morning
In its first bright adorning.
Hark ! the quick horn —
As sweet to hear as any clarion —
Piercing with silver call the ear of morn ;
And mark the steeds, stout Curtal and Topthorne
And Grreysteil and the Don —
Each one of them his fiery mood displaying
With pawing and with neighing.
Urge your swift horse,
After the crying hounds in this fresh hour,
Vanquish high hills — stem perilous streams perforce,
On the free plain give free wings to your course,
And you will know the power
Of the brave chase — and how of griefs the sorest
A cure is in the forest.
Or stalk the deer ;
The same red lip of dawn has kissed the hills,
• The gladdest sounds are crowding on your ear,
There is a life in all the atmosphere : —
Your very nature fills
With the fresh hour, as up the hills aspiring
You climb with limbs untiring.
A strong joy fills
(A joy beyond the tongue's expressive power)
My heart in autumn weather — fills and thrills !
And I would rather stalk the breezy hills,
Descending to mv bower
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 379
Nightly, by the sweet spirit of Peace attended,
Than pine where life is splendid.
NIGHT STUDY.
I am alone ; and yet
In the still solitude there is a rush
Around me, as were met
A crowd of viewless wings ; I hear a gush
Of uttered harmonies — heaven meeting earth,
Making it to rejoice with holy mirth.
Ye winged Mysteries,
Sweeping before my spirit's conscious eye,
Beckoning me to arise,
And go forth from my very self, and fly
"With you far in the unknown, unseen immense
Of worlds beyond our sphere — What are ye ? Whence ?
Ye eloquent voices,
Now soft as breathings of a distant flute,
Now strong as when rejoices,
The trumpet in the victory and pursuit ;
Strange are ye, yet familiar, as ye call
My soul to wake from earth's sense and its thrall.
I know you now — I see
With more than natural light — ye are the good,
The wise departed — ye
Are come from heaven to claim your brotherhood
With mortal brother, struggling in the strife
And chains, which once were yours in this sad life.
Ye hover o'er the page
Ye traced in ancient days with glorious thought
For many a distant age ;
Ye love to watch the inspiration caught
From your sublime examples, and so cheer
The fainting student to your high career.
Ye come to nerve the soul
Like him who near the Atoner stood, when He,
Trembling, saw round him roll
The wrathful potents of Gethsemane,
380 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
With courage strong: the promise ye have known
And proved, rapt for me from the Eternal throne.
Still keep ! 0, keep me near you,
Compass me round with your immortal wings:
Still let my glad sonl hear you
Striking your triumphs from your golden strings,
Until with you I mount, and join the Bong,
An angel, like you, 'mid the white-robed throng.
COLUMBUS.
(On looking at a print after a picture by 1'armcggiano.)
B. Pimm >ns.
I"wi. Lovb, Ambition! what arc ye,
With all your wasting passions' war.
To the great strife that, like a sea,
O'ei swept Ili^ soul tumultuously,
Whose face gleams on me like a star —
A star that gleams through murky clouds —
As here begirt by struggling crowds
A spell-bound loiterer I stand,
Before a print-shop in the Strand?
What are your eager hop^s and fears
Whose minutes wither men like years —
Your schemes defeated or fulfilled.
To the emotions dread that thrilled
His frame on that October night,
When, watching by the lonely mast,
He saw on shore the moving liyht,
And felt, though darkness veiled the sight,
The long-sought world was his at last?
How Fancy's boldest glances fail,
Contemplating each hurrying mood
Of thought that to that aspect pale
Sent up the heart's o'erboiling flood
Through that vast vigil, while his eyes
Watched till the slow reluctant skies
Should kindle, and the vision dread,
Of all his livelong years be read !
In youth, his faith-led spirit doomed
Still to be baffled and betrayed,
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 381
His manhood's vigorous noon consumed
Ere Power bestowed its niggard aid ;
That morn of summer, dawning gray,
When, from Huelva's humble bay,
He, full of hope, before the gale
Turned on the hopeless world his sail,
And steered for seas untracked, unknown,
And westward still sailed on — sailed on —
Sailed on till ocean seemed to be
All shoreless as eternity,
Till, from its long-loved star estranged,
At last the constant needle changed,
And fierce amid his murmuring crew
Prone terror into treason grew ;
While on his tortured spirit rose,
More dire than portents, toils or foes,
The awaiting world's loud jeers and scorn
Yelled o'er his profitless Return ;
No — none through that dark watch may trace
The feelings wild beneath whose swell,
As heaves the bark the billows' race,
His Being rose and fell !
Yet over doubt, and pride, and pain,
O'er all that flashed through breast and brain,
As with those grand, immortal eyes
He stood — his heart on fire to know
When morning next illumed the skies,
What wonders in its light should glow —
O'er all one thought must, in that hour,
Have swayed supreme — Power, conscious Power — ■
The lofty sense that Truths conceived
And born of his own starry mind,
And fostered into might, achieved
A new creation for mankind !
And when from off that ocean calm
The tropic's dusky curtain cleared,
And those green shores and banks of balm,
And rosy-tinted hills appeared
Silent and bright as Eden, ere
Earth's breezes shook one blossom there —
Against that hour's proud tumult weighed,
Love, Fame, Ambition, how ye fade !
Thou Luther of the darkened deep !
Nor less intrepid, too, than He
382 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
Whose courage broke Earth's bigot sleep,
Whilst thine unbarred the sea —
Like his, 'twas thy predestined fate
Against your grim ; I age,
With nl 1 its fiends of Feu- and Hate,
War, single-handed war.
And live a conqneror, too, Like him,
Till Time's expiring light grow dim I
0, hero of my boyish heart !
Ere from thy pictured Looks I parr,
My mind's matorer dow
In thoughts of thankfulness would bow
To the Omniscient will that sent
Thee forth, its chosen instrument,
To teach us hope, when sin and care,
And the vile soilings thai degrade
()nr dust, w«mld bid n< most despair —
II ipe, from ea >h varied deed displayed
Along thy hold and wondrous story,
That shows how far one steadfast mind,
Serene in Buffering as in ^lory,
May go to deify our kind.
ADDRESS TO THE SUN.
OSSIAN.
My soul has been mournful for Carthon : he fell in the days of his
youth ; and thou, Clessammor ! where is thy dwelling in the wind ?
Has the youth forgot his wound ? Flies he on clouds with thee ? I
feel the sun, Malvina ! leave me to my rest. Perhaps they may
come to my dreams : I think I hear a feeble voice ! The beam of
heaven delights to shine on the grave of Carthon: I feel it warm
around.
thou that rollest above, round as the shield of my fathers !
Whence are thy beams, sun ! thy everlasting light ! Thou comest
forth in thy awful beauty ; the stars hide themselves in the sky ; the
moon, cold and pale, sinks in the western wave ; but thou thyself
movest alone. "Who can be a companion of thy course ? The oaks of
the mountains fall ; the mountains themselves decay with years ; the
ocean shrinks and grows again ; the moon herself is lost in heaven :
but thou art for ever the same, rejoicing in the brightness of thy course.
When the world is dark with tempests, when thunder rolls and light-
ning flies, thou lookest in thy beauty from the clouds, and laughest at
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 383
the storm. But to Ossian thou lookest in vain, for he beholds thy
beams no more : whether thy yellow hair flows on the eastern clouds,
or thou tremblest at the gates of the west. But thou art, perhaps,
like me, for a season ; thy years will have an end. Thou shalt sleep
in thy clouds, careless of the voice of the morning. Exult then,
Sun, in the strength of thy youth ! age is dark and unlovely ; it is like
the glimmering light of the moon, when it shines through broken
clouds, and the mist is on the hills : the blast of the north is on the
plain, the traveller shrinks in the midst of his journey.
THE POWER OF POETRY.
Immortal Art ! where'er the rounded sky
Bends o'er the cradle where thy children lie,
Their home is earth, their herald every tongue
Whose accents echo to the voice that sung.
One leap of Ocean scatters on the sand
The quarried bulwarks of the loosening land ;
One thrill of earth dissolves a century's toil,
Strewed like the leaves that vanish in the soil ;
One hill o'erflows, and cities sink below,
Their marbles splintering in the lava's glow ;
But one sweet tone, scarce whispered to the air,
From shore to shore the blasts of ages bear ;
One humble name, which oft, perchance, has borne
The tyrant's mockery and the courtier's scorn,
Towers o'er the dust of earth's forgotten graves,
As once, emerging through the waste of waves,
The rocky Titan, round whose shattered spear
Coiled the last whirlpool of the drowning sphere J
Holmes.
THE SLEEP.
Mrs. Browning.
Of all the thoughts of God that are
Borne inward unto souls afar,
Along the Psalmist's music deep,
Now tell me if that any is,
For gift or grace, surpassing this —
" He giveth His beloved, sleep ?"
384 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
What would we give to our belove 1 '.'
The hero's heart, to be unmoved,
The poet's star-tuned harp, to sweep,
The patriot's voice, to teach and rouse,
The monarch's crown, to light the brows?-
"lie giyeth His beloved, sleep."
What do we give to our beloved ?
A little faith, all undisproved,
A little dust, to overweep,
And bitter memories, to make
The whole earth blasted for our sake.
" He giveth His beloved, sleep."
" Sleep soft, beloved !" we sometimes say,
But have no tune to charm away
Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep
But never doleful dream again
Shall break the happy slumber, when
" He giveth J lis beloved, sleep."
earth, so full of dreary noises !
O men, with wailing in your voices !
delved gold, the wailers heap !
strife, curse, that o'er it fall !
God makes a silence through you all,
And " giveth His beloved, sleep."
His dews drop mutely on the hill,
His cloud above it saileth still,
Though on its slope men sow and reap.
More softly than the dew is shed,
Or cloud is floated overhead,
" He giveth His beloved, sleep."
Yea ! men may wonder while they scan
A living, thinking, feeling man,
Confirmed, in such a rest to keep ;
But angels say — and through the word
1 think their happy smile is heard —
" He giveth his beloved, sleep."
For me, my heart that erst did go
Most like a tired child at a show,
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 385
That sees through tears the jugglers leap, —
Would now its wearied vision close,
Would childlike on His love repose,
Who "giveth His beloved, sleep !"
And, friends, dear friends, — when it shall be
That this low breath is gone from me,
And round my bier ye come to weep,
Let one, most loving of you all,
Say, " Not a tear must o'er her fall —
He giveth His beloved, sleep."
THE SERAPH AND POET.
Mrs. Browning.
The seraph sings before the manifest
God-one, and in the burning of the Seven,
And with the full life of consummate Heaven
Heaving beneath him like a mother's breast
Warm with her first-born's slumber in that nest,
The poet sings upon the earth grave-riven ;
Before the naughty world soon self-forgiven
For wronging him ; and in the darkness prest
From his own soul by worldly weights. Even so,
Sing, seraph with the glory ! Heaven is high —
Sing, poet with .the sorrow ! Earth is low.
The universe's inward voices cry
" Amen " to either song of joy and woe —
Sing seraph, — poet, — sing on equally.
MILTON ON HIS BLINDNESS.
Elizabeth Lloyd.
I am old and blind !
Men point at me as smitten by God's frown :
Afflicted and deserted of my kind,
Yet am I not cast down.
I am weak, yet strong :
I murmur not, that I no longer see ;
Poor, old, and helpless, I the more belong,
Father Supreme! to Thee.
33 2B
386 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
merciful One !
When men are farthest, then art Thou most near
When friends pass by, my weaknesses to shun,
Thy chariot I hear.
Thy glorious face
Is leaning toward me, and its holy light
Shines in upon my lonely dwelling-place —
And th'-
( tan bendi 1 knee,
Thy |.ir.-]> -••. el'-urly shown :
My vision thou hast dimmed, that I may see
Thyself, Thyself alone.
1 have caught io fear ;
This darkness is the shadow of Thy wing;
Beneath it I am almost sacred — here
■ no evil thing.
Oh ! I seem to stand
Trembling, where foot of mortal ne'er hath been,
Wrapped in the radiance from Thy sinless land,
Which eye hath never seen.
Visions come and go ;
Shapes of resplendent beauty round me throng ;
From angel lips I seem to hear the flow
Of soft and holy song.
It is nothing now,
When heaven is opening on my sightless eye.-,
When airs from Paradise refresh my brow,
The earth in darkness lies.
In a purer clime,
My being fills with rapture — waves of thought
Roll in upon my spirit — strains sublime
Break over me unsought.
Give me now my lyre !
I feel the stirrings of a gift divine :
Within my bosom glows unearthly fire
Lit by no skill of mine.
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 387
THE LIVE-OAK.
H. R. Jackson.
With his gnarled old arms, and his iron form,
Majestic in the wood,
From age to age, in the sun and storm,
The live-oak long hath stood ;
With his stately air, that grave old tree,
He stands like a hooded monk,
With the gray moss waving solemnly
From his shaggy limbs and trunk.
And the generations come and go,
And still he stands upright,
And he sternly looks on the wood below,
As conscious of his might.
But a mourner sad is the hoary tree,
A mourner sad and lone,
And is clothed in funeral drapery
For the long since dead and gone.
For the Indian hunter beneath his shade
Has rested from the chase ;
And he here has wooed his dusky maid —
The dark-eyed of her race ;
And the tree is red with the gushing gore
As the wild deer panting dies :
But the maid is gone, and the chase is o'er,
And the old oak hoarsely sighs.
In former days, when the battle's din
Was loud amid the land,
In his friendly shadow, few and thin,
Have gathered Freedom's band ;
And the stern old oak, how proud was he
To shelter hearts so brave !
But they all are gone — the bold and free —
And he moans above their grave.
And the aged oak, with his locks of gray,
Is ripe for the sacrifice ;
For the worm and decay, no lingering prey,
Shall he tower towards the skies !
He falls, he falls, to become our guard,
The bulwark of the free.
388 THE SELECT AC VDEMIC SPEAKER.
Ami his bosom of Bteel is proudly bared
To brave the rn
When the battle c unes, and the cannon's roar
B in- o'er the Bhaddering di
Then nobly he'll bear the bold hearts o'er
The w:i\ es, with bounding leap.
Oh I may those hearts be as firm and true,
When the war-clouds gather don,
As the glorious oak thai proudly grew
Bi neath our Bonthern sun.
THE FAMINE.
(> in:, long and dreary Winter!
the cold and cruel Winter !
Ever thicker, thicker, thicker
Froze the ice on lake and river,
• deeper, deeper, deeper
Foil the snow o'er all the landscape .
Fell tin- covering -now. and drifted
Through the forest, round the viUag
Hardly From his hurled wigwam
Could the hunter force a passage;
With his mittens and his snow-shoi -
Vainly walked he through the forest,
Sought for bird or beast and found none,
Saw no track of deer or rabbit,
In the snow beheld no footprints,
In the ghastly, gleaming forest
Fell, and could not rise from weakness,
Perished there from cold and hunger.
the famine and the fever !
the wasting of the famine !
the blasting of the fever !
the wailing of the children !
the anguish of the women !
All the earth was sick and famished ;
Hungry was the air around them,
Hungry was the sky above them,
And the hungry stars in heaven
Like the eyes of wolves glared at them !
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 389
Into Hiawatha's wigwam
Came two other guests, as silent
As the ghosts were, and as gloomy,
Waited not to be invited,
Did not parley at the doorway,
Sat there without word of welcome
In the seat of Laughing Water ;
Looked with haggard eyes and hollow
At the face of Laughing Water.
And the foremost said : " Behold me !
I am Famine, Bukadawin I"
And the other said: "Behold me !
I am Fever, Ahkosewin I"
And the lovely Minnehaha
Shuddered as they looked upon her,
Shuddered at the words they uttered,
Lay down on her bed in silence,
Hid her face, but made no answer ;
Lay there trembling, freezing, burning
At the looks they cast upon, her,
At the fearful words they uttered.
Forth into the empty forest
Rushed the maddened Hiawatha ;
In his heart was deadly sorrow,
In his face a stony firmness ;
On his brow the sweat of anguish
Started, but it froze and fell not.
Wrapped in furs and armed for hunting,
With his mighty bow of ash-tree,
With his quiver full of arrows,
With his mittens, Minjekahwun,
Into the vast and vacant forest
On his snow-shoes strode he forward.
" Gitche Manito, the Mighty !"
Cried he with his face uplifted
In that bitter hour of anguish,
" Give your children food, father !
Give us food, or we must perish !
Give me food for Minnehaha,
For my dying Minnehaha I"
From •'•' Hiawatha"
33
300 Till: SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
heaven's SUNRISE to eabthly blindness.
Mas. BBOirmro.
Tin: world waits
For help. Beloved, let as love so well,
Our work shall still be better for our love,
And still our love be sweeter for our work,
And both, commended, for the sake of each,
By all true workers and true lovers, born.
Now press the clarion on thy woman's lip
(Love's holy kiss shall -till keep consecrate)
And breathe the fine keen breath along the bra .
And blow all class-walls level as Jericho's
Past Jordan; crying from the bop of Bouls,
To souls, that they assemble on earth's flats
To get them to some purer eminence
Than any hitherto beheld for clouds!
What height we know not, — but the way we know,
And how by mounting aye, we must attain,
And so climb on. It is the hour for souls ;
That bodies, leavened by the will and love,
Be lightened to redemption. The world's old ;
But the old world waits the hour to be renewed :
Toward which, new hearts in individual growth
.Must quicken, and increase to multitude
In new dynasties of the race of men, —
Developed whence, shall grow spontaneously
New churches, new ceconomics, new laws
Admitting freedom, new societies
Excluding falsehood. He shall make all new.
My Romney ! — lifting up my hand in his,
xVs wheeled by Seeing spirits towards the east,
He turned instinctively, — where, faint and fair,
Along the tingling desert of the sky,
Beyond the circle of the conscious hills,
"Were laid in jasper-stone as clear as glass
The first foundations of that new, near Day
Which should be builded out of heaven, to God.
He stood a moment with erected brows,
In silence, as a creature might, who gazed :
Stood calm, and fed his blind, majestic eyes
Upon the thought of perfect noon. And when
[ saw his soul saw, — " Jasper first," I said,
" And second, sapphire ; third, chalcedony :
The rest in order, . . last, an amethyst."
Tr in ■• Aurora La
NATIONAL ODES AND BATTLE PIECES.
NATIONAL SONGS.
Anonymous.
Soxgs of our land, ye are with us for ever :
The power and the splendor of thrones pass away ;
But jours is the might of some deep-rolling river,
Still flowing in freshness through things that decay.
Ye treasure the voices of long-vanished ages ;
Like our time-honored towers, in beauty ye stand ;
Ye bring us the bright thoughts of poets and sages,
And keep them among us, old songs of our land.
The bards may go down to the place of their slumbers,
The lyre of the charmer be hushed in the grave ;
But far in the future the power of their numbers
Shall kindle the hearts of our faithful and brave.
It will waken an echo in souls deep and lonely,
Like voices of reeds by the winter wind fanned ;
It will call up a spirit of freedom, when only
Her breathings are heard in the songs of our land.
For they keep a record of those, the true-hearted,
Who fell with the cause they had vowed to maintain ;
They show us bright shadows of glory departed,
Of love unrewarded, and hope that was vain ;
The page may be lost, and the pen long-forsaken,
And weeds may grow wild o'er the brave heart and hand ;
But ye are still left when all else hath been taken,
Like streams in the desert — sweet songs of our land !
THE AMEEICAN FLAG.
Joseph Rodman Drake.
When Freedom from her mountain height
Unfurled her standard to the air,
She tore the azure robe of night,
And set the stars of glory there.
(391)
302 THE SELECT ACADEMIC BPEAKEE.
She mingled with its gorgeous dyes
The milky baldric of fch
And striped its pure, celestial Avhite,
With streakings of the morning light;
Then from his mansion in the sun
She called her eagle bearer down,
And gave into his mighty nana 1
The symbol of her ch08en land.
Majestic monarch of the cloud,
Who rear's! aloft thy regal form,
To hear the tempest trumpings loud
And sec the lightning lances driven,
When strive the warriors of the storm,
And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven,
Child of the sun ! to thee 'tis given
To guard the banner of the free,
To hover in the sulphur smoke,
To ward away the battle-stroke,
And bid its blending- Bhine afar,
Like rainbows on the cloud of war,
The harbinger- of \ ici iry I
Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly,
The sign of hope and triumph high,
When speaks the signal trumpet tone,
And the long line comes gleaming on.
Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet,
Has dimmed the glistening bayonet,
Each soldier eye shall brightly turn
To where thy sky-born glories burn ;
And as his springing steps advance,
Catch war and vengeance from the glance.
And when the cannon-mouthings loud
Heave in wild wreaths the battle-shroud,
And gory sabres rise and fall
Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall ;
Then shall thy meteor glances glow,
And cowering foes shall sink beneath
Each gallant arm that strikes below
That lovely messenger of death.
Flag of the seas ! on ocean wave
Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave ;
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 393
When death, careering on the gale,
Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail,
And frighted waves rush wildly back
Before the broadside's reeling rack,
Each dying wanderer of the sea
Shall look at once to heaven and thee,
And smile to see thy splendors fly
In triumph o'er his closing eye.
Flag of the free heart's hope and home !
By angel hands to valor given ;
The stars have lit the welkin dome,
And all thy hues were born in heaven.
For ever float that standard sheet !
Where breathes the foe but falls before us,
With Freedom's soil beneath our feet,
And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us ?
THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER.
Francis Scott Key.
0! say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming;
Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?
And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there ;
0! say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ?
On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze o'er the towering steep
As it fitfully blows, half-conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam ;
Its full glory reflected now shines on the stream :
'Tis the star-spangled banner, ! long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.
And where is the band who so vauntingly swore,
'Mid the havoc of war and the battle's confusion,
A home and a country they'd leave us no more ?
Their blood hath washed out their foul footsteps' pollution ;
394 THE AC IDEMIC SPEAKER.
No refu : laye
;ji the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave;
And thi led banner in triumph doth wave
O'er tli«.> land of the free and the home of the brave.
0! thus be it ever, when freemen -hall Btand
Between our loved home and the war's desolation;
Bless'd with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land
Praise the power thai hath made and preserved us a nation !
Then conquer we must, for our cause it is ju-t,
And this be our motto, " In God is our true!
And the Btar-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.
1 1 1 E CHARGE AT WATERLOO.
Ox came the whirlwind — like the Is
Hut fiercest sweep of tempest blast ;
line tin- whirlwind— steel-gleams broke
Like lightning through the rolling smoke;
The war was waked am
Three hundred cannon-mouths roared loud,
And from their throats, with flash and cloud,
Their showers of iron threw.
Beneath their fire, in full career,
Rushed on the ponderous cuirassier,
The lancer couched his ruthless spear,
And, hurrying as to havoc near,
The cohorts' eagles flew.
In one dark torrent, broad and strong,
The advancing onset rolled along,
Forth harbingcred by fierce acclaim,
That from the shroud of smoke and flame,
Pealed wildly the imperial name.
But on the British heart were lost
The terrors of the charging host ;
For not an eye the storm that viewed
Changed its proud glance of fortitude ;
Nor was one forward footstep stayed,
As dropped the dying and the dead.
Fast as their ranks the thunders tear,
Fast they renewed each serried square !
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 395
And on the wounded and the slain
Closed their diminished files again ;
Ell from their lines scarce spears' lengths three,
Emerging from the smoke they see
Helmet, and plume, and panoply —
Then waked their fire at once 1
Each musketeer's revolving knell
As fast, as regularly fell,
As -rhen they practise to display
Their discipline on festal day.
Then down went helm and lance,
Down rent the eagle-banners sent,
Down reeling steeds and riders went.
Corselets were pierced, and pennons rent :
And to augment the fray.
"Wheeled full against their staggering flanks,
The English horsemen's foaming ranks
Forced their resistless way:
Then to the musket knell succeeds
The clash of swords — the neigh of steeds :
As plies the smith his clanging trade,
Against the cuirass rang the blade ;
And while amid their close array
The well-served cannon rent their way.
And while amid their scattered band
Raged the fierce rider's bloody brand,
Recoiled in common rout and fear
Lancer, and guard, and cuirassier,
Horsemen and foot, — a mingled host,
Their leaders fallen, their standards lost.
THE BATTLE MARCH.
Gerald Masset.
Xow glory to our England,
As she rises, calm and grand,
With the ancient spirit in her eyes, —
The good Sword in her hand !
Our royal right on battle-ground,
Was aye to bear the brunt :
Ho ! brave heart ! for one passionate bound,
And take thy place in front !
396 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
Now glory to our England,
As she rises, calm and grand,
With the ancient spirit in her eyes —
The good Sword in her hand !
Who would not fight for England?
Who would imt ding a life
I' the ring, to moot a Tyrant's gage,
And glory in tin- Btrife ''.
Her stem is thorny, but doth burst
A glorious Rose a-top !
And shall our dear Rose wither? First
We'll drain life's dearest drop !
Who would not tight for England?
Who would not fling a life
I' the ring, to meet a Tyrant's gage,
And glory in the strife ?
To battle goes our England,
All as gallant and ae
As Lover to the Altar, on
A merry marriage-day.
A weary night she stood to watch
The battle-dawn up-rolled;
And her spirit leaps within, to match
The noble deeds of old.
To battle goes our England,
All as gallant and as gay
As Lover to the Altar, on
A merry marriage-day.
Now, fair befall our England,
On her proud and perilous road ;
And woe and wail to those who make
Her footprints red with blood !
Up with our red-cross banner — roll
A thunder-peal of drums !
Fight on there, every valiant soul,
And courage ! England comes !
Now, fair befall our England,
On her proud and perilous road ;
And woe and wail to those who make
Her footprints red with blood !
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 397
Now, victory to our England !
And where'er she lifts her hand
In Freedom's fight, to rescue Right,
God bless the dear old land !
And when the storm has passed away,
In glory and in calm,
May she sit down i ; the green o' the day,
And sing her peaceful psalm,
Now, victory to our England !
And where'er she lifts her hand
In Freedom's fight, to rescue Right,
God bless the dear Old Land !
LAISSEZ ALLER!
Franklin Lushington.
No more words :
Try it with your swords !
Try it with the arms of your bravest and your best,
You are proud of your manhood, now put it to the test :
Not another word :
Try it by the sword.
No more Notes :
Try it by the throats
Of the cannon that will roar till the earth and air be shaken,
For they speak what they mean, and they cannot be mistaken
No more doubt :
Come — fight it out.
No child's play !
Waste not a day :
Serve out the deadliest weapons that you know,
Let them pitilessly hail in the faces of the foe :
No blind strife :
Waste not one life.
You that in the front
Bear the battle's brunt —
When the sun gleams at dawn on the bayonets abreast,
Think of England still asleep beyond the curtain of the west :
For love of all you guard,
Stand, and strike hard.
34
398 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
You that stay at home,
Behind the wall of foam —
Leave not a jot to chance, while you rest in quiei i
Quick ! forge the bolts of death ; quick ! ship them o'er the seas
If "War's feet are lame,
Yours will be the blame.
You, my lads, abroad,
" Steady !" be your word :
You at home, be the anchor of your boat across the wave,
Spare no cost, none is lost, that may strengthen or may save:
Sloth were sin and shame :
Now, play out the game.
MY FATHERLAND.
KtKKNKR.
Where is the minstrel's fatherland f
Where noble spirits beam in light,
Where love-wreaths bloom for beauty bright ;
Where noble minds enraptured dream
Of every high and hallowed theme.
This was the minstrel's fatherland.
How name ye the minstrel's fatherland?
Now o'er the corses of children slain,
She weeps a foreign tyrant's reign ;
She once was the land of the good oak-tree,
The German land — the land of the free.
So named we once my fatherland !
Why weeps the minstrel' s fatherland ?
She weeps, that for a tyrant still,
Her princes check their people's will ;
That her sacred words unheeded fly,
And that none will list to her vengeful cry.
Therefore weeps my fatherland !
Whom calls the minstrel's fatherland ?
She calls upon the God of Heaven,
In a voice which vengeance'-self hath given ;
She calls on a free, devoted band;
She calls for an avenging hand ;
Thus calls the minstrel's fatherland !
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 399
What will she do, thy fatherland ?
She will drive her tyrant foes away ;
She will scare the blood-hound from his prey ;
She will bear her son no more a slave,
Or will yield him at least a freeman's grave ;
Thus will she do, my fatherland !
And what are the hopes of thy fatherland f
She hopes at length for a glorious prize ;
She hopes her people will arise ;
She hopes in the great award of Heaven,
And she sees, at length, an avenger given ;
And these are the hopes of my fatherland !
THE SOLDIER'S CLOAK.
Full thirty years, old friend ! — for now,
In sooth, thou'rt worn and old —
Like brothers have we fared together,
And I have braved both war and weather
Beneath thy friendly fold.
And many a live-long night we've lain
Drenched in the wintry storm :
With thee my heart each hope divided,
Each secret care to thee confided,
While thou didst wrap me warm.
No babbler thou of thoughts revealed,
But guardian safe and true :
Be still the same, unmatched — though riven
By dint of ball and blast of heaven, —
Nor turn old friend to new.
Think not I mock thy worth, nor deem
My love an idle lay :
Lo ! but for thee the cannon's thunder,
That reft my faithful cloak asunder,
Had marked me for its prey.
And when the fated ball at last
This loval heart hath found,
Anonymous.
400 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
Be thou my shroud — I crave no other —
And share, as brother shares with brother,
For grave the battle-ground.
There, as enfolded close wo lie,
From storm and stour at rest,
The archangel's trump shall break our slumber,
may that dread reveille number
My garments with the blest !
LEONIDAS.
Croly.
Shout for the mighty men,
Who died along this shore —
Who died within this mountain's glen!
For never nobler chieftain's head
Was laid on Valor's crimson bed,
Nor ever prouder gore
Sprang forth, than theirs who won the day
Upon thy strand, Thermopylae !
Shout for the mighty men,
Who, on the Persian tents,
Like lions from their midnight den
Bounding on the slumbering deer,
Rushed — a storm of sword and spear, —
Like the roused elements,
Let loose from an immortal hand,
To chasten or to crush a land !
But there are none to hear ;
Greece is a hopeless slave.
Leonidas ! no hand is near
To lift thy fiery falchion now •
No warrior makes the warriorVs vow
Upon thy sea-washed grave.
The voice that should be raised by men,
Must now be given by wave and glen.
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 401
And it is given !-— -the surge —
The tree — the rock — the sand —
On Freedom's kneeling spirit urge,
In sounds that speak but to the free,
The memory of thine and thee !
The vision of thy band
Still gleams within the glorious dell,
Where their gore hallowed, as it fell !
And is thy grandeur done ?
Mother of men like these !
Has not thy outcry gone,
Where justice has an ear to hear? —
Be holy ! God shall guide thy spear ;
Till in thy crimsoned seas
Are plunged the chain and scimitar,
Greece shall be a new-born Star !
THE GERMAN'S NATIVE LAND.
Know ye the land where, tall and green,
The ancient forest-oaks are seen ?
Where the old Rhine-waves sounding run r
And glitter gayly in the sun.
We know the lovely land full well :
; Tis where the free-souled Germans dwell.
Know ye the land where truth is told,
Where the word of man is as good as gold?
The honest land, where love and truth
Bloom on in everlasting youth ?
I know that honest land full well :
; Tis where the free-souled Germans dwell.
Know ye the land where each vile song
Is banished from the jovial throng ?
The sacred land, where, free from art,
Religion sways the simple heart?
We know that sacred land full well :
; Tis where the free-souled Germans dwell.
34* 2C
402 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
GUSTAVUS'S BATTLE SONG.
Ai.tiivim BO,
Sung by the whole Swedish army before the battle ofLUtzen, at which
Ghnstavna Adolphus fell.
Fear not, O little ilock, the i
Who madly seeks your overthrow,
Dread not his rage and power;
What though your courage sometimes faints,
His seeming triumph o'er Gtad'fl ^aint^
Lasts but a little hour.
Be of good cheer, — your cause belongs
To Him who can avenge your wrongs,
Leave it to Him, our Lord.
Though hidden yet from all our eyes,
He sees the Gideon who shall rise
To save us, and his word.
As true as God's own word is true,
Nor earth, nor hell, with all their crew,
Against us shall prevail, —
A jest and byword are they grown ;
" God is with us,"* we are His own,
Our victory cannot fail.
Amen, Lord Jesus, grant our prayer !
Great Captain, now Thine arm make bare ;
Fight for us once again !
So shall Thy saints and martyrs raise
A mighty chorus to Thy praise,
World without end. Amen.
THE SONG OF THE SEA-KIXG.
From the Scandinavian.
Hark ! the storm-fiend of the deep
Wakes on old Heimdallar's steep,
Yelling out his mountain glee,
Like a soul in agony.
Rouse thee, then, my bark, to go
Through the night, and the billowy ocean-snow ;
* The watchword of the evangelical army on this occasion.
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 403
Strong thy bones and huge thy form,
Trampler of the howling storm —
Horse of ocean !
Glorious is the eagle's eye !
He gazes afar o'er earth and sky !
He screams from the storm-cloud's misty womb,
He swells his pride in the ocean-gloom !
Thine, my bark, is keener sight,
Broader wing, and longer flight ;
Freer thou, my bark, to roam —
Ocean's thine, thy boundless home,
Tempest eagle !
As a warrior in his might,
Bears him in the wave of fight,
Quell the waves that round thee dash,
Round thy breast with thundering crash :
Though their frown be black as night,
Though their foamy plume be bright,
Quell them, though their stroke be strong,
Though their shout be loud and long,
Warrior of storms !
YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.
Thomas Campbell.
Ye mariners of England !
That guard our native seas ;
Whose flag has braved a thousand years
The battle and the breeze !
Your glorious standard launch again
To match another foe !
And sweep through the deep,
While the stormy tempests blow ;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow.
The spirits of your fathers
Shall start from every wave !
For the deck it was their field of fame,
And ocean was their grave ;
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell,
Your manly hearts shall glow,
404 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
As ye sweep through the deep,
While the stormy tempests blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow.
Britannia needs no bulwark,
No towers along the steep ;
Her march is o'er the mountain-waves,
Her home is on the deep.
With thunders from her native oak
She quells the flood- below,
As they roar 00 the shore,
When the stormy tempests blow;
When the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow.
The meteor flag of England
Shall yet terrific burn ;
Till danger's troubled night depart,
And the star of peace return.
Then, then, ye ocean warriors!
Our song and feast shall flow
To the fame of your name,
When the storm has ceased to blow ;
When the fiery fight is heard no more,
And the storm has ceased to blow !
BATTLE OF THE BALTIC.
Thomas Campbell.
Of Nelson and the north
Sing the glorious day's renown,
When to battle fierce came forth
All the might of Denmark's crown,
And her arms along the deep proudly shone ;
By each gun the lighted brand,
In a bold determined hand,
And the prince of all the land
Led them on.
Like leviathans afloat
Lay their bulwarks on the brine ;
While the sign of battle flew
On the lofty British line :
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 405
It was ten of April morn by the chime,
As they drifted on their path,
There was silence deep as death,
And the boldest held his breath
For a time.
But the might of England flushed
To anticipate the scene,
And her van the fleeter rushed
O'er the deadly space between.
"Hearts of oak!" our captains cried: when each gun
From its adamantine lips
Spread a death-shade round the ships,
Like the hurricane eclipse
Of the sun.
Again ! again ! again !
And the havoc did not slack
Till a feeble cheer the Dane
To our cheering sent us back :
Their shots along the deep slowly boom :
Then ceased and all is wail,
As they strike the shattered sail ;
Or, in conflagration pale,
Light the gloom.
Outspake the victor then,
As he hailed them o'er the wave :
" Ye are brothers, ye are men !
And we conquer but to save ;
So peace instead of death let us bring.
But yield, proud foe, thy fleet,
With the crews at England's feet,
And make submission meet
To our king."
Then Denmark blessed our chief
That he gave her wounds repose ;
And the sounds of joy and grief
From her people wildly rose ;
As death withdrew his shades from the day,
While the sun looked smiling bright
O'er a wide and woful sight,
Where the fires of funeral light
Died away.
406 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
Now joy Old England raise I
For the tidings of thy might
By the festal cities' Maze,
While the wine-cup shines in light ;
And yet amidst that joy and uproar,
Let us think of them thai sleep
Full many a fathom deep
By thy wild and stormy steep,
Elsinore !
Brave hearts ! to Britain's pride
Once so faithful and so true,
On the deck of fame that died
With the gallant good Rioii :
Soft sigh the winds <>f heaven o'er their grave !
While the billow mournful rolls,
And the mermaid's song condoles,
Singing glory to the souls
Of the brave !
WAR SONG OF THE ROYAL EDINBURGH LIGHT DRAGOONS.
Written during the apprehension of an invasion by the French.
Sir Walter Scott.
To horse ! to horse ! the standard flies,
The bugles sound the call ;
The Gallic navy stems the seas,
The voice of battle's on the breeze,
Arouse ye, one and all !
From high Dunedin's towers we come,
A band of brothers true ;
Our casques the leopard's spoils surround,
With Scotland's hardy thistle crowned ;
We boast the red and blue.
Though tamely couched to Gallia's frown
Dull Holland's tardy train ;
Their ravished toys though Eomans mourn ;
Though gallant Switzers vainly spurn,
And, foaming, gnaw the chain ;
Oh ! had they marked the avenging call
Their brethren's murder gave,
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 407
Disunion ne'er their ranks had mown,
Nor patriot valor, desperate grown,
Sought freedom in the grave !
Shall we, too, bend the stubborn head,
In Freedom's temple born,
Dress our pale cheek in timid smile,
To hail a master in our isle,
Or brook a victor's scorn ?
No ! though destruction o'er the land
Come pouring as a flood,
The sun that sees our falling day,
Shall mark our sabre's deadly sway,
And set that night in blood.
Then farewell home ! and farewell friends !
Adieu each tender tie !
Resolved, we mingle in the tide,
Where charging squadrons furious ride,
To conquer or to die.
To horse ! to horse ! the sabres gleam ;
High sounds our bugle-call ;
Combined by honor's sacred tie,
Our word is Laws and Liberty !
March forward one and all !
THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE.
Alfred Tennyson.
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of death
Rode the six hundred.
"Charge!" was the captain's cry;
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs but to do and die,
Into the valley of death
Rode the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volleyed and thundered ;
408 Till: SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
Stormed at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well ;
Into the jaws of death,
Into the mouth of hell,
Rode the six hundred.
Flashed all their Babree hare,
Flashed all at once in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wandered:
Plunged in the battery smoke,
Fiercely the line they broke;
Strong was the Babre-etroke :
Making an army reel
Shaken and sundered.
Then they rode back, but not,
Not the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volleyed and thundered ;
Stormed with shot and shell,
They that had struck so well
Rode through the jaws of death,
Half a league back again,
Up from the mouth of hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.
Honor the brave and bold !
Long shall the tale be told,
Yea, when our babes are old —
How they rode onward.
SOLDIER, WAKE! THE DAY IS PEEPING.
Sir Walter Scott.
Soldier, wake ! the day is peeping,
Honor ne'er was won in sleeping ;
Never when the sunbeams still
Lay unreflected on the hill.
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 409
'Tis when they are glinted back,
From axe and armor, spear and jack,
That they promise future story,
Many a page of deathless glory :
Shields that are the foeman's terror,
Ever are the morning's mirror.
Arm, and up ! the morning beam
Hath called the rustic to his team,
Hath called the falc'ner to the lake,
Hath called the huntsman to the brake.
The early student ponders o'er
The dusty tomes of ancient lore.
Soldier, wake ! thy harvest fame ;
Thy study conquest ; war thy game.
Shield that should be a foeman's terror,
Still should gleam the morning's mirror.
Poor hire repays the rustic's pain,
More paltry still the sportsman's gain,
Vainest of all, the student's theme
Ends in some metaphysic dream ;
Yet each is up, and each has toiled,
Since first the peep of dawn has smiled,
And each is eagerer in his aim,
Than he who barters life for fame.
Up, up, and arm thee, son of terror,
Be thy bright shield the morning's mirror !
THERE CAME FROM THE WARS ON A JET-BLACK STEED.
Anonymous.
There came from the wars on a jet-black steed
A knight with a snowy plume :
He flew o'er the heath like a captive freed
From a dungeon's dreary gloom.
And gayly he rode to his lordly home,
But the towers were dark and dim,
And he heard no reply when he called for some
Who were dearer than life to him.
35
410 THE SELECT ACADEMU SPEAKER.
The gate which \v:is hurled from its ancient place,
Lay mouldering on the bare ground,
.Vnd the knight rushed in, but saw not a trace
Of a friend, as he gazed around.
He flew to the grove where his mistress late
Had charmed him with line's awi el tone ;
But 'twas desolate now, and the strings wore mute,
And she be adored was gone.
The wreaths were all dead in Rosalie's bower,
And Rosalie's dove was lost ;
And the winter's wind had withered each flower
On the myrtle she valued most.
But a cypress grew where the myrtle's bloom
Once scented the morning air;
And under its shade was a marble tomb,
And Rosalie's home was there !
THE NORMAN BATTLE-SONG.
Tin: exclamation, " Aux filfl des Preux !" was used to encourage young
knights to emulate the glories of their ancestors, and to do nothing unworthy
the noble title given them. In many instances it was attended with the most
animating consequences. — See 3foiiatrelefa CItroniclcs.
Aux fils des preux ! ye sons of fame !
Think of your fathers' ashes now;
Fight ! for the honor of your name ;
Fight ! for your valiant sires laid low !
Aux fils des preux ! red be your swords
With many a crimson battle-stain !
Fight on ! ye noble knights and lords,
Stay not to count the warlike slain !
Aux fils des preux ! from many a heart
The silent prayer now is breathing,
"Who with fond hopes saw ye depart ;
Fair hands the victor's crown are wreathing!
Aux fils des preux ! On ! soldiers on !
Your blades are keen, your courage strong !
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 411
Soon shall the conqueror's meed be won,
And triumph swell our battle-song !
" Aux fils des preux !"
THE BATTLE OF IVRY.
Lord Macaulay.
Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are !
And glory to our sovereign liege, King Henry of Navarre !
Now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance,
Through thy corn-fields green and sunny vines, pleasant land of
France !
And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters,
Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters.
As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy,
For cold and stiff and still are they who wrought thy walls annoy.
Hurrah ! hurrah ! a single field hath turned the chance of war ;
Hurrah ! hurrah ! for Ivry, and King Henry of Navarre !
Oh, how our hearts were beating, when, at the dawn of day,
We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array ;
With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers,
And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish spears.
There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land !
And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand ;
And, as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's empurpled flood,
And good Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood ;
And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war,
To fight for His own holy name, and Henry of Navarre.
The King is come to marshal us, in all his armor drest ;
And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest.
He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye ;
He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high.
Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to wing,
Down all our line, a deafening shout, " God save our lord the King!"
" And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may —
For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray —
Press where ye see my white plume shine amidst the ranks of war,
And be your oriflamme to-day the helmet of Navarre."
Hurrah ! the foes are moving ! hark to the mingled din
Of fife and steed, and trump and drum, and roaring culverin !
The fiery Duke is pricking fast across Saint Andre's plain,
With all the hireling chivalry of Gueldres and Almayne.
112 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
Now, by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France,
Charge for the golden lilies now — upon them with the lance!
A thousand Bpure are striking deep, a thousand Bpears in rest ;
A thousand knights are pressing oow-white cresl ;
Ami in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding Btar,
Amidst the thickest carnage I Lazed the helmet of Navarre.
( .od be praised, the day is ours ! Mayenne hath turned his rein,
D'Aumale hath cried for quarter. The Flemish Count is slain.
Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale;
The field is heaped with bleeding Bteeds, and flags, and cloven mail.
And then we thought on vengeance, and all along our van,
•• Remember Saint Bartholomew!" was passed from man to man ;
But out spake gentle Henry, " No Frenchman is my foe ;
Down, down, with every foreigner; hut l"t your brethren go!"
Oh! was there ever such a knight in friendship or in war,
As our sovereign lord King Henry, the soldier of Navarre !
Ilo ! maidens of Vienna ; ho ! matrons of Lucerne !
Weep, weep, and rend your hair fur those who never shall return.
Ilo! Philip, send, for charity, thy Mexican pistoles,
That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's souls !
Ho ! gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bright !
Ho ! burghers of Saint Genevieve, keep watch and ward to-night !
For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised the slave,
And mocked the counsel of the wise, and the valor of the brave.
Then glory to His holy name, from whom all glories arc :
And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of Navarre !
MAGYAR HUSSAR SONG.
Gabriel Dukkkxtci.
Mother, dost weep that thy boy's right hand
Hath taken a sword for his fatherland ?
Mother, where should the brave one be
But in the ranks of bravery ?
Mother, and was it not sad to leave
Mine own sweet maiden alone to grieve ?
Maiden ! where should the brave one be
But in the ranks of bravery ?
Mother ! if thou in death wert laid ;
Maiden ! if thou wert a treacherous maid ;
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 413
then it were well that the brave should be
In the front ranks of bravery !
Mother ! the thought brings heavy tears,
And I look round on my youth's compeers ;
They have their griefs and loves like me,
Touching the brave in their bravery.
Mother ! my guardian ! be still !
Maiden ! let hope thy bosom fill ;
King and country ! how sweet to be
Battling for both in bravery !
Bravery ! ay, and victory's hand
Shall wreath my cap with golden band ;
And in the camp the shout shall be,
Oh ! how he fought for liberty !
SONG OF THE GREEKS.
Thomas Campbell.
Again to the battle, Achaians !
Our hearts bid the tyrants defiance ;
Our land, the first garden of Liberty's tree —
It has been, and yet shall be the land of the free :
For the cross of our faith is replanted,
The pale dying crescent is daunted,
And we march that the footprints of Mahomet's slaves
May be washed out in blood from our forefathers' graves.
Their spirits are hovering o'er us,
And the sword shall to glory restore us.
Ah ! what though no succor advances,
Nor Christendom's chivalrous lances
Are stretched in our aid — be the combat our own !
And we'll perish or conquer more proudly alone ;
For we've sworn by our country's assaulters,
By the virgins they've dragged from our altars,
By our massacred patriots, our children in chains,
By our heroes of old, and their blood in our veins,
That living we shall be victorious,
Or that dying our deaths shall be glorious.
A breath of submission we breathe not ;
The sword that we've drawn we will sheath not !
35*
414 THE BELKl T ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
Its scabbard is lt-l't where our martyrs are laid,
And the vengeance of ages has whetted its blade.
Earth may hide — waves engulf — fire consume as,
But they shall not to slavery doom us :
If they rule, it shall be o'er our ashes and graves:
But we've smote them already with lire on the waves,
And new triumphs on land are before as :
To the charge] — Heaven's banner i-« o'er u>.
This day shall ye blush for its Btoi
Or brighten your lives with its glory.
Our women, oh, Bay, shall they Bhriek in despair,
Or embrace us from conquest with wreaths in their hair?
Accursed may his memory blacken,
If a coward there be that would slacken,
Till we trampled the turban, and shown ourselves worth
Being Bprung from and named for the god-like of earth.
Strike home, and the world >hall revere us
As heroes descended from heroes.
Old Greeee lightens up with emotion
Her islands, her isles of the ocean ;
Fanes rebuilt and fair towers shall with jubilee ring,
And the Nine shall new-hallow their Helicon's Bpring:
Our hearths shall be kindled in gladne
That were cold and extinguished in sadi.
Whilst our maidens shall dance with their white-waving arm-
Singing joy to the brave that delivered their charms,
When the blood of yon Mussulman cravens
Shall have purpled the beaks of our ravens.
WAR SOXG- OF THE GREEKS.
A w.ske ! 'tis the terror of war ;
The Crescent is tossed on the wind ;
But our flag flics on high, like the perilous star
Of the battle. Before and behind,
Wherever it glitters, it darts
Bright death into tyrannous hearts.
Who are they that now bid us be slaves ?
They are foes to the good and the free:
Barbt Cornwall.
RECITATIONS EN POETRY. 415
Go bid them first fetter the might of the waves ;
The sea may be conquered, — but we
Have spirits untameable still,
And the strength to be free, — and the will.
The Helots are come : In their eyes
Proud hate and fierce massacre burn,
They hate us, — but shall they despise ?
They are come ; shall they ever return ?
God of the Greeks ! from thy throne
Look down, and we'll conquer alone.
Our fathers, — each man was a god,
His will was a law, and the sound
Of his voice, like a spirit's, was worshipped : he trode,
And thousands fell worshippers round :
From the gates of the West to the Sun
He bade, and his bidding was done.
And we — shall we die in our chains,
Who once were as free as the wind ?
Who is it that threatens, — who is it arraigns ?
Are they princes of Europe or Ind ?
Are they kings to the uttermost pole?
They are dogs, with a taint on their soul.
MOORISH SONG: abdallah's BATTLE-CALL.
Anonymous.
Brixg me my gleaming scimitar,
My corselet of bright steel !
I hear the welcome shout of war,
"Defiance to Castile!"
By Muza's conquering sword led on,
Soon shall the glorious strife be won !
Through serried ranks of lances fierce,
Marshalled in dread array,
Our Moorish falchions soon shall pierce,
And piles of victims slay !
Bring me my gleaming scimitar,
My soul is panting for the war !
With arching neck and kindling eye,
My fiery Arab stands ;
416 THE AC LDEMIG SPEAKER.
What joy ! in Br to By,
And strike the invading bands !
Proud Ferdinand] thy heart shall quail
lath "nr storm of arrowy hail.
v \ islem chivalry
Line ive* Bide,
Fleet barba in battle panoply
Are prancing id their pride!
The shrill tambour and clarion's sound,
O'er the Sierra's heights resound.
The shock of Bteeds, the bard-won fight,
Are dearer to my mind
Than all the pleasures which delight,
In royal courts combined.
Move i 11 ! ye mailed cavaliers :
I'm eager for the rush of spears.
Now give our banners t- the wind!
The Crescent emblem wa
And let the Spanish tyrants find
"We'll yield them only gr
Bring me my gleaming scimitar]
Thus spoke the king of Granada.
HAMET AROUSING THE CITIZENS OF GRANADA.
An .NVM0D8.
" Saw ye the banners of Castile displayed,
The helmets glistening, and the line arrayed !
Heard ye the march of steel-clad hosts I" he cries ;
" Children of conquerors ! in your strength arise !
Oh, high-born tribes ! Oh, names unstained by fear !
Azarques, Zegris, Almoradis, hear !
Be every feud forgotten, and your hands
Dyed with no blood but that of hostile bands.
Wake, princes of the land ! the hour is come,
And the red sabre must decide your doom.
Where is that spirit which prevailed of yore,
When Tarik's bands o'erspread the western shore ?
When the long combat raged on Xeres' plain,
And Afric's tecbir swelled through yielding Spain ?
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 417
Is the lance broken, is the shield decayed,
The warrior's arm unstrung, his heart dismayed ?
Shall no high spirit of ascendant worth
Arise to lead the sons of Islam forth '?
To guard the regions where our fathers' blood
Hath bathed each plain, and mingled with each flood ;
Where long their dust hath blended with the soil
Won by their swords, made fertile by their toil ?
"Oh, ye sierras of eternal snow !
Ye streams that by the tombs of heroes flow ;
Woods, fountains, rocks of Spain ! ye saw their might
In many a fierce and unforgotten fight —
Shall ye behold their lost, degenerate race,
Dwell 'midst your scenes in fetters and disgrace ?
With each memorial of the past around,
Each mighty monument of days renowned?
May this indignant heart ere then be cold,
This frame be gathered to its kindred mould !
And the last life-drop circling through my veins
Have tinged a soil untainted yet by chains !
" And yet one struggle ere our doom is sealed,
One mighty effort, one deciding field !
If vain each hope, we still have choice to be,
In life the fettered, or in death the free 1"
SPANISH NATIONAL AIR.
" VIVIR EX CADEXAS CUAX TRISTE ES VIVIR."
How wretched the fate of the fetter-bound slave !
How green and how holy the patriot's grave !
Let us rush to the field ! for the trump from afar
Calls Spaniards to triumph, and heroes to war !
Our country in tears sends her sons to the plain
To conquer, — to perish for freedom and Spain !
list to the summons ! the blood of our sires
Boils high in our veins, — and 'tis vengeance inspires
Who bows to the yoke ? who bends to the blow ?
Xo hero will bend, and no Spaniard will bow !
Our country in tears sends her sons to the plain
To conquer, — to perish for freedom and Spain !
21)
Anotyjious.
418 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
My children farewell ! my beloved adi<
My heart's blood shall flow in its torrents for yon :
These arm- -hall be red with the gore of the slain,
Ere they clasp thee, fond wife! to this bosom again]
Our country in tear- Bends her sone bo the plain
To conquer, — to perish for freedom and Spain !
HYMN OF THE MOBAVIAN NUNS AT BETHLEHEM, AT THE
CONSECRA1 PULASKI'S BANNER.
\ the dying flame of day
Through the chancel Bhot its ray,
Far ihc glimmering tapers shed
Faint Light on the cowled head ;
And the censer burning swung,
Where, before the altar, hung
The blood-red banner, that with prayer
Had been consecrated there.
And th«' nuns' sweet hymn was heard the while,
Sung low in the dim, mysterious aisle.
" Take thy banner ! may it wave
Proudly o'er the good and brave ;
When the battle's distant wail
Breaks the Sabbath of our vale,
When the clarion music's thrills
To the hearts of these lone hills,
When the spear in conflict shakes,
And the strong lance shivering breaks.
" Take thy banner ! and, beneath
The battle-cloud's encircling breath,
Guard it ! till our homes are free !
Guard it ! God will prosper thee !
In the dark and dying hour,
In the breaking forth of power,
In the rush of steeds and men,
His right hand will shield thee then.
" Take thy banner ! but, when night
Closes round the ghastly fight,
If the vanquished warrior bow,
Spare him ! by our holy vow,
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 419
By our prayers and many tears,
By the mercy that endears,
Spare him ! he our love hath shared !
Spare him ! as thou wouldst be spared !
" Take thy banner ! and if e'er
Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier,
And the muffled drum should beat
To the tread of mournful feet,
Then this crimson flag shall be
Martial cloak and shroud for thee."
The warrior took that banner proud,
And it was his martial cloak and shroud !
TEE DEATH SONG- OF OUTALISSI.
Thomas Campbell.
" And I could weep ;" — the Oneyda chief
His descant wildly thus begun :
" But that I may not stain with grief
The death-song of my father's son,
Or bow this head in woe !
For by my wrongs, and by my wrath !
To-morrow Areouski's breath
(That fires yon heaven with storms of death)
Shall light us to the foe :
And we shall share, my Christian boy !
'The foeman's blood, the avenger's joy !
But thee, my flower, whose breath was given
By milder genii o'er the deep,
The spirits of the white man's heaven
Forbid not thee to weep : —
Nor will the Christian host,
Nor will thy father's spirit grieve,
To see thee, on the battle's eve,
Lamenting, take a mournful leave
Of her who loved thee most :
She was the rainbow to thy sight !
Thy sun — thy heaven — of lost delight !
To-morrow let us do or die !
But when the bolt of death is hurled,
420 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
Ah ! whither then with thee to fly,
Shall Outalissi roam the world?
Seek \vc thy once-loved home?
The hand is gone that cropped its flowers :
Unheard their clock repeats its hours !
Cold is the hearth within their bowers!
And should we thither roam,
Its echoes, and its empty tread,
Would Bound like voices from the dead!
Or shall we cross yon mountain blue,
Whose streams my kindred nation quaffed,
And by my side, in battle true,
A thousand warriors drew the shaft?
Ah! there, in desolation cold,
The desert serpent dwells alone,
"Where grass o'ergrows each mouldering hone,
And stones themselves to ruin grown,
Like me are death-like old.
Then seek we not their camp, — for there —
The silence dwells of my despair !
But hark, the trump! — to-morrow thou
In glory's fires shalt dry thy tears :
Even from the land of shadows now
My father's awful ghost appears,
Amidst the clouds that round us roll ;
He bids my soul for battle thirst —
He bids me dry the last — the first —
The only tears that ever burst
From Outalissi's soul ;
Because I may not stain with grief
The death-song of an Indian chief!"
From " Gerlrwle of Wyoming}
THE TEXTH AVATER.
Thomas Campbell.
But hark ! as bowed to earth the Bramin kneels,
From heavenly climes propitious thunder peals !
Of India's fate her guardian spirits tell,
Prophetic murmurs breathing on the shell,
And solemn sounds that awe the listening mind,
Roll on the azure paths of every wind.
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 421
Foes of mankind ! (her guardian spirits say),
Revolving ages bring the bitter day,
When heaven's unerring arm shall fall on you,
And blood for blood these Indian plains bedew ;
Nine times have Brama's wheels of lightning hurled
His awful presence o'er the alarmed world !
Nine times hath Guilt, through all his giant frame,
Convulsive trembled, as the Mighty came ;
Nine times hath suffering Mercy spared in vain —
But heaven shall burst her starry gates again !
He comes ! dread Brama shakes the sunless sky
With murmuring wrath, and thunders from on high,
Heaven's fiery horse, beneath his warrior form,
Paws the light clouds, and gallops on the storm !
Wide waves his flickering sword ; his bright arms glow
Like summer suns, and light the world below !
Earth, and her trembling isles in Ocean's bed,
Are shook ; and Nature rocks beneath his tread !
" To pour redress on India's injured realm,
The oppressor to dethrone, the proud to whelm ;
To chase destruction from her plundered shore
With arts and arms that triumphed once before,
The tenth Avater comes ! at Heaven's command
Shall Seriswattee wave her hallowed wand !
And Camdeo bright, and Ganesa sublime,
Shall bless with joy their own propitious clime ! —
Gome, Heavenly Powers ! primeval peace restore !
Love ! — Mercy ! — Wisdom ! — rule for evermore !"
From " The Pleasures of HapzP
WATERLOO.
Lord Byron.
And wild and high the " Cameron's gathering" rose!
The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills
Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes:
How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills,
Savage and shrill ! But with the breath which fills
Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers
With the fierce native daring which instills
The stirring memory of a thousand years,
And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears !
And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves,
Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass
36
422 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves,
Over the uAreturning brave, — alas !
Ere evening to be trodden like the grass
Which now beneath them, but above shall grow
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass
Of living valor, rolling on the foe,
And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low.
Last noon beheld them full of lusty life,
Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay,
The midnight brought the Bignal-sound of strife,
Tin' morn the marshalling in arms, — the day
Battle's magnificently-stern array !
The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent,
The earth is covered thick with other clay,
Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent,
Rider and horse, — friend, foe, — in one red burial blent !
From '• Cliilde Harold.'
HUGO BEFORE IIIS FATHER.
Axd here stern Azo hid his face —
For on his brow the swelling vein
Throbbed as if back upon his brain
The hot blood ebbed and flowed again ;
And therefore -bowed he for a space,
And passed his shaking hand along
His e} 7 e, to veil it from the throng ;
"While Hugo raised his chained hands,
And for a brief delay demands
His father's ear : the silent sire
Forbids not what his words require.
" It is not that I dread the death — •
For thou hast seen me by thy side
All redly through the battle ride,
And that not once a useless brand
Thy slaves have wrested from my hand,
Hath shed more blood in cause of thine,
Than e'er can stain the axe of mine :
" Yet, were a few short summers mine,
My name should more than Este's shine
Lord Byrox.
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 423
With honors all my own.
I had a sword — and have a breast
That should have won as h aught a crest
As ever waved along the line
Of all these sovereign sires of thine.
Not always knightly spurs are worn
The brightest by the better born ;
And mine have lanced my courser's flank
Before proud chiefs of princely rank,
When charging to the cheering cry
Of ' Este and of Victory !' v
From '• Parisina."
o>
THE FALL OF CORINTH.
Fearfully the yell arose
Of his followers and his foes ;
These in joy, in fury those ;
Then again in conflict mixing,
Clashing swords, and spears transfixin
Interchanged the blow and thrust
Hurling warriors in the dust.
Street by street, and foot by foot,
Still Minotti dares dispute
The latest portion of the land
Left beneath his high command ;
With him, aiding heart and hand,
The remnant of his gallant band.
Still the church is tenable,
Whence issued late the fated ball
That half avenged the city's fall,
When Alp, her fierce assailant, fell :
Thither bending sternly back,
They leave before a bloody track ;
And, with their faces to the foe,
Dealing wounds with every blow,
The chief, and his retreating train,
Join to those within the fane ;
There they yet may breathe awhile,
Sheltered by the massy pile.
Brief breathing-time ! the turbaned host,
With adding ranks and raging boast,
Lord Byron.
424
THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPE IKER.
Press onwards with such strength and heat.
Their numbers balk their own retreat ;
narrow the way that led t«» the spot
Where still the Christians yielded i
And the foremost, if fearful, may vainly try
Through the massy column to turn and ily ;
They perforce must do or die.
They die ; but ere their eyes could close,
Avengers o'er their b (dies i
Fresh and furious, fast they till
The ranks un thinned though slaughtered still;
Ami faint the weary Christians wax
Before the still renewed attar',
And now the Othmans gain the gate ;
Still resists its iron weight,
And still, all deadly aimed and hot,
From every crevice comes tie- shot;
Irom every shattered window pour
The volleys of the sulphurous shower:
But the portal wavering grows and weak —
The iron yields, the hinges creak —
It bends — it falls — and all is o'er;
Lost Corinth may resist no more !
From ' ; Chib.k Harold.
THE DEATH OF THE BRAVE.
How sleep the brave, who sink to rest,
By all their country's wishes bless'd !
"When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallowed mould,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.
Wm. Collins.
B}~ fairy hands their knell is rung;
By forms unseen their dirge is sung ;
There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay ;
And Freedom shall awhile repair,
To dwell a weeping hermit there !
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 425
FLODDEN FIELD.
D. M. Mom.
Hark to the turmoil and the shout,
The war-cry, and the cannon's boom !
Behold the struggle and the rout,
The broken lance and draggled plume !
Borne to the earth, with deadly force,
Comes down the horseman and his horse ;
Round boils the battle like an ocean,
While stripling blithe and veteran stern
Pour forth their life-blood on the fern,
Amid its fierce commotion !
Mown down like swathes of summer flowers,
Yes ! on the cold earth there they lie,
The lords of Scotland's bannered towers,
The chosen of her chivalry !
Commingled with the vulgar dead,
Perhaps lies many a mitred head ;
And thou, the vanguard onwards leading,
Who left the sceptre for the sword,
For battle-field the festal board,
Liest low amid the bleeding !
Yes ! here thy life-star knew decline,
Though hope, that strove to be deceived,
Shaped thy lone course to Palestine,
And what it wished full oft believed : —
An unhewn pillar on the plain
Marks out the spot where thou wast slain ;
There pondering as I stood, and gazing
On its gray top, the linnet sang,
And, o'er the slopes where conflict rang,
The quiet sheep were grazing.
And were the nameless dead unsung,
The patriot and the peasant train,
Who like a phalanx round thee clung,
To find but death on Flodden Plain ?
No ! many a mother's melting lay
Mourned o'er the bright flowers wede away ;
And many a maid, with tears of sorrow,
Whose locks no more were seen to wave,
Wept for the beauteous and the brave,
Who came not on the morrow !
36 *
THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
THE BATTLE OF BUEXA VISTA.
Al.II! !.,
From the Rio Gfrrand6's waters to the Ley lakes of Maine.
Let all exult! for we have met the enemy again —
Beneath their stern old mountains, we have mel them in their pride,
And rolled from Buena Vista back the battle's bloody tide;
Where the enemy came surging, like the Mississippi's flood,
And the reaper, Death, was busy with his sickle red with Mood.
Santa Anna boasted loudly, that, before two hours were past,
His lancers through Saltillo should pursue us thick and fast j
On came his solid regiments, line marching after line;
Lo, their great standards in the BUD like sheets of silver shine:
With thousand- upon thousands, yea, with more than four to one,
A forest of bright bayonets gleams fiercely in the sun.
Upon them with your squadrons, May! — Out leaps the flaming steel;
Before his serried column how the frightened lancers reel !
They llee amain. Now to the left, to stay their triumph there,
Or else the day is surely lost in horror and despair ;
For their hosts are pouring swiftly on, like a river in the spring:
Our Hank is turned, and on our left their cannon thundering.
Now. brave artillery ! bold dragoons! — Steady, my men, and calm !
Through rain, cold, hail, and thunder ; now nerve each gallant arm !
What though their shot falls round us here, still thicker than the hail !
We'll stand against them, as the rock stands firm against the gale.
Lo ! their battery is silenced now : our iron hail still showers :
They falter, halt, retreat ! Hurrah ! the glorious day is ours !
Now charge again, Santa Anna! or the day is surely lost;
For back, like broken waves, along our left your hordes are tossed.
Still louder roar two batteries — his strong reserve moves on ; —
More work is there before you, men, ere the good fight is won ;
Now for your wives and children stand ! steady, my braves, once more !
Now for your lives, your honor, fight ! as you never fought before.
Ho ! Hardin breasts it bravely ! McKee and Bissell there
Stand firm before the storm of balls that fills th' astonished air.
The lancers are upon them, too ! — the foe swarms ten to one —
Hardin is slain — McKee and Clay the last time see the sun ;
And many another gallant heart, in that last desperate fray,
Grew cold, its last thoughts turning to its loved ones far away.
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 427
Still sullenly the cannon roared — but died away at last,
And o'er the dead and dying came the evening shadows fast,
And then above the mountains rose the cold moon's silver shield,
And patiently and pityingly looked down upon the field ;
And careless of his wounded, and neglectful of his dead,
Despairingly and sullen, in the night, Santa Anna fled.
THE BATTLE OF CERRO GORDO.
Scarce the tropic dawn is glowing ;
Scarce your eye can pierce the dark,
When one voice breaks through the stillness:
'T is our gallant leader—hark !
Forward ! — like the pealing thunder,
Thousand voices swell the sound !
While mid groans, and smoke, and fire,
Far it echoes round and round.
Every eye is glaring wildly ;
Every sabre swinging high ;
Every musket at the shoulder,
Ready all to do or die.
All are doing, many dying ;
God of mercy, how they fall S
"Forward ever!" fast and fearless,
Now we reach the outer wall.
Here we halt to close together ;
Here one " Anglo-Saxon yell/'
And like surging billows breaking,
Pour we on their citadel.
Then thy palisadoed ravine,
Plan del Rio, heard the cries ;
Now the " Bravo Santiago,"
Now the shrill "hurrahs" that rise.
Swords are dripping, bayonets bloody,
Prayers and curses blending high ;
Anonymous.
428 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
"Three times three ! the fight is over ;
Three times three fur victory I"
On the "royal road" retreating,
Like the hearings of the sea.
O'er the fields like spray dispersing,
Everywhere for life the)- flee.
Scarce the battle-din is fainter,
Still the wind brings back the shout,
When like tigers from their coverts
Our dragoons are on the route.
" Spare, oh spare!" the hot blood boileth ;
Still the sabres whirl in air;
" Spare, oh spare \" the rich blood poureth
" For God's holy Mother spare!"
Now the smoky clouds are lifting ;
Earth lies drunken, dark, and red ;
Now, through dead and dying roaming,
Woman comes to seek her dead.
Cerro Gordo, Cerro Gordo!
Thy rich slopes with men are sown ;
At thy base the vulture flieth,
Where his luscious prey is thrown.
Cerro Gordo, on thy summit
AVar with iron tramp hath trod:
Yet how silent hath he left thee !
Silent till the day of God.
When the mighty angel's trumping
Heaven's eternal arch shall fill,
Once again shall battle-thousands
Stand on Cerro Gordo hill.
"BOIS TON" SANG, BEAUMANOIR."
Mrs. Osgood.
Fierce raged the combat — the foemen pressed nigh,
When from young Beaumanoir rose the wild cry,
EECITATIONS IN POETEY. 429
Beaumanoir, mid them all, bravest and first —
'j Give me to drink, for I perish of thirst!"
Hark ! at his side, in the deep tones of ire,
" Bois ton sang. Beaumanoir I" shouted his sire.
Deep had it pierced him — the foemen's swift sword,
Deeper his soul felt the wound of that word :
Back to the battle, with forehead all flushed,
Stung to wild fury, the noble youth rushed !
Scorn in his dark eyes — his spirit on fire —
Deeds were his answer that day to his sire.
Still where triumphant the young hero came,
Glory's bright garland encircled his name :
But in her bower, to beauty a slave,
Dearer the guerdon his lady-love gave,
While on his shield, that no shame had defaced,
"Bois ton sang, Beaumanoir!" proudly she traced.
THE LAMENTATION OF DON EODEEICK.
J. Gr. LOCKHAET.
The hosts of Don Rodrigo were scattered in dismay,
When lost was the eighth battle, nor heart nor hope had they ;
He, when he saw that field was lest, and all his hope was flown,
He turned him from his flying host, and took his way alone.
His horse was bleeding, blind, and lame — he could no farther go ;
Dismounted, without path or aim, the King stepped to and fro ;
It was a sight of pity to look on Roderick,
For, sore athirst and hungry, he staggered faint and sick.
All stained and strewed with dust and blood, like to some smouldering
brand
Plucked from the flame, Rodrigo showed: his sword was in his hand,
Bat it was hacked into a saw of dark and purple tint;
His jewelled mail had many a flaw, his helmet many a dint.
He climbed unto a hill-top, the highest he could see —
Thence all about of that wide rout his last long look took he ;
He saw his royal banners, where they lay drenched and torn,
He heard the cry of victory, the Arab's shout of scorn.
He looked for the brave captains that led the hosts of Spain,
But all were fled except the dead, and who could count the slain ?
430 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
"Where'er his eye could wander, all bloody was the plain,
And, while thus he said, the tears he shed run down his cheeks like
11 Last night T was the King of Spain — to-day no King am T ;
Last night fair castles held my train — to-night where Bhall I lie?
Last night a hundred pages did serve me on the knee, —
To-night not one I call mine own: — not one pertains to me.
"Oh, luckless, luckless was the hour, and cursed was the day,
When I was horn to have the power of this great seniory !
Unhappy me that 1 should see the sun go down to-night !
Death, why now so slow art thou, why fearest thou to smite?"
THE LORD OF BUTRAGO.
J. 0. LOCKHABT.
" Your horse is faint, my King — my Lord! your gallant horse is sick —
His limhs are torn, his breast is gored, on his eye the tilm is thick ;
Mount, mount on mine, oh, mount apace, I pray thee, mount and fly !
Or in my arms I'll lift your grace — their trampling hoofs are nigh !
"My King — my King! you're wounded sore — the blood runs from
your feet ;
But only lay a hand before, and I'll lift you to your seat:
Mount, Juan, 'for they gather fast! — I hear their coming cry —
Mount, mount, and ride for jeopardy — I'll save you though I die !
" Stand, noble steed ! this hour of need — be gentle as a lamb :
I'll kiss the foam from off thy mouth — thy master dear I am —
Mount, Juan, mount ! whate'er betide, away the bridle fling,
And plunge the rowels in his side. — My horse shall save my King !
" Nay, never speak ; my sires, Lord King, received their land from
yours,
And joyfully their blood shall spring, so be it thine secures:
If I should fly, and thou, my King, be found among the dead,
How could I stand 'niong gentlemen, such scorn on my gray head?
" Castile's proud dames shall never point the finger of disdain,
And say there's one that ran away when our good lords were slain ! —
I leave Diego in your care — you'll fill his father's place :
Strike, strike the spur, and never spare — God's blessing on your
grace !"
RECITATIONS IK POETRY. . 431
So spake the brave Montanez, Butrago's lord -was he ;
And turned him to the coming host in steadfastness and glee ;
He flung himself among them, as they came down the hill —
He died, God wot ! but not before his sword had drunk its fill.
Lord Macattlat.
To horse ! to horse ! brave cavaliers !
To horse for church and crown !
Strike, strike your tents ! snatch up your spears !
And ho for London town !
The imperial harlot, doomed a prey
To our avenging fires,
Sends up the voice of her dismay
From all her hundred spires.
The Strand resounds with maidens' shrieks,
The 'Change with merchants' sighs,
And blushes stand on brazen cheeks,
And tears in iron eyes ;
And, pale with fasting and with fright,
Each Puritan committee
Hath summoned forth to prayer and fight
The Roundheads of the city.
And soon shall London's sentries hear
The thunder of our drum,
And London's dames, in wilder fear,
Shall cry, Alack ! They come !
Fling the fascines ; — tear up the spikes ;
And forward, one and all.
Down, down vrith all their train-band pikes,
Down wittrtheir mud-built wall.
Quarter ? — Foul fall your whining noise,
Ye recreant spawn of fraud !
No quarter ! Think on Strafford, boys.
No quarter ! Think on Laud.
What ho ! The craven slaves retire.
On ! Trample them to mud.
No quarter ! Charge. — No quarter !
No quarter ! Blood ! blood ! blood ! —
432 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
Where next? In sooth there lacks no witch,
Brave Lads, to tell us where,
Sure London's sons be passing rich,
Her daughters wondrous fair:
Ami let that dastard be the theme
Of many a hoard's derision,
Who quails for sermon, cuff, or scream
Of any sweet precisian.
Their lean divines, of solemn Lrow,
Sworn foes to throne and steeple,
From an unwonted pulpit now
Shall edify the people :
Till the tired hangman, in despair,
Shall curse his hlunted shears.
And vainly pinch, and scrape, and tear,
Around their leathern ears.
We'll hang, above his own Guildhall,
The city's grave Recorder,
And on the den of thieves we'll fall.
Though Pym should speak to order.
In vain the lank-haired gang shall try
To cheat our martial law ;
In vain shall Lenthall tremhling cry
That strangers must withdraw.
Of bench and woolsack, tub and chair,
We'll build a glorious pyre,
And tons of rebel parchment there
Shall crackle in the fire.
With them shall perish, cheek by jowl,
Petition, psalm, and libel,
The colonel's canting muster-roll,
The chaplain's dog-eared Bible.
We'll tread a measure round the blaze
Where England's pest expires.
And lead along the dance's maze
The beauties of the friars :
Then smiles in every face shall shine,
And joy in every soul.
Bring forth, bring forth the oldest wine,
And crown the largest bowl.
And as with nod and laugh ye sip
The goblet's rich carnation,
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 433
Whose bursting bubbles seem to tip
The wink of invitation ;
Drink to those names, — those glorious names, —
Those names no time shall sever, —
Drink, in a draught as deep as Thames,
Our church and king for ever !
THE COMBAT OF HERMINIUS AND MAMILIUS.
Lord Macaulay.
Right glad were all the Romans
Who, in that hour of dread,
Against great odds bare up the war
Around Valerius dead,
When from the south the cheering
Rose with a mighty swell ;
" Herminius comes, Herminius,
Who kept the bridge so well !"
Mamilius spied Herminius,
And dashed across the way.
" Herminius ! I have sought thee
Through many a bloody day.
One of us two, Herminius,
Shall never more go home.
I will lay on for Tusculum,
And lay thou on for Rome I"
All round them paused the battle,
While met in mortal fray
The Roman and the Tusculan,
The horses black and gray.
Herminius smote Mamilius
Through breast-plate and through breast ;
And fast flowed out the purple blood
Over the purple vest.
Mamilius smote Hermiuius
Through head-piece and through head ;
And side by side those chiefs of pride
Together fell down dead.
Down fell they dead together
In a great lake of gore ;
And still stood all who saw them fall
While men might count a score.
From " The Battle of the Lake Regfflus."
37 2E
434 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
ATTILA OX THE BATTLE-FIELD OF CHALONS.
W. I!.
u\ (Hi every side
Lay dead and dying, like red seed
Cast by the husbandman, with oilier thoughts
Of unstained harvest ; chariots overthrown,
Shields cast behind, and wheels, and Bevered limbs,
Rider and steed, and all the mercil'
Of arrows barbed, Btrong shafts, and feathered darts
Winged with dismay. As when id' Alpine snows
The secret fount is opened, and dread b]
That dwell in those crystalline solitudes
Have loosed the avalanche whose deep-thundering moan,
Predicting ruin, on his couch death-doomed
The peasant hears ; waters on waters rush
Uptearing all impediment, woods, rocks,
Ice rifted from the deep cerulean glens,
Herds striving with the stream, and bleating flocks,
The dwellers of the dale, with all of life
That made the cottage blithesome : hot ere long
The floods o'erpass ; the ravaged valle;,
Tranquil and mute in ruin. So confuf
In awful stillness lay the battle's wreck.
Here heaps of slain, as by an eddy
And hands, which, stiff, still clenched the ruddy steel,
Showed rallied strength, and life sold dearly. There
Equal and mingled havoc, where the tide
Doubtful had paused whether to ebb or flow.
Some prone were cast, some headlong, some supine ;
Others yet strove with death. The sallow cheek
Of the slain Avar pressed the mangled limbs
Of yellow-haired Sicambrian, whose blue eyes
Still swum in agony ; Gelonic steed
Lay panting on the cicatrized form
Of his grim lord, whose painted brow convulsed
Seemed a ferocious mockery. There, mixed
The Getic archer with the savage Hun,
And Dacian lancers lay, and sturdy Goths
Pierced by Sarmatian pike. There, once his pride
The Sueve's long-flowing hair with gore besprent,
And Alans stout, in Roman tunic clad.
Some of apparel stripped by coward bands
That vulture-like upon the skirts of war
Ever hang merciless ; their naked forms
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 435
In death yet beauteous, though the eburnean limbs
Blood had denied. There some, whom thirst all night
Had parched, too feeble from that fellowship
To drag their fevered heads, aroused at dawn
From fearful dreaming to new hope' and life,
Die rifled by the hands whose help they crave.
Others lie maimed and torn, too strong to die,
Imploring death. Oh, for some friendly aid
To staunch their burning wounds and cool the lip
Refreshed with water from an unstained spring !
THE BENDED BOW.
There was heard the sound of a coming foe,
There was sent through Britain a bended bow ;
And a voice was poured on the free winds far,
As the land rose up at the sign of war.
" Heard you not the battle horn? —
Reaper ! leave thy golden corn !
Leave it for the birds of heaven,
Swords must flash, and spears be riven !
Leave it for the winds to shed —
' Arm ! ere Britain's turf grow red !"
And the reaper armed, like a freeman's son ;
And the bended bow and the voice passed on.
"Hunter ! leave the mountain chase !
Take the falchion from its place !
Let the wolf go free to-day,
Leave him for a nobler prey !
Let the deer ungalled sweep by, —
Arm thee ! Britain's foes are nig-h !"
And the hunter armed ere the chase was done
And the bended bow and the voice passed on.
" Chieftain ! quit the joyous feast !
Stay not till the song hath ceased :
Though the mead be foaming bright,
Though the fire give ruddy light,
Leave the hearth and leave the hall —
Arm thee! Britain's foes must fall."
'.Irs. IIemans.
436 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
And the chieftain armed, and the horn was blown
And the bended bow and the voice passed on.
"Prince! thy father's deeds are told,
In tin 1 bower and in the hold !
Where the goatherd's lay is sung,
Where the minstrel's harp is strong]
are on thy native sea —
Give our hards a tale of thee!"
And the prince came armed, like a leader's son ;
And the bended bow and the voice passed on.
••Mother: stay thon not thy boyl
He must learn the battle'
Sister! bring tie- sword and spear,
Give thy brother words of cheer!
Maiden ! bid thy lover part,
Britain calls the strong in heart!"
And the bended bow and the voice passed on ;
And the bards made Bong for a battle won.
THE LYRE AND SWORD.
The freeman's flittering sword be blest, —
For ever blest the freeman's lyre, —
That rings upon the tyrant's crest ;
This stirs the heart like living fire:
Well can he wield the shining brand,
"Who battles for his native land ;
But when his fingers sweep the chords,
That summon heroes to the fray,
They gather at the feat of swords,
Like mountain-eagles to their prey!
And mid the vales and swelling hills,
That sweetly bloom in Freedom's land,
A living spirit breathes and fills
The freeman's heart and nerves his hand
For the bright soil that gave him birth,
The home of all he loves on earth, —
For this when Freedom's trumpet calls,
He waves on high his sword of fire. —
LtJHt
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 437
For this, amidst his country's halls
For ever strikes the freeman's lyre !
His burning heart he may not lend
To serve a doting despot's sway, —
A suppliant knee he will not bend,
Before these things of " brass and clay:"
When wrong and ruin call to war,
He knows the summons from afar ;
On high his glittering sword he waves,
And myriads feel the freeman's fire,
While he, around their father's graves,
Strikes to old strains the freeman's lyre !
THE CAVALIER'S SONG.
Wm. Motherwell.
A steed, a steed of matchlesse speed !
A sword of metal keene !
All else to noble heartes is drosse,
All else on earth is meane.
The neighynge of the war-horse prowde,
The rowlings of the drum,
The clangor of the trumpet lowde,
Be soundes from heaven that come ;
And ! the thundering presse of knightes
When as their war-cryes swell,
May tole from heaven an angel bright,
And rouse a fiend from hell.
Then mounte ! then mounte ! brave gallants all,
And don your helmes amaine :
Deathe's couriers, fame and honor, call
Us to the field againe.
No shrewish teares shall fill our eye
When the sword-hilt's in our hand, —
Heart-whole we'll part, and no whit sighe
For the fayrest of the land ;
Let piping swaine, and craven wight
Thus weepe and puling crye,
Our business is like men to fight,
And hero-like to die !
37
438 'I HE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
RIO BRAVO — A MEXICAN LAMENT.
I r Uownum.
Rio Bravo! Rio Bravo! — aw men ever such a Bight
Since the field of Roncesvalles sealed the fate of many a knight!
Dark is Palo Alto's Btory— sad Resaca Palma'e rout—
Ah mel upon those fields so gory how many a gallant life went out.
There our best ami bravest lances shivered 'gainst the Northern steel,
Left the valiant hearts that couched them 'neath the Northern char
heel.
Bio Bravo! Rio Bravo! brave hearts ne'er mourned such a sight,
Since the noblest lost their life-blood in the Roncesvalles fight
There Arista, best and bravest— there Raguena, tried ami trie-.
»>n the fatal field thou lavest, nobly did all men could do;
Vainly there tho rally, Castile on Montezuma's shore,
Vainly there shone Aztec valor brightly as it shone of yore.
Rio Bravo! Bio Bravo! -aw men ever such a Bight,
Since the dews of Roncesvalles wept for paladin ami knight.
Heard ye not the wounded coursers Bhrieking on yon trampled hanks,
As the Northern winged artillery thundered on our shattered ranks?
On they cam* — those Northern horsemen — on lik toward the
sun ;
Followed then the Northern bayonet, and the field was lost and won.
Rio Bravo ! Rio Bravo ! minstrel ne'er sung such a fight,
Since the lay of Roncesvalles sang the fame of martyred knight.
RioBravo ! fatal river ! saw ye not, while red with gore,
One cavalier all headless quiver, a nameless trunk upon thy shore?
Other champions not less noted sleep beneath thy sullen wave:
Sullen water, thou hast floated armies to an ocean grave.
Rio Bravo ! Rio Bravo ! lady ne'er wept such a sight,
Since the moon of Roncesvalles kissed in death her own loved knight.
Weepest thou, lorn Lady Inez, for thy lover mid the slain?
Brave La Vega's trenchant sabre cleft his slayer to the brain —
Brave La Yega, who, all lonely, by a host of foes beset,
Yielded up his falchion only when his equal there he met.
Oh, for Roland's horn to rally his paladins by that sad shore!
Rio Bravo, Roncesvalles, ye are names linked evermore.
Sullen river ! sullen river ! vultures drink thy gory wave,
But. they blur not these loved features, which not Love himself could
save.
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 439
Rio Bravo, thou wilt name not that lone corse upon thy shore,
But in prayer sad Inez names him — names him praying evermore.
Rio Bravo ! Rio Bravo ! lady ne'er mourned such a knight,
Since the fondest hearts were broken by the Roncesvalles fight.
THE ORIGIN OF THE MARSEILLAISE.
0. W. Holmes.
Scourge of mankind ! with all the dread array,
That wraps in wrath thy desolating way,
As the wild tempest wakes the slumbering sea,
Thou only teachest all that man can be.
Alike thy tocsin has the power to charm
The toil-knit sinews of the rustic's arm,
Or swell the pulses in the poet's veins,
And bid the nations tremble at his strains.
The city slept beneath the moonbeam's glance,
Her white walls gleaming through the vines of France,
And all was hushed, save where the footsteps fell,
On some high tower, of midnight sentinel.
But one still watched ; no self-encircled woes
Chased from his lids the angel of repose ;
He watched, he wept, for thoughts of bitter years
Bowed his dark lashes, wet with burning tears ;
His country's sufferings and her children's shame
Streamed o'er his memory like a forest's flame,
Each treasured insult, each remembered wrong,
Rolled through his heart and kindled into song ;
His taper faded ; and the morning gales
Swept through the world the war-song of Marseilles !
From " Poetry, A Metrical Essay."
" QUI VIVE I"
0. W. Holmes.
" Qui vive !" The sentry's musket rings,
The channelled bayonet gleams ;
High o'er him, like a raven's wings
The broad tri-colored banner flings
Its shadow, rustling as it swings
Pale in the mooulight beams ;
440 Tin: SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
Pub "ii ! \\hilc steel-clad sentries keep
Their vigil o'er the monarch's slei
Thy ban-, unguarded bn
3 not the unbroken, bristling zone
Thai girds yen Bceptred trembler's throne
Pass on, and take thy r>
" Qui circ!" How oft the midnight air
That Btartling cry has borne]
How of! the evening ias fanned
The banner of this haughty land,
O'er mountain -now and desert sand,
yet its folds were torn !
Through Jena's carnage flying red,
Or tossing o'er Marengo's dead,
< >r curling on the towers
Where Austria's eagle quivers yet,
And suns the ruffled plumage, wet
With battle's crimson showers !
" Qui vive!" And is the sentry's cry, —
The sleepless soldier's hand, —
Are these, — the painted folds that fly
And lift their emblems, printed high,
On morning mist and sunset sky, —
The guardians of a land ?
No ! If the patriot's pulses sleep,
How vain the watch that hirelings keep, —
The idle flag that waves,
When Conquest, with his iron heel,
Treads down the standards and the steel
That belt the soil of slaves !
EXGLAXD's DEAD.
Son of the ocean isle !
Where sleep your mighty dead?
Show me what high and stately pile
Is reared o'er Glory's bed.
Go, stranger ! track the deep !
Free, free the white sail spread !
Wave may not foam, nor wild wind sweep,
Where rest not England's dead.
Mrs. Uf.mans.
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 441
On Egypt's burning plains,
By the pyramid o'erswayed,
With fearful power the noonday reigns,
And the palm trees yield no shade.
But let the angry sun
From heaven look fiercely red,
Unfelt by those whose task is done ! —
There slumber England's dead.
The hurricane hath might
Along the Indian shore,
And far by Ganges' banks at night,
Is heard the tiger's roar.
But let the sound roll on !
It hath no tone of dread,
For those that from their toils are gone, —
There slumber England's dead.
Loud rush the torrent-floods
The western wilds among,
And free, in green Columbia's woods
The hunter's bow is strung.
But let the floods rush on !
Let the arrow's flight be sped !
Why should they reck whose task is done ? —
There slumber England's dead !
The mountain-storms rise high
In the snowy Pyrenees,
And toss the pine boughs through the sky,
Like rose leaves on the breeze.
But let the storm rage on !
Let the fresh wreaths be shed !
For the Roncesvalles' field is won, —
There slumber England's dead.
On the frozen deeps repose
'Tis a dark and dreadful hour,
When round the ship the ice-fields close,
And the northern night-clouds lower.
442 THE ACADEMIC I PEAKEE.
But let the ice drift on !
Let the cold-blue deserl spread !
Their r.,\w^> ^ith mast and Bag i- done, —
Even there sleeps England's dead.
The warlike of the isles,
The men of field and wave '.
Are not the rocks their funeral piles,
The ><m^ and Bhores their grave I
Go, stranger] track the deep,
Free, free the white sail spread !
Wave may not foam, nor wild wind sweep,
Where rest not England's dead.
THE DEATH OF GENERAL WORTH.
0. W. CYttek.
Now let the solemn minute gun
Arouse the morning ray,
And only with the setting sun
In echoes die away.
The muffled drum, the wailing fife,
Ah! let them murmur low,
O'er him who was their breath of life,
The solemn notes of woe !
At Chippewa and Lundy's Lane,
On Polaklaba's field,
Around him fell the crimson rain,
The battle-thunder pealed ;
But proudly did the soldier gaze
Upon his daring form,
When charging o'er the cannon's blaze
Amid the sulphur storm.
Upon the heights of Monterey
Again his flag unrolled,
And when the grape-shot rent away
Its latest starry fold,
His plumed cap above his head
He waved upon the air,
And cheered the gallant troops he led
To glorious victory there.
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 443
But ah ! the dreadful seal is broke —
In darkness walks abroad
The pestilence, whose silent stroke
Is like the doom of God !
And the hero by its fell decree
In death is sleeping now,
With the laurel wreath of victory
Still green upon his brow.
BALAKLAVA.
Dean Trench.
Many a deed of faithful daring may obtain no record here,
Wrought where none could see or note it, save the one Almighty Seer.
Many a deed awhile remembered, out of memory needs must fall,
Covered, as the years roll onward, by oblivion's creeping pall :
But there are which never, never to oblivion can give room,
Till in flame earth's records perish, till the thunder-peal of doom.
And of these through all the ages married to immortal fame,
One is linked, and linked for ever, Balaklava, with thy name —
With thine armies three that wondering stood at gaze and held their
breath,
With thy fatal lists of honor, and thy tournament of death.
our brothers that are sleeping, weary with your great day's strife,
On that bleak Crimean headland, noble prodigals of life —
Eyes which ne'er beheld you living, these have dearly mourned you
dead,
All your squandered wealth of valor, all the lavish blood ye shed.
And in our eyes tears are springing, but we bid them back again ;
None shall say, to see us weeping, that we hold your offering vain :
That for nothing, in our sentence, did that holocaust arise,
With a battle-field for altar, and with you for sacrifice.
Not for naught ; to more than warriors armed as you for mortal fray,
Unto each that in life's battle waits his Captain's word ye say : —
"What by duty's voice is bidden, there where duty's star may guide,
Thither follow, that accomplish, whatsoever else betide."
This ye taught ; and this your lesson solemnly in blood ye sealed :
Heroes, martyrs, are the harvest Balaklava's heights shall yield.
444 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
'if ta\, ii - i;iii TAN.
DtAJ
"This, or on this!" — " Bring homo with thee this Bhield,
Or be thou, dead, upon this Bhield brought home I"
So spake the Spartan mother to the son
Whom her own hands had armed. strong of heart!
Yet know I of a fairer strength than this —
S rength linked with weakness, steeped in tears and fears,
And tenderness of trembling womanhood ;
But true as hen to duty's perfect law,
A.nd such is theirs who in our England now,
Wive-. Bisters, mothers, watch by day, by night.
In many a tely hall,
For those dread p swift, thai baste
O'er land and sea. thfi D14 >f doom ;
Theirs, who ten thousand times would rather hear
Of loved forms stretched upon the bloody sod,
All cold and stark, but with the debt they owed
To that dear land that bore them duly paid,
Than look to enfold them in fond arms again,
By aught in honor's or in peril's path
Unduly shunned, reserved for that embrace.
MONTEREY.
C. F. IIOFFMAX.
We were not many — we who stood
Before the iron sleet that day —
Yet many a gallant spirit would
Give half his years if he but could
Have been with us at Monterey.
Now here, now there, the shot, it hailed
In deadly drifts of fiery spray,
Yet not a single soldier quailed
When wounded comrades round them wailed
Their dying shout at Monterey.
And on — still on our column kept
Through walls of flame its withering way ;
Where fell the dead, the living slept,
Still charging on the guns that swept
The slippery streets of Monterey.
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 445
The foe himself recoiled aghast,
When, striking where he strongest lay,
We swooped his flanking batteries past,
And braving full their murderous blast,
Stormed home the towers of Monterey.
Our banners on those turrets wave,
And there our evening bugles play ;
Where orange boughs above their grave
Keep green the memory of the brave
Who fought and fell at Monterey.
We are not many — we who pressed
Beside the brave who fell that day ;
But who of us has not confessed
He'd rather share their warrior rest,
Than not have been at Monterey ?
THE BRIGADE AT FONTENOY.
Baktholomew Dowling.
By our camp fires rose a murmur,
At the dawning of the day,
And the tread of many footsteps
Spoke the advent of the fray ;
And as we took our places,
Few and stern were our words,
While some were tightening horse-girths,
And some were girding swords.
The trumpet blast has sounded
Our footmen to array —
The willing steed has bounded,
Impatient for the fray —
The green flag is unfolded,
While rose the cry of joy —
" Heaven speed dear Ireland's banner
To-day at Fontenoy."
We looked upon that banner,
And the memory arose
Of our homes and perished kindred,
Where the Lee or Shannon flows ;
38
146 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
We lo iked ap >n that banner,
And high,
To smite to-day th< might —
aqner or to die.
Loud swells the charging trnmpet —
'Tis a voice from our own land —
T battles — God of vengeance,
Guide to-day the patriot's brand ;
There are Btains to crash away —
There are memories to dl
In the best blood of the Briton
To-day at Fun ten oy.
Plunge deep the fiery rowels
In a thousand reeking flanks —
Down, chivalry of Ireland.
d on the British ran'
v >hall their Berried columns
B meath our Babres reel —
Through their ranks, then, wJlh the war-horse-
Through their bosoms with the steel.
AN' i tli one shout for good King Loui
And the fair land of the vine,
Like the wrathful Alpine tempest,
"We swept upon their line —
Then rang along the hattle-field
Triumphant our hurrah,
And we smote them down, still cheering
"Erin, slaathagal go bragh."
As prized as is the blessing
From an aged father's lip —
As welcome as the haven
To the tempest-driven ship —
As dear as to the lover
The smile of gentle maid —
Is this day of long-sought vengeance
To the swords of the Brigade.
See their shattered forces flying,
A broken, routed line —
See England, what brave laurels
For your brow to-dav we twine.
J RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 447
0, thrice blessed the hour that witnessed ^
The Briton turn to flee
From the chivalry of Erin,
And France's "fleur de Us."
As we lay beside our camp-fires,
When the sun had passed away,
And thought upon onr brethren,
Who had perished in the fray —
We prayed to God to grant us,
And then we'd die with joy, 4b ^
One day upon our own dear lana
Like this of Fontenoy.
THE GRASP OF THE DEAD.
L. E. Landon.
7 Twas in the battle-field, and the cold pale moon
Looked down on the dead and dying ;
And the wind passed o'er with a dirge and a wail,
Where the young and brave were lying.
With his father's sword in his red right hand,
And the hostile dead around him,
Lay a youthful chief: but his bed was the ground,
And the grave's icy sleep had bound him.
A reckless 'rover, 'mid death and doom,
Passed a soldier, his plunder seeking.
Careless he stept, where friend and foe
Lay alike in their life-blood reeking.
Drawn by the shine of the warrior's sword,
The soldier paused beside it :
He wrenched the hand with a giant's stream
But the grasp of the dead defied it.
He loosed his hold, and his English heart
Took part with the dead before him
And he honored the brave who died sword in hand,
As with softened brow he leant o'er him.
" A soldier's death thou hast boldly died,
A soldier's grave won by it:
Before I would take that sword from thine hand,
My own life's blood should dye it.
448 Tin: SELECT ACADEMIC B PEAK A.
ThoAlialt not be left for the carrion crow,
OrTiic wolf to batten o'er thee;
Or the coward insult the gallant dead,
Who in life had trembled before thee."
Then dug he a grave in the crimsoqfparth,
Where his warrior foe was sleeping;
And he laid him there in honor and rest,
"With his sword in his own brave keeping!
IMAGE OF WAR.
Lord Btron.
Hark ! heard you not those hoofs of dreadful note?
Sounds not the clang of conflict on the heath?
Saw ye not whom the reeking sabre smote ;
Nor saved your brethren ere they sank beneath
Tyrants and tyrants' >la\es? — the fires of death,
The bale-fires flash on high ; — from rock to rock
Each volley tells that thousands cease bo breathe:
# Death ride- up HO the sulphury Siroc,
Red Battle stamps his foot, and nations feel the shock.
Lo ! where the giant on the mountain stands,
His blood-red tresses deepening in the sun,
With death-shot glowing in his fiery hand-,
And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon. *
Restless it rolls, now fixed, and now anon
Flashing afar — and at his iron feet
Destruction cowers to mark what deeds are done ;
For on this morn three potent nations meet,
To shed before his shrine the blood he deems most sweet.
From " Chilh Harold."
WIT AN£ HUMOR, IN VERSE.
THE HEIGHT OF THE BIBULOUS.
Holmes.
I wrote some lines once on a time
In wondrous merry mood,
And thought, as usual, men would say
They were exceeding good.
They were so queer, so very queer,
I laughed as I would die ;
Albeit, -in the general way,
A sober man am I.
I called my servant, and he came ;
How kind it was of him,
To mind a slender man like me,
He of the mighty limb !
" These to the printer," I exclaimed,
And, in my humorous way,
I added, (as a trifling jest,)
" There'll be the devil to pay."
He took the paper, and I watched,
And saw him peep within ;
At the first line he read, his face
Was all upon the grin.
)rSIK
He read the next ; the grin grew br
And shot from ear to ear ;
He read the third ; a chuckling noise
I now began to hear.
The fourth ; he broke into a roar ;
The fifth ; his waistband split ;
The sixth ; he burst five buttons off,
And tumbled in a fit.
38* 2F (449)
450 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKlJi
aTch days and nights, with sleepless eye,
1 watched thai wretched man,
And since, I never- dare to write
As funny as I can.
NUX POSTCGENATICA.
Boum,
1 WAS Bitting with my mieroscope, BpOD my parlor nig,
With a very heavy quftrto ami a very lively bug;
The true bug had been o^anized with only two antenna,
But the humbug in the copperplate would have them twice as many.
And I thought, like Dr, FaustUB, of the emptiness of art,
How we take a fragment for the whole, ami call the whole a part,
When I heard a heavy footstep that was loud enough for two,
And a man of forty entered, exclaiming, — " How d'ye do?"
lie was 1 1 « ■ t a ghost, my miter, hut -olid flesh and hone;
lie wore a Palo Alto hat. his weight was twenty stone;
(It's odd how hat 8 expand their brims as riper years invade,
As if when life had reached its noon, it wanted them for shade!)
I lost my focus, — dropped my book, — the bug, who was a flea,
At once exploded,, and commenced experiments on me.
They have a certain heartiness that frequently appals, —
Those mediaeval gentlemen in semilunar smalls!
"My hoy/' he said — (colloquial ways, — the vast, hroad-hatted man,)
' ; Come dine with us on Thursday next, — you must, you know you can
We're going to have a roaring time, with lots of fun and noise,
Distinguished guests, et cetera, the Judge, and all the boys."
Not so, — I said, — my temporal bones are showing pretty clear
It's time to stop^^ist look and see that hair above this ear;
My golden da^HKnore than spent, — and, what is very strange,
If these are re^^lver hairs, I'm getting lots of change.
Besides — my prospects — don't you know that people won't employ
A man that wrongs his manliness by laughing like a boy ?
And suspect the azure blossom that unfolds upon a shoot,
As if wisdom's old potato could not flourish at its root !
It's a very fine reflection, when you're etching out a smile
On a copperplate of faces that would stretch at least a mile,
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 451
That, what with sneers from enemies, and cheapening shrugs of friends,
It will cost you all the earnings that a month of labor lends !
It's a vastly pleasing prospect, when you're screwing out a laugh
That your very next year's income is diminished by a half,
And a little boy trips barefoot that Pegasus may go,
And the baby's milk is watered that your Helicon may flow !
No ; — the joke has been a good one, — but I'm getting fond of quiet,
And I don't like deviations from my customary diet;
So I think I will not go with you to hear the toasts and speeches,
But stick to old Montgomery Place, and have some pig and peaches.
The fat man answered: — Shut your mouth, and hear the genuine creed;
The true essentials of a feast are only fun and feed ;
The force that wheels the planets round delights in spinning tops,
And that young earthquake t'other day was great at shaking props.
I tell you what, philosopher, if all the longest heads
That ever knocked their sinciputs in stretching on their beds
Were round one great mahogany, I'd beat those fine old folks
With twenty dishes, twenty fools, and twenty clever jokes !
Why, if Columbus should be there, the company would beg
He'd show that little trick of his of balancing the egg !
Milton to Stilton would give in, and Solomon to Salmon,
And Roger Bacon be a bore, and Francis Bacon gammon !
And as for all the " patronage" of all the clowns and boors
That squint their little narrow eyes at any freak of yours,
Do leave them to your prosier friends,— such fellows ought to die
When rhubarb is so very scarce and ipecac so high !
And so I come, — like Lochinvar, to tread a single measure,
To purchase with a loaf of bread a sugar-plum of pleasure,
To enter for the cup of glass that's run for after dinner,
Which yields a single sparkling draught, then ^eaks and cuts the
winner.
Ah, that's the way delusion comes, — a glass of old Madeira,
A pair of visual diaphragms revolved by Jane or Sarah,
And down go vows and promises without the slightest question
If eating words won't compromise the organs of digestion !
And yet, among my native shades, beside my nursing mother,
Where every stranger seems a friend, and every friend a brother,
452 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
I feel the old convivial glow (unaided) o'er nm stealing, —
The warm, ohampaguy, old-particular, brandy-punchy feeling.
We're all alike: — Vesuvius flings the scorisB from Ins fountain,
But down they come in volleying rain back to the burning mountain;
We leave, like those volcanic stones, our precious Alma Mater,
But will keep dropping in again to see the dear old crater.
AMERICAN GENIUS.
The Eankee-boy, before he's sent to school,
Well knows the mysteries of that magic tool,
The pocket-knife. To that his wistful eye
Turns, while he hears his mother's lullaby;
His li ard< 1 cents he gladly gives to get it,
Then leave- no Btone unturned till he can whet it
And, in the education of the lad.
No little part that implement hath had —
His pocket-knife t<> the young whittler brings
A growing knowledge of material things.
Projectile-, music, and the sculptor'.- art,
His chestnut whistle, and his shingle dart,
His elder pop-gun, with his hickory rod,
Its sharp explosion and rebounding wad,
His corn-stalk fiddle, and the deeper tone
That murmurs from his pumpkin-stalk trombone,
Conspire to teach the boy. To these succeed
His bow, his arrow of a feathered reed,
His wind-mill, raised the passing breeze to win,
His water-wheel, that turns upon a pin ;
Or, if his father lives upon the shore,
YouTl see his ship, "beam-ends upon the floor,"
Full-rigged, with raking masts, and timbers staunch,
And waiting, near the wash-tub, for a launch.
Thus, by his genius and his jack-knife driven,
Ere long he'll solve you any problem given ;
Make any jim-crack, musical or mute.
A plough, a coach, an organ, or a flute ;
Make you a locomotive or a clock,
Cut a canal, or build a floating-dock,
Or lead forth Beauty from a marble-block ;
PlERPONT.
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 453
Make any thing, in short, for sea or shore,
From a child's rattle to a seventy-four ;
Make it, said I ? — Ay, when he undertakes it,
He'll make the thing and the machine that makes it.
And when the thing is made, whether it be
To move in earth, in air, or on the sea ;
Whether on water, o'er the waves to glisten,
Or upon land to roll, revolve, or slide ;
Whether to whirl, or jar, to strike, or ring ;
Whether it be a piston or a spring,
Wheel, pully, tube sonorous, wood, or brass,
The thing designed shall surely come to pass ;
For, when his hand's upon it, you may know
That there's go in it, and he'll make it go.
FASHION.
Saxe.
In closest girdle, reluctant Muse,
In scantiest skirts, and lightest-stepping shoes,
Prepare to follow Fashion's gay advance,
And thread the mazes of her motley dance ;
And marking well each momentary hue,
And transient form, that meets the wondering view,
In kindred colors, gentle Muse, essay
Her Protean phases fitly to portray.
To-day she slowly drags a cumbrous trail,
And " Tom" rejoices in its length of tail ;
To-morrow, changing her capricious sport,
She trims her flounces just as much too short ;
To-day, right jauntily, a hat she wears
That scarce affords a shelter to her ears ;
To-morrow, haply, searching long in vain,
You spy her features down a Leghorn lane ;
To-day, she glides along with queenly grace,
To-morrow, ambles in a mincing pace ;
To-day, erect, she loves a martial air,
And envious train-bands emulate the fair ;
To-morrow, changing as her whim may serve,
" She stoops to conquer" in a "Grecian curve ;"
To-day, with careful negligence arrayed,
In scanty folds of woven zephyrs made,
454 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
She moves like l>ian in her WOOdy bowers,
Or Flora Boating o'er a bed of (lowers;
To-morrow, laden with a motley freight
Of etartling bulk and formidable weight,
She waddles forth, ambitious to amaze
The vulgar crowd, who giggle as they gaze!
no!
TllOIUfl II" n.
No sun — no moon !
No morn — no noon —
No dawn — no dusk — no proper time of day —
No sky — no earthly view —
\" distance looking blue —
No road — no street — no " t'other side the way"—
No end to any Row —
No indications where the Crescents go-
No top bo any Bteeple —
No recognitions of familiar people —
\o courtesies for showing 'em —
No knowing 'em !
No travelling at all — no locomotion,
No inkling of the way — no notion —
" No go" — by land or ocean —
No mail — no post —
No news from any foreign coast —
No park — no ring — no afternoon gentility —
No company — no nobility —
No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member —
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds,
November !
THE DONKEY AND HIS PANNIEES.
Thomas Moore.
A donkey whose talent for burden was wondrous,
So much that you'd swear he rejoiced in a load,
One day had to jog under panniers so pond'rous,
That — down the poor donkey fell, smack on the road.
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 455
His owners and drivers stood round in amaze —
What ! Neddy, the patient, the prosperous Neddy,
So easy to drive through the dirtiest ways,
For every description of job-work so ready !
One driver (whom Ned might have "hailed" as a "brother")
Had just been proclaiming his donkey's renown,
For vigor, for spirit, for one thing or other —
When, lo ! 'mid his praises, the donkey came down.
But, how to upraise him ? — one shouts, t'other whistles,
While Jenky, the conjurer, wisest of all,
Declared that an "over-production" of thistles —
(Here Ned gave a stare) — was the cause of his fall.
Another wise Solomon cries, as he passes —
" There, let-him alone, and the fit will soon cease ;
The beast has been fighting with other jack-asses,
And this is his mode of ' transition to peace.'
j )>
Some looked at his hoofs, and, with learned grimaces,
Pronounced that too long without shoes he had gone-
"Let the blacksmith provide him a sound metal basis
(The wiseacres said), and he's sure to jog on/'
But others who gabbled a jargon half Gaelic,
Exclaimed, " Hoot awa, mon, you're a' gane astray"
And declared that " whoe'er might prefer the metallic,
They'd shoe their own donkeys with papier macheT
Meanwhile the poor Neddy, in torture and fear,
Lay under his panniers, scarce able to groan,
And, what was still dolefuler — lending an ear
To advisers whose ears were a match for his own.
At length, a plain rustic, whose wit went so far
As to see others' folly, roared out as he passed —
"Quick — off with the panniers, all dolts as ye are,
Or your prosperous Neddy will soon kick his last."
456 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
CARDINAL WOLSEY.
Cardinal WoLSEY was a man
Of an unbounded stomach, Shakspeare says,
Meaning (in metaphor), for ever puffing,
To swell beyond bis size and span :
But had he seen a player in our days
Enacting Falstaff without stuffing,
He would have owned that Wblsey's bulk ideal
Equalled not that within the bounds,
This actor's l"'lt surrounds,
Which is, moreover, all alive and real.
This player, when the peace enabled shoals
Of our odd OS
To vi^it every clime between the poles,
Swam with the .stream, a histrionic Kraken,
Although his wish
Must not, in this proceeding, be mistaken ;
For he went out professionally, — bent
To see how money ought be made, not spent.
In this most laudable employ
He found himself at Lille one afternoon,
And, that he might the breeze enjoy,
And catch a peep at the ascending moon,
Out of the town he took a stroll,
Refreshing in the fields his soul,
With sight of streams, and trees, and snowy fleeces,
And thoughts of crowded houses and new pieces.
When we are pleasautly employed time flies: —
He counted up his profits, in the skies,
Until the moon began to shine ;
On which he gazed a while, and then
Pulled out his watch, and cried — " Past nine !
Why, zounds ! they shut the gates at ten." —
Backward he turned his steps instanter,
Stumping along with might and main,
And, though 'tis plain
He couldn't gallop, trot, or canter,
(Those who had seen him would confess it), he
Marched well for one of such obesity.
RECITATIONS US POETRY.
Eying his watch, and now his forehead mopping,
He puffed and blew along the road,
Afraid of melting, more afraid of stopping,
When in his path he met a clown
Returning from the town.
"Tell me," he panted in a thawing state,
'•Dost think I can get in, friend, at the gate?"
"Get in!" replied the hesitating loon,
Measuring with his eye our bulky wight,
" Why — yes, sir, — I should think you might ;
A load of hay went in this afternoon."
SCHOOL AND SCHOOL-FELLOWS.
Twelve years ago I made a mock
Of filthy trades and traffics:
I wondered what they meant by stock ;
I wrote delightful sapphics :
I knew the streets of Rome and Troy,
I supped with fates and furies ;
Twelve years ago I was a boy,
A happy boy, at Drury's.
Twelve years ago ! — how many a thought
Of faded paints and pleasures
Those whispered syllables have brought
From memory's hoarded treasures !
The fields, the forms, the beasts, the books
The glories and disgraces,
The voices of dear friends, the looks
Of old familiar faces.
Where are my friends ? — I am alone,
No playmate shares my beaker —
Some lie beneath the ehurch-yard stone,
And some before the speaker ;
And some compose a tragedy.
And some compose a rondo ;
And some draw sword for liberty,
And some draw pleas for John Doe.
Turn Mill was used to blacken eyes,
Without the fear of sessions ;
1HAED.
:v.i
458 THE SELECT ACADEN LKER.
Charles Medler loathed false quantities,
As much as false professions;
Now Mill keeps order in the land,
A magistrate pedantic ;
And Medler's feet repose unscanned,
Beneath the wide Atlantic.
While \i<-k, whose oaths made sneh n din,
! >.-. Marte tt'« duty ;
Ami Mullion, with that monstrous chin,
Is married to a beauty ;
And Darrel studies, week by week,
Sis .Mant ami not his Manton :
And Ball, who was bat poor at Oreek.
1 i very rich at Canton.
And I am eight-and-twenty now —
Tlie world's cold chain has bound me ;
And darker shades are on my brow,
And sadder scenes around me :
In parliament I fill my seat,
With many other noodles ;
And lay my head in Germyn-street,
And sip my hock at Doodle's.
But oft when the cares of life
Have set my temples aching,
When visions haunt me of a wife,
"When duns await my waking,
"When Lady Jane is in a pet,
Or Hobby in a hurry,
When Captain Hazard wins a bet,
Or Beaulieu spoils a curry :
For hours and hours, I think and talk
Of each remembered hobby ;
I long to lounge in Poet's Walk —
To shiver in the lobby ;
I wish that I could run away
From house, and court, and levee,
Where bearded men appear to-day,
Just Eton boys, grown heavy ;.
That I could bask in childhood's sun,
And dance o'er childhood's roses ;
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 459
And find huge wealth in one pound one,
Vast wit and broken noses ;
And pray Sir Giles at Datchet Lane,
And call the milk-maids Houris ;
That I could be a boy again —
A happy boy at Drury's!
THE RUSH OF THE TRAIN.
Asojnrsiooa.
Through the mould and through the clay,
Through the corn and through the hay,
By the margin of the lake,
O'er the river and through the brake,
O'er the bleak and dreary moor,
On we hie with screech and roar :
Splashing, flashing,
Crashing, dashing
Over ridges,
Gulleys. bridges ;
By the bubbling rill,
And mill,
Highways,
Byways.
Hollow hill:
•Jumping, bumping,
Rocking, roaring.
Like forty thousand giants snoring !
O'er the aqueduct and bog
On we fly with ceaseless jog,
Every instant something new,
Every moment lost to view ;
Xow a tavern, now a steeple,
Xow a crowd of gaping people ;
Now a hollow, now a ridge,
Xow a cross-way, now a bridge.
Grumble, stumble,
Rumble, tumble :
Fretting — getting in a stew:
Church and steeple, gaping people,
Quick as thought are lost to view.
4G0 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
Everything thai eye can innrey
Turns huriy-bnrly, topsy-turvy.
( tlimpse of lonely bul and mansion,
( Glimpse of ocean's wide expansion,
Glimpse of foundry and of forge,
Glimpse of plain and mounts
I lash along !
11 .".1 »ng I
I
Flash along !
( hi 11 with :i jump,
And ;i bump,
And a roll,
EJies ill-' Fire-Fiend to it- destined goal
SAYING NOT MEANING.
W. H. W\KE.
'J' wo gentlemen their appetite hail fed,
When opening his toothpiok-case, one said,
" It was not until lately that I knew
Thai anchotries on terr&Jirmd grew."
"Grow!" cried the other, "yes, they grow, indeed,
Like other fish, hut not apon the hmd ;
5Tou might as well Bay grapes grow on a reed,
Or in the Strand !"
" Why, sir/' returned the irritated other,
" My brother,
When at Calcutta
Beheld them bondf.de growing ;
He wouldn't utter
A lie for love or money, sir ; so in
This matter you are thoroughly mistaken."
'• Xonsense, sir! nonsense ! I can give no credit
To the assertion — none e'er saw or read it ;
Your brother, like his evidence, should be shaken.
" Be shaken, sir! let me observe, you are
Perverse — in short — "
" Sir," said the other, sucking his cigar,
And then his port —
" If you will say impossibles are true,
You may affirm just anything you please—
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 461
That swans are quadrupeds, and lions blue,
And elephants inhabit Stilton cheese !
Only you must not force me to believe
"What's propagated merely to deceive. "
" Then you force me to say, sir, you're a fool,"
Returned the bragger.
Language like this no man can suffer cool :
It made the listener stagger ;
So, thunder-stricken, he at once replied,
" The traveller lied
Who had the impudence to tell it you ;"
" Zounds ! then d'3 T e mean to swear before my face
That anchovies don't grow like cloves and mace V
"Idol"
Disputants often after hot debates
Leave the contention as they found it — bone,
And take to duelling or thumping tiles;
Thinking by strength of artery to atone
For strength of argument ; and he who winces
From force of words, with force of arms convinces !
With pistols, powder, bullets, surgeons, lint,
Seconds, and smelling-bottles, and foreboding,
Our friends advanced ; and now portentous loading
(Their hearts already loaded) served to show
It might be better they shook hands — but no ;
When each opines himself, though frightened, right,
Each is, in courtesy, obliged to fight !
And they did fight : from six full measured paces
The unbeliever pulled his trigger first ;
And fearing, from the braggart's ugly faces,
The whizzing lead had whizzed its very worst,
Ran up, and with a duelist ic fear
(His ire evanishing like morning vapors),
Found him possessed of one remaining ear,
Who in a manner sudden and uncouth,
Had given, not lent, the other ear to truth ;
For while the surgeon was applying lint,
He, wriggling, cried — " The deuce is in't —
Sir ! I meant — capers !"
39*
162
i HE • !.U' i ACADEMIC SPEAKEK.
HO.
\i\ ik Bleeping, .-till awake,
Pleasing most when most I speak ;
The delight of old and y< u
Though I speak without a b mgue.
Nought but one thing can confound me,
.Many voices joining round me ;
Then 1 fret, and rave, and gabble,
Like the labor* - bel.
Now 1 am a dog, or •
1 can bark, or 1 can low ;
1 can bleat, or I can -inL r .
Like the warblers of the >] nin^.
Let tin- lore-sick bard complain,
And 1 mourn the cruel pain ;
I. the happy swain rejoice,
And 1 j( in my helping w<
Both are welcome, grief or
I with either sport ami toy.
Though a lady, I am Btout,
Drums and trumpets bring me out :
Then I clash, and roar, and rattle,
Join in all the din of battle.
Jove, with all his loudest thunder,
When I'm vexed can't keep me under :
Vet BO tender is my car,
That the lowest voice I fear :
Much T dread the courtier's fate,
When his merit's out of date,
For I hate a silent breath,
And a whisper is my death.
ON FACTOTUM NED.
Here lies Factotum Ned at last :
Long as he breathed the vital air,
Nothing throughout all Europe passed
In which he hadn't some small share.
Thomas Moork.
Whoe'er was in, whoe'er was out —
Whatever statesmen did or said —
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 463
If not exactly brought about,
Was all, at least, contrived by Ned.
With Nap if Russia went to war,
'Twas owing, under Providence,
To certain hints Ned gave the Czar—
( Vide his pamphlet — price six pence).
If France was beat at Waterloo —
As all, but Frenchmen, think she was —
To Ned, as Wellington well knew,
Was owing half that day's applause.
Then for his news — no envoy's bag
E'er passed so many secrets through it —
Scarcely a telegraph could wag
Its wooden finger, but Necl knew it.
Such tales he had of foreign plots,
With foreign names one's ear to buzz in—
From Russia chefs and qfs in lots,
From Poland owskis by the dozen.
When George, alarmed for England's creed,
Turned out the last Whig ministry,
And men asked — who advised the deed ?
Ned modestly confessed 'twas he.
For though, by some unlucky miss,
He had not downright seen the King,
He sent such hints through Viscount This,
To Marquis That, as clenched the thing.
The same it was in science, arts,
The drama, books, MS. and printed —
Kean learned from Ned his cleverest parts,
And Scott's last work by him was hinted.
Childe Harold in the proofs he read,
And, here and there, infused some soul in't —
Nay, Davy's lamp, till seen by Ned,
Had — odd enough — a dangerous hole in't.
'Twas thus, all doing and all knowing,
Wit, statesman, boxer, chemist, singer,
■1 -,l TH] I AC IDEMIG BPE IKER.
Whatever was the I >ing,
In ///^/ Ned— trust him — had his finger.
THE LOBSTERS.
As a young I. >bster roamed about,
[tself and mother being out,
Their eyes at the Bam e moment fell
On a boiled lobsl Lei Bhell.
"Lo ik," Baid the younger ; " is it true
That wo nii^lit wear bo bright a hue!
ral, if 1 trust mine i
Can with its startling brilliance vie;
While you and I must be content
A ding] aspect to present."
" IV >ud heedless fool," the parent cried
ii Know'st thou the penalty of pride?
The tawdry finery you wish,
Has ruined this unhappy fish.
The hue so much by you desired,
By his destruction Avas acquired —
So be contented with yuur lot,
Nor seek to change by going to pot."
THE BANDIT S FATE.
I' ex. >;.
He wore a brace of pistols the night when first we met,
His deep-lined brow was frowning beneath his wig of jet ;
His footsteps had the moodiness, his voice the hollow ton'-,
Of a bandit-chief, w r ho feels remorse, and tears his hair alone —
I saw him but at half-price, yet methinks I see him now,
In the tableau of the last act, with the blood upon his brow.
A private bandit's belt and boots, when next we met, he wore ;
His salary, he told me, was lower than before ;
And standing at the 0. P. wing he strove, and not in vain,
To borrow half a sovereign, which he never paid again.
I saw it but a moment — and I wish I saw it now —
As he buttoned up his pocket with a condescending bow.
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 46;
And once again we met ; but no bandit chief was there ;
His rouge was off, and gone that head of once luxuriant hair:
He lodges in a two-pair back, and at the public near,
He cannot liquidate his " chalk," or wipe away his beer.
I saw him sad and seedy, yet methinks I see him now,
In the tableau of the last act, with the blood upon his brow.
BOYS.
Saxe.
' The proper study of mankind is man/' —
The most perplexing one, no doubt, is woman ;
The subtlest study that the mind can scan.
Of all deep problems, heavenly or human !
But of all studies in the round of learning,
From nature's marvels down to human toys,
To minds well fitted for acute discerning,
The very queerest one is that of boys !
If to ask questions that would puzzle Plato,
And all the schoolmen of the middle age, —
If to make precepts worthy of old Cato,
Be deemed philosophy,— your boy's a sage !
If the possession of a teeming fancy, —
(Although, forsooth, the younker doesn't know it,)
Which he can use in rarest necromancy,
Be thought poetical, your boy's a poet !
If a strong will and most courageous bearing,
If to be cruel as the Roman Nero ;
If all that's chivalrous, and all that's daring,
Can make a hero, then the boy's a hero !
But changing soon with his increasing stature,
The boy is lost in manhood's riper age,
And with him goes his former triple nature, —
No longer Poet, Hero, now, nor Sage !
2G
4G0 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER,
THE RAILWAY TRAVELLER'S FAREWELL.
"J'was business called a Father to travel by the Rail ;
II'.- eye was calm, his hand was linn, although his cheek was pale.
He took his little boj and girl, and Bel them on his knee;
And their mother hung about his neck, ;in<l her tear- flowed fast an 1
free.
I'm going by the Rail, my dears — Eliza, lore, don't cry —
Now, kiss me both before 1 leave, and wish Papa good-by.
I hope I shall be back again, this afternoon, to tea,
And then, I hope, olive and well, that your Papa you'll -
I'm going by the Rail, my dears, where the engines puff and hiss ;
And ten to one the chances ore thai something goes ami
And in an instant, quick as thought — before yon could cry " Ah '."
An accident occurs, and — say good-by to poor Papa '.
S metimes from scandalous neglect, my dears, the sleepers sink,
And then you have the carriage's upset, a< you may think.
The progress of the train, sometimes, a truck or cool-box checks,
And there'- a risk for p i « Papa's, and everybody's necks.
Or there may be a screw loose, a hook, or bolt, or pin —
Or else an ill-made tunnel may give way, and tumble in ;
And in the wreck the passengers and pour Papa remain
Confined, till down upon them comes the next Excursion-train.
If a policeman's careless, dears, or if not over-bright,
When he should show a red flag, it may be he shows a white :
Between two trains, in consequence, there's presently a clash,
If poor Papa is only bruised, he's lucky in the smash.
Points may be badly managed, as they were the other day,
Because a stingy Company for hands enough won't pay ;
Over and over goes the train — the engine off the rail.
And poor Papa's unable, when he's found, to tell the talc.
And should your poor Papa escape, my darlings, with his life,
May he return on two legs, to his children and his wife —
With both his arms, my little dears, return your fond embrace,
And present to you, unaltered, every feature of his face.
I hope I shall come back, my dears — but, mind, I am insured —
So, in case the worst may happen, you are so far all secured.
An action then will also lie for you and your Mamma —
And don't forget to bring it — on account of poor Papa.
RECITATIONS IX POETRY. 461
THE RICH MAX AXD THE POOR MAX.
KHE3JNITZEB.
So goes the world : — if wealthy, you may call
This, friend, that, brother; — friends and brothers all;
Though you are worthless — witless — never mind it ;
You may have been a stable-boy — what then?
'Tis wealth, good sir, makes honorable men.
You seek respect, no doubt, and you will find it.
But if you are poor, Heaven help you ! though your sire
Had royal blood within him, and though you
Possess the intellect of angels too,
'Tis all in vain; — the world will ne'er inquire
On such a score : — Why should it take the pains ?
'Tis easier to weigh purses, sure, than brains.
I once saw a poor fellow, keen and clever,
Witty and wise : — he paid a man a visit,
And no one noticed him, and no one ever
Gave him a welcome. " Strange/' cried I, " whence is it?"
He walked on this side, then on that,
He tried to introduce a social chat ;
Now here, now there, in vain he tried ;
Some formally and freezingly replied,
And some
Said by their silence — " Better stay at home."
A rich man burst the door,
" As Croesus rich, I'm sure
He could not pride himself upon his wit,
And as for wisdom he had none of it ;
He had what's better ; he had wealth.
What a confusion ! — all stand up erect —
These crowd around to ask him of his health,
These bow in honest duty and respect ;
And these arrange a sofa or a chair,
And these conduct him there.
" Allow me, sir, the honor ;" — Then a bow
Down to the earth — Is't possible to show
Meet gratitude for such kind condescension ?
The poor man hung his head,
And to himself he said,
" This is indeed beyond my comprehension :"
408 THE SBLEI C ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
Then looking round,
One friendly i and,
And 9ai I -■ I 'ray tell me why is wealth preferred
To wisdom '.'" — " That's a sill;
Replied the other — "have you never heard,
A man may lend ',
Of gold "j- silver ore,
lint wisdom none can borrow, none can lend.'''
THE VICAB.
I'IlAU>.
Some 3 ears ago, ere Time and I
Had turned oar parish topsy-tnrvy,
When Darnel Park was Darnel Was
And roads as little known at
The man who lost his way between
St. Mary's Hill and Sandy Thicket,
Was always shown across the gr
And guided to the parson's wicket.
Back flew the bolt of lissom lath ;
Fair Margaret in her tidy kirtle,
Led the lorn traveller up the path,
Through clean-clipt rows of box and myrtle
And Don and Sancho, Tramp and Tray,
Upon the par .llected,
1 all their tails and seemed to say,
"Oar master knows you ; you're expected!"
Up rose the Reverend Dr. Brown,
Up rose the Doctor's "winsome marrow;"
The lady laid her knitting down,
Her husband clasped his ponderous Barrow;
Whate'er the stranger's caste or creed,
Pundit or papist, saint or sinner,
He found a stable for his steed,
And welcome for himself, and dinner.
If, when he reached his journey's end,
And warmed himself in court or college,
He had not gained an honest friend,
And twenty curious scraps of knowledge;—
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 409
If he departed as he came,
With no new light on love or liquor, —
Good sooth, the traveller was to blame,
And not the vicarage, or the yicar.
His talk was like a stream which runs
With rapid change from rocks to roses :
It slipped from politics to puns :
It passed from Mahomet to Moses :
Beginning with the laws which keep
The planets in their radiant courses,
And ending with some precept deep
For dressing eels or shoeing horses.
His sermon never said or showed
That earth is foul, that heaven is gracious,
Without refreshment on the road
From Jerome, or from Athanasius ;
And sure a righteous zeal inspired
The hand and head that penned and planned them,
For all who understood, admired,
And some who did not understand them.
He did not think all mischief fair,
Although he had a knack of joking ;
He did not make himself a bear,
Although he had a taste for smoking:
And when religious sects ran mad,
He held, in spite of all his learning,
That if a man's belief is bad.
It will not be improved by burning.
And he was kind, and loved to sit
In the low hut or garnished cottage,
And praise the farmer's homely wit,
And share the widow's homelier pottage :
At his approach complaint grew mild,
And when his hand unbarred the shutter,
The clammy lips of fever smiled
The welcome which they could not utter.
He always had a tale for me
Of Julius Caesar or of Yen us :
From him I learned the rule of three,
Cat's cradle, leap-frog, and Quae Genus ;
40
470 THE 3BLBCT ACADEMIC BPBAE
I used to Binge his powdered wig,
To steal the staff be put such trust in ;
And make the puppy dance a jig
When he began to qu >te Augustan.
Alack the change ! in vain I look
For haunts in which my boyhood trifled ;
The level lawn, the trickling bi k.
The trees I climbed, the beds I rifled:
The church is larger than 1" I
X .11 reach it by a carriaj
It holds three hundred people more i
pews are fitted up for gentry.
Sit in the vicar's .-cat : you'll hear
The doctrine of a gentle Johnian,
Wh e hand is white, whose voice is clear,
Whose tone is very Ciceronian.
Where is the old man laid ? — look down,
And construe on the Blab before you,
Hie Jacet GULIELMUS BROWN,
V i n Nulla won n •- i BA-
THE MARCH TO MOSCOW.
Toe Emperor Nap he would set off
On a summer excursion to Moscow :
The fields were green, and the sky was blue,
Morbleu ! Parbleu !
What a pleasant excursion to Moscow !
Four hundred thousand men and more
Must go with him to Moscow :
There were Marshals by the dozen,
And Dukes by the score ;
Princes a few. and Kings one or two ;
While the fields are so green, and the sky so blue,
Morbleu ! Parbleu !
What a pleasant excursion to Moscow !
There was Junot and Augereau,
Heigh-ho fov Moscow !
Robert Soittiet.
RECITATIONS IX POETRY. 471
Dombrowsky and Poniatowsky,
Marshal Xey, lack-a-day !
General Rapp, and the Emperor Nap ;
Nothing would do,
While the fields were so green, and the sky so blue,
Morbleu ! Parbleu !
Nothing would do
For the whole of this crew,
But they must be marching to Moscow.
The Emperor Xap he talked so big
That he frightened Mr. Roscoe.
John Bull, he cries, if you'll be wise,
Ask the Emperor Xap if he will please
To grant you peace, upon your knees,
Because he is going to Moscow !
He'll make all the Poles come out of their holes,
And beat the Russians, and eat the Prussians ;
For the fields are green, and the sky is blue,
. Morbleu I Parbleu !
And he'll certainly march to Moscow !
And Counsellor Brougham was all in a fume
At the thought of the march to Moscow :
The Russians, he said, they were undone,
And the great Fee-Faw-Fum
Would presently come,
With a hop, step, and jump, unto London :
For, as for his conquering Russia,
However some persons might scoff it,
Do it he could, and do it he would,
And froi.: doing it nothing would come but good,
And nothing could call him off it,
Mr. Jeffrey said so, who must certainly know,
For he was the Edinburgh Prophet.
They all of them knew Mr. Jeffrey's Review,
Which with Holy Writ ought to be reckoned :
It was, through thick and thin, to its party true ;
Its back was buff, and its sides were blue,
Morbleu ! Parbleu !
It served them for Law and for Gospel too.
But the Russians stoutly they turned to
Upon the road to Moscow.
472 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
Nap had to fight his way all through ;
They could fight, though they could not parlez vout
1 > u t the fields were green, and the sky was blue,
Morbleu ! Parbleu !
And so he got to M< 9C0W.
He found the place too warm for him,
For they Bet fire to Mo cow.
To gel there had cost him much ado,
And then no better course he knew,
While the fields were green, and the sky was blue,
Morbleu ! Parbleu !
But to march hark again from Moscow.
The Russians they Btuck do e to him
All on the road from Moscow.
There was Tormazow and Jem alow,
And all the others that end in ow ;
Milarodovitcb and Jaladovitch,
And Karatschkowitch,
And all the others that end in itch:
Schamscheff, Souohosaneff,
And Schepaleff,
Ami all the others that end in eff;
Wasiltschikoff, Kostomaroff,
And Tchoglokoff,
And all the others that end in off;
Rajeffsky, and Novereffsky,
And Rieffskj,
And all the others that end in effsky ;
Oscharoffsky and Rostoffsky,
And all the others that end in offsky ;
And Platoff he played them off,
And Shouvaloff he shovelled them off,
And Markoff he marked them off',
And Krosnoff he crossed them off,
And Tuchkoff he touched them off,
And Boroskoff he bored them off,
And Kutousoff he cut them off,
And Parenzoff he pared them off,
And Worronzoff he worried them off,
And Doctoroff he doctored them off.
And Rodionoff he flogged them off,
And, last of all, an Admiral came,
A terrible man with a terrible name,
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 473
A name which you all know by sight very well,
But which no one can speak, and no one can spell.
They stuck close to Nap with all their might;
They were on the left and on the right,
Behind and before, and by day and by night ;
He would rather parlez-vous than fight ;
But he looked white, and he looked blue,
Morbleu ! Parbleu !
When parlez-vous no more would do,
For they remembered Moscoav.
And then came on the frost and snow,
All on the road from Moscow.
The wind and the weather he found, in that hour,
Cared nothing for him, nor for all his power ;
For him who, while Europe crouched under his rod,
Put his trust in his Fortune, and not in his God.
Worse and worse every day the elements grew,
The fields were so white, and the sky so blue,
Sacrebleu ! Ventrebleu !
What a horrible journey from Moscow !
What then thought the Emperor Nap
Upon the road from Moscow ?
Why, I ween he thought it small delight
To fight all day, and to freeze all night ;
And he was besides in a very great fright,
For a whole skin he liked to be in ;
And so, not knowing Avhat else to do,
When the fields were so white, and the sky so blue,
Morbleu ! Parbleu !
He stole away, — I tell you true, —
Upon the road from Moscow.
; Tis myself, quoth he, I must mind most ;
So the Devil may take the hindmost.
Too cold upon the road was he ;
Too hot had he been at Moscow ;
But colder and hotter he may be,
For the grave is colder than Muscovy ;
And a place there is to be kept in view,
AVhere the fire is red, and the brimstone blue,
Morbleu! Parbleu!
Which he must go to,
If the Pope say true,
40*
-17 1 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
If he does not in time look about him ;
Where his namesaki
lie may have for his Hn-t ;
He has reckoned too long without him ;
If that Host get him in Purgatory,
He won't leave him there alone with hie
But there he must stay for a very long day,
For from thence there is no Btealing away,
Ae there was on the road from Moscow.
THE CHAMELEON.
MeI BIOS.
I >i i has it been my lot to mark
A proud, conceited, talking spark,
Returning from his finished tour,
(Irown ten times perter than before:
Whatever word \"\\ chance to drop,
'I he travelled fool your mouth will stop:-
'• Sir, if my judgment you'll allow —
I've seen — and sure I ought to know;"
So beg- you'd pay a due submission,
And acquiesce in his decision.
Two travellers of such a cast,
As o'er Arabia's wilds they passed,
And on their way, in friendly chat,
Xow talked of this, and then of that,
Discoursed awhile, 'mongst other matter,
Of the chameleon's form and nature.
" A stranger animal," cries o i
" Sure never lived beneath the sun ;
A lizard's body, lean and long,
A fish's head, a serpent's tongue,
Its tooth with triple claw disjoined ;
And what a length of tail behind !
How slow its pace ! and then its hue —
Who ever saw so fine a blue ?"
" Hold there I" the other quick replies —
" ; Tis green ; I saw it with these eyes,
As late with open mouth it lay,
And warmed it in the sunny ray ;
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 475
Stretched at its ease, the beast I viewed,
And saw it eat the air for food."
"I've seen it, sir, as well as you,
And must again affirm it blue ;
At leisure I the beast surveyed,
Extended in the cooling shade."
" ; Tis green! 'tis green, sir, I assure ye!"
" Green ?" cries the other, in a fury ;
" Why, sir. d ; ye think I've lost my eyes !"
" 'Twere no great loss," the friend replies ;
" For if they always use you thus,
You'll find them but of little use."
So high, at last, the contest rose,
From words they almost came to blows ;
When luckily came by a third ;
To him the question they referred,
And begged he'd tell them, if he knew,
Whether the thing was green or blue.
" Sirs," said the umpire, " cease your pother ;
The creature's neither one nor t'other.
I caught the animal last night,
And viewed it o'er by candle light ;
I marked it well — 'twas black as jet:
You stare — but, sirs, I've got it yet,
And can produce it." — " Pray, sir, do ;
I'll lay my life the thing is blue."
" And I'll be sworn, that when you've seen
The reptile, you'll pronounce him green." —
" Well, then, at once to end the doubt,"
Replies the man, "I'll turn him out;
And when before your eyes I've set him,
If you don't find him black, I'll eat him."
He said — then full before their sight
Produced the beast ; and, lo ! 'twas white !
Both stared ; the man looked wondrous wise.
"My children," the chameleon cries, —
Then first the creature found a tongue, —
" You all are right, and all are wrong.
■170 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
When next you talk of what you view,
Think others see as well as you,
Nor wonder it' you find that none
Prefers your eyesight to his own."
DERMOT DOWD.
Whbk Dermot O'Dowd ooorted Molly M'Can,
They were Bweet as the honey and soft a^ the down,
But when they were wed they began to find out
That Dermot oould Btorm and that Molly eould frown
They would neither give in — eo the aeighbors gave out—
Both were hot, till e coldness came over the two,
And Molly would flusther, and Dermot would blusther,
Stamp holes in the Sure, and cry out " wirrasthrui
Oh murther ! I'm married.
1 wish I had tarri
I'm and speechless — no word can I say.
My be 1 ifi no use,
I'll give hack to the
The feathers I plucked on last Michaelmas day."
" Ah !'' says Molly, "you once used to call me a bird."
" Faix, you're ready enough still to fly out," says he.
"You said then my eyes were as bright as the skies,
And my lips like the rose — now no longer like me."
Says Dermot, "your eyes are as bright as the morn,
But your brow is as black as a big thunder cloud,
If your lip is a rose — sure your tongue is a thorn
That sticks in the heart of poor Dermot O'Dowd."
Says Molly, "you once said my voice was a thrush,
But now it's a rusty ould hinge w T ith a creak ;"
Says Dermot, "you call'd me a duck when I coorted,
But now I'm a goose every day in the week.
But all husbands are geese, though our pride it may shock,
From the first 'twas ordained so by Nature, I fear,
Ould Adam himself was the first o' the flock,
And Eve, with her apple sauce, cooked him, my dear."
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 477
FATHER LAND AND MOTHER TONGUE.
LOVLR.
Our Father land ! and would'st thou know
Why we should call it Father land ?
It is that Adam here below,
Was made of earth by Nature's hand ;
And he, our father, made of earth,
Hath peopled earth on every hand,
And we, in memory of his birth,
Do call our country, " Father land."
At first, in Eden's bowers they say,
No sound of speech had Adam caught,
But whistled like a bird all day —
And may be, 'twas for want of thought :
But Nature, with resistless laws,
Made Adam soon surpass the birds,
She gave him lovely Eve — because
If he'd a wife — they must have words.
And so, the Native Land I hold,
By male descent is proudly mine ;
The Language, as the tale hath told,
Was given in the female line.
And thus, we see, on either hand,
We name our blessings whence they've sprung,
We call our country Father land,
We call our language Mother tongue.
MY ONLY CLIENT.
Oh ! take away my wig and gown,
Their sight is mockery now to me :
I pace my chambers up and down,
Reiterating "Where is fie?"
Alas ! wild echo, with a moan,
Murmurs above my feeble head :
In the wide world I am alone ;
Ha! ha! my only client's — dead !
In vain the robing-room I seek ;
The very waiters scarcely bow ;
Punch.
478 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
Their looks contemptuously speak,
"He's lost his only client now."
E'en the mild usher, who, of yore,
Would hasten when bis name I said,
To hand in motions, comes no more,
He knows my only client's dead.
Ne'er shall I. rising ap in court,
Open the pleadings of a suit:
Ne'er shall the judges cut me short
While moving them for a compute.
\o more with a consenting brief
Shall I politely bow my head ;
Where shall I run to hide my grief?
Alas ! my only client's dead.
Imagination's magic power
Brings back, as clear as clear can be,
The spot, the day, the very hour,
When first I signed my maiden plea.
In the Exchequer's hindmost row
I sat, and some one touched my head,
He tendered ten-aud-six, hut oh !
That only client now is dead !
In vain I try to sing — I'm hoarse :
In vain I try to play the flute,
A phantom seems to flit across —
It is the ghost of a compute.
I try to read, — but all in vain ;
My chamber listlessly I tread ;
Be still, my heart ; throb less, my brain ;
Ho ! ho ! my only client's dead.
I think I hear a double knock:
I did — alas ! it is a dun.
Tailor — avaunt ! my sense you shock ;
He's dead ! you know I had but one.
What's this they thrust into my hand ?
A bill returned ! — ten pounds for bread !
My butcher's got a large demand ;
I'm mad ! my only client's dead.
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 479
THE LAST STANZAS OF YANKEE DOODLE.
PUXCH.
Yankee Doodle sent to Town
His goods for exhibition ;
Everybody ran him down,
And laughed at his position.
They thought him all the world behind ;
A goney, muff, or noodle ;
Laugh on, good people — never mind —
Says quiet Yankee Doodle.
Yankee Doodle had a craft,
A rather tidy clipper,
And he challenged, while they laughed,
The Britishers to whip her.
Their whole yacht-squadron she outsped,
And that on their own water ;
Of all the lot she went a-head,
And they came nowhere arter.
O'er Panama there was a scheme
Long talked of, to pursue a
Short route — which many thought a dream —
By Lake Nicaragua.
John Bull discussed the plan on foot,
With slow irresolution,
While Yankee Doodle went and put
It into execution.
A steamer of the Collins line,
A Yankee Doodle's notion,
Has also quickest cut the brine
Across the Atlantic Ocean.
And British agents, no ways slow
Her merits to discover,
Have been and bought her — just to tow
The Cunard packets over.
Your gunsmiths of their skill may crack,
But that again don't mention :
I guess that Colt's revolvers whack
Their very first invention.
By Yankee Doodle, too, you're beat
Downright in Agriculture,
With his machine for reaping wheat,
Chawed up as by a vulture.
480 THE SELECT ACADEMIC BPEAKER.
You .also fancied, in your pride,
Which truly is tarnation,
Them British Locks of yourn defied
The rogues of all creation ;
But Chubbs' and Bramah's Bobbs bas p
And yon must H"\v be \ iewed all
As having been completely Lioked
By glorious Yankee Doodle.
THE BONG OF EIAWATHA.
\n English Criticism.)
You who hold in grace and honor,
Hold, as one who did you kindnest
When he published former j ms,
Sang Evangeline the noble,
Sang the golden Golden Legend,
Sang the Bongs the Voices utter
Crying in the night and darkness,
Sang how unto the Red Planet
Mars he gave the Night's First Watches,
Henry Wadsworth, whose adnomen
(Coming awkward, for the accents.
Into this his latest rhythm)
Write we as Protracted Fellow,
Or in Latin, Longus Comes —
Buy the Song of Hiawatha.
Sh%ild you ask me, By what story,
By what action, plot, or fiction,
All these matters are connected?
I should answer, I should tell you,
Go to Bogue and buy the poem,
Published neatly, at one shilling,
Published sweetly, at five shillings.
Should you ask me, Is there music
In the structure of the verses,
In the names and in the phrases ?
Pleading that, like weaver Bottom,
You prefer your ears well-tickled ;
I should answer, I should tell you,
Henry's verse is very charming ;
I'i Hi U.
RECITATIONS IX POETRY. 481
And for names — there's Hiawatha,
Who's the hero of the poem ;
Mudjeekeewis, that's the West Wind,
Hiawatha's graceless father ;
There's Nokomis, there's Wenonah —
Ladies both, of various merit ;
Puggawanguru, that's a war-club ;
Pau-puk-keewis, he's a dandy,
" Barred with streaks of red and yellow ;
And the women and the maidens
Love the handsome Pau-puk-keewis,"
Tracing in him Punch's likeness.
Then there's lovely Minnehaha —
Pretty name with pretty meaning —
It implies the Laughing-water ;
And the darling Minnehaha
Married noble Hiawatha ;
And her story's far too touching
To be sport for you, you donkey,
With your ears like weaver Bottom's,
Ears like booby Bully Bottom.
Once upon a time in London,
In the days of the Lyceum,
Ages ere keen Arnold let it
To the dreadful Northern Wizard,
Ages ere the buoyant Mathews
Tripped upon its boards in briskness —
I remember, I remember
How a scribe, with pen chivalrous,
Tried to save these Indian stories
From the fate of chill oblivion.
Out came sundry comic Indians
Of the tribe of Kut-an-hack-um.
With their Chief, the clean Efmatthews,
With the growling Downy Beaver,
With the valiant Monkey's Uncle,
Came the gracious Mari-Kee-lee,
Firing off a pocket-pistol,
Singing, too, that Mudjee-keewis
(Shortened in the song to " Wild Wind,")
Was a spirit very kindly.
Came her Sire, the joyous Kee-lee,
By the waning tribe adopted,
41 2H
482 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
Named the Buffalo, and wedded
To the fairest of the mai lens,
But repented of hie bargain,
And his brother Knt-an-hack-umi
Very marly chopped bis toes off —
Serve him right, the fickle Kec-lee.
[f yon a»k me, What this memorj
Hath tO do With Hiawatha.
And the poem irhioh I Bpeak of?
I should an-u er, 1 should tell yon,
You're a Fool, and most presumptuous;
'Tie not for such humble cattle
To inquire what links and unions
Join the thoughts, and mystie meanings,
Of their betters, mighty poets,
Mighty writers — Punch the mightiest ;
1 should answer, I should tell you,
Shut your month, and go to David,
Qavid, Mr. Punch's neighbor,
Buy the Song of Hiawatha,
Read, and learn, and then be thankful
Unto Punch and Henry Wadsworth,
Punch and nohle Henry Wadsworth,
Truer poet, better fellow,
Than to he annoyed at jesting,
From his friend, great Punch, who loves him.
RHYME OF THE RAIL.
Bun
Singing through the forests,
Battling over ridges,
Shooting under arches,
Rumbling over bridges,
Whizzing through the mountains,
Buzzing o'er the vale, —
Bless me ! this is pleasant,
Riding on the Rail !
Men of different " stations"
In the eye of Fame,
Here are very quickly
Coming to the same.
RECITATIONS IN POETRY.
High and lowly people,
Birds of every feather,
On a common level
Travelling together !
Gentleman in shorts,
Looming very tall ;
Gentleman at large,
Talking very small ;
Gentleman in tights,
With a loose-ish mien :
Gentleman in gray,
Looking rather green.
Gentleman quite old,
Asking for the news ;
Gentleman in black,
In a fit of blues ;
Gentleman in claret,
Sober as a vicar ;
Gentleman in Tweed,
Dreadfully in liquor !
Stranger on the right,
Looking very sunny,
Obviously reading
Something rather funny.
Now the smiles are thicker,
"Wonder what they mean ?
Faith, he's got the Knicker-
bocker Magazine !
Stranger on the left,
Closing up his peepers,
Now he snores amain,
Like the Seven Sleepers ;
At his feet a volume
Gives the explanation,
How the man grew stupid
From "Association I"
Ancient maiden lady
Anxiously remarks,
That there must be peril
'Mong so many sparks ;
484 Tin: SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
R i juisb looking fellow,
Turning to the stranger,
it's lii- opinion
She is out of danger I
Woman w ith her babj ,
Sitting \i--a-\ i - :
Bab]
Woman looks al me ;
Asks about the distance,
s ■'.'
NToisi - .' thi
hooking !
Market woman careful
Of the pi -Let,
Knowing eggs are • -
Tightly holds her basket :
Feeling that a smash,
[f it came, would surely
Send h< i
Rather prematurely !
ging through the forests,
Rattling over ri
iting under arches,
Rumbling over bridges,
Whizzing through the mountains,
Buzzing o'er the vale ;
Bless me ! this is pleasant,
Kiding on the Rail !
A SERENADE.
" Lullaby, 0, lullaby \"
Thus I heard a father cr}%
"Lullaby, 0, lullaby !
The brat will never shut an eye ;
Hither come, some power divine !
Close his lids, or open mine \"
l J Lullaby, 0, lullaby !
What the devil makes him cry?
Thomas Hood.
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 485
Lullaby, 0, lullaby !
Still he stares — I wonder why,
Why are not the sons of earth
Blind, like puppies, from the birth ?"
" Lullaby, 0, lullaby V
Thus I heard the father cry ;
" Lullaby, 0, lullaby !
Mary, you must come and try ! —
Hush, 0, hush, for mercy's sake —
The more I sing, the more you wake !"
" Lullaby, 0, lullaby !
Fie, you little creature, fie !
Lullaby, 0, lullaby !
Is no poppy-syrup nigh ?
Give him some, or give him all,
I am nodding to his fall !"
" Lullaby, 0, lullaby !
Two such nights and I shall die !
Lullaby, 0, lullaby !
He'll be bruised, and so shall I—
How can I from bed-posts keep,
When I'm walking in my sleep ?"
"Lullaby, 0, lullaby!
Sleep his very looks deny —
Lullaby, 0, lullaby !
Nature soon will stupefy —
My nerves relax — my eyes grow dim —
Who's that fallen — me or him?"
MORNING MEDITATIONS.
Thomas Hood.
Let Taylor preach upon a morning breezy,
How well to rise while nights and larks are flying-
For my part getting up seems not so easy
By half as lying.
What if the lark does carol in the sky,
Soaring beyond the sight to find him out —
Wherefore am I to rise at such a fly ?
I'm not a trout.
41
480 THE SELECT ACADEMIC SPEAKER.
Talk not to mo of bees and such like hums,
The smell of sweet berbs at the morning prime-
Only He long enough, and bed beoomes
A bed "!' tinn .
To mo Dan Phoebus ami his car are nought,
His steeds that paw impatiently about —
Let them enjoy, say 1, as horses ought,
The first turn-out !
Right beautiful the dewy meads appear
Besprinkled by the rosy-fingered girl ;
What then, — if I prefer my pillow-1
T«> early pearl ''.
My stomach is not ruled by other mi
And grumbling for a reason, quaintly begs
Wherefore should master rise before the hens
Why from a comfortable pillow start
To see faint Hushes in the east awaken :
A fig, Bay 1, for any streaky part,
Excepting bacon.
An early riser Mr. Gray has drawn,
Who used to haste the dewy grass among.
"To meet the sun upon the upland lawn" —
Well — he died young.
With charwomen such early hours agree,
And sweeps that earn betimes their bit and sup
But I'm no climbing boy, and need not be
All up — all up !
So here Fll lie, my morning calls deferring,
Till something nearer to the stroke of noon ; —
A man that's fond precociously of stirring,
Must be a spoon.
THE SEASON.
Thomas Hood.
Summer's gone and over!
Fogs are falling down ;
RECITATIONS EN POETEY. 487
And with russet tinges
Autumn's doing brown.
Boughs are daily rifled
By the gusty thieves,
And the Book of Nature
Getteth short of leaves.
Bound the tops of houses,
Swallows, as they flit,
Give, like yearly tenants,
Notices to quit.
Skies, of fickle temper,
"Weep by turns, and laugh —
Night and Day together
Taking half-and-half.
So September endeth —
Cold, and most perverse —
But the Month that follows,
Sure will pinch us worse !
SPRING.
(A New Version. )
Thomas Hood.
" Come, gentle Spring ! ethereal mildness come I"
Oh ! Thomson, void of rhyme as well as reason,
How couldst thou thus poor human nature hum ?
There ; s no such season.
The Spring ! I shrink and shudder at her name !
For why, I find her breath a bitter blighter !
And suffer from her blows as if they came
From Spring the Fighter.
Her praises, then, let hardy poets sing.
And be her tuneful laureates and upholders,
"Who do not feel as if they had a Spring
Poured down their shoulders !
Let others eulogize her floral shows,
From me they cannot win a single stanza,
488 THE 8BLBCT ACADEMIC SPB \Ki:i;.
1 know ber blooms are in full blow — and -
The [nfluenza.
Her cowslips, Btocks, and lilies of the vale,
Her honey-blossoms that yon hear the bees at,
Her pansies, daffodils, and primrose pale,
Are things i Bneeze at !
Fair is the vernal quarter of the year!
And Fair its early buddings and its blowings —
But jusl suppose Consumption's seeds appear
"With other sowings I
For me, I find, when eastern winds are high,
A frigid, not a genial inspiration ;
Nor can, like Iron-Chested Chubb, defy
An inflammation.
Smitten by breezes from the land of plague,
To me all vernal Luxuries arc fables,
Oh! whore's the Spring in a rheumatic leg,
Stiff as a table's ?
I limp in agony, — 1 wheeze and cough ;
And quake with Ague, that great Agitator ;
Nor dream, before July, of leaving off
My Respirator.
What wonder if in May itself I lack
A peg for laudatory verse to hang on ? —
Spring mild and gentle ! — yes, a Spring-heeled Jack
To those he sprang on.
In short, whatever panegyrics lie
In fulsome odes too many to be cited,
The tenderness of Spring is all my eye,
And that is blighted !
THE MUSIC-GRINDERS.
Holmes.
There are three ways in which men take
One's money from his purse,
And very hard it is to tell
Which of the three is worse :
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 489
But all of them are bad enough
To make a body curse.
You're riding out some pleasant day,
And counting up your gains ;
A fellow jumps from out a bush,
And takes your horse's reins,
Another hints some words about
A bullet in your brains.
It's hard to meet such pressing friends
In such a lonely spot ;
It's very hard to lose your cash,
But harder to be shot ;
And so you take your wallet out,
Though you would rather not.
Perhaps you're going out to dine, —
Some filthy creature begs
You'll hear about the cannon-ball
That carried off his pegs,
And says it is a dreadful thing
For men to lose their legs.
He tells you of his starving wife,
His children to be fed,
Poor little, lovely innocents,
All clamorous for bread, —
And so you kindly help to put
A bachelor to bed.
You're sitting on your window seat
Beneath a cloudless moon ;
You hear a sound that seems to wear
The semblance of a tune,
As if a broken fife should strive
To drown a cracked bassoon.
And nearer, nearer still, the tide
Of music seems to come,
There's something like a human voice,
And something like a drum ;
You sit in speechless agony.
Until your ear is numb.
4 ( J0 Tin ACADEMIC SPEAKER,
Poor " home, sweel borne," Bhould Been
A very dismal place j
•■ aald acquaintance," all at once,
I - altered in the face ;
Their discords sting through Burns and Moore,
Like hedgehogs drei sed in Isv
Vmh think they are crusaders, sent
I r im mi.- infernal clime,
pluck tin- - Dtiment,
And dock the tail of Rhyme,
To crack the voice of Melody,
And break the leg! i Time.
Hut hark I the air again is still,
The music all is ground,
And Bilence, like a poultice, <■
To hesl the blow- of >ound ;
It cannot be, — it is, — it is, —
A I i round I
Nbl Pay the dentist when he leaves
A fracture in your jaw ;
And pay the owner of the hear.
That Btunned you with bis paw,
And buy the lobster, that lias had
four knuckle- in his claw;
But if you arc a portly man,
Put on your fiercest frown,
And talk about a constable
To turn them out of town :
Then close your sentence with an oath,
And shut the window down !
And if you are a slender man,
Not big enough for that,
Or, if yoa cannot make a speech,
Because you are a flat,
Go very quietly and drop
A button in the hat !
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 491
A PARENTAL ODE TO MY SON, AGED THREE YEARS AND
FIVE MONTHS.
Thos. Hood.
Thou happy, happy elf:
(But stop — first let me kiss away that tear) —
Thou tiny image of myself!
(My love, he's poking peas into his ear !)
Thou merry, laughing sprite !
With spirits feather-light,
Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin —
(Good heavens ! — the child is swallowing a pin !)
Thou little tricksy Puck!
With antic toys so funnily bestuck,
Light as the singing bird that wings the air —
(The door ! the door ! he'll tumble down the stair !)
Thou darling of thy sire !
(Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore afire !)
Thou imp of mirth and joy !
In Love's dear chain so strong and bright a link,
Thou idol of thy parents — (Drat the boy !
There goes my ink !)
Thou cherub — but of earth ;
Fit playfellow for Fays, by moonlight pale,
In harmless sport and mirth,
(That dog will bite him if he pulls its tail !)
Thou human humming-bee, extracting honey
From every blossom in the world that blows,
Singing in youth's eiysium ever sunny,
(Another tumble! — that's his precious nose!)
Thy father's pride and hope !
(He'll break the mirror with that skipping-rope!)
AVith pure heart newly stamped from Nature's mint —
(Where did he learn that squint?)
Thou young domestic' dove !
(He'll have that jug off, with another shove !)
Dear nursling of the Hymeneal nest !
(Are those torn clothes his best?)
Little epitome of man !
(He'll climb upon the table, that's his plan !)
Touched with the beauteous tints of dawning life —
(He's got a knife !)
492 Tin: SELECT AC LDEMIO SPEAKER.
Thou em iable being !
No i <•! >uds, in thj blue Bky I
Play on, play on,
My elfin John !
the light ball I be -tick —
(I knew bo many caki - would make bim sic
With fancies, buoyant ai the thistle-down,
Prompting the face grotesque, and antic brisk,
With many a Lamb-like frisk,
(He's got the snipping at your g rwn I)
Thou pretty opening rose I
(Go to your mother, child, and wipe your d
Balmy and breathing music Like the South,
(He really brings my heart into my mouth I)
Fresh as the morn, and brilliant a-< it< star —
(I wish that window had an iron ]
Bold as the hawk. ; as the ( l'»vc —
(I'll tell you what, my I
I cannot write, unl( tit above!)
PROVINCIAL SPEECH.
0. W. Dolw -.
Some words on langi age may be well applied,
And take them kindly, though they touch your pri
Words lead to things ; a scale is more precise, —
•se speech, bad grammar, swearing, drinking, vice.
Our cold Northeaster's icy fetter clips
The native freedom of the Saxon H]
See the brown peasant of the plastic South,
How all his passions play about his mouth !
With us, the feature that transmits the soul,
A frozen, passive, palsied breathing-hole.
The crampy shackles of the ploughboy's walk
Tie the small muscles when he strives to talk ;
Not all the pumice of the polished town
Can smooth this roughness of the barnyard down ;
Rich, honored, titled, he betrays his race
By this one mark, — he's awkward in the face ; —
Nature's rude impress, long before he knew
The sunny street that holds the sifted few.
It can't be helped, though, if we're taken young,
We gain some freedom of the lips and tongue ;
RECITATIONS IN POETRY. 493
But school and college often try in vain
To break the padlock of our boyhood's chain ;
One stubborn word will prove this axiom true ; —
No quondam rustic can enunciate view.
A few brief stanzas may be well employed
To speak of errors we can all avoid.
Learning condemns beyond the reach of hope
The careless lips that speak of soap for soap ;
Her edict exiles from her fair abode
The clownish voice that utters road for road ;
Less stern to him who calls his coat a coat,
And steers his boat, believing it a boat,
She pardoned one, our classic city's boast,
Who said at Cambridge, most instead of most,
But knit her brows and stamped her angry foot
To hear a Teacher call a root a root.
Once more ; speak clearly, if you speak at all ;
Carve every word before you let it fall ;
Don't, like a lecturer or dramatic star,
Try over hard to roll the British R, ;
Do put your accents in the proper spot ;
Don't, — let me beg you, — don't say " How?" for " What?"
And, when you stick on conversation's burs,
Don't strew your pathway with those dreadful urs.
From " Urania."
A RHYMED LESSON.
0. W. Holmes.
From little matters let us. pass to less,
And lightly touch the mysteries of dress ;
The outward forms the inner man reveal, —
We guess the pulp before we cut the peel.
I leave the broadcloth, — coats and all the rest, —
The dangerous waistcoat, called by cockneys "vest, ;
The things named " pants" in certain documents,
A word not made for gentlemen, but "gents" ;
One single precept might the whole condense :
Be sure your tailor is a man of sense ;
But add a little care, a decent pride,
And always err upon the sober side.
Wear seemly gloves ; not black, nor yet too light,
And least of all the pair that once was white ;
42
401 THE M.I. la I ACADEMIl SI
lead party where 3 a t 1] 1 y iur loves
Bury in peace its dead bouqui
Shave like the goat, if ^>> your fancy bide,
Bui be a parent, — don't negleot your 1.
Eave b good bat 1 the b< >ret of your 1
Lives with the beaver iii Canadian brooks ;
Virtue may flourish in an old cravat,
Din niaii and nature scorn the shooking hat.
I 1 Bs beauty Blight yon from her gay al
Like bright Apollo, you must take to
Mount the n»'\v castor, -ice itself will melt ;
Boots, gloves may fail ; the hat 18 aluay- felt !
< >ur Freeborn race,
Has tossed the yoke of Europe from it- i
Prom the green prairie I girt town,
The whole wide nation turns it- collars down.
The stately neck is manhood's manliest part ;
It take- the life-blo k3 freshest Iran the heart;
With short, curled ringl innd it spread,
How light and strong it lifts the Grecian head]
Thine, fair Erectheus of -Minerva's wall; —
Or thine, young athlete of the Louvre's hall,
Smooth as the pillar Bashing in the Bun
That oiled the arena where thy wreath- were won —
Firm as the hand that clasps the antlered spoil
Strained in the winding anaconda's coil !
I spare the contrast ; it were only kind
To be a little, nay, intensely blind :
Choose for yourself: I know it cuts your ear ;
I know the points will sometimes interfere ;
I know that often, like the filial John,
Whom sleep surprised with half his drapery on,
You show your features to the astonished town
With one side standing and the other down ; —
But, my friend ! my favorite fellow-man !
If Nature made you on her modern plan,
Sooner than wander with your windpipe bare, —
The fruit of Eden ripening in the air, —
With that lean head-stalk, that protruding chin
Wear standing collars, were they made of tin !
And have a neck-cloth, — by the throat of Jove !
Cut from the funnel of a rusty stove !
From '■ Urania."
PAET III.
THE DRAMA.
SOLILOQUIES AND MONOLOGUES.
MANFBED. — THE INVOCATION.
Byron.
It is noon — the sunbow's rays still arch
The torrent with the many hues of heaven,
And roll the sheeted silver's waving column
O'er the crag's headlong perpendicular,
And iling its lines of foaming light along,
And to and fro, like the pale courser's tail,
The Giant steed, to be bestrode by death,
As told in the Apocalypse. No eyes
But mine now drink this sight of loveliness ;
I should be sole in this sweet solitude,
And with the Spirit of the place divide
The homage of these waters — I will call her.
Beautiful Spirit ! with thy hair of light,
And dazzling eyes of glory, in whose form
The charms of earth's least-mortal daughters grow
To an unearthly stature, in an essence
Of purer elements ; while the hues of youth, —
Carnationed like a sleeping infant's cheek,
Rocked by the beating of her mother's heart,
Or the rose tints, which summer's twilight leaves
Upon the lofty glacier's virgin snow,
The blush of earth embracing with her heaven —
Tinge thy celestial aspect, and make tame
The beauties of the sunbow which bends o'er thee.
Beautiful Spirit ! in thy calm clear brow,
Wherein is glassed serenity of soul,
Which of itself shows immortality,
I read that thou wilt pardon to a Son
Of earth, whom the abstruser powers permit
At times to commune with them — if that he
Avail him of his spells — to call thee thus,
And gaze on thee a moment.
From "Manfred.''
(495)'
49G THE £ ELECT VCADEMIC SPEAKER.
macbeth's soliloquy.
If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well
It were done quickly: [f the assassination
Could trammel up the con sequence, and catch
With his Barcease, Mice...,; that bat this blow
Might be the be-all and the end-all here,
But here, upon this I, auk and shoal of time —
We'd jump the life to come. — But in these cases,
We -till have judgment here: that we but teach
Bloody instructions, which being taught, return
To plague the inventor: This even-handed justice
Commend- the ingredients of our poisoned chalice
To our own lips. He's here in double trust i
First, as 1 am his kinsman and his subji
Strong both against the deed : then, as his h<
Who should against his murderer shut the door,
Not hear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan
Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been
ear in his great office, that his virt-:
Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against
The deep damnation of his taking-off:
pity, like a naked new-born babe,
Striding the blast, or heaven'- cherubim, horsed
Upon the sightless couriers of the air,
Shall blow the horrid d 1 in every eye,
That tears shall drown the wind. — I have no spur
To prick the sides of my intent, but only
Vaulting ambition, which o'er-leaps itself,
And falls on the other.
From "Mm
ADDRESS TO THE SUN.
The sun goes down : methinks he sets more slowly,
Taking his last look of Assyria's empire;
How red he glares amongst those deepening clouds
Like the blood he predicts ! If not in vain,
Thou sun that sinkest, and ye stars which rise,
I have outwatched you, reading ray by ray
The edicts of your orbs, which make Time tremble
For what he brings the nations, 'tis the furthest
Hour of Assyria's years. And yet how calm !
EXTRACTS FROM THE DRAMA. 497
An earthquake should announce so great a fall —
A summer's sun discloses it. Yon disk,
To the star-read Chaldean, bears upon
Its everlasting page the end of what
Seemed everlasting ; but oh ! thou true sun !
The burning oracle of all that live,
As fountain of all life, and symbol of
Him who bestows it, wherefore dost thou limit
Thy lore unto calamity ? Why not
Unfold the rise of days more worthy thine
All glorious burst from ocean ? why not dart
A beam of hope athwart the future years,
As of wrath to its days? Hear me ! oh ! hear me !
I am thy worshipper, thy priest, thy servant —
I have gazed on thee at thy rise and fall,
And bowed my head beneath thy mid-day beams,
When my eye dared not meet thee. I have watched
For thee, and after thee, and prayed to thee,
And sacrificed to thee, and read, and feared thee,
And asked of thee, and thou hast answered — but
Only to thus much : while I speak, he sinks —
Is gone — and leaves his beauty, not his knowledge,
To the delighted west, which revels in
Its hues of dying glory. Yet what is
Death, so it be but glorious ? ; Tis a sunset :
And mortals may be happy to resemble
The gods but in decay.
From " Sardanapalus."
THE TWO KINGS.
Shakspeare.
Look here, upon this picture, and on this ;
The counterfeit presentment of two brothers.
See, what a grace was seated on this brow :
Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself;
An eye like Mars, to threaten and command ;
A station like the herald Mercury,
New-lighted on a heaven-kissing hill ;
A combination, and a form, indeed,
Where every god did seem to set his seal,
To give the world assuranc 
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